1. Anonymous asked: So, in Constants and Variables, what would've happened if Robert had slept with a woman as revenge?
Constants and Variables ロベルトの外伝
"By virtue of your outstanding academic achievements, you have been given an opportunity that few have - an opportunity to work with us here at Monument Island, learn about the specialized machinery in use, and possibly even be given the chance to observe the Specimen."
The five young members of the Physics curriculum at Columbia's sole science training facility were listening with rapt attention, their young faces shining with pride. It was the same speech Robert had given every year since they'd come up with the idea to bring a few of the most promising students over to see who would be the best recruits for the Science Authority, but it never failed to please.
"You'll report directly to me for the time being, but by the fifth week we will have transitioned you all to one of the division heads once you have a sense of where your talents can best serve Columbia." One of the students raised his hand. "Will we get to meet Chief Scientist Lutece?" "You already have." Polite giggles. "She and I both hold that title, as you may—or may not—know. But yes, Madame Lutece will be lecturing several times in the next few weeks."
Robert heard a knock on the door. "Ah. This must be Dr. Marshall. She'll be walking you through the standard safety procedures for the rest of the day today. Are there any questions before you start with her?" Silence. "Thank you all, and I look forward to working with you for the next ten weeks." The students filed out. The last, a rather striking brunette, flashed him a shy smile as they left the room.
Robert gathered his things and started the walk back to his office. It was always at least one of them, he reflected. Male or female, focused on him or Rosalind, there was always one student whose hero worship was as clear as if they had been carrying around a bright flag. Impromptu visits during office hours, occasional gifts, the odd proposition or two.
He and Rosalind had always laughed about them at home (not cruelly, he thought, but he had always been so focused on her that it had not occurred to him to give any consideration to their puppy love). However, Rosalind's recent admission - more than an admission, he reflected, rolling his eyes - had left him a bit raw. So when the brunette came into his first scheduled office hours, he greeted her warmly, and bade her come in.
"What can I do for you - ah -" "Emily. You didn't remember my name, did you?" "No, I'm afraid I didn't, though I will now. How can I help you?" She showed him one of the problems that had been assigned for their homework, and he leaned in close to her as they worked through it. He brushed his hand over hers at one point and she reddened all the way to her hairline, and was unable to answer the next question he posed. When the problem had been completed, she went on her way, still blushing.
He waited three visits, then took his chance when she showed up late for office hours on a Friday night. "Good evening, Emily. To what do I owe the honor?" She was dressed well, he observed. Freshly done hair, pretty clothes. "Are you going to a party after this?" "Maybe," she said, smiling. They worked through the problem - she did not seem to have much trouble with it, though he was not going to call her out on it - and after they finished he sat back. "Well, I suppose I'm done for the week now. Would you like a drink?"
"Don't you have to get home to Madame Lutece?" He wasn't quite sure if she was implying something, but he decided to respond as if he didn't understand. "No, she's out tonight. What are you drinking?" Bolder now. "Whatever you're having."
He poured a finger of the single malt for both of them and handed her the glass, then raised his for a toast. "To physics?" She giggled. "To physics!" and drank a sip, grimacing a bit. They chatted idly as they sipped their drinks, then when the conversation died down Robert stepped over to her, took her glass, set it on the desk, tilted her head up, and kissed her.
She reciprocated, melting into him, her excitement almost like another presence in the room. Her kisses were inexpert, but heartfelt, and he found himself getting aroused even sooner than he'd expected. He turned her around and walked her toward the desk, kissing her, his hands on her full breasts, the taste of the whisky on her lips and tongue.
She slid onto the edge of the desk and opened her legs for him, and he pressed up against her. Her hand had found the front of his trousers now, and she was rubbing him through the thick cloth. He paused for a moment to undo his clothing, then her hand was actually on him, stroking in a rather compelling rhythm that he did not want her to stop. She pulled her skirt up and looked up at him. "Do you want to…" "May I?" he asked. "Yes, absolutely."
