Simply because I don't act a certain way around you, Mr. Tozier, does not mean I am incapable of acting in such a way. You'd do well to remember that.
[To his credit, her ears are a little red, but that's the only tell she has in response to his questions. She's really quite good at keeping her expression withering and arch. Rosalind leads them forward, turning into a row of shelves. Presumably the books are still out on the tables-- honestly, it's likely his companions are still around, up to and including Dorian, and heaven knows he doesn't need more ammunition to tease her.
Which means she ought to end this here and now, in one decisive blow. Hm. Rosalind skims the books with a blind eye, thinking to herself.]
What I like, Mr. Tozier . . .
[She turns on her heel, facing him. He's at least half a foot taller than her, slender in that way men get when they shoot up fast, and likely stronger than her, but she doubts he'll be thinking to use his full strength now. So it's really rather easy to put a hand to his chest and push him against one of the bookshelves, stepping in front of him to ensure he stays right where she puts him.
It's not the closest they've been. She's pressed herself up against him before, that first night in the alley. Now, Rosalind keeps a steady distance between them, a solid few inches that she refuses to close.]
. . . is a man who can impress me. Money isn't appealing. Power can be. Competence, however, is the most alluring thing of all. A man who excels in his chosen field, who is in some way markedly intelligent, whether it be in a more physical arena or mental one . . . that's what draws my eye.
Or . . . someone who's different in some way. I admit I have an attraction to those who aren't quite normal. You can well guess why.
[A beat, and she leans in, tipping her head. She won't kiss him, not at all, but it's fun to play as though she might, ghosting her lips near his, her breath hot against his mouth.]
But you don't seem to fall into either of those categories, do you? At least . . . not from what I've seen.
[Rosalind lingers for just a second more before pulling back, stepping away from him, an insufferable sort of smirk on her lips.]
Pity. Come along, Richie. We've books to research.
no subject
[To his credit, her ears are a little red, but that's the only tell she has in response to his questions. She's really quite good at keeping her expression withering and arch. Rosalind leads them forward, turning into a row of shelves. Presumably the books are still out on the tables-- honestly, it's likely his companions are still around, up to and including Dorian, and heaven knows he doesn't need more ammunition to tease her.
Which means she ought to end this here and now, in one decisive blow. Hm. Rosalind skims the books with a blind eye, thinking to herself.]
What I like, Mr. Tozier . . .
[She turns on her heel, facing him. He's at least half a foot taller than her, slender in that way men get when they shoot up fast, and likely stronger than her, but she doubts he'll be thinking to use his full strength now. So it's really rather easy to put a hand to his chest and push him against one of the bookshelves, stepping in front of him to ensure he stays right where she puts him.
It's not the closest they've been. She's pressed herself up against him before, that first night in the alley. Now, Rosalind keeps a steady distance between them, a solid few inches that she refuses to close.]
. . . is a man who can impress me. Money isn't appealing. Power can be. Competence, however, is the most alluring thing of all. A man who excels in his chosen field, who is in some way markedly intelligent, whether it be in a more physical arena or mental one . . . that's what draws my eye.
Or . . . someone who's different in some way. I admit I have an attraction to those who aren't quite normal. You can well guess why.
[A beat, and she leans in, tipping her head. She won't kiss him, not at all, but it's fun to play as though she might, ghosting her lips near his, her breath hot against his mouth.]
But you don't seem to fall into either of those categories, do you? At least . . . not from what I've seen.
[Rosalind lingers for just a second more before pulling back, stepping away from him, an insufferable sort of smirk on her lips.]
Pity. Come along, Richie. We've books to research.