--sᴀᴠɪɴɢ ғᴀᴄᴇ;
Robert Lutece; physicist, well-to-do, brother of the Great Whore. A new millennia was dawning. 1899; six years since the New Eden's Jezebel had been unofficially forbidden from setting foot inside Comstock House for the sake of Columbia's Lady of Sorrows. The mother of the little bastard was not welcome in her home; and the Prophet did all he could to keep his discontent wife from spitting out the vile lies that scorched her throat. With Rosalind out of the picture, communication was primarily done through the brother. The Lady Comstock had once held a great deal of... respect for the man. He was amiable; charming, suave, respectable. He had been easier to get along with, easier for her to understand. The respect she had fostered for Lutece might have grown into a friendship of sorts had the incident not happened. Shallow as she was, Robert had quickly lost any individuality as the rage she held quietly inside of her bubbled over. He had simply become another Rosalind, and that was unforgivable. Though not Rosalind herself, Lady Comstock refused to greet Robert on the off chance he did come to Comstock House. But today -- Well, when the First Lady strode into the parlour to fetch her always misplaced fob watch, she froze at the sight of freckled cheeks and slicked back hair, red as the sunset. Lady Comstock ran from a great many things; her former life was one of them, and the utter feeling of betrayal and failure brought on by the Lutece twins. So convinced was she that the child was indeed Rosalind's, that she refused to see that the child bore a resemblance to her in the end. It simply mocked the fact that she, the supposed Holy Mother, had not been able to produce a child. And Rosalind, the woman her husband spent more time with than she, his wife, was reflected in Robert to a T. Mannerisms, speech, stance and dress... He was certainly a reflection. Cold eyes flashed, looking over the physicist as she set her jaw. The air, already tense, seemed to grow heavy as the First Lady sized the other up, body tense and fists clenched. "...What are you doing here, Mister Lutece?"
