[ Public he can't do right now. not that anyone would probably be in the lounge at ass o'clock, but he doesn't want to take any chances. He opens the door without hesitation, allowing her in and to wander if she wants.
As a 1%er, Roman's penthouse is huge to say the least. New York City's skyline glitters in the night, fake but consistently comforting to Roman, the place surprisingly neat sans a few things here and there. The brunet heads towards the kitchen with ease, pulling two glasses. ]
The idea of going to the lounge seems like bullshit.
[ He's still dressed somewhat businessy, sleeves rolled up, top buttons on his shirt undone like always. Despite the later hour, he hasn't slipped into pyjamas yet. That would denote that he's acknowledged the passage of time and his need for sleep. ]
Besides, the quality's better here. Pick your poison, I've got most of it.
"Anything brown'll do," she answers back, as she does indeed wander just a little bit anyway. She automatically checks the boundaries of the room, instinctively marks blind spots or corners where something human-sized might be lurking, but mostly - that view.
She stops in front of the windows, staring out at it, arms folded. Her expression is difficult to read, but it's been a long, long goddamn time - a lifetime, it feels like - since she's seen something as familiar as an intact urban view.
"You seem like bullshit, but that's fine," she says vaguely without looking away, belatedly, and she means it: she doesn't believe him, but she's also not digging. They're not friends. She doesn't know why he invited her here, but she knows how to leave well enough alone.
"Oh, I am bullshit," Roman promises almost immediately, coming up behind her only after he speaks, careful to not sneak up on her immediate blindspot. He's learned from his time on the barge. A crystal whisky glass filled with Yamazaki 12 is handed to her, a second for himself. He looks down over at the fake lights, fake traffic. He'd caught that look.
"Be a lot cooler if it was real, huh?"
It's like he'd said before. It's bullshit. And bullshit is easy to handle right now, unlike the rest of his buzzing mind.
She takes the drink with a nod of thanks but then goes back to looking out the window. She's half expecting him to try to come onto her at some point, and honestly she might let it happen if it'll distract them both for a while, but for now she just watches a city that doesn't exist anymore in her world.
"I'm from Dallas," she offers. It might be smaller than New York, but from one view out of one window, no one would be able to tell.
"Haven't seen anything like it since the old world." A beat, and she adds: "Before the virus, I mean."
"Texas." Roman nearly full body cringes, though the half-a-smirk afterwards denotes it's (probably) a joke. He inhales, moving next to her, taking a sip and taking his time.
This is nice. He doesn't have to think about his dad, or Tom, or fucking Kendall in his cabin nearby, huddled up and deathtolling.
The corner of her mouth quirks anyway. She's used to Texas jokes, or she was once.
"Oh, you mean you don't already know Jesus, or Maggie?" she comments drily, but there's no real ire there. Jesus talks to everyone because it's what he does. She doesn't anymore.
"Wildfire. Most people seem to understand best if I say zombie virus, which is weird because I've never heard that and have actually dealt with them, but everyone else knows it even if they haven't."
Ah. True to Rosita's assumption, Roman nods immediately once he hears the Z-word, brows arched. He looks mildly surprised which means he's incredibly surprised, doing the mental math for half a second. He knows Maggie and Jesus are from where shit goes down real bad, but he didn't think they were from the same world. Probably not, now that he's given it more than 3 seconds of thought, but similar? Makes sense.
But as interesting as they are, they're not here. Rosita is. Rosita's interesting.
"Only zombie here is Kendall," he says wryly, but that feels off now. Like he's just crossed a line. Roman's brow furrows. That's weird, he makes fun of his brother all the time. Time to change the subject.
He chooses, unfortunately, something that she's not particularly interested in talking about while simultaneously underlining how different people are here. Other survivors know better than to ask what someone else has done to stay alive, mostly because absolutely no one wants to talk about it. The option he chooses is... tame.
"I have eaten dog food," she answers, whatever the next step is past deadpan, serious about both the truth of it and how unimpressed she is. She sips her drink, and doesn't taste it at all.
Roman's lips curl--gross, he's a sensitive delicate rich boy--but he otherwise decides it's probably a stupid idea to comment on it. That's what this sort of shit is--a delicate give-and-take, all that jazz. Don't want to overdo it just yet.
Thanks, Raylan, for that advice.
"My extremely pathetic brother," he says, and that doesn't sound right either, but he's going with the motions.
She's torn her gaze away from the window to fix that lip curl with a hard, long look - hard enough to prove that whatever she was when they first met was not unfriendly. This is the very definition of a warning not to push it, not to push her on this, and she is very, very still while he considers his next words.
