ArchivedLogs:To Begin With

To Begin With
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Neve
In Absentia	2014-07-27 '
Location Nondescript Hotel Room, NYC
Neither four star nor end of the road, this hotel serves as a comfortable mid-point stay for those looking to balance price with convenience. The room is clean and boasts two queen sized bed, an enclosed bathroom with a double-sink counter and mirror, a low set of drawers and a plasma TV. Heavy curtains are drawn closed over the windows, rumpled against the two-seater table placed there next to the large air conditioning unit. Beside the standard 6 cup coffeemaker on the dresser is a plate with plastic-wrapped cookies--because who doesn't love cookies? Knock knock knock! It is, again, three quiet-polite taps on Neve's hotel door. Lucien, outside, is rather nondescript in dark jeans and a green button-down. He has been reading email on a thin tablet in one hand but he lowers this to his side as he knocks, wrapping one arm around behind his back to clasp fingers against the opposite wrist. The peephole goes dark--security first--but the door opens soon after, chain rattling down and deadbolt undone. It is a repeat of Saturday's encounter save that the woman who draws open the door for Lucien does not seem sleepy or confused, nor is she in sleepwear, still wearing the poet blouse and dark jeans she'd worn when leaving the apartment. One can almost feel her nerves jangling at her, a buzzing of tension that leaves hollowed eyes flicking up and down the hallway before she steps aside to allow him entrance. "Mr. Tessier," serves as a polite but subdued greeting and once he's in she does up the locks behind him. "Miss Leone." It's equally polite, equally reserved, a small tip of head accompanying though the name itself is spoken with a faint stiltedness. Lucien's eyes flick over her briefly as he moves into the room, pulling away afterwards to examine the room itself. "Have you eaten anything today?" is followed by a small furrow of brow: "/Could/ you eat anything today?" may be quiet acknowledgment of the tense-nervy air to her. The room is tidy. There's a bit of a rumple to the coverlet of one of the beds, possibly marking where Neve might have sat. Her bag is tucked neatly in the open-air closet, atop the aluminum luggage rack. It has the padded look of a case still full; she hasn't unpacked. Neve returns to the rumpled bed and takes a seat at the side. Her hands clasp, knuckled bleached, and set in her lap. She touches tongue to lips and glances towards the cookies on their plate but her answer is in the negative. "Not yet. I'll have something at dinner." Her eyes drift back to him, skate away, drift back… "Thank you. For sending the car. And finding the room." "Mmm." Lucien's eyes also shift back to her -- though only for a moment. They seem unable to settle there /long/, shifting back away as he drifts over towards the curtained windows. "It is a stopgap, at best. From here you will still have a decision to make, as to how you care to move forward." "Yes," Neve allows softly. "I've been thinking about that." And given the unoccupied state of the room, it's /all/ she's been doing. Though she admits, "I've watched some of the news. It's...probably just a matter of time. Before the police come knocking." She hitches a breath in and releases it slowly while directing her focus to the closed curtains. As if she could see past them. "That should simplify things." "Most likely," Lucien answers this with an almost noncommital blandness. "They do tend to take an interest in murder." There is something a little dry in his tone, in his thin smile, with the follow-up: "It is likely optimistic, too, to think it will simplify things. For you, perhaps. For the city as a whole…" He sets his tablet down on the table, resting fingers on the back of one of the chairs but not taking a seat. "But that is a bridge to cross once we are there. I do have a few -- legal contacts, though I can make no promises to that end. In the interim there is the question of how you /want/ to handle the current storm of attention. If you would like to simply disappear I can help find you a quiet place -- but if you would like to stay, to make a statement, to try and figure out what life after this may hold, I know people who -- it would most certainly not be an anonymous sort of hideaway, they are rather in the /thick/ of the mutant community. I cannot, even, guarantee that all of them will /like/ you. But they /will/ do whatever is in their power to give you a safe home regardless." They way her lips curl faintly makes a sick parody of a smile. "I seem to have done a great deal of disappearing. Perhaps more than my fair share." Neve's eyes had shifted to him as she said this, an almost absent-minded look. Realizing it, she turns them towards the corner of the room and reaches up to rub at the skin behind her right ear. "Is it fair to ask people who might dislike me to house me?" "Most certainly not," Lucien answers this, a fleeting ghost of not-really-amusement curling through his tone, "but if we lived