02.04.3014: Is Logic Treason?
Summary: Luke runs into Rozlyn, and they discuss recent developments as it pertains to her Cantosan research
Date: 18.11.2013
Related: None
Luke Rozlyn 

Atherton Mall
A very spacious Mall with many nice things.

There's a bar somewhere within the Atherton Mall. One of many, really. It's not a fancy place, but it also isn't one of those holes in the wall where the scum rub elbows with the rich that want to slum it up for an afternoon. Perhaps the place is still new enough to not draw much interest…

Whatever the reason may be, the floors and stools still have the sheen of 'new' about them. The place is crescent fresh, as far as public eateries go (though they serve little by way of food). It's not late enough in the day that wandering souls with a thirst for something that burns have packed the place out, but not early enough for the alcoholic lunch crowd either. Somewhere in-between the hour lies, with a few souls haunting the place. One of those is the Lady Rozlyn Orelle. She's settled at a curve in the bar, with a view of the entrance, though her dark eyes are focused on the bartop before her. There's a curve to her back as she leans forward, bent elbows framing the tall glass before her. One arm curls overtop the vessel, fingertips lightly surrounding the top edge as she wavers between lifting it or leaving it be for the moment. Her hair, usually caught up in some style, is simply worn in a braid down her back. She's attired in a long, grey sweater-dress style top over black leggings that tuck into mid-calf boots. At least her clothing is still as elegant as ever, but there's just something out of place about her; perhaps it's the dark expression that haunts her usually smooth features.

Sometimes, those nobles known for slumming it, prefer the finer things-or they like trying something new. More than likely, given the dress of the the current knight walking in-someone was here to be before a magistrate, pay a fine and simply smooth over things before his sister saw fit to emasculate him. Dressed to his station, Luke actually cleans up well. Dark slacks, caught in polished high boots, with spurs to denote his place. A dark vest, over shirt and tie, and finally the dark grey surcoat over all this, with a tinge of burnt orange at the collar-enough to denote house. Hands are in pockets, as he comes in, letting mismatched eyes scan over patrons and contents of the bar.

That's when they see something-or rather someone.


Her, is the best way to describe whom he is looking at, as often times in his mind he classifies her as simply,her. A smirk shows-though given the look of her visage, it drops to something more darkly neutral, before he is making his way over towards the woman in question, sliding up next to her at the bar first, as fingers rise up to catch the keep's attention.

"Whisky, neat." Luke says softly, before he is turning ever so slightly to glance at the woman next to him, and then he is looking forward to the back of the bar. "I don't believe, this would be a fine place for our spar, Lady. This seems the sort of establishment that frowns on those things." a try of humor as means of greeting.

There's rarely anything in specific to denote Rozlyn's station or House. She simply… is. Perhaps it's due to the fact that she rarely leaves the Ring. Perhaps due to being Elias' eldest daughter and second-born. Whatever it may be, the woman does not often find herself actually putting effort into making her House or station known.

As Luke settles in, she's lifting the glass with precise placement and pressure of fingertips, taking a long sip. It's a mixed drink, but no colors, straws, or fruit denote it as being feminine in the least. Likely, by the way she pauses after what she imbibes… it's something just strong enough.

"I do not believe this was the time nor place denoted in the schedule for the spar… Though I have not checked my schedule yet today."

Strange even more, perhaps, to see her outside the usual schedule one might have for 'working' hours. It's past lunch, but before dinner and yet, here she sits. Dark eyes finally rise from the bar's surface to regard the Knight and there's a slight furrow of brow; wrinkles forming faintly just above the bridge of her nose. "You are dressed well."

A smile shows ever so slightly before he is looking down, a brief nod as his drink is delivered. "Thank you." said softly, as Luke is glancing back to her, there's a look to a chronometer on the wall-and eyes flick back quickly. "My occasion was due to an appearance in court. There were some minor pictures taken." he added quietly, as his hand grips the glass. A sip and eyes roam over her once more. "You look good as well. The color suits you." Another sip-before he is staring straight forward another chuckle slipping free.

"I only have, because this is one of those occasions that one is not late to." Luke adds. "Before heading home, I thought I would have a drink-perhaps somewhere, where I am least likely to get into trouble." A half smile there as he swirls his drink. "Though it seems that chance is rising." His black eye cranes over. "But, that doesn't answer my question: why are you here?"

