Logs:Tenet at Will
| Tenet at Will | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-20 "{Oh, it's fine. I'm sure we'll have things back to normal in no time.}" |
| Location
<PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village | |
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It feels unnatural for this house to be so still. Maybe that's why Matt is filling it with the bright strains of some intricate Vivaldi violin concerto, piping quiet but clear over the speaker system. He's lounging in his favorite armchair as though he hasn't been absent for nearly a month, dressed rakishly sharp in a pale pink shirt, the top button open and french cuffs upturned but unlinked, a purple and black damask vest, and fine-waled black corduroy trousers. He has a well-loved paperback copy of Neverwhere propped open in one hand and a celadon mug still half full cradled against his chest, his fingers tapping vaguely in time to the music. The house is about to be less still. The door is opening, and even before Elie can be seen she's managing to fill the room with her presence. The swish of her violet drop waist dress as she flows into the house, the sharp click of heels of her tall black stiletto boots, the melody of "Immaculate Mary" hummed in her pleasant voice. She's sweeping into the living room, still plucking off one of her opera gloves (violet, to match her dress) but hesitating in the doorway with her fingers still grasping at the opposite glove. She pulls it off more slowly as her eyes sweep over Matthieu. "Darling." She tosses the gloves over the back of the couch and does not bother removing her hat, a hunter green cloche, nor the matching mantle draped unnecessarily around her shoulders given the day's warmth outside. "You oughtn't worry me like that, I was starting to think I'd never see you again." There's not all that much worry in her voice, truth be told, just a pleased lilt as she starts towards the kitchen. "I would have brought back brunch if I knew you'd be returning." Matt slowly rights himself as his mother descends in all her glory, eyes lifting from the page only at a delay. "Mother." This -- greeting? statement? -- is almost completely inflectionless, as is, "Take off your shoes." He follows Elie with his eyes, not wary exactly, but extremely alert. "Thank you, but I'm not here for brunch." Now he sounds like his usual self, sweet and indolent and maybe just a touch sardonic. "I realize you're not much in the habit of heeding anyone other than yourself, but you did get the eviction notice, no?" Elie is heading into the kitchen, click-click-click of her heels still reporting sharp against the once-immaculate floor. "You're here because you live here, no? It is a little late for brunch, but we could order a proper meal." When she appears in the doorway again she has a slender wine glass in hand, not yet filled. "A marshal did stop by a bit ago." Her lips have pursed critically, here. "I was sure he was mistaken. He was sure he was mistaken. He gave me nothing of the sort." "Ah, of course. Never send a cop to do a man's job." Matt sets the book aside and pushes to his feet, drifting toward the kitchen himself, though he stops just out of her reach, eyes ticking over her in keen appraisal, his mug a mirror to her glass. "I'm here to ask you to leave," he says levelly. "I don't want you living here, and in any event it is not my house. You can perfectly well afford to lodge elsewhere, and I'm sure you can find something more suited to your...tastes." His eyes settle on her boots, narrow faintly in irritation, then flick back up to her face. His jaw sets hard. "This is not your home, and I want you out." "Not your house?" Elie arches a slender brow. She is looking back over him with a very quiet tut of tongue against teeth. "{Goodness, what has happened to you this past month, darling.}" This is softer, heavier with concern. She slips back into the kitchen, her head shaking as she goes to pour herself a glass of red wine. "Am I allowed time to pack?" Buried in this is a small glimmer of amusement, something in the fond sweep of her gaze to suggest this is all a gracious indulgence of some petty tantrum. "{If you lend me a hand we might even have some time to talk. This bit of temper is not the best timed, you were meant to follow up with that Worthington boy and now I'm hearing rumours they're going in a whole different direction. You might have to do a bit of groveling over there before this new technology windfall -- well. All blows away.} Don't you have some friends who landed in that dreadful affair, perhaps if you reached out to the Holland boy we could get some more insight into where all those creatures are heading." "It belongs to Luci's estate." Matt follows Elie into the kitchen, circling around to the opposite side of the island counter from her. "And Luci, being alive, does not need me to...execute his will." The slant of his smile is miniscule, by his punning standards. "Of course you can pack, I'm not a monster." He sighs theatrically and drains his tea, but his indignity, whether real or feigned, is fleeting. "I rather imagined you'd just hire someone to pack for you, but I will help. However poor the timing, it's not for temper that I've been derelict in my court duties. I was quite unwell." He washes his cup and sets it delicately on the drying rack before drifting further along the counter, circling back toward his mother again. "{Oh, but I grovel so very prettily when there is call for it.}" His head tilts slightly to one side. "I've not been much in the loop with my friends, either -- with anyone at all, while convalescing. But yes, friends, former co-workers, X-teammates. I was planning to check in on Jax anyway, once I'd sorted this out, and don't call him 'Holland boy', that's..." His lips compress. "Well. Less ambiguous than it used to be. Any sea changes on other fronts? I'll wager the Genosha situation has rocked a few of the tighter national races." He fetches a glass of his own and holds it out for Elie to fill. "I've a lot of catching up to do." "And yet he still leaves you the burden of doing so. I haven't seen him coming 'round to clean up the mess he left." Elie pours a measure of wine for Matt, and perches herself delicately on a stool at the counter. She's regarding him over the rim of her glass as she takes a swallow. "{Oh, it's fine. I'm sure we'll have things back to normal in no time.}" | |
