completelycrazy | in the night: ic inbox

I'm curious.

[It's slightly defensive.]

I'm taking an interest. That's what people do.

[He's quiet for a beat or two, watching her as he puzzles over what to say to that. Then:]

My dad works on pianos. My mother's an opera singer, but she's out of the picture. I grew up building crap in my uncle's workshop, 'cause he's an engineer, so that's why I pursued science. Almost went with music instead, but I figured I could do that as a hobby. Can't really go the science route as a fun side thing.

[Yes, here they are. Two people. Having a casual conversation, like people do.]

[Oh. That's a lot more information on who he is as a person than she expected, but she isn't sorry for it. It's fascinating, adding such enormous pieces of the puzzle to the growing picture she has of him.]

What can you play?

[Oh, god, she's genuinely interested. That rarely happened. Sometimes she'll ask people questions just to pass the time, sure, but this isn't that. Huh. She leans back and sucks hard on her cigarette, glancing over at him.]

I was rather pressured into learning piano as a child, not to mention how to sing. But I never enjoyed either enough to call them hobbies.

Everything.

[It's very arrogant, yes, but it's also basically true. He knows enough about music to get by with just about anything you could throw at him.]

But, like, well enough that I could pick it up now and play something from memory? Guitar and keyboard. I'm alright at drums and bass, too.

[There's an English word he can never spell correctly. Base, bass, and then bass like the fish. What a dumb language.]

Have you been over to that rec center in the village? They've got a piano. It's a piece of shit, but it's a piano.

Impressive.

[Does Ros even know what a bass is? We're going to say yes, because I don't feel like looking up when those were invented, and anyway Bioshock is nothing if not Anachronism: The Series.]

Oh, yes. The man I live with, Javert, does weekly training sessions there. I accompany him, and, most often, get tutored by him.

[Which means she can fight with a sword, in the loosest possible sense of fight.]

You ought to join us. It's something to do, at any rate.

[Okay but hang on.]

Tutored, like, he's teaching you how to fight? Oh my god, awesome.

[He absolutely wants to be part of this now. Congrats, Ros, now you've got this guy in your gym class.]

What's he teaching you? Can you kill a man with one finger yet?

[Oh I forgot they were listening to music so this is playing now, shuffle's still on, whoo.]

With swords, Newt. And the occasional hand-to-hand, but not nearly as often.

[There's a moment of contemplation, and then she adds:]

But I can kill a man with one finger, yes. I could do it before here, though.

[He scoffs, if only because she says with swords like it's any less awesome.

But then, for a second time, she says one thing that is markedly more interesting than all the other stuff, so he has to zero in on it.]

Wait, really?

[Problem is, he's not totally sure whether or not she's messing with him. Anything is possible these days.]

What's the trick?

[Oh, no, she wouldn't mess with him. Not him. Her expression is entirely serious as she very carefully lifts one hand, her pointer finger extended, and reaches for him . . .

--so she can tap his forehead quite firmly.]

A bullet right there does the trick quite nicely. And the last time I checked, it takes only one finger to pull the trigger on a gun.

Hilarious. Do you even have a gun?

[...]

Have you even ever been in a fight?

[The whole forest spirit attack thing doesn't count. That was, uh, different.]

[She's enormously pleased with herself, if the smug little smile she has while she settles back is any indication.]

Good god, Newt, no. Arguments, certainly, but do I look as though I'm the sort to get into fights?

[The spirit attack thing doesn't count, no, even if she's still got a scar on her neck.]

Have you?

[How the turntables.]

Hah, no, not really. Not since I was a kid.

[It's hard, being a child prodigy in grade school. Named Newton. They've come full circle.

Then he pauses, squinting at her.]

But you do know how to throw a punch, right? "Theoretically" doesn't count.

[Her mouth opens, and there's just the briefest moment of hesitation.]

Of course I do.

[Okay.]

[He lights up, albeit in more of a slow "dawning realization" kind of way.]

Oh, good!

[Newt wriggles out from under the blankets to stand up, waving for Rosalind to join him.]

You gotta teach me. I can't look like a total idiot when I show up for Javert's fight club.

[ :) ]

[Oh, god damn it. Her mouth tightens, because yes, she knows exactly what he's doing, thank you, he's not being cute--

--and maybe it'd die there, but he gets up. Cold air rushes in, sharply slipping beneath her skirt and stinging, and that combined with her embarrassed irritation means she's impetus enough to move.]

That can't possibly be your real fear.

[It's tart. She's no real plan once she's standing before him, no real thought beyond a familiar, unconscious urge to never be the one shown up. So she takes his hand, her palm cradling his, and realizes in that moment that she wants to conduct an experiment.]

So what is your motivation? [Beyond being an ass to her.] Are you looking to impress someone there?

[She glances up at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. And the fingers of her free hand slide against his palm just once, as she watches to see if he'll react.

He is a man, after all. And they're so easy to trip up once you know how their minds work.]

[It's super effective!]

Yeah! —What? I mean, uh. Yep, you caught me.

[He wasn't even expecting her to get up, let alone, uh, whatever that was. What was that? There's no way she meant for that to come off as suggestive as it was—except, Rosalind is such a precise person, and she is the one who Baby It's Cold Outside'd him. Jesus, is this all an elaborate ploy to— oh, wait, duh, she's messing with him.

Obviously.

He swallows, and, oh right, he also said "yes" to her question for literally no reason beyond sheer panic. Over her messing with him.

Which, she was. Obviously.]

You fell right into my trap, too. It's less about impressing you and more about conning you into playing out a movie trope. Next, you gotta get handsy and be ridiculously fussy about every move I make.

[Yeah, sure, he's still spouting shit off at a pitch that betrays the smoothness of that recovery, but a lot has happened in the past few seconds.]

[Ah, and now she's smirking, smugly secure now that things are going her way again. It's stupid and petty, but sometimes you just need a win.]

Is that really the phrasing you wished to use, or are you still panicking?

[She's not even hiding her amusement.]

Edited 2020-01-20 10:52 (UTC)

I'm not—Shut up, oh my god.

[He pulls his hand away, turning to grab for his tablet just because it's the first excuse he can think of. He vaguely makes like he's scrolling for a new song.]

You started it. If I would've pulled that same move on you, you'd have flipped, too.

[He surely did not mean to implicate himself in that last bit, but he said what he said.]

[Oh, god, what a beautiful victory. Rosalind willingly takes a step back, smirking-- and then another, turning to walk away as he scrolls for another song. Little previews burst in her ears before he skips, and it's fascinating for a woman more used to records.]

Here.

[She returns to him, carrying two sawed off lengths of wood. They're ostensibly for propping up one of her experiments, but they're also a decent size for substitute swords.]

Take it. I'll show you how to fight properly, I can do that much.

[And just in case, she reaches past him, gently batting his fingers away. The next song plays as Rosalind takes a step back, holding her sword up.]

Go on.

Raise your sword, Newt.

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