[ Ford is ready to leave it at that. Ford is hoping to leave it at that. Ozpin is obviously not in a normal state of mind right now, and continuing what's already a somewhat fraught conversation now that he knows that much seems unkind. Waiting until they're both feeling like themselves again seems like the far wiser decision by far.
But then Ozpin replies again. Ford, who has gotten up and taken to pacing around his room since sending his last message, checks his inbox and walks directly into one of his chalkboards. Ozpin is sounding both a little more like himself and a lot less like himself and Ford is increasingly at a loss for how to react. Sitting down first is probably a good start, which he does. Directly on the floor.
What the hell does that mean? An invitation to dinner isn't necessarily anything but platonic. The Xs and Os, on the other hand, are impossible to misread unless they somehow represent something completely different in Remnant. He can't even start to puzzle out the emojis. And the request for a timely response is... bizarrely bossy, if Ford's being totally honest. But if it's that out of character, shouldn't he go along with it? That's probably best, right? He isn't sure; the whole situation is complicated by the lingering hope that all of this is meant with total sincerity and the stubborn refusal to accept it as anything except a mistake.
This time, Ford's response comes after just a moment has passed. ]
I'd like that. Dinner sounds wonderful.
My schedule is free, so let me know what day works best for you.
[ The text comes in, and Ozpin is humming with tension, waiting for the furious hurt as Stanford realizes that someone is pretending to be— as best he could know— a dead man.
That is not what he receives. ]
'He can't possibly...'
[ Ozpin is at a loss for words. In the back of Ruby's head, he goes stunned-silent. There's only the briefest flicker of something warm and charmed at "Dinner sounds wonderful" before he recognizes that Ford is merely playing along. Trapping the impostor? Gathering data? It seems the Stanford thing to do.
He is still itching to snatch the Fluid and sort the rest out himself. It is only the fresh memory of Ruby's panic that holds him back. She is not his puppet. ]
'If you will not give it to me, please hand the Fluid to Oscar.'
[Oscar reads the following replies with his heart pounding in his chest, quietly praying to whatever gods or Sodder or whomever cared to listen that they did not just fuck up Oz's first romance in thousands of years. Biting his lip nervously, his gaze darted between Ruby and the screen while he mindlessly shoved a cookie into his mouth.
--Upon seeing the reply, he nearly choked.]
I-- I can't believe that worked!
[He blurted out, entire person lighting up with his glee.]
[ How long does it take Ford to respond? Only about a minute. Ford doesn't know that, though. You could tell him an hour had passed and he wouldn't be able to argue. The ;D has robbed all concept of time from him.
Finally, however, he responds. ]
Friday night is fine.
But I think you should get some sleep, Ozpin.
[ Preferably right now, so Ford can get some advice from Stan before the conversation continues and flies even more off the rails. ]
[Ruby can feel she’s probably stepping over a line here, but she has fo cross it. This wasn’t just about Oz’s feelings, this was about Ford. She had to make the move for Oz.]
I’ll do just that. I’ll be thinking of you, Stanford. ~Night Night~
[And just like that. She hits send and throws the fluid to Oscar.]
Stuffing one last cookie in his mouth, he caught the Fluid and took off.]
Keep in touch Ruby! I'll help with whatever I can!
[And with that he was gone-- not without the raucous sound of a small body unceremoniously tumbling down the stairs, punctuated with a chipper 'I'm fine!' before the front door slammed shut.]
It comes and goes within the span of a moment: there is no flash of gold, no fanfare, no out-of-body tug. It is simply that, in one moment, Ruby has full and easy control of her body. In the next, there is the painless but disorienting pressure of being joined in the driver's seat, and she (they) acts on a reflex that isn't her (their) own. They jolt forward to grab at the Fluid, a beat too late to stop Oscar sprinting off with it.
There is a distant clatter, a yelped reassurance, the slam of a door. Ruby's arm falls again, returned to her own power. In her mind, Ozpin shifts away from the front.
(If she will not respect his autonomy as an individual—)
(She is eighteen. She is exerting her newfound control over him in ultimately harmless ways. Stanford would not believe such a message to be him; it is not even an effective humiliation. He owes her patience.)
(Ozpin settles back with a distinct air of simmering irritation, anyway.) ]
'I see you're enjoying yourself.' [ He does not sound pleased. ] 'Tell me, how do you intend to make good on this romantic Friday evening date, given our condition? I don't imagine you will be joining Stanford for a dinner by candlelight.'
[It's a disorienting experience, something Ruby hadn't expected. A flash of panic bleeds through the emotional connection they have. Along with the distinct memories of Ruby's body being controlled by puppet strings by Bill just over a week ago.
She steels herself and tries to push those memories down. This.... wasn't the same thing. She kept mentally repeating that to herself until she it stuck.
She watches in the backseat of her own eye as Ozpin tries to get a hold of the fluid but Oscar makes his escape successfully.
She feels the irritation as he hands over the controls back to her and she flops back on her bed. Her breathing calming down at the loss of control.]
I was just trying to do a good deed. Come on, I got you a date after all.
[The next words hit her like a truck and she just lays there for a second. For about a solid minute she can't think of a proper response but eventually she settles on one that suits the situation.]
