ardyn izunia belongs in the garbage bin. (
daemonized) wrote2017-01-23 02:25 pm
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ARDYN IZUNIA
Ardyn Izunia. Professor of law. Lord of law. Liege of law. The one grading your papers. Leave a message.
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[Which, Rosalind has to admit, sounds a bit like her. She hates losing. Although really, she wasn't being a sore loser in that memory, it was just a remark.]
We weren't selling them, though. And they weren't for everyone. Just for her. I think we must have been waiting for her.
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[For something as simple as choosing imagery: a bird vs. the cage.]
You say that you weren't salesmen, but you must admit that waiting for her to choose a pendant is an oddly specific task.
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[Everyone's favorite answer.]
But she was important. She was vital, for some reason. But-- hold on.
[She hops down and heads into her bedroom. A moment of rummaging, and she returns with a drawing pad, flipped to a certain page. It's a fairly decent drawing, actually, so well done Rosalind.]
At least I can remember her face.
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The features are a little softer, younger, and the hair is different, but it'd be impossible for him to not recognize that face in some capacity. He looks at Rosalind, quizzically.]
It looks rather like someone I know.
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[Yes, she'd noticed that as well. Rosalind offers a shrug.]
I don't know why. Certainly it's possible I simply instinctively associated the girl in my memories with someone who looks similar, and now the image is stuck, but . . . if not, it raises a fair few questions, doesn't it?
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I find it hard to believe that your curiosity isn't eating away at you so poignantly that you haven't taken this up with her. Questions that must be answered and all that.
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I've an entire notebook of them, in fact. I've tried to answer a few on my own, but I'm waiting to see the professor in person. It's a bit . . . awkward, to say the least, to call a woman you barely know and tell her that you dreamed of a younger version of her in your other life.
[And if it's too awkward, Elizabeth might not answer her properly, which would spoil things. Better to wait, despite her impatience, and get more answers in the long run.]
. . . I still find the fact we spoke so in-sync strange. We weren't just teasing, we were finishing one another's sentences. I couldn't do that with you-- or anyone, for that matter-- if I tried.
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[But he'll not force her hand either way; it's a suggestion at best.
But back to the matter of finishing each other's sentences...] Was it more like you knew each other's thoughts?
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[Her mouth purses.]
And I still can't determine the nature of our relationship.
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[But even then, it's a bit odd. Yet what else could it be?]
Still not privy to his name, I assume?
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[She sets her tea cup down a bit hard, then, because she isn't a woman who takes mysteries well.]
All I have is his voice. And there's nothing I can do to learn more about him save sit and wait. I can't work on it, I can't even begin to try and solve this mystery, not yet, not without further information-- I have to wait, and I despise waiting.
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I do too. But if waiting is your only option, promise me you'll not spend every waking hour churning over these memories. [BECAUSE HE THINKS SHE MIGHT??] What good will that do you, spending 24/7 wrapped up in these anxieties?
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I'll promise you, if you resign yourself to being bothered by my texts in place of obsessing over my memories.
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Rosalind, your texts never bother me. You'll have to put in substantial more effort if that's your aim.