ArchivedLogs:First

First
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2015-05-06 "Straight from Oscorp. Must be your lucky day." (Part of the Future Past TP)
Location <ATL> - Isolation Room 3 - Emory Hospital - Atlanta
The isolation rooms at Emory are not that much different from any of the other rooms - from the inside at least. An adjustable hospital bed, a monitor which occasionally beeps when its occupant shifts in just the wrong way on the bed. A TV mounted behind a pane of glass in the wall, with channels locked away from things which might stress out the patients. A sink for washing, and a bathroom with a shower built into it. The only sign of the difference of /this/ room to any other hospital room, really, is the door. A heavy thing, with a triple-layer plastic window in it, and fitting perfectly snugly in the frame. And this room, unlike even the rest of the doors in the isolation ward, is locked from the outside - and has a rotation of armed guards posted out front. The bed has been adjusted as close to an upright sitting position as it will go, and Matt sits in it cross-legged. He wears jade green scrubs instead of an open-back gown. A beautiful, crisp, hardbound book lies open in his lap. The pages revealed are primarily covered with capital X's save for the massive footnotes that take up almost quarter of each page. Though still hooked up to an IV drip, he looks reasonably hale, his eyes bright and bemused, his cheeks rosy. His hair has grown long enough to cover his ears and eyebrows in shaggy, feathery locks. The heavy door to Matt's room opens. This is as per usual; the guard who enters is a familiar face, looking a little sleepy-eyed today with the plate of food he brings in. Soup. Grilled chicken and rice. An orange. "Got company." He sounds mostly bored, but then, he often sounds bored. He /looks/ just a little smug with the addition, "Straight from Oscorp. Must be your lucky day." "Oh, joyous occasion." Matt does not actually sound all that excited about either the meal or the visitor. Still, he closes the book (/House of Leaves/ by Mark Danielewski) and looks up. "Hello, Jean-Paul, and thank you." The guard's lips thin. He does not say you're welcome. Just leaves the tray and heads back out, holding the door open for a moment to let another man in, then locking it again. Matt's visitor is better dressed. A neatly-tailored dove-grey suit, smartly polished shoes, carefully tied tie. An ID badge clipped to one lapel. Oscorp logo. Lucien Tessier. VP, Public Relations. He doesn't look much different, really. Doesn't /feel/ much different; there's an implacable /calm/ about his mental state that is quite familiar and kept solidly in place, chemical processes suppressing most of whatever feelings might be threatening to surface beneath. Even so, a faint crease has formed between his brows as he moves over to take a seat by Matt's bed. One hand reaches automatically for Matt's -- but then pulls back, folding instead with his other to rest laced together in his lap. His fingers press tightly, spinning slowly at the black band around one ring finger. His bright green eyes fix on the other man's face. Across the surface of his mind something churns, and then is gone. Matt's eyes snap to the doorway behind 'Jean-Paul' even before his visitor comes into view. His mouth falls open, and he covers it with one hand until the guard leaves again. "{Luci! Dear gods, it's you!}" He leans forward and reaches for his brother's hands, squeezes them tightly. "{Did Io...nevermind whether he sent for you.}" He speaks softly, urgently. "{He's planning to release a virus. A transmissible 'cure.'}" Lucien's eyes slip closed, his hands unclasping to turn up and curl around Matt's. "{I have seen Iolaus. He did not send me. He is quite dedicated to this virus of his.}" His voice is flat, calm. "{I did not know. Where you were. Until I met with him. Until I saw his research. I have been looking --}" His fingers curl tighter, though his voice stays even. His eyes open again, posture straightening slightly. A little bit more brusque: "I have put in to have you transferred." "{He's /mad./}" Matt's fingers dig into Lucien's palm. "{He said he would contact you. I didn't know whether to believe it. I guess he's really confident. When can I leave?}" He rolls up onto his knees, as if he means to walk out right then. "{Desi and Gaetan, they are...safe? As safe goes, in such a world as this.}" "{He is a zealot.}" In fairness, Lucien says this in much the same tone as 'he's /mad/'." His head bows, forehead touching down to the back of Matt's knuckles. "He should be confident. Whatever his ideology, he is a brilliant researcher." His eyes close again, a small shiver of nausea washing from him over to Matt before it, too, is suppressed. "{How could they be? They have been. Safe. Since you were taken, but -- a virus knows no borders. The American government may be unleashing it, but it will find them in Quebec.}" He does not lift his head. His voice is back to flat when he speaks again. "In the morning. Your transfer is for Oscorp's research facility in Pennsylvania." Matt's eyes slide shut. A faint grimace passes over his face as the nausea passes through him, but he does not pull away from his brother. "I should have..." He shakes his head, and when he opens his eyes they are damp with tears. "{Still, they are better off there than in this godsforsaken country. Surely there's some way to stop him, or them, or /it/.}" "{Should have -- what? What could you have done? Broken out of here singlehandedly and overthrown the government, perhaps?}" Lucien's head tilts, slightly, lips now rather than forehead pressing to the back of Matt's knuckles. A little bit flatter: "{Perhaps just offed yourself before he finished --}" But this thought cuts off. "... some people came to me." This is also flat. "{They wanted my help..." He sounds a little distant. "I don't know what ways there might be. First -- first, we go. Home.}" "{Singlehandedly overthrowing the government was my first choice, but I always knew that was beyond reach, so...}" Matt shakes his head again, more vehemently. "{Well. Killing myself won't change anything /now/. If there are people who already have plans in motion, maybe there is still a chance...}" He plants a kiss on Lucien's head. "{First, home.}"