He chooses to answer her question instead of asking anymore of his own, and she returns her attention to a city that isn't there, takes another sip of her drink, shoulders still square and tense.
"Well if that isn't the definition of extremely pathetic. He up now?"
The warning gets a bright, warm smile. Messaged received, instructions clear. Whether or not he'll obey? 50/50. But he wants to play nice, he just likes to know what buttons he can push.
"Yeah, shambling about like the walk--"
Better but the zombie jokes. Roman moves from the window to a nearby pristine couch, calibrates as nessecary.
"Yeah. But fuck him right now--he's not important. You are."
Rosita's skin is fairly thick; inappropriate humor is as good a coping mechanism as anything, really. She's just not prepared to listen to it from people who have no idea what they're talking about when she lived it.
She turns away from the window when he moves away, stays nominally facing him, but she's still largely paying more attention out the window. Until he says that anyway and she snorts, looking over at him.
"How'd you figure?" It's not as hostile as it could be. If that's his opening line, she'll consider considering it.
Roman shrugs. "Temp inmate," he reminds her. He's also trying to desperately push the events he'd learned about as far down into his mind as possible, shut it out a little. He sits on the back of the couch, not the actual couch itself, bird-like and bendy but looking extremely comfortable. He glances at the window, smirks softly.
There's something else, something way more interesting than 'I can pretend.' Roman's eyes have narrowed slightly, curious as he reaches out to take the empty glass.
"Pull the fucking 'I'm a warden and you're my inmate and that's why we're even talking' card. Like that's the most relevant detail about me when no one can even tell me why the fuck I get one label and Fucknuts McBigDick gets another."
She's not the angriest she could be about it, but she is definitely willing to argue about it if Roman pushes on it, and she makes no secret of it now.
Roman's brows lift, looking for a brief moment like a schoolboy chided, and decides a mock salute is probably pushing it. He likes Rosita enough that while he can't resist pushing a button or five, he'd rather not get smacked in the face or for her to leave.
Trying to be a good person, and all that.
"Gotcha," he says simply, tabling the word and putting 'temp inmate' in his mental rolodex of 'naughty words.' Maybe Rosita's craving an actual connection instead of being shuffled around. He can get that. He's seen it. Just because he got lucky with Raylan as his warden early on doesn't mean other people don't.
"Fucknuts McBigDick is pretty good," he confesses. "I may have to steal that."
She looks in the moment before he answers like she might smack him one, like she might just leave; she's tired of so much, and this was setting up to be something semi promising, but she's not interested in putting up with one for the other.
And then he just... lets it go. She's suspicious, of course, and doesn't bother hiding her wariness as she eyes him, but she does nod slowly. Yes, it is pretty good.
"I accept royalty payments with proof ratings," she answers, dropping arms that she'd folded.
"Or, you know. Just not adding yourself to the Fucknuts list."
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chiming
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Date: 2024-01-22 05:41 pm (UTC)From:[Yes, she's awake.]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-22 07:18 pm (UTC)From:you want to grab a spite drink in the lounge before you go back to spite sleep
no subject
Date: 2024-01-22 07:19 pm (UTC)From:Interesting.]
Spite drinks are my favorite.
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Date: 2024-01-22 10:56 pm (UTC)From:chopchop princess
lounge or cabin?
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Date: 2024-01-22 10:58 pm (UTC)From:I'll be utilizing the Royal We from now on abd expect the same.
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Date: 2024-01-23 01:47 am (UTC)From:fuck it
you know what
this just in
our royal decree says nothing fucking matters anymore
its all bullshit so
level 3, cabin 16
~~~> Action ]
Date: 2024-01-23 03:04 am (UTC)From:She doesn't answer, just turns up at the cabin door, fully dressed and looking exhausted but her dark eyes are alert, wary nonetheless.]
Do I want to know what changed?
no subject
Date: 2024-01-23 06:40 pm (UTC)From:As a 1%er, Roman's penthouse is huge to say the least. New York City's skyline glitters in the night, fake but consistently comforting to Roman, the place surprisingly neat sans a few things here and there. The brunet heads towards the kitchen with ease, pulling two glasses. ]
The idea of going to the lounge seems like bullshit.
[ He's still dressed somewhat businessy, sleeves rolled up, top buttons on his shirt undone like always. Despite the later hour, he hasn't slipped into pyjamas yet. That would denote that he's acknowledged the passage of time and his need for sleep. ]
Besides, the quality's better here. Pick your poison, I've got most of it.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-24 07:49 pm (UTC)From:She stops in front of the windows, staring out at it, arms folded. Her expression is difficult to read, but it's been a long, long goddamn time - a lifetime, it feels like - since she's seen something as familiar as an intact urban view.
