ArchivedLogs:The Enemy of the Good

The Enemy of the Good
Plus tea!
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Micah
In Absentia	23 March 2013 Lucien saves Micah from tea decision paralysis. Philosophizing ensues.
Location <NYC> Tick-Tock - Greenwich Village
The quiet sound of soft music and softly running water greets the entrants to this tea house, playing from speakers hidden and trickling waterfalls cascading down the rocky fountains by the entryway. The ambiance here is subdued, a quiet escape from the bustle and noise of the city, focused on only one thing: tea. Tea of very good quality. They serve it in over eighty varieties, black and white, green and oolong, rooibos and herbals and mate, flavored and straight up. The seating here comes on cushions or kneeling chairs around low tables, the decorations in earth tones, and the knowledgeable wait staff is always helpful with a recommendation or a snack suggestion to pair with your drink. It is late on a Saturday; lateish, anyway. Lucien is looking a little harried as he slips into the tearoom, but this expression fades into something more /contented/ as he draws in a deep breath. Clearly a regular, the cashier greets him by name as he slips past the counter with its large wall of teas to take a seat at one of the tables, dropping to sit cross-legged on a cushion. He is dressed neat and trim, dark slacks and a pale green dress shirt, both neatly tailored to his fit. He seems a bit distracted, ignoring the extensive tea menu to tap at his phone instead. Micah is /clearly/ not a regular. At the very least, his clothing is less of a mess than typical for him: a sage green button down shirt and khakis. He is seated singly at a table, monopolizing a waiter’s time with all kinds of questions. About flavours of things. And what has caffeine in it and what doesn’t. He’s pulling words off of the menu like a person in a foreign country. Realising that he’s detaining this young man excessively, Micah finally requests a few minutes just to /read/. Which he proceeds to do as if he were cramming for an exam. Lucien glances up from his phone at the sound of Micah's voice, watching quietly as Micah asks /questions/. Something pinches at his expression, drawing it into a faint grimace. He looks back at his phone. He looks up at Micah's menu. After a pause, he picks up his coat, picks up his phone, picks up his menu, and stands, moving over to take a seat uninvited across from Micah at the other man's table. "Is there a quiz later?" Micah /jumps/ a little when Lucien speaks, having pushed all of his attention into giving the menu puzzled looks. A smile and a faint blush both warm Micah’s features as he recognizes the other man. “Lucien, hello! There…there is a quiz /now/. I didn’t study.” A glance is spared for the menu with this. “I was just going to try a thing or two, to help pick out gift for someone, but there are /so many things/.” "A gift." Lucien's eyebrows sweep upwards, and he looks over Micah for a long moment. "What sort of someone? What sort of tea do they like?" His own menu is resting on the table in front of him, his fingertips steepled lightly against it. "The good things about these kinds of quizzes is there is often room to cheat." “Jackson, actually,” Micah supplies in time with a spreading of the faint pink on his cheeks. “I was gonna get a thing with caffeine, because Lent…ends,” he sounds uncertain as to whether /this/ is a correct term, either, “uh, next week. Bless his little sleep deprived /heart/ if he hasn’t been goin’ without it this whole time, too. With a lot of stress besides.” His fingers drum on the menu, where he has set it on the table. “Turns out this isn’t the kind of thing to easily whim-shop for when y’don’t have much experience with it.” "Jackson." Lucien echoes this, bland and flat, /eying/ that blushing. Eying that blushing for a long time. "You and Jackson." It's sort of a question. But it sort of isn't. He's ignoring the tea problem. Micah nods at first, with Lucien’s echoing of the name. Yes, that is correct! Then there is /extended/ inspection, under which Micah shrinks a little. He is slowly shifting through a paint colour strip selector from rose to red. “We…um… It was just a thought…because he likes tea.” "He /does/ like tea rather a lot." Lucien's eyes still fix firmly on Micah, watching that shifting deeper red. "He has," he says, slowly, "good taste." The inspection is not ending. Lucien is -- just watching. "You and Jackson," he repeats. “He does, that is why I am having a hard time because I don’t know so much…this,” Micah rambles. Ohgosh, he’s not going to stop staring, is he? The blush has to consult another colour strip, further into creatively named shades of red, as it deepens. Is that even a question? Maybe