It is a truth universally acknowledged... (open)

[drownedfuchsia]

The following appears on several bulletin boards around the mansion.

A lady, a young 33 years of age, from a respectable family, is interested in corresponding with a gentleman, aged 35-50, with a view toward marriage.
Please address all inquiries to Lady Fuchsia Groan.

No other contact details are included.

[ooc: Characters may either track

Comments

[drownedfuchsia]

For half a second she thinks it's Muraki, but there's something different.

She doesn't presume that the man's seen her advert.

She sits near him, but not so near him to look like she's staring. She's not, just stealing covert looks, to try and figure out the bolt in his head.

[suture_guy]

At length, the odd-looking fellow looks up from his bowl, noting the way she's peering at him. "You're free to ask, most people do," he says, in a flat, slightly husky tenor voice.

[drownedfuchsia]

"What're those?" She doesn't mince words, when curious. "Do you needs them?"

Maybe they're decorative?

[suture_guy]

He raises a hand to the bolt. "This? It's my own invention: it's an implant to increase my brain power. It allows me to use more of my brain's capacity than most people can: the average person uses only ten percent of their brain at a time, but I've gotten my capacity up to around fifty or sixty percent."

[drownedfuchsia]

"Only ten percent? Then what's the rest of the brain for?" That's not going to stop her from examining the bolt, by leaning a little forward.

She's interested in anything to make her smarter. "How does it work?" Is it like an extra ear, or eye to take in information? Fuchsia wouldn't know.

[suture_guy]

He accepts her moving into his space calmly. "In most people, the rest of the brain is dormant, or simply unused. Geniuses might use as much as forty or fifty percent, through personal discipline and natural talent, but that's still uncommon," he says. "The appliance works by reordering the electrical charge in my neuro-synapses: it's a bit complicated to describe and the design is... somewhat of a personal secret. I'd tell you more, but I'd have to dissect you.

Then with a bit of a chuckle and a lopsided smirk, he raises one hand disarmingly. "No, really, that was a joke! Seriously, though, it would take too long to explain, I'm afraid, since it involves a lot of tricky matters relating to the mind-body-spirit connection."

[drownedfuchsia]

Fuchsia's listening intently, or right up to the dissection part.

"You were making fun of me!"

She backs away as quickly as she approached. "Why would you dothat!?" She scratches her head as if to touch her fully used brain.

[suture_guy]

"It was a joke, and likely not in everyone's taste: sorry if it upset you," he replies, reassuringly. "I'd be the first to admit, my jokes can be unsettling."

[drownedfuchsia]

"Why do you think I'm stupid and only use 10% of my brain?"

She's like a dog with a bone now.

[suture_guy]

"I wasn't implying that you were: I've only just met you, and I haven't had time to make a fair assessment of your intellect," he replies, patiently. "Besides, it's ultimately a matter of biology and for better or worse, nature is often capricious in the talents it gives out."

Though he's wondering what's with this one's brain...

[drownedfuchsia]

Fuchsia's having a mood swing, and it's swung back to the needy, insecure, immature, girl she often is, at her worst.

"But you thought you'd mock me! Tell me lies."

In her signature flounce, Fuchsia drops into a chair, crossing her arms.

"I hope you're not thinking of writing anything in response!"

[suture_guy]

"No mockery and no lies," he replies, wondering what kind of abnormal nodes might be in this one's head, and contemplating an investigation.

He'll quirk an eyebrow at her. "And what's this about writing?" he asks, puzzled.

No, he didn't see the sign he's been sitting under all this time.

[drownedfuchsia]

There aren't enough investigative techniques to find and fix what's in her head.

"I don't believe you."

Her eyes flick upward, toward her message. "It doesn't matter, as I wouldn't respond."

[suture_guy]

He's more about the exploratory surgery than the spectrum, but considering how he's tinkered with his own brain, who knows what he could pull off?

He'll crane his head around to get a look at the message. He'll let out a short, soft grunt of a laugh, then turns back to her. "I'm a bit too occupied with my work to have time for a wife or a family," he says. "And even if I was, you haven't exactly made the best first impression on me," he adds, coolly.

[drownedfuchsia]

Considering the delicate balance of Fuchsia's brain -- be it sanity, or grasp on reality, or both -- exploratory might be too risky.

Fuchsia's dropping mood shall plummet further when he laughs.

"I haven't made the best impression? You were they one who thought it would be fun to mock me!"

[suture_guy]

"I assure you, I intended absolutely no mockery," he replies, flaty, even bored now, but that masks the curiosity and the possible diagnoses roiling in his mind. Yeah, he's a bit socially inept himself.