( HANNAH MARKS, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that ROMY RUBENSTEIN is a TWENTY SIX year old GRIFTER that has been in Chicago for EIGHT YEARS. According to government files, they’re a MUTANT on LEVEL THREE with the powers of RUSALKA PHYSIOLOGY. That must be why they’re DEVOTED and VENGEFUL. If you ask me, they remind me of THE CREAK OF DAMP WOOD EXPANDING, THE CLAMMY TOUCH OF SEAWEED ENTWINING YOUR WRIST, AND THE ELEGIAC FALL OF MARINE SNOW IN THE MUFFLED DISTANCE. They are affiliated with THE CULT OF THE BLESSED.
Born to wealthy parents. Had everything except their attention as they spent most of the time travelling, leaving Romy at home with an au pair and her siblings. Consquently, she acted out a lot to try and get mom and dad’s notice.
After going to study at University of Chicago (which she is pretty sure she could have gotten into unaided, but her parents hefty donation probably didn’t hurt), she spun further out of control with no supervision. This culminated in her stealing a yacht, and crashing it.
Romy drowned, as did her friends on the yacht with her. This was the moment that catalysed her mutation: she regained consciousness, able to breathe underwater. Managed to drag one of her friends from the wreck, narrowly saving their life.
Never dried off! She is now perpetually dripping water (which can fortify plantlife and control people a la a siren song), has long gills on her neck that open up when underwater, sharp teeth, and webbed fingers and toes.
Her surviving friend was disturbed by the changes, and also unable to forgive her. Though she’d saved their life, that wouldn’t have been necessary if Romy hadn’t crashed the yacht in the first place. So, they left her. And her parents didn’t want much to do with her either: Romy was perpetually dripping all over their nice house and it was a threat to the decor.
They bought her a houseboat to which she has been banished, and now Romy spends her time on the Chicago River. The houseboat is overflowing with plants, which Romy likes more than she likes most people.
The mutation came with an unfortunate proclivity for drowning people. One night, she tried to drown a certain Santiago Quijada. The attempt was unsuccessful, but he liked her attitude and her abilities.
This is how Romy got the job as his right hand man (this is how SHE thinks of it, regardless of how he might describe their relationship), using her persuasive powers to lure people into the cult.
Kind of obsessed with Santi. Not sexually because she’s a lesbian, but just in general, and gets weird and jealous about him. The vibe: cat rolling about in the sun displaying belly; she needs him to acknowledge how cute the belly is but if he touches, she will spring shut claws OUT
‘i’m his silly little rabbit...’ ‘his what?’ ‘his silly little rabbit’ ‘does he call you that?’ ‘no :)’
QUICK FACTS
Never finished her degree (causing a yacht wreck ending the lives of several students will do that to you). But she was studying biology before, because she always liked plants even before she got power over them. And we love women in STEM!
When drowning people, she does crocodile-esque death rolls. She doesn’t have to! She just thinks that’s more fun (and she’s right)
Misandrist :/ sorry. Kind of hates men on sight, but will play nice and be friendly or flirty if she thinks it will help her lure them into the water.
Strained relationship with her parents. They never had much time for her, and even less so now she’s a soggy bog bitch. Has an older sister and a younger brother who she gets on a bit better with, but Romy is definitely the black sheep of the family. She’ll take their money though <3
Jewish, and mostly keeps kosher. She is the reason you see rabbis on tiktok answering questions like ‘is it possible for human meat to be kosher?’ (it’s not possible. disappointed rusalka noises).
“why not?” fins means shrimp, of course… but wouldn’t be entirely upset to know that shark is edible, too. it only makes sense, doesn’t it? sharks are fish. fish are edible, therefore sharks have to be edible, too. as long as nobody is trying to take a chomp out of him, he can accept that fact. maybe he wouldn’t mind if someone took a bite after he died. he’s never considered what would happen to him when he passes… it would be nice to make someone happy one more time. “okay,” he answers, taking romy’s word at face value. if she says that her beloved pet won’t be scared and that her boat is safe for someone like him, why would he question it? people seem to find it easier to be honest with him than not. he just isn’t normally worth the effort of a lie.