a question-answering type thing will make the staring stop. “Um…yes?” It sounds more like another question than an answer, in truth. "He likes oolong best, but black has the most caffeine. The coconut oolong is his favourite, though he might keep that well-stocked. The Ti Quan Yin is quite excellent, here. There's a strawberry rose oolong that I think would suit /him/ quite well, too. Or this one --" Here he leans over the table to tap one finger at the menu, "is a blend of Assam and Darjeeling. He is fond of both." Lucien delivers all of this in the same quiet-bland tone, settling back to glance over his menu. The staring is over! He is scanning the menu without much attentiveness. Perhaps he already knows it all. "That is the most horrifying thing I have heard all week. You sound uncertain, though." Micah listens attentively to this ever-growing list of suggestions. It is questionable how much of it gets through in real words and how much translates into the Charlie Brown teacher voice. He manages to pick a few things out. “No, I know he definitely has oolong already.” Which is a shame, because that’s one of the few things that Micah has tried! “I…hm. Strawberry rose does sound very Jax-like. And blends of things can be nice.” Thank /everything/ someone has narrowed down choices for him…and stopped staring! “Clearly you haven’t heard of Norman Osborn dinosaur horrorbeasts,” he mutters half under his breath. “I…wasn’t entirely sure what you were askin’, to be honest.” Lucien sets his menu back down after a cursory look, apparently through with it. "-- Norman Osborn dinosaur horrorbeasts." His eyebrows raise again. "No, I'm afraid those escaped my notice. Do you deal with them frequently?" He folds his hands at the edge of the table, resting lightly against his menu. "I was asking if you have been fucking Jackson," he says, blunt-crude language strangely at odds with his gentle tone, his crisp diction. “Just yesterday, really. But that was quite enough for /ever/.” Micah grins, idly running fingers along the edge of the menu. He arches a brow just slightly at the clarification. “Oh. In that case. Yes.” Micah is perfectly capable of handling bluntness. It just comes with blushing. "And that's truly that horrifying?" "It makes me shudder to think how much /cheer/ you two would spawn in one place. Has the East Village been swallowed by sunlight, yet?" Lucien glances at the blushing, then down at his hands. He does not smile, but he is not exactly looking all that genuinely horrified, either. "-- What does Norman Osborn have to do with dinosaurs?" Micah smiles broadly at that explanation. “What’s wrong with a little cheeriness? Enough dour people in the world without me helpin’ ‘em any, I’d think.” The dinosaur mention prompts a chuckle. “Mr. Osborn actually /called/ Jax yesterday to make sure he was goin’ to that fancypants party that’s been all over the news. He’s a complete creepster, by the way… I was tryin’ to cheer Jax up and might have referred to him as a Smarmodon. But. Don’t make random suggestions around illusionists.” Micah shudders visibly at the memory. "A lot of cheeriness," Lucien answers, lifting his gaze to flag down a waiter. He orders a white tea, an entire pot though he does not consult Micah on this decision. "Saying you and Jackson are a /little/ cheery is like saying the Hudson is a /little/ wet." There might be amusement in his tone, for all he (dourly!) still does not smile, but even these shreds of it fade as he listens to Micah. "Osborn called him. Personally." He sounds thoughtful at this. "/Is/ he going? It is not every guest, I imagine, who warrants a call from the man himself." Micah is more than fine with letting Lucien take the lead on any tea-ordering. Because it's still a little overwhelming. "He did. He's like...creepy-obsessed. Asked Jax to /dance/. It's all very odd." Micah's brows knit, betraying concern. "He is planning to. It's just...worrisome. All this attention from Mr. Rich and Powerful, y'know?" "Yes, I imagine it would be. For all his --" Lucien's lips press together in mild distaste, "-- flamboyance, Jackson does not seem like the type to seek attention. /Getting/ it from a man like Osborn..." He trails off, picking up his phone to glance at it briefly. He taps out a quick message, then pockets it again. "Would be disconcerting, to say the least." Here his lips do twitch upwards. It's very like a smile. "I imagine Norman Osborn is an excellent dancer." “No, he really isn’t lookin’ for it,” Micah confirms with a sigh. He pulls a face at Lucien’s assessment of Mr. Osborn’s dancing prowess. “That’s not somethin’ I feel the need to know /ever/. He’s creepy enough via electronic media. In person’s gonna be…ugh. In /personal space/? So very, very much worse.” He quirks his