He slid himself into her wet warmth and was immediately struck by a vision of Rosalind's face. He stopped moving for a second with the pain of it, then shook it off and lost himself in the pleasure, biting down hard on his lip to make sure that he did not forget where he was and say the wrong name.
He looked down at the girl. Her eyes were closed and she was whispering his name over and over again, looking like she was a thousand miles away. After a not extensive but still respectable interval, he gave himself over to the sensations and finished the task at hand. Still breathing hard, he looked down at the girl. "Are you…" She nodded, looking stunned. "That was…amazing. You are amazing."
He smiled at her. "You are a very promising student, Emily."
"Next week, then?" he said.
"Next week," she smiled.
2. superspambutt asked: Lutece twins watching a foreign film without subtitles and understanding none of it.
Robert: So I got the part about her parents turning into pigs.
Rosalind: That was straightforward enough, though what on earth were they eating?
Robert: I don't know. They looked like huge squishy onions.
Rosalind: So now she's stuck here. And there's a big bathhouse? And all sorts of bizarre creatures?
Robert: So far. Wait. Now there's a woman with a huge nose smoking.
Rosalind: Her nose isn't smoking.
Robert (punching Rosalind on the shoulder): Go home.
Rosalind: I AM home. Now she's making the little characters float around.
Robert: Now who is that dragon guy?
Rosalind: I thought he was the girl's friend.
Robert: But he's working for the smoking nose lady.
Rosalind: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BABY I CANNOT HANDLE THIS (goes to the kitchen for a snack)
Robert: Bring me a Zebra Cake, would you?
*Rosalind comes back with Cheetos and Zebra Cakes*
Robert: So here's a slime monster? And she's working in the bathhouse now? And the slime monster had a bicycle in it?
Rosalind: *eats Cheetos in silence, wipes her hands on Robert's pants*
Robert: Fucking hell. Fucking quit it.
Rosalind: You picked this movie.
Robert: It won an Oscar!
Rosalind: Must have been a slow year.
Robert: Now there's this thing with the mask? It has a crush on her?
Rosalind: That's not going to end well.
Robert: Now it's throwing gold everywhere? Fuck, it just ate that motherfucking frog!
Rosalind: Not the kind of guy you could take home to mother, then.
Robert: They're making her deal with him.
Rosalind: Assholes. But we knew that.
Robert:….so the witch has a good twin?
Rosalind: So do you.
Robert: *tickles Rosalind under the chin in her tickle spot*
Rosalind: Stop…it…you..ha ha…swine…we both know I'm the good twin….
Robert: *tickles her on the backs of her knees*
Rosalind: *dope-slaps Robert on the back of the head*
R obert: OW! Quit!
Rosalind: Say I'm the good twin!
Robert: Yes, I'm the good twin.
Rosalind: NOT LIKE THAT
Robert: But you said….
Rosalind: We're missing the movie. Is that lamppost hopping?
Robert: ….
Robert: Well, that was lucky that she knew that none of the pigs were her parents.
Rosalind: Uh huh.
Robert: I have no idea what just happened here. I guess everyone is happy.
Rosalind: Make sure you get the version with subtitles next time, lizard.
Robert: I'm not sure the subtitles would have helped.
3. Anonymous asked: A continuation to the fic where Rosalind and Robert have their firstborn, this time, the child's a few years old already. (Possibly 4-5)
"Mama, can I get a lollipop?"
"Yes, but only one. We need to get home to your brother and the nurse."
The clerk smiles, and Rosalind says with a grin, "She's certainly got her father's sweet tooth, that's for certain." The girl cheers and runs over to choose from the display while Rosalind finishes picking up the things that they had gone shopping for.
As she is walking to the counter, she notices a man that she has never seen before sitting at the counter of the small café that is connected to the store. He is an older man with a sad air about him, but something also speaks to her of danger, and death.
"Anna, come here," Rosalind whispers. "What, Mama?" "Anna, let's play a game. The game is that we're going to go see your father now, and you need stay as close to me as you can until we get there, and be as quiet as you can. Can we do that?" The little girl nods, very serious now. She loves these games that her mother and father play.