Oh, jeez. Does Romy have the energy to explain the concept of keeping kosher to a guy that probably never even heard of the Hebrew Bible? She kind of doesn’t, but also, she doesn’t want to lie. Seems unfair to patronise a guy that’s been nothing but open to new knowledge thus far, and she’s also not keen on minimising her Jewish heritage anyway.
“It’s not kosher. Fish has to have fins and scales for it to be kosher, which I mostly try to stick to because I’m Jewish. Which is a religion, if you’re familiar with those. Like, Christianity, Hinduism, et cetera. So lucky for you, any shrimp and lobster we find are all yours, because I have specific rules I stick to.”
Oh she’s impatient. The shy ones often can be: finally getting the confidence to hit on someone, he swears they often get handsy sooner than anyone else as though the moment may slip away. Or it’s unintentional. He won’t break her—size difference alone has him humming low. He wouldn’t break her, unless that’s what she wanted.
Giving in, he moves his hands to properly hold her. It’s hardly dancing— more an excuse to be too close in the dark room, the noise around them. “I know,” he pulls her closer, a hand sliding down to her ass, “but you’ll make me wet.” Said with a cheeky smirk as he is (literally) getting him wet thanks to the eternal drip from her skin.
Uh huh, how droll, the wet jokes. There’s something Romy’s never heard before. Alright, if a woman makes the joke she’s very liable to go for it; she just has a lot less patience for men, even when she’s the one that started it. It’s hard to play it right, because she doesn’t want to act suspiciously overeager, but she is suspiciously overeager. All she wants is to drag Samson out of here, drag him under the water’s surface and hold him while the fight leaves his body.
Sometimes this game is fun, sometimes it just stokes her impatience. Tonight is more towards the latter, especially because Samson is really not shy. He’s quick to get handsy, which doesn’t happen that often with Romy: her mutation can make people reticent, especially her cold, clammy touch, but this guy just about seems to get off on it.
“Yeah? Well, that’s fine by me. I’m always wet.” She grins, one eyebrow cocked as if to say she knows they’re both being cheesy as hell, still not quite making eye contact as if it takes some degree of bravery to tease him. Spurred on by the hands on her ass, though probably not in the way Samson might imagine, Romy clears her throat, up on tiptoe, leans in close to make sure he can’t miss her words over the throbbing music: “Hey, do you maybe wanna get out of here? Find somewhere… I don’t know, quieter.”
Her heart races, and the earnest plea in her eyes is real. Just, again, probably not with the intention Samson might think.
romy’s promise isn’t necessary—he will hold her to it regardless of whether or not she speaks it aloud—but he does appreciate her dedication. there are few in this world not directly connected to himself that can find themselves as dependable as she is. with some restraint on her belt, she could easily find herself one of the best that the blessed has to offer. without it… well, santiago has every reason to believe that she won’t allow that to happen. he has always hated waste, and having to tether her directly, to steal away so much of what makes her her would be an incredible example of it—of utter waste.
“i know you will,” he agrees, letting his hand fall to her shoulder. he gives it a gentle, paternal squeeze—knows that this is what she needs. there is a time for criticism, for punishment, and there is a time to build her back up. all of it is down to balance. “tonight, i will be retiring early. i have some plans to make. we’ll be having someone new joining us very soon. someone less like them,” he nods back toward the rest of the compound; “and more like us. she is not ready yet, but she will be.” for just a moment, his sternness returns. “i expect you to welcome her warmly, when the time comes.”
His kindness always gets her, maybe in part because he is so sparing with it. Just harsh enough to let her know he could be cruel; just kind enough to let her know he chooses not to be. Romy prefers that to unquestioning kindness, because it feels more sincere when it’s given by choice rather than instinct.