Fuck.
[She rolls over and buries herself in her pillow for a minute. Maybe if she suffocates the both of them, Oz will end up in an older, more age appropriate body and she can just expire.
Eventually she pulls herself out from pillow and says.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
3/3
'Will you allow me to fix this?'
[ He means, of course, by taking control. ]
no subject
But then Ozpin replies again. Ford, who has gotten up and taken to pacing around his room since sending his last message, checks his inbox and walks directly into one of his chalkboards. Ozpin is sounding both a little more like himself and a lot less like himself and Ford is increasingly at a loss for how to react. Sitting down first is probably a good start, which he does. Directly on the floor.
What the hell does that mean? An invitation to dinner isn't necessarily anything but platonic. The Xs and Os, on the other hand, are impossible to misread unless they somehow represent something completely different in Remnant. He can't even start to puzzle out the emojis. And the request for a timely response is... bizarrely bossy, if Ford's being totally honest. But if it's that out of character, shouldn't he go along with it? That's probably best, right? He isn't sure; the whole situation is complicated by the lingering hope that all of this is meant with total sincerity and the stubborn refusal to accept it as anything except a mistake.
This time, Ford's response comes after just a moment has passed. ]
I'd like that. Dinner sounds wonderful.
My schedule is free, so let me know what day works best for you.
no subject
That is not what he receives. ]
'He can't possibly...'
[ Ozpin is at a loss for words. In the back of Ruby's head, he goes stunned-silent. There's only the briefest flicker of something warm and charmed at "Dinner sounds wonderful" before he recognizes that Ford is merely playing along. Trapping the impostor? Gathering data? It seems the Stanford thing to do.
He is still itching to snatch the Fluid and sort the rest out himself. It is only the fresh memory of Ruby's panic that holds him back. She is not his puppet. ]
'If you will not give it to me, please hand the Fluid to Oscar.'
no subject
--Upon seeing the reply, he nearly choked.]
I-- I can't believe that worked!
[He blurted out, entire person lighting up with his glee.]
Ruby... we really do make a good team!
no subject
Then the surprise once the actual response comes in. Ruby looks between the fluid and Oscar and let's out a giddy squeal.
IT WAS WORKING! THEY WERE DOING IT.]
Oscar, high five!
[She raises a hand for a high five and then brings her hands back down toward the device.]
Just have to seal the deal. Oscar, Oz is getting a little more testy. Let me know if things look dicey grab the Fluid and book it.
[She then start to type.]
Perfect~!
Friday night would be ideal.
It's a date.
;D
no subject
Finally, however, he responds. ]
Friday night is fine.
But I think you should get some sleep, Ozpin.
[ Preferably right now, so Ford can get some advice from Stan before the conversation continues and flies even more off the rails. ]
no subject
I’ll do just that.
I’ll be thinking of you, Stanford.
~Night Night~
[And just like that. She hits send and throws the fluid to Oscar.]
Run!!!
no subject
Stuffing one last cookie in his mouth, he caught the Fluid and took off.]
Keep in touch Ruby! I'll help with whatever I can!
[And with that he was gone-- not without the raucous sound of a small body unceremoniously tumbling down the stairs, punctuated with a chipper 'I'm fine!' before the front door slammed shut.]
no subject
[ Sent.
It comes and goes within the span of a moment: there is no flash of gold, no fanfare, no out-of-body tug. It is simply that, in one moment, Ruby has full and easy control of her body. In the next, there is the painless but disorienting pressure of being joined in the driver's seat, and she (they) acts on a reflex that isn't her (their) own. They jolt forward to grab at the Fluid, a beat too late to stop Oscar sprinting off with it.
There is a distant clatter, a yelped reassurance, the slam of a door. Ruby's arm falls again, returned to her own power. In her mind, Ozpin shifts away from the front.
(If she will not respect his autonomy as an individual—)
(She is eighteen. She is exerting her newfound control over him in ultimately harmless ways. Stanford would not believe such a message to be him; it is not even an effective humiliation. He owes her patience.)
(Ozpin settles back with a distinct air of simmering irritation, anyway.) ]
'I see you're enjoying yourself.' [ He does not sound pleased. ] 'Tell me, how do you intend to make good on this romantic Friday evening date, given our condition? I don't imagine you will be joining Stanford for a dinner by candlelight.'
no subject
She steels herself and tries to push those memories down. This.... wasn't the same thing. She kept mentally repeating that to herself until she it stuck.
She watches in the backseat of her own eye as Ozpin tries to get a hold of the fluid but Oscar makes his escape successfully.
She feels the irritation as he hands over the controls back to her and she flops back on her bed. Her breathing calming down at the loss of control.]
I was just trying to do a good deed. Come on, I got you a date after all.
[The next words hit her like a truck and she just lays there for a second. For about a solid minute she can't think of a proper response but eventually she settles on one that suits the situation.]
Fuck.
[She rolls over and buries herself in her pillow for a minute. Maybe if she suffocates the both of them, Oz will end up in an older, more age appropriate body and she can just expire.
Eventually she pulls herself out from pillow and says.]
I guess I got us a date.