blossomburst | IC Inbox

Nostradamus has finally been guided to the Proxy Hotel, to the third floor where his room is. He's a little apprehensive about all this--how the little card made of no material he knows serves as a key. How he's been told rooms may be shared. Is this a prison, where this is to be his cell?

He's not sure, but he stills himself, preparing for whatever will be as he enters the room.

If it were a prison, it'd be a pretty swanky place. As it turns out, though, there's a bit of noise in the room when the door swings open - someone is making some adjustments inside, by the sound of it.

That is, in fact, exactly what's happening. On exactly one side of the room, and the chaos stops almost perfectly halfway across the floor. She'd apologise, but she wasn't quite expecting her roommate to arrive just yet.

"Oh, 's that the roommate?" The voice is cheerful - if muffled. That's definitely someone leaned over the bed. Hang on, give her a second-- there's a soft 'hup' as Intira rights herself, brushing her hair back over her shoulder as she turns and waves. "Yo, hope you don't mind the closer bed."

Oh... not bad at all. He's scruffier than she's used to seeing, but she's never been picky -- I mean. Intira, no.

"You're a woman?" Yes, that sounds bad, and he realizes it sounds bad. "I had...expected them to house men and women separately. It would be more appropriate. Unless this is their attempt to, ahm, pair us. That would be very awkward, though."

He has a low rumbling voice like a polite fireplace, and stands just short of six and a half feet tall. He's dressed like he belongs at a Renn Faire--leather jerkin over a loose-sleeved shirt, a leather pouch on the belt at his waist. Dark brown eyes and a distinct lack of a smile.

"Well, last I checked, that's what they put on my birth certificate." Not that she'd checked that recently, but that's not the point, is it? "Buuuut if it makes you feel better, you're free to think of me as anything else."

There's an easy laugh to her, in contrast to him - her voice is soft, a middling alto that lilts just so. Wearing a simple tank top and slim jeans, they really could not look more different, either. "I mean, it wouldn't be that awkward, would it? Depends on what they expected out of us. But unless you don't think you can keep your hands to yourself - and I'm not saying I would complain if you couldn't - I can keep mine behaving. Mostly."

These two are either going to get along terribly or like a house on fire. Which direction... will probably be seen sooner than later.

He doesn't know what to make of her clothes. He doesn't know what to make of that comment about a birth certificate. And he certainly doesn't have any idea what to make of the comment about him keeping his hands to himself.

Give him a moment, Intira, you might have broken his brain. He's just going to stand awkwardly near the door for a moment here.

"It hardly seems...honorable, for me to take advantage of our shared room in such...such a manner." He glances away from her and her work on her side of the room. "I...would say that I'd be loath to ruin your prospects of marriage in such a manner, if you're a maiden, or to lead you to infidelity, if you're a married woman."

Oh. Oh no. He's so painfully awkward. She should relent and let him relax. And as he just stands there, trying to pull himself together, she's trying not to smile too much. He sounds like he's straight out of a reenactment. It's kind of charming?

"Ah," good-naturedly, Intira shifts to settle herself in a chair, legs crossing, "you really don't have to worry about that. Haven't been a maiden in a long time, and not really into the whole... marriage idea." There's even a laugh and a wave of the hand. "Sorry, I've been told I come on too strong... well, most of the time, actually. You don't have to let me down gently, I'm used to it. I'm Intira, 's nice to meet you, roomie." Nothing can go wrong here. Nothing.

"Intira? I am Michel de Nostredame. Most simply call me Nostradamus. It's a pleasure to meet you." And he actually does something of a bow, because he's a gentleman like that. The manners come before he tries to parse the rest of the...all of that.

"You, ah...do not wish to marry? What does your family feel about this?" It's not specifically his business, even if he's sharing a room with her, but he may as well ask.

For a moment, she has to wonder if that's not historically relevant. But... you know, 3414 is A Long Time in the future, and honestly, does it matter? Not if she can help it.

"Nostradamus. Definitely not a name I'm used to hearing, but I think I'll remember." Ever saucy, she accents that with a wink , not even letting the barest twitch of discomfort show on her face. "My family? Well, I'm really not sure. Assuming they're still alive somewhere, they'd probably think it was fine, maybe even be glad that I grew up at all despite the streets."

That roughness shows in parts of her personality, and maybe it makes sense enough to hear it in retrospect.

Grew up despite the streets? Nostradamus's expression turns apologetic.