“Someone new?” She immediately has to bite down the bitter green envy that rises in her throat: someone less like the pawns, more like the two of them. Romy’s first thought is that it’s competition for her, someone else vying for Santiago’s attention. “What does that mean, that she needs to be readied? You mean like, killing her?” She deliberately doesn’t promise to be welcoming because right now, she doesn’t know if that’s a promise she can easily fulfil. Part of the reason Romy likes her task of bringing in new blood for the Blessed is that she can pick and choose and make sure that she doesn’t bring in someone she dislikes.
“are you sure?” he asks, just for his own sake. fins trusts that romy is honest with her expectations and likely isn’t the type to just let someone take advantage of her. still, he wants to make it equally clear that he isn’t going to do something like that! maybe he can get her something sometime… if not to pay her back, then to help express his gratitude. “that makes sense. i wouldn’t want to eat something that i care about, either.” even things he doesn’t sometimes, if the fish he had been concerned about had been any indication. it’s difficult being a sensitive predator! “i like shrimp, though. i don’t blame him for eating them. they’re very crunchy.” he, of course, eats them whole… tail and all. same with most shellfish. “…do you think he would be scared of me?”
“Totally,” she gives Fins a faint smile. It’s cute that he’s so concerned about being nice. “Crunchy? I’ll take your word for it, I can’t eat shrimp. Or sharks, for that matter.” she snaps her fangs playfully at Fins. “Betty won’t be scared of you, I promise. He’s in his own nice big tank and honestly, I think he’s too dumb to experience things like fear anyway. My boat is a totally shark friendly zone -- I get worrying about people being scared, but there’s none of that when I’m the captain.” Romy’s appearance makes a lot of people uncomfortable, not that it stopped her as dressing as the girl from The Grudge for halloween, because she thought it was funny. But there’s times it’d be nice not to be the object of discomfort and fear, and she guesses Fins must get that far more than she does.
“ well, just look at you ! ” was ihsan a fan of knocking a mutant’s confidence on the basis of their mutation ? no. but did he have a larger plan ? …kind of ? “ and then look at them ! shining pillars, don’t you think ? of elegance and grace and humanity ! ” dripping a part of himself into the young woman’s father, he continued, “ besides, ”
“ when have family situations ever stopped us ? ” the ‘father’ finished.
“ well, that is a fucking great question ! right, ma ? ”
Romy does not like being caught off guard, nor does she like being in situations she doesn’t understand. This is unfortunately just such a situation, and she can tell something weird is going on even if she doesn’t know exactly what. “...Who the fuck are you?” she asks, looking between this new guy and... her father? She knows her mom is also perturbed because she doesn’t immediately berate Romy for her language, instead putting a hand on Romy’s shoulder in a gesture that might almost be protective. I think it would be best if you left now, she says curtly, staring ‘Gary’ down in a manner that suggests she is not a woman accustomed to being disobeyed.