Rosalind finishes paying for her purchases – she thinks she may have been short-changed, but does not have the time to think about it right now. Don't panic, she thinks. He'll realize you're on to him. Just go about your business. She thinks of the baby at home with the nurse, and decides that she is going to drop off Anna with Robert, and then go home and get the baby.
Robert is sitting in his office, grading papers. His face in repose is weary and it is clear that his mind is elsewhere. He startles when he realizes who is there. Anna whispers, "Is the game over, Mommy?" "Yes, and you win." Anna shouts, "Daddy!" and runs over and climbs into Robert's lap. "Rosalind, what—" quieter now, "is something wrong?" "I think…I think I'm being followed." "I'll keep Anna here. You go home and get Robbie and the emergency bag."
Robert distracts Anna with a toy and hands Rosalind a loaded pistol behind her back. She goes home with a sinking feeling. It has been a very long time since she's killed a man, and it is not something that comes easily to her.
When she walks in the door, there are men there – one older, one younger, and the one from the café. They have Matilda at gunpoint. She is sobbing, and trying to calm down Robbie, who is screaming. The older of the two men speaks. "Rosalind Lutece?" She can see the confusion on the nurse's face when she is addressed in this manner.
"No, I'm not. My name is Mrs. Harrison."
"Regardless, you'll be accompanying us back to Columbia." Her knees almost buckle out from under her.
"No, there must be some mistake. My name is Edith Harrison. I don't know a Rosalind Lutece."
The man from the café steps out of the shadows. "With all due respect, Ma'am, I'd know you anywhere."
"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir. Do we know each other?"
"Perhaps not here. But elsewhere." She is unable to speak, but mouths the word, "Booker."
They stare at each other for a long moment while the baby cries. He nods, and says, "Gentlemen, I believe I've done my job here."
"Certainly. Our mutual friend will arrange for your debts to be settled. Father Comstock will be pleased with your work." He exits, heavy boots on the floorboards.
"That being said, ma'am, it's time to go." "Fine. Fine. But I am bringing my child." The younger looks at the older. The older shrugs. "It'll help keep her in line. You should know, ma'am, that if you take one step out of place, or try to call for help, he dies." She closes her eyes and bows her head. "I will need to gather a few things for the journey."
The older one nods and follows her into the baby's room as she packs the requisites. She lifts Robbie out of his crib, without looking at the nurse, and the man escorts her out the front door. As they are getting into the ramshackle Model T, Rosalind hears a single gunshot from the house, and the younger one bounds down the front steps and hops in the back seat next to her, and they drive off, towards the coast.
4. superspambutt asked: Prompt: Write your favorite Bioshock scene in the form of a soap opera (bonus: write a Spanish soap opera). Sudden amnesia and long lost family members are NOT optional.
This week on Hearts In Columbia:
Comstock: Here is the Lamb of Columbia.
Lady Comstock: What? A child? Who were you unfaithful with? That Lutece harlot?
C: No, she is my child from another universe.
LC: what that's impossible! (A random woman comes in and starts tidying the room)
LC: Who are you?
Servant: Just the maid.
C: She looks familiar…
Servant: Ha i am no servant, I am your long list sister come back to kill you!
Comstock: I dont have a sister.
Servant: No, you just forgot! And so did i! (tries to stab Comstock and the baby. Fade to black)
(cut to Robert and Rosalind standing in Lutece Labs)
Rosalind: Robert, I…I'm going to have a baby.
Robert: Oh! my sweet! that's wonderful!
Rosalind: But (dramatic pause) it may not be yours…
Robert: What? You…were unfaithful?
Rosalind: Yes.
Robert: With who? I'll kill him! (rosalind unrolls the list, robert gawks)
(cut to scene of Fink kicking Robert's ass)
(cut to other scene of Booker kicking robert's ass)
(cut to sofia lamb and brigid tenenbaum kicking robert's ass)
Robert: But you couldn't even…
Tenenbaum: Don't think I couldn't make it happen, liebchen.