"My apologies, Mistress Intira, I wasn't aware. But, ah. Some find familly and fellowship among friends, right?" He glances toward her and then away again, not sure what to make of her clothing. But eventually, he makes his way over to his bed, removing his boots.

"It's not really a big deal, Nostradamus." Ah, it's really a mouthful, isn't it? She supposes she'll find a nickname for him later. "And please, just call me Intira. I'm not classy enough for 'Mistress' or 'Milady' or anything like that." Her smile is so easy, and she dusts her pants off when she stands again.

"I have plenty of friends where I work back home, sure. People I help take care of, that sort of thing. It's not a sad thing, exactly, growing up on the streets." Turning away from him to shore up the handful of items on the nearby table, she inclines her head. "A little rougher than having a steady roof over your head maybe, but most people never learn how to really live, saddled by obligation and propriety."

Really, it should sound a lot deeper and more serious than it does with her cheerful tone. She's happy for everything she has... save a small handful, and those don't matter here.

They don't.

She clears her throat, waving a hand. "Anyway! You don't have to treat me any kind of way - most of my coworkers and friends treat me like one of the boys, I don't mind at all."

"You're not a boy, though. You're a woman, and a very beautiful one." Who's now got her back to him, and those slim jeans really do display her assets very nicely, and he's just going to politely turn away. "I'm sorry. You...ah. I will show you the respect you deserve, Intira."

While working out how to even process any of this.

"Well, that's incredibly kind of you to say. I don't always identify that way, though I do love this body." There's a little laugh then, as he stumbles through trying to figure this all out. Poor guy. She's just going about now, fixing up things here and there. "I like the attention, just so you know. Being stared at is something I dress like this for, and because it just feels nice.

But if it helps, we can set some boundaries. Maybe answer some questions, get a feel for how well we're going to even work out as roommates, because my habits might just be too much for you."

Here. She'll even climb into the bed and slip the sheet over her hips, tugging one side up to wrap neatly around her shoulders. She can be kind if she wants to!

He glances over at her quietly. "I have...very many questions, I hardly know where to start. Do you have questions for me? That might be useful, perhaps."

While he's speaking, he removes his leather jerkin. No, he's not about to strip down completely, but this is his room, he ought to be allowed to be comfortable here. She is, clearly.

She is comfortable indeed, inclining her head.

"I'm sure I can think of plenty. Where did you arrive from, to start?" Something relaxing, easy, if she's lucky. "I'm from the American Federation, myself."

"The American Federation? America is what the colonies, across the ocean, are called." He frowns, trying to process, then answers the question. "I'm from France. I'm an advisor to Queen Catherine at the Château de Fontainebleau, as well as being the court physician."

If she had full access to get history books, she thinks she could probably pin down the when of that with his explanation.

"Mm, it's... A little complicated. From what I've heard, most of us are from different places or... Times. Where you're from, it's still the colonies. For me, things changed and we're a Federation." She's a bit helpless to explain in detail without overloading him with entirely too much information, but she does offer that much. "You can just think of it as me being from America, anyway. A court physician, though? That seems like the kind of job you'd be easier to get back to, from an outside perspective." Her chin rests on her hand and she watches Nostradamus now, taking a moment to read his reactions, how he's processing everything.

"I know that most here are from what is my future. That there have been innovations and discoveries since my time. It is rare for me to feel like I am, ahm, behind everyone else. In my studies, I was usually one of the best students. Now I know what it is to be the boy who didn't practice my grammar. There is so much that I have yet to learn."

He pauses, and glances over at Intira. "Where in the Americas? I have relatives who live in Trinidad, and...a very close friend, as well, who only recently left the French Court."

"Well, if you study well, I don't think you'll have too much trouble here. I'm pretty well versed in simulations like the one we're in, so with luck, I can help you figure out what you need." That question actually happens to be something she finds... a little delicate to navigate, though. He's clearly from an early-enough age, where the States was still a bunch of colonies...

"I'm not really different in that respect." In fact, she... may be from the furthest timeline yet, at least that's still an Earth timeline. Absently, fingers reach up to fiddle with a flower-shaped pendant around her neck. "The Federation's not really split up into different areas anymore - most of us live in a stretch of the Eastern coast, in what used to be Virginia in North America, if I remember my history correctly." She doesn't explain why the states don't exist, nor does she change her tone much at all. There's even still that mild expression. "Trinidad was quite a ways south of where I lived, and I don't think anyone's lived there for a while now." Or... most of the rest of the world.