“ a breathing corpse… ” in a way, the same could be said for romy ( and her ilk… but, also in a way, lenore was already counting them ). legally speaking, she was dead. something in the world just outside of theirs, just outside of what they could touch, wanted her. starcaller would call it a mutation in her genetics, but the wist was lost. but she still had the most important thing a person could possess, the most valuable thing anyone could have: an autonomous mind. the husks ? the man she had brought with her, the friends that drew the short stick… horrifying, really. oh, but to be over two centuries old and still dwell on it ? “ well, you know why they call the past ‘the past’ – because it’s passed. this slab of meat, on the other hand… he’s already proven his worth. he’s a knock-out with impressions. ”
his ambition… to take over the world with an undead army ? that was rather cheap, if you asked lenore. boring, clichéd, literally written about over a hundred times over in works of fiction. “ the purpose being… to bring him prey and then take over the world ? ” he was able to run a cult on that doctrine ? was there no critical thinking ? “ as much as i would’ve loved to have had you join – ” – when she thought romy was some kind of siren, that is ( zombies didn’t really count ) – “ – we’ve always taken to laying low. ” originally ? as a method of protection. now ? most outsiders weren’t worth the trouble. “ but credit where credit is due, your kills could’ve left some of us in the green for decades. ” some of them – often including lenore ! – just didn’t like to get their hands dirty until it was absolutely necessary…
the purpose being… to bring him prey and then take over the world? “Exactly!” Romy deliberately misses the tone in Lenore’s voice. “Go big or go home, that’s what I always say. And if someone is running a cult bent on world domination -- which, by the way, I am neither confirming or denying -- then I personally am of the opinion that it’s sensible to throw your lot in with them. It’s like befriending the biggest kid on the playground, you know. Nobody’ll pick on you if you’re friends with ‘em. And you know, Lenore, I don’t know if I love your insintuation that I’m bad at laying low. Do you know how many murder trials I’ve faced? It’s a lot lower than the number of murders I’ve committed. If I’m so bad at laying low, how’s that possible?”
She doesn’t take criticism well, ever. And especially not coming from anyone remotely parentally aged. Romy takes it extremely personally, actually, and that’s why Santi has earned her undying devotion: while he may chide her, he always does it in such a way that suggests he’s only disappointed because he knows she can do better. Lenore is more blunt, and in the face of bluntness, if Romy can’t get approval she gets her feelings hurt.
“i know, mija. i know. you know your worth as much as i do, but knowing is only half the battle. you must believe it, too.” being rejected by humankind, by their endlessly flawed and discriminatory standards of beauty, is almost as much as a gift as mutation ( specifically, as undeath ) is. why would anyone want to subject themselves to a world where they have no value? where they are stomped on even by those on the lowest rung of the ladder? santiago knows his superiority, knows his ability to pull himself ( and anyone else ) away. one day, with enough of that pull, the world will change. he will be on top, and the rest will find themselves in a state of perfect unity and understanding. everyone wins—he just wins most.
santiago gently brushes a stray clump of wet hair back behind her ear. “you have made the right choice. and i expect you will continue to make the right choices. your heart is in the right place.” she is as devoted as anyone not ensorcelled by necromancy can be—and perhaps then some. that makes her not only useful to him, but extremely valuable. she can do more than just drag others down to where he can reach them—she can act as an unliving liaison to the rest of the world. look, i have purpose. look, i’m happy. you can be happy, too. “i am proud of you, romy. and that pride is what drives me to encourage you to do better. i come to you only from a place of love.”
And she will believe her worth! One day! Santi helps with that; a lot. He gives her a purpose. It might not be a noble one, but Romy was never very noble anyway. As long as he believes in her, and keeps her around, Romy has the utmost faith that she’ll fulfil her potential. It turns out it’s a lot easier to have faith in yourself when someone else acknowledges your value first. She doesn’t want power, not really; she wants love and acceptance.
Santiago, as one of the first people to truly show it to her, naturally has a direct line to her heart. She can hear it in his words, and she can feel it in his gestures, like the gentle, paternal way he tucks her hair behind her ear. He does it so readily it’s as if her hair was normal, even beautiful. “I know. And thank you.” For being proud, for approaching her with love, for his patience. “I promise your faith in me isn’t misplaced. Tomorrow night will be better, I’ll be better. What about tonight? What will you do?“ He’s already expressed that he doesn’t require her to go out and find someone else to bring him. Maybe he’s not even doing Blessed things... Romy would like it, if he was doing something unrelated but he told her anyway. Romy is Jesse Pinkman desperate to go go-karting with Mr. White.
