Logs:Pre-Gaming

{{ Logs | cast = Lucien, Matt, Steve | summary = | gamedate = 2020-07-01 | gamedatename = | subtitle = | location = <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village | categories = Lucien, Matt, Steve, Mutates, Mutants, Private Residence, NPC-Flèche | log = 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.

The Tessier household is going all out for Canada Day--nevermind that they never seemed to have much interest it in before last year--with banners and streamers bedecked with red maple leaves everywhere and a ludicrous fold-out cartoon moose as a centerpiece on the tea table, surrounded by the remnants of tea and a partially deconstructed maple-leaf cake. The speaker system is quietly playing "Welcome to the Rock" in the background.

Matt is curled in his armchair, dressed in a vintage Montréal Canadiens home jersey (number 10, Lafleur) that hangs loose on his skinny frame, a soft green blanket pulled up over his lap despite the warmth of the summer evening. He has both hands wrapped around a celadon mug, a tired smile on his pale, pale face. "You'd like that show, I think," he muses, tipping his recently re-shaved head at the--ceiling, "I hope you get the chance to see it."

Lucien is settled on the rug by the fireplace, casual in jeans and a soft short-sleeved green button down. One hand cups a squat glass of whiskey; the other is resting on Flèche's shoulder where she lies sprawled on her side, eyes half-closed and her tongue lolling sideways out of her mouth. "From all accounts, that may yet be some time." There's a trace of regret in Lucien's tone. "But it is very likely to return, when theatres re-open. It has a broad appeal." His lips compress just slightly, eyes flicking toward Steve. "Some combination of an appeal to patriotism combined with that old-fashioned neighborly wholesomeness -- apparently, a lot of people take comfort in that."

Perhaps Steve didn't get the memo about Canada Day, or perhaps he just came straight from work, dressed as he is in a neat black short-sleeve button-down and black slacks, still redolent of coffee. He's sitting on the side of the couch nearest to Matt, his gleaming new-old shield tucked between the two pieces of furniture, and nursing a glass of whiskey -- his tea and cake long since finished. "I do like neighborly wholesomeness," he admits, blushing faintly. "Kind of over the patriotism, though. But, to be honest, I haven't yet seen a show on Broadway I didn't like. Not sure if I should credit the creative genius of that entire industry or the tastes of those who've been guiding my theatre experiences."

Matt takes a long, slow sip of his tea. "It's some of both, I think. The genius of that entire industry has produced its fair share of duds--including some wildly popular ones. Who's to say you wouldn't have been head over heels for Cats?" A glint of bemusement in his bright green eyes briefly overshadows his weariness. "I can't say I think much of patriotism myself, but you don't seem to mind Canada Day so very much."

"Please. Steve would love Cats. Steve would have loved Starlight Express. Come to think of it, we ought to take him to see Cats first thing once we're able. Enjoy it while he's still enchanted with the wonders modern stagecraft is capable of and before he develops any sort of discerning taste." Lucien sips at his drink, head tipping back towards the ceiling. "Some terrible musicals are worth the experience. Others -- well. I don't know that anyone has ever benefited from the abysmal mangling that was Wonderland. Or -- goodness, I'm not even quite sure what I would call In My Life. I keep thinking I must have been quite high when I saw it but I have been well assured it makes just as little sense sober."

His fingers curl gently into Flèche's fur as a loud whizz-bang sounds from outside, followed by a series of sharp cracks. A brief pause, then another louder boom. "Oh, look." Mild, somewhat dry. "Others are getting in on the celebrations now, too."

Steve smiles into his whiskey. "I've gotten the impression you wouldn't be celebrating Canada Day if it weren't also my birthday." His switch to French is smooth, his Provençal accent wildly at odds with his Québecois diction. "{Thank you, by the way. It's nice to have a small celebration, like this, to brace me for the weekend.} And I will gladly go with you to see any show, if you're game to suffer through it." His flinch is subtle, barely visible, but his pupils dilate and his breathing speeds up noticeably at the sound of the fireworks. It takes him a moment, and a generous gulp of whiskey, to regain his composure. "It's been like this up our way for a month, deep into the night. Every night."