Unfortunately, he's about 50 years before Virginia was established--Sir Walter Raleigh wouldn't reach the North American coast until 1584.

"Ah...unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to locate that on a map. Not that I necessarily need to know where you're from, to understand something about you or to respect you. Right?"

Ah well. It was a thought, anyway. Nostradamus has the right of it - imagine if they had to know what world someone came from if they were an alien, just to give them respect.

"You're right. Things change, too, over time." Inclining her head, she exhales a little laugh. "Respect's a bit more universal, or so I've always thought. Not everybody sees it that way, but I don't waste my time on the ones who don't want to give it."

"I think the question that needs to be answered is...how each of us sees giving respect. It's a culture thing, I think. You don't wish to be addressed with a formal title, I've gotten that already. Beyond that, what can I do to ensure you feel comfortable in this room with me?"

Doubtless, that's true. What respect Intira commands... well, socially speaking, she worked her ass off for. Even still, it's almost a laughable question.

"Nostradamus-- would it be Sir Nostradamus, actually? Well, either way, I'm already comfortable in this room with you. I can be very... frank about how simple it is for me, but to save you the long-winded, embarrassing explanation, there isn't much I can say that I don't think will sound redundant.

So long as you treat me like a human being, my comfort will remain." She can't help herself, of course, tilting her head absently toward him. "If you'd like to stare or even get handsy, you honestly have my permission. I'm a very simple person.

The same goes for you, though. I tend to keep my roommates generally aware of what I'm doing, and I don't bring strange people over without warning or anything, but if there's anything else you need me to do, I'll try to oblige." Try to, she says, because honestly... she's got some pretty ingrained habits.

"It is not Sir Nostradamus--I am not knighted. I am a commoner. So it'd be improper to call me 'Sir'. If you wish to be less formal, my Christian name is Michel."

He glances up. "When I avert my eyes, does it make you uncomfortable? I assure you, it is not an indication that you're not, ahm, very shapely. You're much more bold than any woman I've met, and it's unfamiliar. Even my wife was never so...daring, around me."

"Michel, then." It feels better on her tongue, easier to handle. Formality isn't her forte, but a name is also a name and she doesn't often know the difference.

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable, no. Rather... I was trying to be reassuring that it doesn't bother me if you don't." Laughing, she tilts her head to watch him for a moment. "I'd say it's a shame, what with how attractive you are, that she wasn't so bold around you, but... we're from very different times, after all.

Does it make you uncomfortable, though? My general state of undress? Boldness is a compliment, to me, but we are roommates, after all.""

"I'm...yes, a little uneasy with it, but I'm assuming you don't own clothing I'd consider appropriate and...this is your room too. We'll, ah. We'll work it out. I'm not asking you to dress up more for me."

He looks thoughtful. "Are there any other standards we wish to set for this space? Rules regarding cleanliness, and so on?"

"I didn't arrive with them, no, but I'm not exactly planning to stick with just these clothes. My hair might not fit in with what you think of for appropriate clothing, though." Cheeky, cheeky. But she returns to seriousness, inclining her head.

"Not particularly. I try to keep my side of my rooms pretty neat, but it gets a bit messy when I do start making things. So, unless you have any, I think we're good to go."

looking for a good time??

As a matter of fact, I was just thinking I was getting bored, new friend! What were you thinking? (^_<)〜☆

well i don't know~

i'm a little drunk, a little horny, and all alone. what do you want to do about it?

Hm~! Well, that sounds like the kind of problem that's easily solved with a partner, some more drink, and a very comfortable bed.

Or a less comfortable table.

Or a wall....

Actually, there are entirely too many options, aren't there? And not enough night to burn through them all, how rude.

Easier answer: Let's meet somewhere and figure it out from there, hm? (￣▽￣)/♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

great minds think alike. i'm entirely not picky about the details, i'm sure we can figure out a great way to get all that we'd like out of the night. it is still young, after all!

tell me where, i'll be there.

The nightclub? I haven't had a chance to check it out, and company will definitely be appreciated.

What should I be looking for to find you?

perfect choice.

dashing blond, perfect eyeliner, brows on point. golden arm. can't be missed!

Definitely sounds like it. You probably won't miss me... unless you're looking too high up. See you soon then, beautiful. (^.~)☆

[And true to her word, she'll leave with a passing note to Nostradamus, and after changing into a nice, sparkly shirt and skirt combo.