“okay,” he says, clearly pleased by the idea. “can i give you anything in return?” fins does enjoy gifts, but he doesn’t want anyone to feel like they’re being taken advantage of, either… he’s not exactly financially literate, but he’s always been a giver no matter what. “a pet fish?” he asks, suddenly curious. weren’t they just eating those? it must be a different kind of fish, but… that begs the question of whether there are fish that exist that aren’t edible. seems strange to him! “is it not the kind of fish that tastes good?” fins, personally, doesn’t know if he would be able to have a fish around without being tempted to take a bite… which would then make him feel terrible!
“Mmm... nah, don’t worry about it.” Romy pretends to think about it for a second, but she doesn’t want anything in return from Fins. She’s not generous with the expectation of repayment. She’s generous because it’s her parents’ money and she knows they’d hate the idea of her buying a watch for a shark man! That’s if she doesn’t just steal it.
“You know, I never thought about eating Betty. Maybe he’d taste good... I don’t know. But once you’re emotionally attached they just look less delicious. You’ll meet him when you come over. I did used to have some shrimp too but Betty ate them... so I guess they tasted good, at any rate.“
it’s overall, a lot to take in at once. two minutes ago, fins didn’t have the slightest clue what a watch was, now he’s being asked if he would prefer any specific type… the correct answer seems obvious, but the fact that he’s given a choice throws him off somewhat. are there people who would want it any other way? “i like colors,” he says, nodding. plain and sophisticated just doesn’t seem worthwhile… “i don’t think i have a favorite. they’re all very nice.” and the more of them, the better! he’s just drawn to bright patterns… “what’s your favorite color?” he asks, momentarily distracted.
“Alright; if you want a colourful watch, then a colourful watch you will have.” Romy isn’t a particularly colourful person herself, but she can appreciate that Fins, who has evidently led a life of deprivation, might want a little fun and pizzazz. “I don’t know if I have a favourite colour... maybe red? I have a pet fish, Betty, and he’s got these really cool dark red markings that are pretty badass. But personally I mostly stick to black because my clothes always get wet and black is the least likely to make me look sweaty and gross.”
“ oi ! accommodations are a quitter’s way out ! right, ma and pa ? ” he smiled down at the man and woman on either side of the drip drip dripping girl ( relationship assumed, but did it matter ? ) and held out his hand. “ hi there, i’m gary schulz. it’s nice to meet you. ” he turned his attention back to the drip drip dripping girl. “ and who’s the little troublemaker we have here, eh ? ”
“I’m not a troublemaker, I’m hungry and I don’t see why I’m not allowed into actual restaurants.“ Romy says, at the same moment that her mother looks disdainfully at this Gary guy and her father, after regarding him for a long moment, deigns to take his hand in a brief shake. That’s where his politeness begins and ends, however, as he then informs Gary that ‘this is a family situation, if you don’t mind--’.
“whether or not you recognize it consciously…” santiago trails off, taking romy’s damp face in his hands; “you are different.” and she is. sharp teeth and scales and an instinct to drag people down into the watery depths are distinctly not human… even if she spent the majority of her life believing otherwise. “i know it can be painful to acknowledge that fact, but they will never get you. they will never accept what you are in a way that matters. you can feed them a sympathetic version where killing is not a part of it, but they will never consider your mutation beautiful.” not like he can. not like he does. “they will never see it as anything other than that terrible word they’ve given it—mutation.” aberration. something out of the norm, rather than the leap forward it is. starcaller had taught him that…
gently, santi releases her face. “an individual is not a whole. a rare few might pretend to understand, to want to understand, but they won’t. one way or another, you will have to make your choice to throw in your lot with them… or come fully into the arms of your brethren.” mutantkind, but specifically… santiago’s kind. the undead. those cast aside by human and living mutant alike. “i would never rush you, but i know that in the end you will make the right choice, mija. you always do, given the chance.” he sighs, offering the barest hint of a smile. “i’m only sorry that it has to come to that at all. one day, it will be different.”
