[Even if it's an offer made from practical measures and extended to other people. He didn't need to make it at all. A gentle warmth drifts between them, there and gone again.
Her nose wrinkles with the start of a laugh. It never quite leaves her throat.]
I should hope it wouldn't. I wasn't born with a curse, I was cursed when I was born. So unless the Wicked Fairy wants to make a hard sprint across several dimensions just to hit my clone with another one as she crawls out of the pod? I think it should be fine. [That said, who knows? Taking samples from her as she is might transfer the magic that held the curse along with. Like a sickness.] Just make sure I don't prick my finger on any spinning wheels. That's the trigger.
[But all jokes aside, it is a conundrum. The idea itself doesn't sit easily with her. Not knowing how she was made to exist here, in flesh and blood, makes her uneasy about the prospect of leaving parts of her remaining. He might take a piece of her now and later find it's turned to scraps of parchment and ink. The marriage of magic and science might sully the results, leaving her double as misshapen or unable to live.]
There is no magic in my country or world. If you are forced to adhere to the rules of the place that you are created in, whether that be here or mine, then you ought to be able to escape your briars and live a new life, intact. I'll only revive you once I can ensure emotions will be processed painlessly and you are capable of aging.
[a few things that he has to figure out, but he feels like he can have done within the year. it is work he is determined to finish, to let people live their lives as they please]
But you may. You needn't feel like my offer will expire—it won't.
If you wish to have a life all your own, you may ask me at any time, and I will grant it.
[he'd told her once toward the beginning - he is a person who breaks curses. even now, he has the arrogance to believe that's true. however her story ends, he has faith she will grasp it for herself.
in the end, he is just one more resource for her to utilize]
Maybe. [There's a beat.] I'd hate to bring you all new problems, when you already have so much to deal with.
["Grant it". Like he's one of the fairies or witches himself. That couple had accused him of thinking himself a god. And maybe there's threads of truth in it. He seems to have a solution to everything.
Even so, her insides twist. She wets her lips, leaning her elbows on her knees as she looks him in the eye.]
I know you don't want for much of anything. But whether or not I do take this offer, I would like to repay you somehow. Someday. If there ever does come a time where you might need or want something that I could give, just ask. Even if it's just...I don't know. Samples for something.
But... [She smiles wryly.] In case that time never comes, you do have my gratitude. Thank you, Scien. Sincerely. It means a great deal to me that you would think to offer it.
[In a way that doesn't tie to anything prior. She hopes it's not seen as yet another overture. Sometimes it's hard to see where that boundary lies.]
[rosamund is correct that scien wants for very little, if anything at all. granting this much—his life-extending technology for its purpose of extending life—is simply part of what he has offered to the world. in normal circumstances, becoming a reliver involves paperwork and payment... but they lack any reasonable form of currency, and he plans on destroying this machine at the end anyway.
there is some idle curiosity and wonder in his emotions when she suggests repaying him—it hadn't even occurred to him. at times he is every inch the magnanimous god that gives one-sidedly. (or refuses cold-heartedly)]
... I believe that you ought to exist. Without something premature and out of your hands cutting your time short for a goal that I don't understand. From what I gather, you still have certain binds...
I'm of the opinion that a life confined doesn't suit you. My offer is rooted in that. The choice, and every choice thereafter if you choose to accept, is still yours.
But while I cannot dictate your feelings, know this comes with no debt. If you ask me of my demands then it is only this: live, and live happily. No ending until you reach the last days of your natural life, and no sooner.
[All of this is received in rapt silence, eyes growing wide. She barely breathes.
Then at once there is a crack through her heart. The space between them floods with a cataclysmic happiness. The pain lingers of course, the sting of loss and the hesitations, but they swirl listlessly in the currents rushing them out and away.
Her smile is luminescent, framed by twin tracks of tears. Rosamund swallows, then speaks at last.]
[there is still so very much that he doesn't understand about her.
how could what he said bring her this much joy? is it the prospect of freedom? the idea of it being offered without contingencies? he still doesn't quite get it - but he supposes he doesn't have to. he tilts his head, and his expression softens. his emotions share that whisper of bewilderment alongside fondness, despite himself. he is happy for her, as long as this is the happiness she seeks.]
I will. I promise. [She laughs a little, catching the tears at last with trembling fingers.] Thank you. Thank you so much.
[Good lord, look at the mess she's made of herself. Rosamund shakes her head, tries to sort her curls back in place. The joy gives way to a sort of elated bashfulness. She's exposed herself too fully in too many ways here.
