For columbiacalling, because I wanted to write about dumb sinners.
Love the Prophet, because he loves the sinner. Love the sinner,
because he is you. Without the sinner, what need is there for a
redeemer? Without sin, what grace has forgiveness?
Rosalind scowls the first time she hears the woman’s voice. It’s raspy, deeper than what she would expect for a lady everyone’s so terribly infatuated with, and yet there’s something that even the scientist find’s… comforting. She can see why the masses take solace in Lady Comstock’s so-called righteousness, why everyone seems to be so in love with a woman that is neither pure nor holy–and it just serves to fuel her foul mood.
She can feel Zachary’s eyes on her, but neither of them move once the record in the player comes to a halt. It’s only when Rosalind begins to pluck absently at her shirt sleeve that the Prophet rises from his chair, meeting her on the couch with the corners of his mouth turned up just so. Her expression is that of agitation, particularly upon seeing his smirk, and she reaches out quickly to turn the Voxophone machine off.
" She sounds lovely, “ she grits, eyeing him as he sinks down onto the sofa beside her. He doesn’t seem to understand that she does not want to talk about the holy woman whose voice had assailed her ears only moments before as he begins to speak of her cheerfully, leaning against the back of the sofa with a level of comfort Rosalind doesn’t think she could ever attain with the undergarments currently restricting her torso on. It’s merely forty seconds ( she counts them, admittedly ) before she shoots Zachary a sharp glare, curling her hands into fists.
” As wonderful as your future wife may be, I cannot say I am quite interested in listening to you speak of her in such an infatuated fashion. “
She sounds catty, and she can even hear it in her voice, the realization almost making her cringe. Zachary seems surprised–and then he laughs. It’s not the first time he’s laughed at Rosalind so openly, but that doesn’t mean she’s used to it. The woman’s face grows hot, and she opens her mouth before snapping it shut quickly. It’s hard to say laughing doesn’t suit his handsome features; she’s always loved it when the righteous man finds something to laugh about. They’re both far too serious for their own good sometimes.
” –Honestly, Zachary, there’s nothing to laugh about, “ she complains, but any further arguments die in her throat when his hand comes up to effortlessly cover her freckled cheek. The tender smile has her breathless, and she remembers the first time she saw him; he’s still as handsome to her as he was when they met the year prior.
” You’re jealous, “ he comments, but there’s no question to his tone, no room to argue. If there was, she’d find it and take advantage of it. ” You have nothing to be jealous of, Rosalind. My wife is… “
The scientist begins to rise, disgust crossing her features. She’s not having this conversation with him–not now, not ever. Lady Comstock is… vile–but she doesn’t even have a good reason to think that.
Zachary’s thumb and forefinger come up around Rosalind’s thin wrist, keeping her by the couch before she can scurry off into her lab to continue work on the device that’s had so much of her attention as of late. She meets his eyes hesitantly, and regrets it as soon as she does; the look of gentle curiosity is enough to bring her immense guilt about her feelings for the woman that captured the heart of Zachary Hale Comstock.
” Don’t look at me like that, “ she breathes, making a small noise of surprise when he tugs her back onto the couch, closer to him than ever before. He puts a hand on her knee and pressing his free index finger beneath her chin, eyebrow raised. ” … Don’t. Don't do that. “
” Do what? “ He’s exasperated, and she lays a trembling have atop the one on her knee. Zachary leans forward, so close she can feel the hair of his beard brush against her jaw gently, and Rosalind isn’t sure if she’s ceased breathing or just isn’t aware of anything besides how close he is. ” Don’t do what, Rosalind? “
He never gets an answer, because he closes the gap, covering her lips with his own. Rosalind definitely forgets how to breathe this time, but kissing him feels as natural as mapping out different universes, and she loses herself in it. In him. They break away with the faintest hints of smiles on her face, and suddenly Rosalind understands Lady Comstock’s Voxophone recording.
Love the Prophet, because he loves the sinner.