Logs:Nature/Nurture

Nature/Nurture
CN: references to abuse
Dramatis Personae Desi, Matt
In Absentia	2021-07-23 "{Gods save us all. From you and from ourselves.}"
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. Even on a Thursday, nightlife is just gathering steam for many New Yorkers at the stroke of midnight. But Desi, perhaps in a sign she is well and truly An Old now, is already dragging her weary steps homeward. Her clothing does at least suggest she might have, at some point, been partying--a gauzy black short-sleeve blouse that bares her milk-white shoulders, a waist corset dress in sumptuous purple, sheer back-seam hose, and black ankle strap stilettos. As does the slight unsteadiness of her gait. Drunk she may be, but she's still managed to avoid smearing her smokey makeup since the last time she touched it up, and while her crown braid is starting to work itself loose it does not as yet look actively messy. She hesitates at the door and sways without completely losing her balance--no mean feat in those heels--before fumbling the keys from her purse and letting herself in. The house is redolent of savory food, quiet but not wholly dark. Still lit, the kitchen is as inviting as ever, and the soft light of a reading lamp illuminates Matt's face, pale and thin but at peace for a change, where he's dozed off in his armchair with some trashy checkout aisle novel in his lap. His Ace of Hearts t-shirt and silky black pajama pants once again/still drape loosely on his diminished frame, but he has gotten a long-overdue haircut, at least. On the tea table in front of him, the celadon mug is empty but the squat glass of vodka is not. At sound of Desi's entry he stirs but does not wake, though the movement is enough to dislodge the sage green blanket that had half-covered his lap, and it slides off to pool at his feet. Desi closes the door quietly behind her and leans back against it, only stooping to remove her elegant if unforgiving footwear when Matt settles back down. She stares at him blankly for a moment, heaves a long sigh, and slips over--her footfalls nearly silent despite her inebriation--to retrieve the blanket and drape it back over her brother. She lingers just a moment, then plucks up the mug in passing and heads for the kitchen. Whatever she had meant to do there, she stops short to scowl at the baked beans in the crock pot and the note beside it that reads, in Matt's bubbly handwriting, "This probably needs seasoning. There's fresh lemonade in the refrigerator that probably does not need seasoning, at least not in this season." She scoffs and pours herself a generous measure of vodka. Then she looks back at the note and, almost reluctantly, gets the pitcher of basil lemonade to fill up the rest of her glass. In the living room, Matt stirs again, and this time he does not fall back asleep. Somewhere in his muzzy half-wakefulness he's managed to drop the blanket once more, and the book along with it. His quiet "calisse" is disgruntled but mild--almost perfunctory--as he clumsily contorts himself to pick the fallen items back up. Desi closes her eyes, opens them, and returns to the living room, glass still in hand. "{Have you eaten.}" Her tone is flat and her posture stiff. Matt blinks blearily at his sister, his reply coming at a delay as if he needed to think it through. "{Yes, earlier. I'm not sick anymore, you don't have to...}" He trails off into half a beat of uncharacteristically awkward silence. Then, lowering his eyes, "{Thank you.}" Desi doesn't react to Matt's half-hearted admonishment but does, finally, seat herself on the couch, not quite facing him. "You are, sick. Only, you did it to yourself this time." She downs an impressive gulp of her vodka lemonade. "{I'm not eight years old and you're sure as hell not Luci. You won't win me over with supper and a cutesy note.}" Matt does not answer for several interminable seconds. When he does, his voice is thin and exhausted. "{I'm not trying to 'win you over.' I'm trying to be responsible. And I don't think some under-seasoned frank-n-beans is enough, but it has to start somewhere.}" He fixes a considering gaze on Desi. "{Besides, I'm not sure I'd describe Luci's notes as 'cutesy.'} Precious, perhaps, in the best way." Desi glowers at her brother, eyes narrowing. "You can drop the act. {If you were interested in being responsible, you would have done it by now.}" Her shoulders curl inward as she goes back to staring down through her drink. "I know how this will go. You'll act chastened, you'll get clean, you'll be considerate--for a while." Her voice wavers, the alcohol finally telling on her speech. "I know you can keep doing it! You do it for your friends! But not us, because we'll love you no matter how you treat us. If your friends saw the real you--" She just sucks in a ragged breath. "I can, and I will," Matt's reply is soft, reassuring. "{I do not ask you to take my word on it, but I beg you to consider that I might be sincere.} This is not--" He stops, lips compressing. "What you called my 'mask'--it may be an act, but it's also me, the real me. It is performance, but that doesn't mean it's fake. I love you so, so much, I really do." He bows his head. "Still, you're not wrong that I have taken your love and care for granted in ways that I don't, with my friends. {It may not be as simple as all that, but it is nevertheless wrong.