But that shyness comes carrying a heavy thread of appreciation. Fondness of her own, true and deep. A touch melancholic, even now.
She stands suddenly.]
I'm...I'm going to get a drink. [She nods, affirming her own plans.] I'll see you later?
[With one last grin and bracing breath, she gathers her skirts and trots from the room.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Even if it's an offer made from practical measures and extended to other people. He didn't need to make it at all. A gentle warmth drifts between them, there and gone again.
Her nose wrinkles with the start of a laugh. It never quite leaves her throat.]
I should hope it wouldn't. I wasn't born with a curse, I was cursed when I was born. So unless the Wicked Fairy wants to make a hard sprint across several dimensions just to hit my clone with another one as she crawls out of the pod? I think it should be fine. [That said, who knows? Taking samples from her as she is might transfer the magic that held the curse along with. Like a sickness.] Just make sure I don't prick my finger on any spinning wheels. That's the trigger.
[But all jokes aside, it is a conundrum. The idea itself doesn't sit easily with her. Not knowing how she was made to exist here, in flesh and blood, makes her uneasy about the prospect of leaving parts of her remaining. He might take a piece of her now and later find it's turned to scraps of parchment and ink. The marriage of magic and science might sully the results, leaving her double as misshapen or unable to live.]
May I have a few days to think about it?
no subject
[a few things that he has to figure out, but he feels like he can have done within the year. it is work he is determined to finish, to let people live their lives as they please]
But you may. You needn't feel like my offer will expire—it won't.
If you wish to have a life all your own, you may ask me at any time, and I will grant it.
[he'd told her once toward the beginning - he is a person who breaks curses. even now, he has the arrogance to believe that's true. however her story ends, he has faith she will grasp it for herself.
in the end, he is just one more resource for her to utilize]
no subject
["Grant it". Like he's one of the fairies or witches himself. That couple had accused him of thinking himself a god. And maybe there's threads of truth in it. He seems to have a solution to everything.
Even so, her insides twist. She wets her lips, leaning her elbows on her knees as she looks him in the eye.]
I know you don't want for much of anything. But whether or not I do take this offer, I would like to repay you somehow. Someday. If there ever does come a time where you might need or want something that I could give, just ask. Even if it's just...I don't know. Samples for something.
But... [She smiles wryly.] In case that time never comes, you do have my gratitude. Thank you, Scien. Sincerely. It means a great deal to me that you would think to offer it.
[In a way that doesn't tie to anything prior. She hopes it's not seen as yet another overture. Sometimes it's hard to see where that boundary lies.]
no subject
there is some idle curiosity and wonder in his emotions when she suggests repaying him—it hadn't even occurred to him. at times he is every inch the magnanimous god that gives one-sidedly. (or refuses cold-heartedly)]
... I believe that you ought to exist. Without something premature and out of your hands cutting your time short for a goal that I don't understand. From what I gather, you still have certain binds...
I'm of the opinion that a life confined doesn't suit you. My offer is rooted in that. The choice, and every choice thereafter if you choose to accept, is still yours.
But while I cannot dictate your feelings, know this comes with no debt. If you ask me of my demands then it is only this: live, and live happily. No ending until you reach the last days of your natural life, and no sooner.
no subject
Then at once there is a crack through her heart. The space between them floods with a cataclysmic happiness. The pain lingers of course, the sting of loss and the hesitations, but they swirl listlessly in the currents rushing them out and away.
Her smile is luminescent, framed by twin tracks of tears. Rosamund swallows, then speaks at last.]
Consider it done.
no subject
how could what he said bring her this much joy? is it the prospect of freedom? the idea of it being offered without contingencies? he still doesn't quite get it - but he supposes he doesn't have to. he tilts his head, and his expression softens. his emotions share that whisper of bewilderment alongside fondness, despite himself. he is happy for her, as long as this is the happiness she seeks.]
Let me know what you decide then.
no subject
[Good lord, look at the mess she's made of herself. Rosamund shakes her head, tries to sort her curls back in place. The joy gives way to a sort of elated bashfulness. She's exposed herself too fully in too many ways here.
But that shyness comes carrying a heavy thread of appreciation. Fondness of her own, true and deep. A touch melancholic, even now.
She stands suddenly.]
I'm...I'm going to get a drink. [She nods, affirming her own plans.] I'll see you later?
[With one last grin and bracing breath, she gathers her skirts and trots from the room.
She needs air. She needs space.]