Sometimes Romy hates him as much as she loves him. She hates her dependence on him and how much it means to her when he’s sweet to her. He takes her face in his hands and she looks up at him, a devoted lamb. If anyone else, especially a man, told her that humans would never consider her, with her sharp teeth and dripping clumps of hair, beautiful, she would hit them. But Santi says it and she believes him wholeheartedly. It is only within the Blessed that she is loveable.
“I would never throw in my lot with humans,“ she promises, fervent. She might want to be wanted by them, but they’ll never be as important to her as other mutants. “The Blessed is my priority. I just want more people for you. You know that, right? That I’d never side with a human over you, or over any mutant? I have made my choice.“ It’s very important to Romy that he knows that. Any lingering wistfulness about humans is just that: wist. And while Romy cannot control her feelings, she can control her actions; and her actions are always for The Blessed, for Santi. Her mistakes are overzealousness, nothing more.
“okay. i can do that.” it’s easier to remember ( or rather, realize ) when it’s starting to get dark than to learn the concept of a twenty-four ( or twelve! ) hour clock. he doesn’t know what any of that even means! he only hopes that, as he learns to read, he’ll be able to sort out numbers, too. “a watch?” he adds, thinking it over. “if it’s not trouble. i wouldn’t want you to go out of your way for it.” at the same time, fins has no concept for monetary value, either. he can only guess that romy won’t offer anything beyond her means. “maybe i could go, too? i don’t know if they would be able to offer one that would fit around my wrist without a reference.” his own is… well, much larger than anyone else’s. and then some!
“Oh yeah, they probably won’t make watches in your size,” Romy hums thoughtfully, looking at Fins’ wrists. They’re thicker than her forearms. “There’s specialist mutant shops, I don’t know about for watches specifically… but maybe we could get a wallet chain or something… yeah, if we get a wallet chain then you can keep your watch in your pocket, on the chain, like a fancy old timey gentleman. Do you have a favourite colour? Do you think you’d like, you know, a sophisticated, grown up, plain kind of watch, or something fun and colourful?”
She floats on her back, drifting idly here and there with languorous sweeps of her tail, regarding Fins. She’s not sure why, but she’s quite enjoying this. Perhaps it’s a sign she needs more friends.
if there was anything lenore could appreciate, it was an unapologetically obvious mutant. while she had her qualities, they were few and far between compared to the likes of romy. compared to the likes of the crocodile men, long extinct ; compared to the likes of the birds in the cypress, long forgotten. there was such beauty in the ‘grotesque,’ such beauty in the othered. she had half a mind to believe that carson mccullers, champion in the beauty of the grotesque, had been among them.
“ friends of mine, most of them came back more akin to him than to yourself. ” and they would serve. and their purpose would be fulfilled. and they would die. unfortunate that they were becoming more autonomous as the decades flew past. “ ignorance is bliss, i suppose, ” she added, rather off-hand. but sometimes she wondered: are these zombies quite as dead as they seem? or is there a consciousness buried within, begging to be let go? – in the end, real death was better than the thought of the latter. if it weren’t…
ah, santi ! hell, romy may have been his very own fido – but, worse, with a very obvious consciousness. “ what… is it about santiago ? i’ve met far better men than himself. ” did they have a fair working relationship ? sure ! did she get it ? not at all… and, god, it was times like these that she was reminded of just how ‘undead’ romy was !
“I’m sorry about your friends. Must be awful to see someone you care about in a state like that.” Romy says in a rare moment of earnestness. She can imagine nothing worse than being a complete zombie like this guy, and sincerely hopes she never has to find out just how truly blissful ignorance may be.
But she does smile, pointily, when Lenore asks what it is about Santi. “I’m sure there’s better men than him. But he gives me a purpose, and I like his ambition. Why? You jealous?” Romy teases; maybe Lenore wishes she had her own little rusalka to lure people into Moonscar full time!