}" "{I don't care if you're sincere, which is lucky for you since I'm not even sure you're capable of sincerity,}" Desi mutters darkly. "And maybe that isn't your fault, but if you actually do love us as much as you say, you need to be working a lot harder to overcome your..." She struggles for a moment, then finally settles on, "...nature. {Sometimes it's difficult to believe you care about anyone at all, except yourself. Gods, even when we were children!}" The volume of her voice rises, her cadence uneven and her words slurred. "{You made damn certain you were Mother's favorite, that she treated you best--}" This time the breath she draws is sharp, muffled by the hand she slaps over her mouth, eyes going wide as they flick aside to her brother. Matt's expression goes blank, all warmth and contrition fled when his cold bright eyes snap to Desi. "I was her favorite, and she did treat me best." His voice is surpassingly even. "All things considered. She'd persuaded herself everything she did to us was done out of love. Oh, maybe she made an honest mistake here or there but--no one is perfect, right?" He averts his unnervingly steady gaze and takes a slow breath. "{I may not have ended up quite that awful, but she left her mark. I thought I had overcome that. Clearly I have not.}" His breathing slows, his shoulders slump, and when he looks back at his sister he is once more as he was, gentle and sorrowful and ashamed. "I don't...'unmask' to hurt you. It's just hard keeping it up, all day, every day, and it's easier to process some things when I don't have to..." His thumb brushes over the crisp fore-edge of the book in his lap. "But I didn't consider that it does hurt you, whatever I intend. In any event it's certainly not the only way I prioritize my comfort over your needs, again and again." He picks up his glass and downs more than is probably wise in one gulp. "So maybe my remorse is an act, and my sincerity, also. But please believe I am not performing them to fool you. I will change and I will drive myself to it however I must." "{I'm sorry,}" Desi says quietly, her voice not quite so even, though she is clearly making the attempt. "I don't know that I can believe you, however much I want to. But I oughtn't to let her pit us against each other from beyond the grave." She drains the rest of her spiked lemonade. "It's not as if I don't care that it's hard for you, but it's hard for us, too. The problem isn't that you're--like that, per se. It's when and how you choose to show it. And maybe I can at least believe sometimes it happens because you're upset or at capacity or whatever. But do not think for a second I'm letting you off easy on any of this." Matt nods, pulling the blanket up further and tucking it absently around himself. "I don't want you to go easy on me, but you shouldn't have to be the one doing the work." He tucks the glass against his chest and curls in tighter on himself. "{But I will need you to hold down the fort. I'm going to DC tomorrow. To see the show.}" Desi shoots him a distrustful glare at the last declaration. "I'm not completely convinced you missed opening night to punish Luci for staying away all summer, but it does fit your M.O. And now you're--what, going to rub it in? Hoping he'll be so relieved that he'll forgive you anything?" She breathes out, slow. "Please tread lightly. {By the gods, if you hurt him again, you won't need to perform remorse, because I will make you regret it.}" Matt accepts the accusations and threat alike without flinching, without much discernible change in his expression at all. "I didn't do that to punish him and I'm not doing this to rub it in. But I know it hurt him and I want to make amends." His breath out is also slow, but more like a sigh than hers. "I am so unsure now what, if anything, I've been doing right. {So I'm trying to keep it simple. Apologize. Listen. Act.}" He meets his sister's eyes, then looks down. "And if I hurt him again, I accept whatever punishment you have in store." Desi does not look mollified so much as resigned. "You're always going to do things your way. You always have. All I can hope is that you make your way less like Mother's way." She lifts her glass, then grimaces at finding it empty. "{Gods save us all. From you and from ourselves.}" When she turns her eyes back to her brother, she sighs heavily. "I'm going to get some flavorless overcooked beans. Do you want a bit more, as well?" "I don't--" Matt's indignant objection breaks off and his shoulders sag. "I oughtn't to let her keep hurting us from beyond the grave. I can't fix my...nature, but I don't have to let it control me." His eyes flick to the kitchen, then back. "{I think I should join you.} I haven't bean eating enough." The twitch at the corner of his mouth might have been an abortive attempt to smile that he's now hiding behind his glass. Desi snorts derisively. "There's no fixing any of us." She levers herself up off of the couch, swaying for a moment before she steadies with a will. "Fine. I'm definitely going to need another drink, though, and a responsible brother wouldn't let me drink alone." She starts toward the kitchen again, but turns back to level a warning finger at Matt. "But you better watch yourself. One more pun like that and I'm sending you to your room."