tearmeanewone | rendez-vous + APPOINTMENT POST

[Rosalind simply lifts an eyebrow, waiting for Elizabeth to finish before she answers.]

I fear he might interpret my informing him of my plans as a request for his permission, which I neither expect nor desire. As for the thing itself . . .

[She crosses back to Elizabeth and lifts her own cup from the table, cradling it in her hands.]

Imagine being no older than you are now, and resolving to cross the Atlantic to ally yourself with a charismatic and deeply religious nationalist. Imagine then the preparations one might make for the months and years ahead. Remember Comstock was a military man, and many of his supporters cut from a similar cloth. I could no more hold their respect while ignorant of the operation of a revolver, I imagined, than anyone might hold mine while ignorant of the operation of a pen.

Edited 2014-03-29 23:07 (UTC)

[Rosalind stops as well. And she looks at Elizabeth with a silent shift in focus, from observation to recognition. From study to . . . well. To action, it seems, as she draws close and takes Elizabeth's shoulders, as if expecting her to crumple to the ground. It brings her in close, and she murmurs, firm and careful.]

Breathe. In slowly, and out even more so.

[There are silly fears that one should be capable of mastering, she thinks. But this - this is real in more ways than she cares for.]

[Robert chuckled. Being blunt with DeWitt might get him to do something, but being cryptic actually kept him motivated -- kept him frustrated. Speaking in riddles kept him from understanding everything at once, kept the nosebleeds at a minimum.]

I think Rosalind is the only mind I never felt the urge to compete against.

The rest? Both before Columbia and after? Had to be proven wrong. Or that I could do better than them.

[Elizabeth is startled the moment she feels Rosalind's hands on her shoulders. It's strange, to Elizabeth, to see Rosalind touching her without really being prompted. Not that it feels like a comforting gesture--perhaps Elizabeth really had swayed and she didn't even notice. But the tone of Rosalind's voice suggests there was validity to what Elizabeth had revealed. The last time she had been afraid and miserable, Rosalind had reminded Elizabeth that whatever had happened to Booker had been his own choice no doubt. This... this was a dream, though. Even if Elizabeth couldn't pinpoint what her subconscious was trying to say, it had been a dream and nothing else.]

[Except Rosalind's reaction seems to suggest that it wasn't just a dream.]

[Elizabeth follows her instructions, breathing slowly as she tried to push the images back again. But they were still there, vivid and bright.]

These dreams I've been having, they aren't just nightmares, are they? [She looks up at Rosalind, eyes searching the other woman's face for a twitch or a tell.] You've seen these things happen to me. You're not brushing this off and telling me it was only a dream because it wasn't just a dream.

Well I never accused either of you of not being egotistical. [She chuckles back.] But I guess science wouldn't get anywhere if nobody was striving to disprove or improve the latest theory.

[Oops. Right. Chew, swallow, speak. Elizabeth assumes an expression of being properly chastised by the eyebrow raise while she listens. There is a smile, of course, when the image of Booker being asked permission by Rosalind comes into her head.]

Might've saved us some trouble if you'd just shot him anyway. [She snorts quietly and picks up her mug.] But I guess I would do the same thing.

[Though Elizabeth silently thinks that 'operation of a pen' wouldn't garner Rosalind's respect in the slightest. That was probably fairly low on the list of hurdles one had to jump to earn Rosalind Lutece's respect, in Elizabeth's opinion.]

I've never even read anything about these drafts. Is everybody really expected to use a firearm? [For some people in the village, it's a hard image to reconcile.]

I am strongly inclined to believe that humble scientists don't exist. How can we when our work explores the limitations of the very universe and how to defy them?

I'd be inclined to believe the same, given what I've read. You scientist types just can't get enough of yourselves. [Elizabeth laughs, even if it really isn't the most clever of jokes. She's still a little tired.]

[Robert chuckles warmly at the sound, leaning in to give another kiss to the top of her head.]

I'm told we tend to be quite unbearable company for anyone not of our kind.

Knowing the nature of former drafts and the general demographics of the populace, I imagine a provision will be made for the less martial members of the village. Support personnel are a necessity in most endeavours, and not all are suited to be put into harm's way.

However, relying upon that stability of that system seems foolish. We are not always as safe as we imagine.

[There's a subtle weight behind those words, and with good reason. Of any of the things that might trouble her about her and Robert's murder, that it was in their very home is still the most galling.]

