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Much unlike his counterpart, Robert Lutece carried himself with a diverse set of ideals. Both are primarily pragmatic beings, with Rosalind’s fatalistic attitude being the main difference between them. Robert was more than willing to make sacrifices, regardless of their small probability of a good outcome; unlike Rosalind, he was determined to change “inevitable” futures.
Reports of hard-working citizens with certain self-destructive behaviors had reached Robert’s ears. Naturally, absurd commentary and crude remarks came with the passing of rumors. Self-mutilation was almost unheard of within the glory of Colombia. For the average civilian, life was packed with religious celebrations, and most upbringings were filled with companionship, and joy brought through both entertainment and sweets.
Self-mutilation was misunderstood -- or more accurately, was left without validation to support the facts. Those that engaged in these actions had no connection to one another -- the methods were different, the places inflicted varied as much, and this made it difficult to pinpoint a causation.
Robert Lutece was left with a dangerously morbid curiosity.
Perhaps if the science behind self-mutilation became well-known knowledge, then both the onlookers, and the people indulging in these harmful activities, will be at an advantage to heal together.
Or, perhaps, Robert was using this as an excuse to attempt a more hands-on approach to the problem.
The red-haired man sits comfortably at a small, gray desk. Antiseptic towelettes, bandages, and a sharpened scalpel are organized on one side of the desk, with a single towel on the opposite side.
He begins his procedure by outstretching his left arm, and keeping it vertical to the desk. Robert turns his arm over to have his underarm facing upwards. With his dominant hand, he takes the antiseptic towelettes from the side, and delicately wipes his forearm until deeming it safe to proceed.
With the same hand, he grabs the scalpel on his right, and presses the metal tip downwards into his forearm until it breaks skin. He does so without hesitation, and the metal bit sinks deeply into his pale flesh, before he drags it horizontally.
Robert hums to himself while deep in thought, before the blood begins to seep on to the desk underneath.
Nothing extraordinary happens. Robert has a theory; quantity over quality, might apply to this case, and prove to be crucial to his discovery. He decides to test this, by adding much lighter cuts above the initial one. They bleed all the same, but this time, Robert feels a tingling rush of endorphins.
It’s almost recognized immediately as the body’s rush to protect itself from pain. A natural painkiller. Temporary bliss. An addictive feeling, no doubt, one that is not without consequence. Clarification brings Robert much more relief than the endorphins do.
“I must say, the desk has seen better days.”
The sound of Rosalind’s voice brings Robert back to the task at hand. He takes the bronze towel from his left, and presses it into his forearm.
“It’s impossible to utilize properly now.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s done will be done.”
“I required more than observation to construct my analysis.” Robert then removes the towel from his wounds, before going over them with a separate patch of antiseptic towelettes.
“Simple observation would have yielded similar results, brother,” Rosalind hums with amusement, before crossing her arms, “life endangerment for almost nothing in return. Typical.”
“Life endangerment? We are more prepared than most to counter unpredictability,” Robert grasps the bandages beside him with steady hands, and begins wrapping his arm from the top. As the cloth drags over the cuts, Robert grimances, and clumsily drops the opposite end of the bandage.
“Amatuer,” Rosalind comments, her face scrunched with concern, “you would think one would know how to apply bandages properly.” Before her “twin” can continue, she shortens the vicinity between them, and grabs the end of the bandage by it’s opposing corner.
Robert watches warily as Rosalind finishes dressing his wounds; taking a moment to apply pressure with her fingertips before pulling away.
The Lutece duo were traditionally secluded from solicitous behavior. Sympathy and empathy were simple distractions to them; to put emotions over rational thought was painfully imprudent. Robert sometimes showed exceptions to that rule.
He was more… sentimental than anticipated, but alas, Rosalind cherished her male counterpart more than anything, and perhaps this was one experiment that they’d be better without.
“Ahh, well, I suppose I understand the appeal,” Robert cocks a brow in Rosalind’s direction, “I have what I need, and further experimentation would be futile.”
“You should..”
“Stop being reckless, I know.”
“I did not bring you here for you to mistakenly nick an artery.”
“You would miss me.”
“I wouldn’t miss your injudicious behavior.”
Robert breaks into a small, rare smile, stands swiftly, then wraps his injured arm around his "sister", and squeezes her shoulder in support.
“Fair point.