ain't no party like a murdergame afterparty, cw: some mentions of alcohol

[originallutece]

[--cuz a murdergame afterparty is horrifying and sad and possibly a little threatening if Mahiro insists on bringing his gun with him, please don't do that buddy.

Honestly, guys, we're running out of cooks at this rate. But it's nice to gather after horrifying events, and so while Rosalind's cooking skills are absolutely terrible, her alcohol-pouring skills are a little better. Come have a glass of wine or three and ruminate on the fact that there's only fourteen of us left.]

Comments

[maddogs]

Ah? Are ya considerin' it?

[buddyoldpal]

[ Nishitani's eyes light up. He's been gunning for this from the start!!! ]

We'd show ya a damn good time, Lutece-han.

[originallutece]

[HE SURE HAS BEEN, and truth be told, she's still not entirely certain it's a decision she's committed to. Rosalind stares at the two of them, her expression carefully neutral, as she thinks about this.

It's not a matter of physical attraction; they're both quite appealing in that rough way. Radically different from Robert, of course, but that's a good thing; if either of them were too close to him, they'd fall laughably, woefully short. She'd constantly compare them and find them wanting, because there's not a man in the world who can compare to Robert. But no, they both of them are cut from an entirely different cloth, and so she can successfully keep the two separate in her mind.

Ah, Robert . . . but truthfully, Robert won't mind. She knows that, because she wouldn't mind if their positions were reversed. There's no chance of either Majima or Nishitani mistaking this for something more than it truly is. The Luteces are obsessively possessive, but there's a world of difference between a quick (or perhaps not so quick) fuck and something more intimate. One is allowable, especially when it's something so interesting; the other isn't.

So. So it becomes a matter of deciding if she wants to, pure and simple.

She's so very tired. Not physically, but emotionally. She's seen so many people she's grown fond of die, people she'd privately thought would be safe. People who died for stupid reasons, for petty reasons, self-sacrifices and suicides, and now tonight . . . Jin hadn't needed to die. Mako shouldn't have died. But nonetheless, there they are, their corpses whisked off to god knows where and their souls perhaps trapped in some nearby dimension.

There's nothing to say she won't be next. It's just as she'd said to Majima that one shameful night, when she'd wailed and wailed: she really might not see Robert again. She might die tomorrow. It's a horrifying thought, one that leaves her breathless, but one has to consider all the possibilities, no matter how horrid. She might just die soon.

What will happen if she refuses them? She'll go back to her room, perhaps with them in tow, and spend the rest of the night brooding as she stares at the wall. She'll think again and again of those last moments with Jin, where she'd brushed him off and ignored him in favor of research. She'll think of Robert, and she'll think about the fact she might never see his face again, and her heart will ache and ache for what she's lost.

Or she could say yes, and find a way to turn that big brain of hers off for a few hours.

Which sounds the better option?]

. . . if I hear either of you breathe a word of this tomorrow, it won't be our hosts nor our fellow captives you have to fear.

[Yes, in other words.]