in a /just/ world we'd likely not be here to begin with." His eyes turn back to her, a bare moment after hers have moved away. "I cannot promise you it will be entirely /comfortable/. But I cannot promise you that anywhere." "Mm." The most noncommittal of answers. That may or may not increase the impact of Neve finally turning her gaze in such a way as to deliberately meet green eyes with brown. It's a revealing sort of look, for all that her expression is both quiet and tired. She's terrified. But she will maintain eye contact for so long as it's allowed to her. "You've already done so much. I have no expectation of comfort but this is already more than I thought I'd have. If they'll have me, I...suppose that is the best place for me. To begin with." "To begin with." Lucien holds her gaze for a longer stretch, this time. His fingers tighten against the back of the chair, pressing there harder as her eyes meet his. When he finally drops his gaze his grip slackens, a faint droop to his shoulders. His tone is still even, carefully moderated. "And Jackson and his team have extensive experience with -- sorting out the tampering Prometheus does on people's minds. Likely also another benefit." "To begin with." Her confirmation is almost gentle. "You've said they don't like me. It's possible that others will dislike me even more. Safe for me isn't safe for everyone." But Neve leaves it at that, in no small part due to the name Lucien drops--and the effect it has on her. She winces at hearing Jackson named, her lips thin together in a twinge of discomfort, and that's what leads her to finally look away from him again. "That...is a very great benefit." She pauses for a beat. "It's interesting. Some of the work I did with D...doctor Leone was focused on learning to recognize my own voice. In my mind. Separate from the influence of...my mutation." "I suspect that the recent news has not won you many friends in the mutant community," Lucien acknowledges, "and outside of it -- is a tricky matter, still. But friends, trust, even just /comfort/ -- those things can be earned in time. Having a safe place that will allow you the /room/ to find those things --" He glances back up at Neve, lips compressing for a moment. "Interesting." He echoes this word flat and dispassionate. "Yes, I imagine much of his work was /that/." "It's interesting because they gave me other voices, later. And now that I know that…" Neve's chin bobs up as she swallows. It takes an effort but she's able to drag her gaze back to him. She fixes first on the tight line of Lucien's lips. "His work is making it easier to recognize what is theirs. Mr. Holland...Zedner. Both of them. You. Others, I suppose." She dares an upwards glance, bouncing to his eyes. Her hands, which have remained clasped together, tighten still more. "You're doing all of this in spite of me making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry." "Gave you other voices?" Lucien's brows furrow at this statement, a puzzled look crossing his face. "I am afraid I do not understand. I only knew you when…" He trails off, here, turning his head towards the curtain-shaded window. He exhales sharp and quick, almost a laugh as his head shakes. "I am not certain /uncomfortable/ is the correct descriptor, entirely." His hands fold behind his back. "There will be paperwork to get done for the new home. I believe they have an entire application process of some variety. I should get that started for you. You should get dinner." "When I look at you, something says to me that you're a stranger. I don't know you. My name is.../not/ Neve Leone but it hurts to fight that voice. Too much." And maybe that's why Neve nods, when he moves on to talk of paperwork. She stands, her hands finally loosing each other and smoothing down over her thighs as if she were wearing a skirt rather than jeans. "All right," she murmurs, eyes lowered. "Thank you. Will you...will you tell Matthieu hello for me? I miss him. I've missed him." A twinge of pain flashes through Lucien's eyes at these words. He pulls in a slow breath, picking his tablet back up off the table. There's a tension in him as he curls it in against his chest and starts towards the door. "I will tell him." His fingers tighten against the tablet. "Your name is Nox." Neve draws a breath in through her teeth, a soft hiss that's followed by silence as she holds that air in her lungs. Her eyes have closed. It leaves her tardy, in turning to trail him to the door. Paler now, and with her jaw tight, she steps to the side to reach to undo the locks. She doesn't look at him; it's difficult enough to murmur, "I suppose. It must be. Thank you for helping me. Lucien." In answer to this Lucien only tilts his head in quiet -- acknowledgment? Acceptance? It's a small reserved shift of motion, his eyes also not meeting hers. He reaches for the door after she has unlocked it, pulling it open to step outside. There's no farewell from him, no more parting words; his fingers do brush briefly against her arm as he passes, leaving in his wake only a soft-calm flutter of soothing cool.