"And here I would have thought you to be the sort to play up the expected role. Provide the media something to talk of. A tattered coat, perhaps. Or a fresh black eye."

In her usual way, Rozlyn's tone makes it difficult to tell whether she's being serious or making a joke. The woman straightens after she speaks, lifting her glass and draining the rest of the contents. There's a slight shake in her hands as she sets it back on the counter, gesturing for the bartender that she'd like another.

"I am here because I tired of my apartments. Whatever you may think of me, Sir Luke, even I tire of the same four walls after a time."
"I am no harlequin or mummer for performance. Despite my blackened reputation, I do have some worth-even if in my own eye."

Luke's tone is neutral, as he takes a sip of his whisky once more. "Though." voice warm as his breath. "Next time, I'll be sure to consult you for what would make the best image." A half chuckle there, as now he turns to face her bodily as well, back given to the rest of the room, thus denoting she has his focus, as opposed to his drink. His smirk comes back up easily and rests on his lips before he is shaking his head.

"Lady Rozlyn, You don't know what I think of you-but I can assure you it is more than of a woman who only hides in her apartments or labs." brows furrow for a moment as he leans in closer. "So, I shall ask again, what has you drinking this time of day?"

"You have me wrong there, Sir Luke. I actually prefer the image you have put forward today. I had only gathered, from what I have seen and heard, that perhaps you liked this reputation you had gained. Certainly it differs vastly from your youth, does it not?" Either she's seen or heard such; it happens with Paramounts. The elder generations like to talk and often, the daughters end up listening to the aunties go back and forth on the various souls.

It's quite likely at one time, they saw a match within the two. Kindred spirits, perhaps, in bookworm natures. How the years can change a person…

"Ah." Rozlyn appears… out of sorts. Put on the spot without an escape or a handy excuse. The woman's jaw tightens slightly and she turns away just enough to be able to find momentary distraction in a new drink. This is picked up and studied; giving her some form of focus that isn't the Crow before her.

"I… ran into some issues in one of my projects." It's a cop-out, to be certain.

"Did I? Well then, I do hope the Lady doesn't think ill of me, for insinuating differ." Luke adds, before he is chuckling softly. "As for my image- I prefer being seen for the accolades I have won, whether good or ill. I am a knight." he adds, before he shrugs "Even if I am not the most perfect and virtuous of knights." And then he is raising brows. "You know of that?" almost surprise in his voice, he doesn't mask it that well. And then he falls into silence for a brief moment of drinking.

"I was considered soft then-and I believe my father, wanted a knight-not a priest. For the current incarnation of Luke Grantham my mentor can be thanked for that. He was a hard drinking fighting and fucking knight." a glance "Pardon my language." a sip and Luke is continuing, "He had me become a man in more ways than one." a frown there before he sighs softly.

"If I could reinvent myself-I don't know if I would. I am who I am-and there is some merit in it, but I assure you-there is more to me than fighting, drinking and fucking." Despite what might have been said.

Eyes are back on the woman, who perhaps in gentler years would have been an excellent match. But, both went their own ways and Luke, most likely ruined his own inroads there.

"You're not being open." Not accusatory or mean, rather Luke just notes it from observation. "No one tightens their jaw over an issue. You can talk to me you know. I am not one to speak to reporters."

"I know of many things," Rozlyn says with a faint smirk. This one, certainly, is intended to be a joke. She takes a long drink from her glass and sets it down. "The wonderful thing about being the eldest daughter is the extended family, especially the older generation, begins attempting to plan your future right around when you're," did she just use a contraction? "able to walk."

"Unfortunately for them, I am rather disinclined to the concept of marriage."

"You apologize for language, then use it again." Rozlyn actually chuckles. This amuses her. She shifts slightly, setting an elbow back on the bar to support herself. "It is not the reporters I worry of, Sir Luke."

"Even if the right man were to come up and sweet you up, lab coat and all?" Luke teases back, before he is inspecting the contents of his drink. A laugh, soft comes up before he drains what is left in his glass. A raise of fingers as another is ordered.

"I never claimed to be perfect at this, Lady."

