ArchivedLogs:Imperfections
| Imperfections | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
litha 2017 "Jax does have a /tendency./" |
| Location
<NYC> 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. It's a brilliant afternoon, the sun riding high in a blue sky dotted with picturesque white clouds, hot enough to feel summery but not enough to oppress. The door opens to admit Matt, who wiggles out of his sandals without even bending down. He wears a black t-shirt with an abstract orange and red image of a man clutching a book, consume by flames, and gray cargo shorts. His wig looks like it ought to go with some sort of costume, all flame-colored and feathered. He has his battered olive-drab Blue Suns messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and it makes a solid thunk when he sets it down on the coffee table before sinking down into his armchair. "{That was a mistake,}" he laments as soon as he is seated. "{What time is it? We've so much to do.}" Lucien does bend down, stooping to untie his shoes and then tuck them -- and Matt's sandals -- onto the small rack in the hallway closet. He trails behind his brother, leaning against the back of the armchair for a moment. "{Time for you to sit down and rest.}" His tone is light. "{After tea, you can worry about the rest of the day.}" There's music playing upstairs, muffled but thumping through the ceiling. It lowers soon after the door has opened, though it doesn't cut off entirely. Soon after, an opening door upstairs -- an excited rattle of claws, scampering paws, and soon one very excited lop-eared dog is barreling into the living room to frisk about Lucien's legs, rear up and drape half over Matt's lap. Gaétan is slower to follow, leaning-swinging on the banister as he makes his way down the stairs. "Right, like they're totally going to care if you don't have everything perfect when they get here. Probably go home, never celebrate another holiday with you again." Matt leans back, looks up at Lucien as though he is /thinking/ about arguing. But the arrival of Flèche is enough to derail whatever he had in mind. "Darling pup!" He scruffs the dog's ears and kisses her on top of her muzzle. "I'm sure /they'll/ be alright with everything not being perfect, but Luci won't." Pausing a beat, he adds, "{I /would/ love some tea, though...}" Luci's hand drops reflexively to Flèche's head, scruffing between her ears until she peels away to flop on Matt. "I don't require /perfection/," he protests, though not very strenuously. "Except in my tea. Will a strawberry sencha do? Iced, all round?" Gaétan has wandered over to the couch. Dropped down onto it, kind of slouchy where he nestles heavily back into its cushions, props a foot up on the edge of the coffee table. "No, just a close enough set dressing to fake out an audience." One hand is in his pocket, fidgeting absently with something unseen within. "{I made a pitcher of coconut oolong, will that do?}" Offhand. "{It's in the fridge.}" Matt snorts. "This is a tough audience to fake out, though--master performers each in their own right." He gathers Flèche the rest of the way up into his lap. "{Oh! That will do wonderfully, /thank you./}" His smile is bright despite his visible weariness. "Will you join us for ritual later? However imperfect?" This kind of casually, half-muffled by the dog's neck as she sits up to snuffle at the wig, knocking it askew. "An adroit performance is its own sort of perfection." Lucien leans down to press a kiss to the top of Flèche's head, just before readjusting Matt's wig carefully. "{Ah, delightful. That may /nearly/ even tide Matt over until our guests arrive.}" Straightening, he slips off to the kitchen, returning to set the entire pitcher of iced tea down on a paper towel on the coffee table in front of Matt. There. Job done. Gaétan's small chuff might be a laugh. Maybe just a snort. His toes wiggle against the table. His lips do twitch when Lucien brings out The Whole Pitcher of tea. His head rolls slightly to one side to look over at Matt, shoulder just shrugging in tandem with a noncommittal grunt. "Are there any fireworks at this one?" Not /too/ hopeful. "I don't need any tiding over, just a quick sip before I go help you with the prep work." Even so saying, Matt flails one hand kind of /helplessly/ tea-ward, his other arm still wound around Pup to provide uninterrupted pettings. "There /could/ be fireworks, with a properly placed suggestion," he points out. "Jax does have a /tendency./" "That pup looks quite firmly ensconced on your lap." A casual observation. Lucien reaches over to -- mostly ignore Matt's flailing, actually. Scritch Flèche firmly between her ears. Under her chin. One last pat before he starts to head back off to the kitchen. "There will certainly be /fire/. And an enthusiastic and likely overcharged photokinetic. No doubt we can make do." One of Gaétan's eyes scrunches up as he watches Matt flail at his tea. He slouches further into the couch. His foot slides down to thud onto the floor. Eventually, his contribution to helping with The Preparations: a click of his tongue, a light and coaxing, "{Flèche! Here, pup.}" as he stands, trudging back toward the stairs. Matt subsides against the sagging headrest of his chair. "It's a dreadful burden, but one I bear with OOF--" This last as Flèche pushes off of him to launch herself bodily, all four paws airborne briefly, to scramble after--and then ahead of--Gaétan. His wince comes with a sedate smile, too, as he levers himself upright, snagging the pitcher. "{I can work and drink this at the same time.} You /might/ even say," he adds, nudging Lucien with an elbow as he passes, "--I've got multitasking down to a /tea./" | |