lips to one side, thoughtfully. “Though if that were /all/ that came of it, I s’pose that’d be a blessin’.” "Are you going to gala, too?" Lucien's eyebrows lift again, here. He rests one elbow on the table, hand lifting to prop his chin in his palm. "With Jackson?" One forefinger taps slowly against his cheek. "Norman Osborn called your friend personally to ensure his attendance at this function. Do you imagine that's all that /will/ come of it?" Micah nods. “Seems like I’m good at gettin’ in over my head lately. I’m the moral support with a clean background and no superpowers to worry over.” A wry little grin ties itself to this appraisal. “I was an idealistic college student with several agendas within spittin’ distance of D.C. for near on six years. I have learned to be /very/ suspicious of people who have come to, or managed to keep, power and money. Much as I hate to paint with a broad brush… So no, I really imagine that there’s somethin’ more to come of it. And I also imagine it’s not somethin’ to be smiled upon.” Lucien's finger taps against his cheek again, slow and steady. "I expect your imaginings are not wrong." He sits up, as their tea is delivered and poured, two cups filled as Lucien drops his hand to the table. He pulls his saucer close, finger tracing now against the rim of the cup. "No superpowers to protect you, either. There is plenty more to worry about in this type of situation than genetics. Do you enjoy your position, Micah?" He speaks quietly, studying the other man long and searching. "The anchor, in the middle of all this storm. Does it get tiring?" Micah watches the tea pouring as if it is an important ritual. It takes him a moment to return his gaze to Lucien. “No, I don’t have any sort of defenses other than not bein’…” He doesn’t find an appropriate word to complete this thought, rather switching to a related one for clearer expression. “What in the world would these people want with me? I’m not the shiny thing bein’ dangled in front of ‘em. I figure they’ve got enough to handle.” A faint chortle of laughter answers Lucien’s definition of his part in all this. “The anchor…is that me, then? It’s not a matter of enjoyment, really. It’s a matter of…helpin’ where I can. There’s so much that needs to be better…if goin’ to some fancy party is the best I can do, that’s what I’ll do.” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, not indifferent or dismissive, just a shrug. “It’s what I’m made for. If there’s somethin’ people can’t do for themselves as they are now… I work to put them in a position to be able to do it, if it’s possible. Find ways to help them out if it’s not.” "Perhaps enjoy was the wrong word," Lucien murmurs, when all this is through. "Does it satisfy you. Is this what you /want/ to be doing? You are," he says apologetically, "as mentioned, in over your head. I have no doubt your friends are glad for the steady presence. But what is it /you/ want?" “Why is it that people always seem to get worried when what a person wants is for other people to have what they want, or at least what they need? That’s what I want. My best happiness comes from other people bein’ happy.” Micah pulls his cup closer to stare down into its contents. “Might be over my head a bit. Just means I’m not always the best possible person for the job. But the best possible person ain’t always ready, willin’, and able.” He looks back up with a sincere smile. “Whereas I /am/. Love a challenge.” Lucien's lips twitch, as Micah speaks. It's not a smile, this time. His mouth thins, lips pulling downward briefly but then smoothing out. "The best person for the job, I imagine, is the one who is ready, willing, and able. Moreso if you find happiness in the work." He lifts his tea, letting its lightly fragrant steam curl up around his face. "If you love a challenge, though, I expect sticking with Jackson and his compatriots will find you well pleased, in the upcoming months." He sips at his tea slowly. "Do you dance, Micah?" "Ha! I guess so. Though it wouldn't hurt if they could find someone who, like...is cultured enough to keep up with the society crowd, won't wear the wrong tie, and maybe knows kung fu." Micah giggles a bit at this. "But we can't sit around waitin' for that person who may or may not exist. And perhaps my bumblin' will just help me seem like less of a threat. Here's me, completely non-threatenin'." Apparently the illustration of 'non-threatening' is carefully lifting a tea cup. "I do, when it's not too awful demandin'. Lots of backward steppin' and direction changes can be rough for m'leg to keep up with." "Practice more," Lucien advises, mildly. "If you /are/ determined to accompany your friend in these ventures, I imagine it will be quite demanding. And nobody there will care much to