"You seem like bullshit, but that's fine," she says vaguely without looking away, belatedly, and she means it: she doesn't believe him, but she's also not digging. They're not friends. She doesn't know why he invited her here, but she knows how to leave well enough alone.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-24 10:08 pm (UTC)From:"Be a lot cooler if it was real, huh?"
It's like he'd said before. It's bullshit. And bullshit is easy to handle right now, unlike the rest of his buzzing mind.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 03:52 am (UTC)From:"I'm from Dallas," she offers. It might be smaller than New York, but from one view out of one window, no one would be able to tell.
"Haven't seen anything like it since the old world." A beat, and she adds: "Before the virus, I mean."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-25 06:07 pm (UTC)From:This is nice. He doesn't have to think about his dad, or Tom, or fucking Kendall in his cabin nearby, huddled up and deathtolling.
"What virus?"
no subject
Date: 2024-01-26 12:46 am (UTC)From:"Oh, you mean you don't already know Jesus, or Maggie?" she comments drily, but there's no real ire there. Jesus talks to everyone because it's what he does. She doesn't anymore.
"Wildfire. Most people seem to understand best if I say zombie virus, which is weird because I've never heard that and have actually dealt with them, but everyone else knows it even if they haven't."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-29 08:41 pm (UTC)From:But as interesting as they are, they're not here. Rosita is. Rosita's interesting.
"Only zombie here is Kendall," he says wryly, but that feels off now. Like he's just crossed a line. Roman's brow furrows. That's weird, he makes fun of his brother all the time. Time to change the subject.
"You survive off of dog food, mad max style?"
It's a genuine question.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-29 09:47 pm (UTC)From:"I have eaten dog food," she answers, whatever the next step is past deadpan, serious about both the truth of it and how unimpressed she is. She sips her drink, and doesn't taste it at all.
"Who's Kendall?"
no subject
Date: 2024-01-30 06:49 pm (UTC)From:Thanks, Raylan, for that advice.
"My extremely pathetic brother," he says, and that doesn't sound right either, but he's going with the motions.
"Poor bastard's been in a two-month coma."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-30 07:31 pm (UTC)From:He chooses to answer her question instead of asking anymore of his own, and she returns her attention to a city that isn't there, takes another sip of her drink, shoulders still square and tense.
"Well if that isn't the definition of extremely pathetic. He up now?"
no subject
Date: 2024-01-30 08:20 pm (UTC)From:"Yeah, shambling about like the walk--"
Better but the zombie jokes. Roman moves from the window to a nearby pristine couch, calibrates as nessecary.
"Yeah. But fuck him right now--he's not important. You are."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-30 08:49 pm (UTC)From:She turns away from the window when he moves away, stays nominally facing him, but she's still largely paying more attention out the window. Until he says that anyway and she snorts, looking over at him.
"How'd you figure?" It's not as hostile as it could be. If that's his opening line, she'll consider considering it.
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Date: 2024-02-01 06:26 pm (UTC)From:"You been to the Enclosure yet?"
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Date: 2024-02-01 06:32 pm (UTC)From:She hates how people pretend to fucking care because they're calling themselves one thing and her another. For whatever their definition of care is.
She nods. "But if you like, I can pretend to be wide-eyed and naive so you can show me around."
no subject
Date: 2024-02-05 12:39 am (UTC)From:"Don't fucking do what?"
no subject
Date: 2024-02-05 01:52 am (UTC)From:She's not the angriest she could be about it, but she is definitely willing to argue about it if Roman pushes on it, and she makes no secret of it now.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-13 10:42 pm (UTC)From:Trying to be a good person, and all that.
"Gotcha," he says simply, tabling the word and putting 'temp inmate' in his mental rolodex of 'naughty words.' Maybe Rosita's craving an actual connection instead of being shuffled around. He can get that. He's seen it. Just because he got lucky with Raylan as his warden early on doesn't mean other people don't.
"Fucknuts McBigDick is pretty good," he confesses. "I may have to steal that."
no subject
Date: 2024-02-17 12:42 pm (UTC)From:And then he just... lets it go. She's suspicious, of course, and doesn't bother hiding her wariness as she eyes him, but she does nod slowly. Yes, it is pretty good.
"I accept royalty payments with proof ratings," she answers, dropping arms that she'd folded.
"Or, you know. Just not adding yourself to the Fucknuts list."
(no subject)
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