Rosalie is sitting at the bar, and watches the young man as he gets his coffee.
She kind of wants to talk to him. She's been sitting here for quite a while and hasn't talked to anyone, and she feels kind of silly. The e-reader he's holding would be a perfect topic for conversation; she's aware of things like that being developed during her time, but she's never seen one before and she'd love to know what kind of features it has.
...But that involves starting up the conversation. Rosalie simply watches him at first, wondering if he'll glance her way. Maybe then she'll say hello?
He does, in fact, glance her way! It's not unfriendly or anything.
. . . It's not friendly per se either, nor much of anything else but an impassive glance, the sort that might well be by chance. (It might indeed be; on the other hand, Trowa is pretty sensitive to when he's being watched.)
Rosalie chickens out. She looks away-- maybe a little too quickly to be normal-- and runs one hand through her hair.
She's not good a starting conversations with strangers. She's done it maybe once or twice within a couple of decades, really. She clears her throat, but still fails to look at him.
Especially since he hasn't seen her before. There are a few possible reasons for a look like that, including just plain shyness; not enough evidence to judge which, at the moment.
Trowa considers being helpful. Because he's Trowa, he opts to give it a minute before he does, and carry on with his newly acquired coffee towards a table.
It is, at least, a path that'll take him not too far from her seat.
It gnaws at her every second she continues to sit there. She should have said something. She told herself she was going to talk to him, but she didn't. And now it's bugging her.
Sure, it's not a big deal. But Rosalie's nothing if not stubborn, and she refuses to live with herself if she's going to be such a silly coward. So, knowing perfectly well how ridiculous it probably is, she eventually forces herself off of the barstool, and marches over to his table.
"Hello," she says, grasping somewhat nervously onto the back of a chair.
Trowa knew she was coming, of course; he doesn't look up until she reaches his table, all the same. (Trowa has a lot of practice at inobtrusive monitoring.)
Rosalie swallows. She's not sure why she was expecting any more to respond to than that.
"Um, I was just wondering..." she begins, a little awkwardly. It's exacerbated by her frustration at herself for her lack of composure. "What's that you're reading? ...If you don't mind me asking."
Well, it's flawed in some significant ways, but Trowa finds that interesting too.
He considers for a moment -- he wouldn't do this usually, but he's kind of curious whether she's shy or something else, and there's no sensitive information on this machine -- and then tilts the reader so she can take a look, if she wants.
It's a lot like a modern Kindle or the like, though not identical to any. There are more bells and whistles lurking in the system, but a couple of extra buttons are the only external sign of that. The prose she'll see is fairly middle-of-the-road, solid and clear but nothing stellar, and the current page is discussing a falling-out between two sometime lab partners in the AC 172.
"Oh. Thank you." Rosalie scoots her chair a little closer to take a look.
"People have been talking about digital readers for a while, where I'm from," she mentions, fingering a couple of the buttons. "They keep saying we'll have them in a couple of years. Have they been around for a while, in your time?"
Trowa shrugs slightly, while his mun eyes the inconsistency of FUTURE!!! technology as imagined in 1995 and says nothing, very pointedly.
"The basic interface has stayed the same for a while."
The underlying mechanical details, less so. But this isn't really an area where you get cutting edge anything; it's pretty basic, fairly ubiquitous technology.
This book will do fine; there's nothing secret or particularly telling in it, and any conclusions she might draw are ones he's willing to have drawn about him.
So he offers her the reader to take. "That turns pages. Or you can scroll with the screen." He indicates the buttons in question with a small gesture.
She kind of wants to talk to him. She's been sitting here for quite a while and hasn't talked to anyone, and she feels kind of silly. The e-reader he's holding would be a perfect topic for conversation; she's aware of things like that being developed during her time, but she's never seen one before and she'd love to know what kind of features it has.
...But that involves starting up the conversation. Rosalie simply watches him at first, wondering if he'll glance her way. Maybe then she'll say hello?
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. . . It's not friendly per se either, nor much of anything else but an impassive glance, the sort that might well be by chance. (It might indeed be; on the other hand, Trowa is pretty sensitive to when he's being watched.)
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She's not good a starting conversations with strangers. She's done it maybe once or twice within a couple of decades, really. She clears her throat, but still fails to look at him.
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Especially since he hasn't seen her before. There are a few possible reasons for a look like that, including just plain shyness; not enough evidence to judge which, at the moment.
Trowa considers being helpful. Because he's Trowa, he opts to give it a minute before he does, and carry on with his newly acquired coffee towards a table.
It is, at least, a path that'll take him not too far from her seat.
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And then kicks herself for doing so.
It gnaws at her every second she continues to sit there. She should have said something. She told herself she was going to talk to him, but she didn't. And now it's bugging her.
Sure, it's not a big deal. But Rosalie's nothing if not stubborn, and she refuses to live with herself if she's going to be such a silly coward. So, knowing perfectly well how ridiculous it probably is, she eventually forces herself off of the barstool, and marches over to his table.
"Hello," she says, grasping somewhat nervously onto the back of a chair.
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"Hi," he says, placidly.
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"Um, I was just wondering..." she begins, a little awkwardly. It's exacerbated by her frustration at herself for her lack of composure. "What's that you're reading? ...If you don't mind me asking."
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"It's a history book. About some engineering discoveries."
He will leave off the space colonies bit until it seems relevant.
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Well, it's flawed in some significant ways, but Trowa finds that interesting too.
He considers for a moment -- he wouldn't do this usually, but he's kind of curious whether she's shy or something else, and there's no sensitive information on this machine -- and then tilts the reader so she can take a look, if she wants.
It's a lot like a modern Kindle or the like, though not identical to any. There are more bells and whistles lurking in the system, but a couple of extra buttons are the only external sign of that. The prose she'll see is fairly middle-of-the-road, solid and clear but nothing stellar, and the current page is discussing a falling-out between two sometime lab partners in the AC 172.
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"People have been talking about digital readers for a while, where I'm from," she mentions, fingering a couple of the buttons. "They keep saying we'll have them in a couple of years. Have they been around for a while, in your time?"
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So, uh . . . that's a benchmark for you.
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She pauses, expecting him to respond.
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"The basic interface has stayed the same for a while."
The underlying mechanical details, less so. But this isn't really an area where you get cutting edge anything; it's pretty basic, fairly ubiquitous technology.
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"Would you show me how it works? Or is it pretty straight-forward?"
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It's pretty straightforward.
This book will do fine; there's nothing secret or particularly telling in it, and any conclusions she might draw are ones he's willing to have drawn about him.
So he offers her the reader to take. "That turns pages. Or you can scroll with the screen." He indicates the buttons in question with a small gesture.
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