Robert arrives back home, bloody and half unconscious.
Robert: Congratulations, anyway (passes out)
5. Anonymous asked: Writing prompt: One of the Luteces is masturbating and the other hears them when they walk past the door and then proceed to do the same while listening
Robert was exhausted, and after the last meeting where he fell asleep on his feet in the middle of a sentence, he cancelled the rest of his meetings and classes for the day and headed home to take a bit of a nap and rest. Rosalind was on an inspection round with the Science Authority staff until the evening, so the house was empty. He had a few slices of the cake that was in the pantry while looking at the mail that had arrived in his absence, then, stripping down to his underthings, laid down in bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He dreamed broken dreams, of blood and terror and a beautiful voice through a tear, like a siren's song. He dreamed, too, through the eyes of other Roberts and other Rosalinds, because it seemed the lord of that realm does not concern himself with the niceties of the many worlds.
He woke, feeling slightly ill, but still much better than he had when he lay down. The hole from the broken floorboards carried sound between the two floors with great fidelity, and he listened to see if Rosalind was in the house. He could hear her sniffling a bit, and the off-key humming that she continued to deny was her habit, and now and then a page turning. She was more than likely in the front room reading, probably wearing that soft purple bathrobe that she had taken from someone's house through a tear. The house was so still he could even hear her breathing if he paid attention.
He was about to get out of bed and let her know that he was home when he heard a catch in her breath and her weight shifting on the couch. He listened, his body tense. Her breathing had gotten a bit faster, and he could hear the small, soft noises of her fingers exploring the wetness between her legs. He heard the book put down on the floor as she turned her focus to her task.
While they had been lovers for a year now, he had never caught her in the act, though she had walked in on him a number of times to very pleasurable conclusions, he remembered, smiling. He had never asked, though, whether or not she pleasured herself – she was still a private person who did not open up on a whim. He realized that he had not asked in part because he still bore the assumption that women did not do such things. It was a foolish notion, but one of which he had never had to disabuse himself until now.
He came back from his train of thought to realize that his cock was throbbing, demanding its due. He slipped his hand down and started a slow rhythm through his clothes, careful that the bedsprings did not squeak and give him away. He could hear her gasping now and her movements getting faster, the sounds of her fingers rubbing quickly over her wet lips. He finally gave up and took himself in hand, offering up a silent prayer that he could manage to bring himself off without making noise, for surely if she realized that he was home she would – He stopped there and focused on staying still, silent, but still finding the right rhythm and pressure.
Rosalind's choked sighs were coming faster and faster now, and she finished, panting, with a fierce, low moan, breathing fast but steady afterwards, and picking up her book without missing a beat. A few more strokes was all he needed, his eyes shut tight and the memory of the sounds she had been making in his ears, and he cupped his hand around himself to try to catch the evidence.
He listened, trying to see if she gave any sign that she had heard him. Nothing. Now just to figure out how to ever go downstairs again, he thought. He was sure he'd come up with something, eventually.
6. superspambutt asked: Remember the punk Bioshock au? Here's an idea: Fink, the original drummer of the Luteces' band, was kicked out for "being an asshole" so he creates a new band with Comstock. Battle of the Bands ensues between the two bands.
Jerry ran down the hallway of the warehouse that they rented as their rehearsal space and rounded the corner into the larger area. "Hey guys, I'm here, I'm sorry I'm late, my mom needed me to go to the store. I—"
Rosalind was on her back on the old plaid couch, skirt around her hips, her long bare legs bent backwards onto each other, a bored look on her face. She took a drag off of her cigarette and ashed onto the floor when he walked in. The room smelled musky, earthy, smells that Jerry had never experienced before.
Robert was between her legs, jeans around his knees, pounding away at her with great enthusiasm. He lowered himself down, resting on his elbows for a moment, when Jerry walked in. His face was flushed and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.
They looked at him for a moment, then Rosalind pulled her arms up above her head and yawned. "Oh, just finish already, will you? He's already seen us." Robert stared for a moment, and Rosalind made an impatient sound and a slight twitch of her lower muscles. Robert moaned, closed his eyes and found his rhythm again.