It feels nice to get out, honestly, even if it's into the neon-soaked atmosphere of Svelte, amid the glitches and NPCs and questionable locations. And before long, the doors of the nightclub are in sight and she's looking out for-- aha!

Dashing blond, golden arm - eyeliner and brows she'll confirm when she's closer. Regardless, she gives a wave as she approaches, cheery as ever.]

[ lucio wastes no time to go to what's already become his favorite venue in svelte - the night club. the sights, the sounds, the people, the drinks... the entire atmosphere is exactly lucio's thing. he slides in as if he's born to haunt the place and heads straight for the bar.

he orders two cocktails, fruity and alcoholic as fuck because he doesn't mess around. sure, his partner isn't here yet, but lucio has no shame and if anyone wants to assume he's double fisting it's not going to bother him.

over by the door, lucio leans against a pillar and waits. for who, he has no fucking idea but that just adds to the excitement. he's chosen a nice, airy silk button up that's... only buttoned once around his abdomen and otherwise flowing open revealing his abs and immaculate chest. a scar can be seen here and there if you look closely at his pale complexion.

it's not long before someone pops in, waving cheerfully with an inviting demeanor. he smiles and approaches her, showing her his blindingly white and straight teeth as he dips his shoulders in ]

Count Lucio, at your service.

[ he dips his shoulder down to her level and lets her take the drink, letting his hand linger against her skin. ]

I trust you had no trouble getting here?

[Honestly, she couldn't have picked much of a better partner-- well. Agreed to meet someone new, anyway. She'd be lying, on arrival, to say that she's unimpressed. Lucio is tall, handsome, and he has about as much interest in covering skin as Intira herself.

She's short, but it does nothing to change the way she moves, much less her curves. Thin, sheer fabric barely covers her bra, and glitters in shifting neon lights besides. They're a match made in Hell, probably.

Sure, she expects him to be a bit pompous, a lot self-absorbed, but there's nothing wrong with that. As long as she knows what she's getting into, and perhaps dares to find what lies beneath in the unknown future, that's all good enough.]

Count Lucio. I truly am a lucky one, aren't I? I'm Intira, it's a pleasure to meet you, Count Lucio.

[There's something between teasing and flirtation in the words, an odd little lilt that's just sassy enough. Her fingers curl around the drink as it's offered, and she makes no move to pull away from his lingering touch.

You would really think it'd been a while since she was last in this position. Maybe it has. When was the last time she actually went out...?]

No, not at all. Even if I hadn't been spying it before now, I've a pretty good sense of direction. You weren't kidding about the perfect eyeliner, either. Makes me feel a bit self-conscious, looking up to that amount of gorgeous.

[She is... absolutely free with these compliments, and there's no frustration or actual offense in her tone. It's nice, she thinks. Feels a bit like home, even if Lucio lacks the characteristic pink hair and dark skin of her most common companion.]

[ he grins down at her, expression inviting and height not at all intimidating. this is already going much better than anticipated, considering he had no fucking idea who he was texting in the first place. and what are the odds he finds someone who can respect him and appreciate him in all of his glory?

yes, this is going to be a fine night indeed. ]

Ah, you have nothing to fear my dear! [ he already knows just how gorgeous he is but the compliments empower him into an easy demeanor. he reaches out and runs his thumb along her jawline, admiring how well her body would fit against his own. ] This gorgeous is all yours tonight, Intira.

[ a cheesy wink, and then he lays his hand on the back of her neck. he's quite a touchy feely kind of guy and he likes to share his physicality with anyone that's receptive. the mental buzz slowly creeping up on him is also driving him to be more free with his actions.

he downs the last of the cocktail he's holding in his golden hand, displaying precise control of what is essentially a magical prosthetic. after nearly 20 years it's become no different for him than the flesh it replaced.

lucio leaves the empty glass on a table and heads back towards the bar, guiding intira along with him. ]

Seems I need another already. [ he laughs charmingly. ] Then let's get the night going, shall we? You can order anything you'd like.

[ there's no thought to the drink she's already holding and honestly he'd be impressed and delighted if she decided to double fist it to jump start her night. ]

[She knows how to charm most people, and she'd be lying if she said Lucio was one of the more difficult ones. Flattery won't get her everywhere, but it sure does a good job most of the time.]

What a wonderful evening to wake up to. [The curve of his thumb along her jawline is a wonderful little zing of excitement straight down her spine, lips canted upward in a pleasant smile.]

