"I-- oh. My apologies. My name is Rosalind Lutece." It's not the first time Rosalind has been too distracted by science to observe social niceties. Still, there is perhaps an extra element of thoughtfulness in her actions-- humans, after all, are idiots, but a machine is something entirely. Gently Rosalind examines the offered hand, turning it this way and that, gently pushing her fingers to test her grip.

"How old are you? Do you have a preferred gender? How long ago were you built? Was your personality pre-programmed, or have you cultivated it via experiences with others?" The questions fire out, one after another, but Rosalind tries to soften them with a quick glance upwards afterwards.