The amusement is not lost on him, but still the knight keeps his grin in place. "Then who is it you fear? Surely it is not me." asks Luke, "Your Lord Father?"

"I rather doubt the chances of that," Rozlyn says, nose wrinkling somewhat in regards to the 'right man.' "I am disinclined to romance and have little time to devote to such matters…" Though the expression on her features reads that she's unsure about 'time.'

"Though, I do understand my… duties to my House. I am seeking out a suitable donor of genetic material so that I may carry a child and procreate as required."

Drawing in a long breath at the question, Rozlyn lifts her drink and drains the rest of it. She's actually quite the capable drinker; perhaps her brothers taught her. Or maybe the life of a scientist drives one to drink more than one may realize.

"Not my father, no. I am, unfortunately, under investigation by the Citadel."

Luke snorts, but he doesn't press further on the marriage topic. That's just a wormhole in which the conversation can be lost. Something that keeps his eyes on her in this moment of the conversation. As if trying to feel something out or pick it out-before he discards the notion all together. The rest, however the next statement has him laughing.

"Donor of genetic material? My gods woman, how does one deem a good applicant? Let alone- How?" and he is shaking his head and drinking a bit more whisky than he should. "There's a bit more fun to it, than Duty, Roz."

The second admission though has him pausing and setting his drink down. A confused look before he is clearing his throat. "I am sorry, I believe I heard that wrong?" Brow shot up. "Why are they investigating you?"

The laugh unnerves Rozlyn a bit and she looks even somewhat offended. "How? There are ample methods to test samples. Health history, genetic potential, and of course the more mundane concerns, such as the donor's House and own reputation."

The expression earns another tightening of her jaw and Rozlyn sits up somewhat straighter. With the bar for balance. "You did not hear wrong. As for the reason they are investigating me…" She draws a long breath, looking thoughtful. A gesture for another refill of her glass serves as distraction long enough for her to gather her thoughts. "Well, you may as well know, as my research has been taken and my accesses revoked. I am of the belief that there are alternatives to ending this war with Cantos and had been seeking methods of a more diplomatic route."

Luke glances back over towards Rozlyn, and his eyes lower to half lids, in that usual lazy look. "Roz. You were not conceived by tests, as much as floor exercises." A cough there before he is taking a sip of his whisky. "I speak of the flesh, my dear."

The rest though keeps and brings the knight into a somber mood. The drink is set aside as now he is completely facing the Lady Rozlyn, hands coming to sit in his lap-slightly as one arm is left to hang on the bar. Luke considers the noblewoman for a moment. "So your research has been focused on the hostiles?" Cantosians-same thing to him. There's no anger in the word for his enemy- but he continues on. "Do they suspect you of treason?" a serious question there.

"I have no desires of flesh," Rozlyn says, frowning absently. "While I am well-aware that I was not conceived as much, it does not mean I cannot provide to the future of my House without utilizing other methods. We live in a time in which it is acceptable for two Knights to utilize a surrogate so that they can continue to serve their duties. Certainly two men who wed do as such… Why can I not carry a child without having to be wed?"

Fingertips drum out a soft staccato upon the bar's surface. "It is not my primarily line of research. That lies in the area of blackholes and our surrounding galaxies." Rozlyn draws in a slow breath, not daring to look at the man. "Treason itself was not mentioned specifically, but implied, yes. Though I find it to be rather close-minded to insinuate such, as I was seeking out ways to minimize bloodshed on both sides."

"I am not accusing you of such. I am telling you though, that it is likely the most fun way of bringing a child into the world, than making sure you have the most perfect sperm to fertilize your eggs." A pause for a moment, as he mulls that over. "Indeed, that can be said of two men, or two women-however my lady-I still believe those couples enjoy the marital bonds all the same."

Eyes look to her fingertips, and then he is looking back up. "You never told me that- but I will make it down." the notion about blackholes and such. She might not look at him, but he does move so as to look at her. "Those in charge will level what words they deem. You understand that this war is a hard subject for all of those involved. Myself included." A pause for a moment. "I have an earned hatred of my enemy-but in that same breath would welcome peace and an end to this conflict." And so the knight falls silent for a moment.

"Can you explain why someone would call it treason-or at least imply it enough for an investigation?"