Jerry ran outside, feeling light-headed, and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths. They were—but weren't they twins—and who would even believe him if he told anyone—was that even legal—what if she got—
A few minutes later, Rosalind walked out to where Jerry was hyperventilating and pulled him inside. Robert was on the couch tuning his guitar with a lit cigarette in hand. Jerry looked at the couch with horror, then chose to stand. He reached into the messenger bag that he had around his shoulder. His voice was barely audible. "I wanted…to…show you these…spreadsheets, I'll make copies before the next rehearsaI. Merch sales were pretty good at our last gig, and we turned a small profit that I think at this stage should really be put back into a number of capital investments. I've drawn up a brief cost-benefit analysis for the ideas that I have, but I'm certainly open to further conversation." "I wanted to also show you the results of some of the focus-group testing that I've had my father's firm conduct…"
Robert looks at Rosalind, looks at him, walks over, puts a paternal hand on his shoulder. "Jerry. You're a great guy and all. But we've been talking here. And, let's be entirely honest, if we wanted someone to vomit corpo-speak at us, we could have gotten straight jobs and have lovely homes and Volvos right now." Rosalind nods.
"Well, listen, Robert, if you guys ever want to have any chance at success, you have to pay attention to these details now, not later. I think I've got a lot to offer you guys here, aside from my drumming."
Rosalind sauntered forward, thermos filled with her favorite drink in hand, taking Robert's cigarette from between his fingers. She inhaled, and blew a lungful of smoke and whiskey ginger breath into his face. He bent over in a coughing fit.
"Jeremiah. Take a fucking hint, will you?"
"Now, let's not be hasty…"
"You are a mediocre drummer on your best day, and furthermore you are a military-grade cunt. So fuck off. Get your drum set out of here."
A rumpled, hung over guy walked in dragging a cart. "Where should I set this up, guys?"
"Wherever." Jerry stared. "Who the hell is this?"
"We took the liberty of locating a new drummer. Meet Booker."
Booker walked forward to shake Jerry's hand, but Jerry ignored him, and walked over to start packing up his drum set and putting it in his car. Neither twin nor Booker raised a finger to help him. "I'm going to start a new band with my friend Zack. We're going to be a hundred times better than you jerks. And we're going to win the battle of the bands next month, not you." Rosalind rolled her eyes. "I suppose we'll leave that one up to the almighty hand of the market, won't we, Jerry?"
7. Anonymous asked: Rosalind suspending Booker and Robert in the air.
Excerpt from Rosalind Lutece's personal correspondence to a college friend.
One of the central problems with the Lutece Field, one that we have managed to lessen but never eliminate, has always been its inefficiency. Once an atom is entangled the reaction is largely self-sustaining, but the sheer amount of energy required to convince matter to do something outside of its usual routine is enormous. This is both a blessing and a curse, limiting as it does the creation of the effect to those with the knowledge and resources, but it also sharply limits its usefulness.
To make a long story short, I witnessed the use of the vigor Fink is calling Bucking Bronco the other day, and was shocked. It was clear that the Lutece Field was in use. My first call, of course, was to my lawyer, who might well by this point install a direct line to Fink Manufacturing, and the second call was to allow myself to obtain a quantity of the substance for analysis.
What I found during said analysis was the sort of thing that almost makes me forget what an awful human being Jeremiah is (something that I must keep in mind, as you know). He seems to have found a way to power the effect with salts, through the body's natural processes. It cannot be sustained for long, due to the limits of human physiology, but its military and personal defense uses are easy to imagine.
I had never seriously contemplated the use of vigors. I know that you are unfamiliar with the unique culture of Columbia, but among our social set it is seen as primarily an indulgence of the lower classes. The temptation was too strong, however, and after consulting the bottle for the proper amount for someone of my sex and age I measured out some of the brownish liquid and tipped it back into my mouth.
