Logs:Preparations

Preparations
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Scott
In Absentia Matt, Rocket	2024-05-23 "Good to know."
Location <NYC> Le Carrefour, Le Bonne Entente - Astoria, Queens
Above the bustle of the clerestory restaurant, tucked at the base of the bell tower, this indoor garden and library is out of the way and easily overlooked, sure to become a favored "hidden gem" of travel guides. Low bookshelves full of mythology, fairy tales, and folklore ring the central elevator shaft and the stairway spiraling around it like an easily navigable labyrinth. Beyond these are plants in a variety of tastefully whimsical containers, each with its own engraved plaque giving the common name, the scientific name, and their significance to various traditional stories and practices. The walls have been done away with so that the room extends beyond the doric columns into a surreal rooftop garden enclosed with glass stretching between the tower's massive buttresses. The arrangement of plantlife becomes less formal as one moves out into the four arms of the conservatory, visible containers giving way to beds and terraces and eventually landscapes carefully cultivated to look wild. There is plentiful seating scattered along the paths and just off of them, from proper benches to picturesque logs to surprisingly comfortable boulders. By day, myriad butterflies dance amongst the enchanted vegetation, and likewise moths by night. A shallow stream weaves throughout, feeding ponds that host plants of their own alongside fish, frogs, and turtles. Wandering the outer edges of the conservatory, one could almost feel lost in a mystical forest but for the stunning views of the cityscape beyond the glass. There are people here and there, quietly reading alone or having their own conversations as they take late lunch in the indoor garden, but this particular section of the conservatory is quieter, right now. Lucien is seated at a small wrought-iron table, adding to the notes he is making. He's dressed plainly, jeans and a soft grey henley and chukka boots. To the side of his laptop is the remainder of a small spread of refreshments, forgotten for now as he updates the (very extensive, by now) list of Xavier's School Prom Needs. "There are extensive water features in most of our event rooms," he's musing, absently, "and I will make sure we've got plenty of sulfur to hand -- our groundskeeper should have some in storage already." What the sulfur is for he does not note in the sheet he's keeping for the hotel's actual events coordinator, although as he's adding it he does reassure Scott: "-- it is far from the strangest request a client has made." Scott is nodding, though he does not look entirely reassured (to be fair, he never looks entirely reassured.) He, too, is dressed plainly, jeans and a Xavier's tee and work boots; he, too, is checking carefully back through his list of prom needs. He does not ask what Luci uses the sulfur for, just nods -- "I guess that's good to know," he says, his voice a little gravelly but still firm. "Even when the requests aren't weird, to have so many of them, and on such short notice -- well, this place is a lot nicer than just about anywhere else that would take us at this point." This thought doesn't trail off so much as get redirected onto another track, like Scott flipped a railroad turnout in his mind. "Pretty lucky you resurfaced just now or I don't know what we'd have done." "Mmm. Had it in your exceedingly fancy Great Hall, I suppose. Jackson would have pulled some spectacular decorations out of a hat and imposed upon Ryan to provide some music and soothe over the ruffled emotions at the indignity of their prom smelling mildly like their lunchtime mac & cheese." After one last check, Lucien is emailing this document to his events coordinator, hotel manager, and Guest Experiences Manager all. He looks very tempted to keep fiddling even after this is sent but very deliberately pushes the laptop lid closed as though this will forcibly stop him from further addenda. "Shockingly, we've had some convenient cancellations this week. I suspect New York tourism may take a while yet to recover." "As opposed to imposing upon you," says Scott, neither quite with a smile nor without one -- he taps his fingers at the top of his laptop screen before he closes his, too. With work set aside he seems faintly unsure how to proceed, so he selects a random Danish from the selection of refreshments before, "Weird trick of timing, that. Were you really abducted by aliens?" "If I took umbrage with people imposing upon my hospitality, I would have chosen a different business." Lucien's expression is quite serious, though there's an amusement quiet in his voice. He takes a sip of his tea and sets it back down, and, having occupied a good two seconds thus, proceeds to slip his phone out of his pocket so that he can open his notes back up. "Regrettably, I was. I cannot say I recommend the experience. Those bugs have very little sense of hygiene, judging from what I saw of their ship." Scott has taken a large bite of Danish, which he needs to chew through for just long enough to constitute an awkward pause before he can speak again -- "Sorry to hear. You're having quite a year." This pause is not so awkward, but still conspicuous. "I figured I should ask. You didn't really overdose." His voice is low, as suits this peaceful corner of the conservatory, but matter-of-fact. "The news does get a great number of things wrong." Lucien's brows pinch just slightly inward, and he follows this with a mildly critical: "I suppose it does not help that reality insists on being so very outlandish. The ravenous space bugs are quite objectively more calamitous but somehow the extraterrestrial Norse gods strain my credulity more. You are honestly doing me a bit of a favor," he is tipping his hand toward his Event Notes indicatively. "Imagine how mad someone might go if they had time in the day to think about all this." This puts an entirely different strain of questioning in his mind: "-- goodness, I hope you have good therapists on staff." "I'm sure we do," this is with a not-altogether reassuring shrug, "though I don't know how prepared any of them were for alien attack trauma." Scott frowns at his half-eaten Danish as though this is the Danish's fault, then takes another bite, chews it slowly. "Coming back to life seems like it'd keep you busy. You been home much?" "Something tells me that your staff are more adept than most at on-the-job-training." Lucien stops fussing at the spreadsheet -- possibly because it is now registering that his hotel manager is looking at it and he would not want to seem neurotic. "Oh --" This comes soft, on a puff of air that isn't quite a laugh. He picks his tea up, cupping his hands firmly around it. "With everything going on --" His eyes flick towards the window, looking out across the river towards the tall and deceptively tranquil Manhattan cityscape in the distance. "-- it's hardly seemed an opportune time." His gaze is still fixed outward, his voice still quietly even. "I don't suppose you have seen much of my brother, of late?" The corners of Scott's mouth quirk not quite into a smile, even a very wan one, but he accepts this compliment with just a slight incline of his head. A moment later his mouth is dour and flat once again -- "No, I haven't," he says. "He's been on bereavement leave. I guess I'll need to figure out what to do now that he's no longer bereaved. At least school's out soon." "Mmm." There's just a small thinning at Lucien's mouth, a small tightening at the corners of his eyes. He nods once, silent, and drains his cup. "-- one of the aliens I met," somehow he delivers this entirely matter-of-fact, just, this is how life is going to be now, "-- thinks the bugs were running from a much greater threat heading this way." He's setting the teacup back in its saucer very delicately; only the very softest of clink. "So --" The slight lift of his brows could, in other circumstances, be some sort of gallows humor, silver lining! -- though his tone is serious as the grave. "-- perhaps by next term you'll have an entirely new set of worries." Scott is serious as the grave too, as he finishes the last of his Danish, chewing contemplatively. "Good to know," is all he says once he's swallowed; he is reaching for his own teacup, long-since gone cold.