Unable to explain her own feelings on the fun — or not — regarding bringing children into the world, Rozlyn focuses on the latter. Even though it, in and of itself, is a difficult subject. The woman glances to the bartender, but alas… he's dealing with a man and a woman who appear to be discussing business matters. Her drink will arrive soon enough… One hopes.

"Like as not, it was one of those who investigated the crashed ship on Nubilus with me," Rozlyn explains, daring a look back to Luke now. "There was a Cantosan, still living. I have learned they are called Embedded…" She waves a hand slightly, indicating that whatever the Hostile may be is not the point. "She did not attack us immediately, so I did not allow the others to attack her. We managed to speak with her and attempted to remove her from the ship, but she opted to self-destruct. To suicide. I have also been more than willing to share records of my meetings with the Cantosan held prisoner and the Citadel feels that is restricted information."

"A ballsy approach, if I can say so, Roz, though I must admit, coming upon an enemy in a vulnerable state as being part o the downed craft- It would make it particularly hard for me to restrain myself from taking a coup de grace." Luke admits, before he is rubbing his face with his hand. A glance, and he reaches out for his whisky again, taking another long sip. Pausing he sets his drink aside, before reaching inside of his coat. "Do you smoke?" because he is going to.

"So, you suspect one of the knights or nobles along this trek to have turned you in, because you did the honorable thing in war-which is something rarely seen. Albeit you almost were turned to glass, which would have been unfortunate." and now he is quiet, as he produces his cigarette case out, offering it to the Lady first.

"I did what I would hope they would do, Sir Luke. I believe, based on what I have seen, that they can communicate with one another across vast distances. Perhaps a part of their cybernetics. What if this Penelope," must be the name of the Cantosan, "sent word that we not only restrained from attacking her, but aided her? She was unable to remove herself from the ship and would have suffered a slow, painful death upon the moon's surface."

Perhaps the liquor is making Rozlyn more candid than she usually would be. The woman is waiting her third… just since Luke's arrival. How many had she imbibed prior? She is certainly putting more weight upon the arm on the bar's surface. There is a small nod at the offer: "From time to time," she explains, accepting one of the cigarettes from the case.

"Had she attacked us, I would not have done what I did. However, I believe she had hoped we would find and aid her. The section of the ship she was in was purposefully opened to us. We never knew it or her kind existed before." The Orelle waits for a lighter to be produced as well, holding the cigarette absently in her hand. "The others with me were furious that I halted their attempts to outright attack her. I know people are upset with them. I know there is a hatred. I have been in the midst of an ambush before, Sir. However… I also believe there has been generations of miscommunication and hatred upon hatred as a result. It is a viscious cycle that will simply lead to more dead."

Cigarette is lit, before producing his own and lighting off of hers, because Luke is thrifty in that manner. There's a glance to her as he takes in a deep pull, before he is blowing smoke away from the both of them. A sigh, before he is taking another drag-the knight does not betray emotion as he listens in. "I understand what you did." he says finally. "Indeed, I understand it-because I have seen it done on the field when the Houses have been at one another's throats." a tic at the corner of his mouth-before he closes his eyes and is content to smoke a bit longer.

"However I also understand the concern of your party-in that there was a hostile on board, and she presented a danger." A rub of his jaw as he mulls over a few more thoughts-hidden in the plumes of cigarette smoke. "If I am honest, I do not think, I could have done what you did-but in that same time I do not think I could be entirely angry with your approach either." a sniff, and Luke is inching his stool closer. "I believe the anger comes from men and women who have seen their comrades and family members butchered without a chance of mercy or even the communication of such. I know I have seen that in spades in my own lifetime."

And so he takes another long drag of his cigarette and then Luke looks Rozlyn dead on. "So what happens now? With you-with your research?"

The closeness the Knight offers has Rozlyn a bit on edge; the need to lean in close to light the cigarette. And his own moving in closer. She holds up her own cigarette like a shield, keeping her arm angled across her person as it graces her lips. She exhales from a corner of her mouth, head turned slightly to let the smoke curl up and away.

"She could have caused the entire ship to destruct, but she opted not to. Instead, we were left with full access to one of their ships, something we've never had before. Including technology we've never seen before." She is drunk. There's more slips in her speech patterns.