I was seized, then, by intense cramping, and terrifying visions of my skin parched like a desert floated before my eyes. All effects except for a slight dizziness passed, and I reached out my hand at a chair in the corner and without any further preamble aside from my desire to see it happen it was floating in the air. I repeated the process until I could no longer do so.
My knees went out from under me at that point and I do not remember the next few minutes. I had done something irreparable to my body with less thought than I give to choosing fish at the market. And, along with the accustomed hungers that plague human flesh, I now had another: the craving for salts. We luckily had some on hand, but it is something to keep in mind for the future. It seems, however, that they do not naturally deplete in the way that food and drink are used by the body to sustain itself; if I do not use the ability I do not experience the craving.
The front door crashed open at that point, and Robert came in - I should say staggered in - with a gentleman whom I have never met before, and hope to never meet again. I should say that Robert is in the habit of spending two to three evenings a week at a private club to which he belongs, and while generally nothing worse comes of it than a few eagles lost at the card table and a bad hangover, he had apparently made a bosom friend this evening.
He was a shady-looking fellow, this DeWitt; a private investigator, from what I could piece together from Robert's somewhat patchy recollections of the evening. Robert introduced me as his beautiful sister and proceeded to kiss me in front of this interloper. I write openly enough in these letters about our relationship, but here, our secret is just that - this is not a town where you want to commit any sexual indiscretions, let us leave it at that. I hauled back and slapped him, more for appearances than otherwise, and laid into him for having been so foolish.
At that point, the other man stumbled up and to my horror attempted the self-same thing on my person. I lost my temper and all semblance of self-control and used my newfound ability to float them up near the ceiling, then drop them hard on the floor. Mr. DeWitt then had the grace to make an exit, reeling slightly, and I floated Robert up to our bed with a basin next to him for whenever he woke.
Robert was out of commission for a full day afterwards, and when he found the energy to remonstrate with me about my actions he as a result could not do so from a position of high moral ground. I have not experienced any additional side effects from the vigor aside from an occasional urge to eat hay.
8. Anonymous asked: Prompt: Robert giving Rosalind her first orgasm
Rosalind looked nervous as they walked over to the bed together.
"Robert…I…I don't…"
He pulls her to him gently and kisses her, then looks her straight in the eyes with his hands on her shoulders. "Rosalind, if there comes a point – any point – where you want to stop, we will stop. Immediately. Just say the word."
"I don't know what to do, Robert. I haven't even really done this to myself. I'm—" she looks down at her feet, "—afraid that I'm going to disappoint you."
He rests his chin on the top of her head, puts his arms around her. "I'm probably not much better at this than you are, but I've at least had a bit of experience. Would you mind if I took the lead?"
Her face is equal parts skepticism and relief. She takes a deep breath and nods, and then sits down on the bed. Robert goes and lies down in his customary sleeping spot. "Come here."
She crawls over and lies down in front of him, pulling a blanket over the both of them to guard against the chill of the evening. He moves his body behind her and puts his arm over her waist, then drops light kisses across the back of her neck. His hand drifts to her breasts, and he teases her nipples with his fingers, switching back and forth, until they get hard and she starts squirming.
"Do you like that?" he whispers in her ear.
"Yes," she says, her breath coming a little faster now.
"What does it feel like?"
She thinks for a moment. "It feels…it feels like I want you to keep touching me there. That if you stopped, I'd keep doing it myself. And…I don't know. I feel…heavy, and…warm…you know…down there."
She can feel his hardness against her back, and a wave of pleasure goes through her stomach at the knowledge that he is enjoying this. By instinct, she moves so that he can have her body close to his, and he presses into her with a restrained hiss.
She rolls onto her back, and takes his hand, and puts it between her legs, with a nervous smile and a kiss. She is so wet, he thinks with relief, and puts his fingers into her warmth to retrieve some of the nectar. Thus lubricated, he starts sliding his fingers up and down, and in and out of her. She winces once, and he moves more gently in response.
"How is that now?"
Rosalind's eyes have drifted shut, and he can feel her trying, and failing, not to press up against his fingers. "Robert, I—don't stop."