Fuck. He’s too easily swayed. Samson’s interest in finding a customer tonight entirely out the window. Her smile grows, as does her confidence, even if his little line has her simply saying ‘okay, good’. Samson wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t the best dancer: also doesn’t help when his dance partner iso so much smaller in comparison. Last thing he wants to do is step on her feet. Romy takes his other hand. A few moments of dancing, and he does decide to move a hand, resting it on her forearm, bringing her a little closer. He smiles down at her, chin practically on his chest. Samson won’t push it any further yet: one step at a time seems best.
One thing (one of the many things) that’s nice about Romy’s mutation is how safe it makes her feel. Before, when she thought she was human, being this close to a guy Samson’s size would make her feel vulnerable and frightened and disgusted to varying degrees. If he’d pulled human Romy closer, as he does now, she’d have been utterly horrified. But now she feels totally safe, totally in control of the situation. Big guys are actually often her favourites to get, because it’s a reminder that nothing can hurt her.
Well, maybe his clumsiness could hurt her. He wasn’t being modest when he’d said he wasn’t a good dancer, and Romy is acutely aware of the risk of having her toes stepped on. She really thinks about balancing on his toes, but something tells her that would be too little-girl-dancing-with-daddy-at-a-wedding to be enticing. She’ll just suck it up if he squashes her. Deciding, in fact, to tease him about it, she goes up on tiptoe to say into his ear: “You won’t break me, you know,” Just ambiguous enough to be a double entendre, but maybe one he’d take as unintentional.
fins waits patiently as she dives down to search for something to use, eyeing her curiously when she pops back up. a rock? that would work! he takes it gingerly, turning it over in his hand. it’s much smaller in his than it was in hers, and smoother than he would have expected. a very nice rock, all things considered. “okay, i’ll do that,” he says, although he hesitates when romy brings time into the mix… he doesn’t know anything about that, either. why does it have to have numbers and letters in it, anyway? it doesn’t make any sense to him. “um… is that when it gets dark?”
… He doesn’t know how to tell the time. Okay. Sure. Romy can roll with that. No point hurting his feelings over asking the instinctive ‘what the fuck’, but at a better moment she definitely wants to ask more about what happened to this guy. If he doesn’t know about telling the time, he’s definitely not going to understand things like daylight savings and sunset coming at different times throughout the year, so…
“Not exactly, but if you leave the rock I’ll expect you when it gets dark. That’s fine. Do you… want me to get you a watch, and I can show you how to tell the time on it? It’s pretty useful to be able to do that. --A watch is one of those things people wear on their wrist and it’s like a little clock to tell them the time.” She adds that last bit, you know, just in case. Poor fella probably feels stupid as hell having to ask what everything is all the time.
“so do people.” he understands what she’s doing here—testing the lines on how much of her disagreement he’ll allow. for now, she’s toeing that line at an appropriate level… but he’s also not afraid to have to set her straight, if need be. “my point is that much like that tiger, we exist outside of concepts made by humankind. they created morality for themselves. why abide by something, by force or by choice, that was not created with us in mind?” let alone something so fundamentally flawed! “they will never have your instincts. they will never have your gifts. as such, they will never be in a position where they can truly understand you. they will call you a monster, but i will call you worthy.”
Aw, shit, he gets her with that last bit: they will call you a monster, but i will call you worthy. Often Romy is acutely aware of Santi manipulating her, and she knows she makes it easy for him. She doesn’t even really know why she lets him do it, but she does, and all it takes is a little compliment like how he thinks she’s worthy to get her glowing with pride.
Alright, alright. She’ll acknowledge the daddy issues. In the privacy of her own head, anyway. Not out loud. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s a late-bloomer mutant thing, but I don’t really consider myself… different. Separate from humans. I spent two decades living as a human, so even if I’m very mutant now… I don’t know. I want them to get me, and I want them to get why I do what I do, but not enough that I’m willing to change. I think, actually, Hans Christian Andersen would have loved to talk to me.” Romy kind of gets the Little Mermaid. Not just the tail, but being so close to human yet so separate from it.