Are you sure you've the credits to raise an offer like that? I could be a pricey date, sir. [She isn't, and she knows it. Nor is she particularly surprised by Lucio's mastery of his prosthetic - those are as common as her EDLs, really. It's very pretty, granted, and even if she had something to say? There are better things to bring up than that.]

A grasshopper, if you would.

[It doesn't matter if the names have changed, because if there was a problem... well, it's a simulation. It can be made to behave for a minute or two. And the first drink?

It's fruity and sweet and gone nearly as fast as Lucio's, set on the bar with an absent twist of fingers to send the glass spinning for a moment. It settles light and airy in her head, and only as she leans on the bartop to peer up at him from behind long lashes does she remember how long it's been since she last drank in excess.

It's all good, though. As long as it's fun, she doesn't really mind a little buzz, a little dizziness. They probably won't be falling-down drunk before they leave, that would make things boring.]

You know, I could also note that when you're offering for someone to order what they'd like, they could easily come back innocently asking if that means you're willing to take orders, or if they'd have to win that right first.

Don't think anything of it! I am, after all, the Count of Vesuvia!

[ honestly, he isn't sure. he has no idea what the hell a 'credit' is or how much it's worth or how many he has (none...) but he's not accustomed to having to keep track of any of that sort of thing. it didn't go well earlier at the hex diner when he couldn't pay for his meal, but he refuses to think about that ever again. he's more of an in the moment person and until his debts are due it doesn't matter. he'll deal with it when he needs to.

what matters now is himself, intira, alcohol and fun.

lucio orders himself a long island iced tea and the biggest size they'd give him. he downs half the thing promptly on receiving, turns to intira and waits for the warm buzz to wash over him. ]

Innocently?! [ he laughs at that, and with confident eye contact he responds. ] It wouldn't be fun if I just told you the answer to that, now, would it? You're just going to have to try me.

Ahh, you're right, you're right.

[Translation: he has no money. Well, that's fine. They'll just have to find a way to skip the bill later. That's fine.

It's especially fine as lucio settles into his drink, half-gone in an eyeblink. Intira prefers a much more... stable approach, but she's not complaining. Who better to know one but oneself, and all?]

Oh yes. I am a terribly innocent little girl, you see. [Her brows raise as she stares up into Lucio's eyes, her own virtually sparkling in amusement.] Would it be exceptionally terrible of me to beg your gentleness, then? Because I think I may feel a little faint at the thought of being treated too roughly.

[In an absolute display of definitely honest truth, she leans in until she's nestled right in against his side, taking a confident pull of her drink. It's cool and comfortable on her tongue, and she exhales a little sigh, going so far as to lean her head against his chest.]

Of course, a beautiful guy like you, I'm sure you could handle any issue little ol' me could throw your way.

Me? Treat anyone roughly? Never.

[ the little bit of skin contact between her cheek and his chest is warm and inviting, bringing to light just how absolutely buzzed lucio is already. he wraps his arm around her waist and appreciates how she fits against him as he leans in to bury his nose into her hair, admiring the pretty perfume-y smell.

lucio's voice is low, but clear enough to be heard over the loud music blaring. ]

That is... unless they were to ask it, of course. I'm not one to deny someone of their desires. [ well. unless it interferes with his own agenda, but we don't need to talk about that right now. ] So. What comforts and pleasures can I provide you tonight?

[For the past couple of nights, Nostradamus has slept on his side, turned toward Intira, watching her as he falls asleep. The curse of the Suit of Hearts has left him with a quiet yearning he doesn't know what to do with. Except...he very much would like to touch Intira.

Tonight, he's absolutely at the end of his ability to resist. He waits for her to fall asleep, then creeps as quietly as a man his size can, over to her bed, to gently, gently, brush his fingertips over her hair.]

IC Inbox - DataBURST

Proxy Hotel, Room 309

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$mephistopheles

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-->action then, god help everyone

lucio doesn't need any help thank you v much

okay but lucio isn't part of everyone, they're the two problem gremlins

if you ask lucio, he is everyone because he's the only someone that matters ¯\(º_o)/¯

there's a reason no one asks you, Lucio....

what do you mean by that idk. everyone should ask lucio!!

lucio your opinion is wrong, i'm sorry to inform you

no it isn't, nothing about him is wrong. how could you say that?

Proxy Hotel, Room 309, Part II