She can feel a delicious tension building in the muscles of her lower body, and after overcoming a pulse of shame permits herself to pursue it, shifting her position slightly so that Robert's fingers find the spots that she craves. Robert is pleased to see that she is breathing fast now and arching her back, and he continues his task, following her motions.
Without warning, she takes his hand and uses his fingers to focus in on the spot she wants most, and within a few seconds she has lost control and her body tenses and then she is moaning, and she is done, and breathing hard.
She lies still for a moment, then opens her eyes, and turns to him. He has lost some of his ardor as he focused on her pleasure, but as soon as she slides her hand onto his cock it stiffens up again, and it does not take her long to bring him to orgasm, his seed spurting into and dripping from the light red hair on his belly.
She smiles, her face open and trusting in a manner that Robert has never seen. "There is a world of difference between the dry facts of human anatomy…"
"…and the sorts of things one can do, if one lets oneself?
"Indeed."
9.
allonswinz asked: Post-Infinite where Rosalind finds out that she is pregnant with Robert's child
There are more places outside of time than one would suspect at first, places not visible to creatures whose minds are bound to a particular circumstance. Places, some dusty and dim, some iridescent jewels, where a brother and a sister can live, unbothered.
They took their time – whatever that meant – locating a place where they could always return, that they could make their own, where they could find each other, and lived alone. It was a good-sized house with a small wedge of land around it that had come detached from its timestream. It was still in good repair, which they soon discovered was a blessing.
Once things were pulled out of time, they generally remained as they were. Glasses of milk left out on the table would never spoil, and no matter how hard they tried to break a window or light a match, they could not, though lights brought in from the timestream would remain lit forever without changing.
They were content to experiment, to write, to make occasional expeditions to obtain scientific supplies. They had no need to eat or drink, though they were able to enjoy each other in the same way they always had.
They had absolutely no idea how it could have happened, though. One moment Rosalind was flat-bellied, and the next she was pregnant and giving birth.
The child appeared both male and female, depending on the viewer and the angle of sight. It did not eat, and rarely cried, but laughed, and played, and reached out to touch their faces and tug their hair. Words were occasionally visible in its skin, floating by like the half-seen fragments in one's vision.
They were unprepared, though, for the people, lost in time, who found their way to their doorstep. At first they took them in, gave them beds, let them sleep as they cycled through their lives.
They discovered, though, that when the newcomers worshiped the child, touching its pulsing skin and stroking its cheek they became, for a moment, the selves that they believed in, the selves that they loved, and then vanished.
But more kept coming, and more came every day.
10. Angsty drabble
She opened her eyes to the familiar smell of the contraption at full power, and knew something was wrong. She threw on a dressing gown and clattered down the stairs.
He had packed the large suitcase, the one that she had bought for her occasional excursions to university libraries. He turned when he heard her come down the stairs, but a look of resolve was on his face.
"I'm sorry, I meant to be gone by the time you awoke. Goodbye, Rosalind. There's a letter on the table to explain."
He stepped through the tear, and the tear faded, and he was gone.
Rosalind did not know how long she stood for, but some force compelled her to the contraption and shut it down safely. When she had pulled the last lever, she saw the letter on the table.
She sat down heavily on the couch and ran her finger through the slit to open the letter. Robert's crisp handwriting covered a single page inside.
"Rosalind,
I understand from our conversation and later activities last night that you care for me a great deal. As much as it pains me to admit, upon reflection I do not return those feelings. I regret having reciprocated your affections last night, but I was rather in shock.
I think it is best for me to return to my own world, and my work there. As much as I enjoyed our collaboration, I feel that your work is considerably more limited by practical considerations than mine and I have learned all I need to from you. I am not sure how I will explain my absence, but perhaps not too many questions will be asked.
I regret taking your suitcase, but I see no other way to convey my things back to my world. Also, if anything else results from our inappropriate folly last night, I would advise you to see a doctor and take care of the matter as quickly as possible.
I wish you luck in your work and regret that I could not have remained a brother to you.
Robert Lutece"