Absolutely. What with your wires and your cryptic statements... [She giggles again and wraps her arms around Robert's back, hugging him instead of continuing to dance.]

That's true... [Elizabeth knows that from her dealings with the Iron Eye. Everything could go straight to hell in a matter of moments.]

So what do you think I should carry? A pistol? A handcannon?

Oh! What about a shotgun? [Those had always seemed very effective.]

[Rosalind has steeled herself to so many cruelties, great and small, that meeting Elizabeth's fear and questioning with impassive quiet comes with a thoughtless, seamless ease. She releases her slowly and folds her hands in front of herself, holding the same cool eye contact that has won more staring contests than she cares to count.]

I have seen you in numberless worlds, with numberless variables strewn among the constants. What will it help you to know those stories?

[She might tell her, of her own accord. But she is bound by duty to Robert, and by a promise to the girl herself.]

Edited 2014-04-04 05:33 (UTC)

[Would it help?]

[No, it wouldn't. It would probably make her sick. As sick as she feels now, thinking about how her future could hold a pin being stuck through her eye socket. She breathes in slowly and out slowly again, and again, she's lost track of how many times.]

So these things I'm having nightmares about-- they actually happened to me? [The color is draining out of Elizabeth's face, but she has to know.] I shouldn't be dreaming about them, though. They haven't happened to me yet, I shouldn't have those images in my head.

[There's a moment there where Rosalind looks almost bemused. Almost.]

Oh, I don't know. Which do you feel you are most proficient with?

I don't know, I've never fired a gun before. [Elizabeth sips her tea thoughtfully.] I don't even know if I could cock a shotgun, it seems like it requires the kind of arm-strength I don't have.

[Robert returns the embrace, chuckling faintly.]

Well, you can blame DeWitt for the cryptic statements. We found that he has a rather rebellious tendency. Tell him to go left... he'll go right.

I'd hoped you would know better than to be so linear. And so literal.

[Rosalind can wait for Elizabeth to steady herself, and does, gratified at least that the girl seems to be steadying herself.]

'Should' is the domain of phenomena with existing data. You, however, are singular in this regard.

If only there were some study which might demystify that enigma for us. Some activity, perhaps.

[Sip. Look. The cart goes behind the horse, Elizabeth.]

One which might be pursued more agreeably after donning clothing, even.

I don't give a damn about data, I shouldn't be having dreams that are that specific!

[Elizabeth is exhausted, and doesn't want to hear that she's a special case, strange, or outside of normal--even if it's true. Under any other circumstances she would accept the answer, nod sadly and carry on, but she doesn't want to be different in this case. She wants to know why.]

How am I supposed to go back to sleep? Knowing that at any moment, my abnormal self could throw a horrible, graphic dream into my brain?

[Elizabeth looks up from tearing the longest section off her croissant, struggling to get it all in her mouth.]

That's a hint, I suppose?

I am telling you, I have no precedent from which to draw your answer.

[It's very near an exclamation, the sharpness that meets sharpness, a light of frustration sparking in Rosalind's eyes. It would not be so vexing if at least she had expected this response, but she is giving perfectly sound reasons and Elizabeth is rejecting every last one out of hand.]

The very best I may offer is theories. Conjecture. And if I knew of some solution to nightmares-

[She would be the wealthiest woman in the world. And she would have given it to Robert, long ago. It gives her pause, before she continues, some of the venom bled from her.]

. . . but I don't.

To be any clearer I might require the use of a block of stone and a chisel.

[Well, the girl does seem to be enjoying her breakfast and lie-in. Best to leave her to that, and she steps out the door with a backwards call.]

I'll be in my rooms when you are ready. Do try not to tarry.

[Elizabeth has never been so bluntly introduced to the possibility of Rosalind not knowing something. She always assumed that if Rosalind didn't answer a question outright, she did know the answer but wanted to lead Booker or Elizabeth to it. But Elizabeth had no patience for being led at the moment.]

[She looks startled and almost scared when Rosalind insists she doesn't know. If Robert and Rosalind didn't know, nobody did. The two experts on her lived under the same roof, and if they didn't know...]

[Her eye twinges again, just another latent sensation from the memory, and Elizabeth presses her fingers into her eyesocket again.]

Can you find out why? If I let you both... do tests, observe me, something, can you find out why?

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