Logs:Authentic

Authentic
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Steve, Flèche
In Absentia	2020-08-15 "{You may be sentimental, but you're certainly no fool.}"
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. Though the day has been hot, it's pleasant enough now with the sun setting. The house windows with their curtains drawn spill a soft glow out into the garden; not quite enough to obscure the intermittent green flashes of fireflies twinkling through the berry brambles and around the pond. Beneath the table, Flèche is happily absorbed in her own world, slurping her way through a peanut-butter filled Kong. At the table, Lucien is a little less rapt. He is casually dressed -- soft gray-green v-neck tee, slightly and evenly faded slimline blue jeans, no shoes -- and slowly working his way through a bowl of fusilli with creamy vodka sauce and fresh basil, a (near-empty, now) basket of fresh-baked soft rolls near at hand together with a pitcher of sangria. He is just setting his phone down on the table -- an email just showing up in Steve's inbox. "Certainly, no rush. I have my ideas, of course." Very mild. "But it is your opinion that will matter in the end." Steve is working his way through his second bowl of pasta, still eating much more rapidly than his host. He's also casual, if a bit more colorful, in a whte t-shirt with a rendering of his iconic shield in pink, purple, and blue printed on the front and indigo blue jeans, also barefoot. His actual shield is leaning against the back of his seat. He glances down at his phone but does not pick it up just yet, reaching for his sangria instead. "I appreciate your input, always. All the more so with this because you respect what I want -- even if I'm not sure what I want." "Mmm." Lucien stretches one leg out, toes wiggling underneath Flèche's soft belly. "{No doubt, a complicated equation. I imagine you could spend quite a long time contemplating it and still be just as much at a loss.}" His eyes track away, following the erratic path of a firefly as it crosses over the small pond. "If I might be so bold as to suggest, perhaps the more relevant question is what you need." Steve sets down his drink. Blinks at Lucien. "What I need?" He sounds genuinely flummoxed. Then, with slowly dawning realization, "Do you mean avoiding a portrayal I might find hurtful?" He shakes his head. "It's a show -- I'm sure I'll be fine, as long as it's respectful. Even if I don't like it, although I'd prefer if I do." Lucien sets his fork down, elbow propped on the table and his temple braced against two fingertips. His gaze fixes on Steve, steady. "It is a show." The twitch at the side of his lips is very small. "There are some sentimental fools out there who think theatre has the power to impact people's lives." Steve blinks, again. Sets down his own fork. "{I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way.}" The duck of his head is small but contrite. "I think it's hard for me to not think of...my show. I know this is very different, but it's such early days that everything about it is abstract yet." Takes a long gulp of his wine. "{You may be sentimental, but you're certainly no fool. I, on the other hand...}" Lucien's next sip of sangria is longer. "{Often, people, if they are being simplistic, talk as though the job of an actor is professional lying.}" His thumb traces slowly through the cold condensation on the glass. "It is a common saying among us that acting is, rather, living truthfully in imaginary circumstances. The settings may be fiction but if we are doing our jobs well, the stories we tell -- those have truth. Those have real meaning. And in this case -- in your case?" His fingers tip slightly away from his face, out towards Steve, before resting at his cheek again. "{I can't know what it's like for you, displaced from one world, trying to navigate this one. But I do suspect it is not made any easier by all the parts of yourself you choose to hide.}" Lucien swirls his wine slowly in his glass, eyes more focused on the sloshing fruit than on Steve. "Certainly, a good many people will be moved by Captain America's story, and let them have it. I imagine you might move easier in this world if you saw Steve Rogers' story as part of it, too." Steve's smile is small and rueful. "When I dabbled in acting, it was lying. Not very professionally, at that." He collects his fork again, stirring his pasta slowly. "{Maybe it got me into the habit of -- being Captain America. I can't wholly separate him from who I was, and maybe I still can't.}" He looks back up. "Steve Rogers may be flawed and conflicted and queer, but Captain America..." He frowns thoughtfully. "Easy to get overshadowed by a fella like that. You think they can pull off both?" "Certainly." Lucien's reply is prompt, his tone matter-of-fact. He sets his glass back down, turns his attention back to his pasta as well. "They'll have all your years of experience guiding them."