"I know there's been many lost in the past… I want to prevent more in the future. They want us to submit to the slaughter and we want them to do the same. They have families… I know I would do anything to protect my family."

"It would have been in her prerogative to do so, or perhaps directive-I don't know. You destroy a ship with some of your enemies on it, I imagine that looks good in the collective eyes of your leadership." Luke rambles from the side of his mouth. Where as she shields, he remains where he is uncomfortably within her boundaries. Strangely enough he is fine being there-though one can easily read the body language.

"I do find it interesting she let you take to the ship-It could be a trap, but then I am most wary about gift horses and the like." A sniff and the knight is looking to her, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, before he is reaching for her drink, and moving it away just slightly.

"Ah, and there is the crux. No one is going to willingly submit to slaughter. No human at least. It is in our DNA to fight-and with this conflict I daresay some of us are born to it." a furrow of his brows. "So we're left in the cycle. Unless peace can be bought or brokered-which it looks highly unlikely." But looks can be deceiving. "Have they made the investigation formal? What of your research have they caused issue with?"

Though she's shielding herself, much as it were, with the cigarette, Rozlyn does not move. She's the daughter of a Paramount. She will stand her ground… and there's a warrior in her, in that. Just a warrior of the mind, perhaps, as she's not one to step out onto a battlefield.

The cigarette is lowered marginally as she reaches for the drink, despite the slight distance it's been moved. She holds one to the side while the other is brought to her lips for a long drink. It leaves momentary gaps; chinks in the armor. "She could likely have set the ship to self-destruct at any time. Even as we removed her. Perhaps not, but once we… or someone… gets to return, they will have access to the computer systems." She sets the drink down again, glancing sidelong at the Knight.

"I am only aware of the investigation due to my Father's letter. I do not know if it is formal or not. They have, at least, not approached me directly. I… do not know what exactly they take issue with." Rozlyn's voice lowers and her gaze drops away and to the side as she turns in towards the bar slightly, shoulders rounding. "All of my access to anything related to the 'Hostiles,'" the word systems to cause a distaste in her mouth, "has been revoked and all of my research taken."

It's admirable-the stance she takes, and so much that he remains there ever testing those cracks and gaps in her armor. Still it doesn't feel like a cruel game. There is nothing to gain that can be seen from it. Luke watches her eyes, and then watches her cigarette-before he is reaching for her drink again, this time moved further than where he had it. "You're getting drunk, Rozlyn." there is no judgement in his voice, or chiding. Just a statement.

"So they at least let Lord Orelle know, that you are being looked into, instead of just freezing you out of your labs." A frown there before he nods. "A normal tactic-which leads me to believe, you're likely not going to be arrested and charged. They would have done that by now." Not that he knows the innermost workings of the Citadel-but was it serious to the treason. Well, it makes sense. Still the knight watches her before he is turning away slightly to ash his cigarette. "Though it makes me wonder if they might require something of your father."

"Yes, I am getting drunk. You are interfering with my intentions." Rozlyn takes a long drag on her cigarette and leans to grab the drink again. Half of what remains is drained and now she keeps hold of. Her own sword and shield; her weapon and her shield.

"The implications were that by using his own men to take my research and his own rights to revoke my access, I will be left alone should I abandon my pursuit of knowledge on those lost on Cantos…" Rozlyn draws in a breath and it shakes slightly. It's faint and barely there, but yes, the inhalation does catch in the process. She swallows and closes her eyes for a moment. "I am at a crossroads."

"If you're wanting to make the case that you're of good intent-if they are watching you, you might wish to stop." Luke says, before he glances back to her. "Besides, I cannot see you as the getting drunk type. Tipsy? Sure-but drunk-I don't know if have the experience to whether that storm, my dear." This time he doesn't reach for the drink. If she is wanting it he will leave it be. Her decision of course.

"Whether to abandon your pursuit-or try to continue, knowing you could bring your own ruin about?" Luke asks dryly, before he is taking a drag of his cigarette-and then moves to drop it into his nigh empty whisky glass. "What does your heart tell you?"