make concessions if you can't keep up." Micah cants his head slightly, with an odd sort of smile. "I'm well aware of my limitations, believe me. I know...there are certain situations where I could be a liability. I wouldn't drag myself along into those types of scenarios where I know I'd be in the way. As for /unforeseen/ situations arisin', the way they do... I'm honestly not above runnin' or hidin' as necessary." The tip of his tongue darts over his lips briefly to moisten them as he pauses. "Safety is never a guarantee. Don't much matter whether you've chosen it or not. You think this is likely to go that direction? Or is this purely theoretical advice?" "I think Norman Osborn would have to be an idiot to do anything untoward to a guest at this highly visible event. I think Norman Osborn is not an idiot. I do think, though, that his keen interest is unlikely to simply end after Thursday. And that catching the keen interest of men like Norman Osborn is a good reason to stay on your toes." Lucien sips at his tea again, slowly, eventually lowering the glass. "In this type of society, though, Micah, I do not think your /leg/ is going to be your biggest handicap." Micah pauses to rake his fingers through his hair. “I know…I know. I am /so far/ from the best person for this. If it helps, I’m good at polite and quiet?” He rotates the tea cup on its saucer idly. Lucien's lips twitch upwards. "In many ways," he says, soft and almost regretful, "I think those things may work against you. Not your manners, certainly. But the impulses behind them. You," he tells Micah, like this is a serious character flaw, "are a /good/ person. This road you are starting down is not a road for /good/ people." Micah exhales sharply through his nose, not quite harshly enough to qualify as a snort. “Why do people do that?” The question is genuine, not rhetorical. “Try to separate things out, when it don’t work that way? Let all the people who are wounded and compromised work in this world. Let all the people who are still naïve or idealistic stay in that one, just bein’ frivolous all the time. As if there’s any way to keep them apart. As if the only way to ever get anythin’ /real/ done is to play dirty, and there’s no way to ever change that.” "Are you naive and frivolous?" This might be a genuine question, too. Perhaps. Lucien's smile has faded, his expression thoughtful. "Oh, I have little doubt there is plenty of good to be done with clean hands." His eyes drop downwards, gaze fixing on his own hands, curled around his teacup. "You are correct, though. There is no way to keep these things apart. Much as I might wish for one." Micah’s lips are pulled into a smirk. “That seems to be the common opinion.” His eyes follow Lucien’s movements closely. “We all want to protect what seems fragile and valuable. Goodness. Innocence. Whatever you want to call it. I think we just try to define things too rigidly and don’t allow for resiliency. Try to keep everythin’ in neat little piles because cleanin’ ‘em back up once they’re messed is too much trouble. Let the perfect be the enemy of the good. If wishes were horses. And other platitudes that are annoyin’ precisely because they’re right.” The smirk becomes more of a grin, with a hint of laughter. “Don’t spend all your time and energy wishin’ for what you can’t have, when there’s a good chance they’re enough to fight for what you could.” Lucien's hands tighten around his cup. He lifts it, drains it, lowers it back to the table, still looking downward all the while. By the time he looks back up again, he /is/ smiling; small but there, a slight upward curl of lips that does not touch his bright green eyes. "No," he says, with an acknowledging tilt of his head, "it does seem rather a waste to expend wishes on the impossible." He stands, picking up his jacket to drape it over one arm. "I will be there, Thursday. Perhaps you would be so kind as to save me a dance." Hazel eyes continue to follow Lucien’s movements closely. When the other man smiles, Micah responds in kind…if more openly. Micah rises as well, planning purchases at the register. “Thank you for the advice. And the crib sheet for the tea quiz. And the company.” He offers a hand to shake in farewell. “It will be a kindness even to see a familiar face in the crowd. Rest assured.” Lucien takes that offered hand, and it comes with a soft-warm wash of something soothing and happy. No pleasure, this time, just easy contentedness. The handshake lingers, a moment longer than needful, and then Lucien heads to the register to pay for his tea -- and acquire a few new tins -- before heading out. A few tins, too, await Micah at the counter in Lucien's wake. Perhaps Lucien did not trust the man to remember for himself which ones he should be taking with him.