With cigarette between her lips, Rozlyn's hand is free when Luke calls her 'my dear.' However, she /is/ drunk and bar-fighting is not her usual style. So certainly, there's form when she reaches out to slap him… but the woman is a good number of drinks further in than the Knight.

"You do /not/ have permission to address me like that," her voice rises a measure or two, but not enough to really draw the attention of the couple other patrons embroiled in business matters.

…and perhaps it best that as a result, she misses his question. Does Rozlyn even have a heart?

His hand is quicker, and likely the fact he is a seasoned drinker and bar fighter adds into some of it. Likely a good part of it is, that it is a sloppy girl slap. A sloppy drunk girl slap, actually and that grip that catches her is like a vice at first, but softens quickly.


is said softly as now Luke is in that dangerous range of kiss or kill-or in this case burn your face with a fucking cigarette. Eyes stare at hers, before he finally leans back, and carefully releases her hand. clearing his throat, Luke moves to lay some credits on the bar to pay for his drinks.

"I did not mean-" and he bites his tongue for a moment. "I am sorry, Rozlyn." a sniff as he glances back. "Would you like any advice-or would you rather I fuck off, now?"

The grip on her wrist clearly upsets Rozlyn further. It can be seen in the way her eyes narrow slightly. The way teeth come down upon the filter of the cigarette. But the need to exhale cuts through the haze quicker than logic and she draws her hand back in, shaking, to take the stump of the thing away from her lips. As she drops it, much as he did, into his whiskey glass, there's a long exhale of smokey breath.

"I was the one out of hand, Sir Luke," she says, voice wavering and yet… intense. She looks sidelong towards the man, drawing in a slow breath as she reaches for her glass to finish the drink. Credits find their way across the bar. Perhaps she is taking the unspoken advice and making it her last drink. "And what advice would a Knight have for a scientist?"

His eyes don't leave her, save now, as he rises from the stool, and sets his coat to rights. A glance to her wrist, and Luke raises a brow. The question unspoken, but he is clearly making sure she is alright. A deep breath, before he is running fingers back through his hair. "My advice, I'd give to anyone in this station." A beat. "There are two ways to go about this, this safe way and the way you feel compelled to act. How your guts tell you-what you believe needs to be done."

He does offer his arm out-though he knows they are close to the Orelle holdings-or at least close enough for a tram stop. "If you're not cowed. Then do with how you are compelled." said finally. "It is what I would do-and I would support you in such an endeavor-whatever that means to you."

"I do not recall…" Rozlyn's brow furrows and for once, she struggles to find her next words. "the last time I … was told anything by my gut." There's cross-signals, perhaps. Her eternal war to remain in the cerebral, fighting with the alcohol's tendency to pull one further down. Luke was well-right… she may get tipsy and be able to handle well her drink, but by and far… drunk is not her rightful state.

"Logic dictates that I give up the search and return to my prior… studies." She's attempting to stand now and ah, her legs don't want to go where she ditates.

Rozlyn's eyes widen as she pitches to one side; directly to the right of the Knight, unfortunately.
Arm out as Rozlyn goes tittering-first grab misses, which has the Knight moving quickly, to gather her, before she hits the ground-which thankfully he does. However, poor Rozlyn is going to have to deal with being pressed against Luke's side as he tries to keep her up and stable. "Sometimes, Roz-Logic isn't everything." Which, likely she will disagree with. Now, keeping her against him, he starts for the door.

"Allow me to get you home, please."

She may prefer hitting the floor, but then… what might any rumors speak of? The daughter of a Paramount, allowed to stumble to hit the floor? Rozlyn does not handle being pressed against the man well and there's a brief few seconds where she seems primed and ready to fight him… but either logic or the drink wins out and she instead opts to let him assist her to the door.

"Logic is all I have," she murmurs after a long moment of silence; a phrase intended largely for herself, but loud enough to overhear easily.

For her sake, Rozlyn isn't at least groped or snuggled. Rather he keeps her propped with him, and is careful in his movements. The Knight at least seems to be trying to protect her image as he neither seeks to make her stumble-or look as if she is awash over him. Though as they near the door, and Luke spies the way to the Tram, he does look at Rozlyn for a moment.

"I sincerely, do not believe that." but his murmur is soft-and could be lost if one was not careful. And he goes, to see her off home.

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