Matt covers his laughter with the brim of his cup, his teeth clicking quietly against the smooth ceramic. "Goodness, but he would love it. And really, what's not to love about Starlight Express?" He nestles more comfortably into the plush upholstery of his chair. "{All I did was pick out the moose,}" he replies lightly, indicating the googly-eyed centerpiece with one upturned hand, "{but I'm glad that you enjoyed it.}" He doesn't seem quite so distressed by the cracks and booms from outside. "Mmm. It's not been quite so consistent here, but we've been hearing it, too, if distantly. This, I expect, is in fact some early patriotism. Or drunk Canadian expats."

"Why on earth wouldn't we celebrate Canada Day? Patriotism, genocide, cake -- all the most cherished traditions of our people." Lucien sips again at his whiskey, swirling it absently in its glass after. "Twitter has had no end of theories as to the origin of the fireworks." His eyes flick down to the dog, softly growling at the next series of cracks. "I have some very excellent noise-cancelling headphones. You should take a pair home with you. Ours won't likely last that late."

He knocks back the rest of his drink, lies back on the rug and places his empty glass carefully on Flèche's shoulder. "{Sadly, Steve, you are not drunk as you properly should be to appreciate everything there is to love about Starlight Express. But only picture the musical as such.}" His hands spread in the air above him describing a -- slightly wibbly arc? An intoxicated rainbow? "{There are trains. Or at least, there are humans on rollerskates, and each human is a train. All of the trains are very horny.}"

One might expect there to be more elaboration forthcoming. There is not.

"Sounds about like our Independence Day." Steve frowns thoughtfully. "Well, maybe replace the cake with pie and a lot of booze. Anyway, Twitter has endless theories about everything. I really don't know what to believe, but it's sure playing havoc on my nerves." One muscular shoulder hitches up. "I'll give the headphones a try." He takes a sip of his whiskey, nodding at Lucien's explanation, though his brows scrunch further and further as it unfolds. He waits a beat, expectant. Then, "{And that is -- the entire show?}"

"{Growing up it was often just Moving Day for us.}" Matt drains his tea and leans forward to set the mug down on the table. "But either way, a birthday party--especially a super secret birthday party--is a vast improvement." He tucks the blanket in around himself, shoulders hunching slightly. "If that keeps up, you're welcome to shelter here from time to time--though probably after part-two, round-two I'm about to start. Mind, I'll be an awful host, just ooze around uselessly and fall asleep a lot, but it is quieter here."

His smile returns, gleeful, "Theoretically there's also a race, but really it's mostly just trains introducing themselves and lusting after other trains. Actually, that's basically the plot of Cats, too--{only, with cats instead of trains.}" He beams at Steve. "{Trust me, it is at once so much worse and so much better than it sounds.}"

"He says that as though that is some sort of deviation from his behavior when healthy." A soft thread of laughter laces Lucien's tone. "{And please. Do not mislead him. The cats do not have rollerskates. They are merely -- mostly naked.}" His brows pinch, slightly, his hands falling to his chest. "Come to think of it, actually far more clothed than most cats I have seen." His fingers lace together, eyes closing. "Twitter has had more than its share of theories about you, of late."

"I'd love to come over more," Steve's smile is sincere, "and I know you take your hospitality seriously, but I can look after myself. Could even lend a hand, if that'd be helpful at any point." He blinks, his eyes narrowing slightly as they flick between the brothers. "{I can't tell if you're being serious about this musical, or pulling my leg.}" But at that last comment he blushes, "Oh gosh, has it ever. I knew it was going to draw remarks, but -- really, it was just a hug."

"I never said it deviated from my baseline," Matt's reply is light, his smile ever so faintly smug. "{But in all seriousness I don't think we'll need much help just yet. The round after this, maybe. Or if I have to stay in the hospital.}" His tone remains casual, unconcerned, but a careful ear can pick up the tense dread beneath his words. "{We are entirely serious and also pulling your leg, just a little. I cannot explain to you how both can be true, you must see it for yourself.}" He burrows slowly deeper into the blanket. "I think it's less about what you did than who you did it with. Any rumors about you and Jax are going to be considered extra juicy in the celebrity grapevine because of their relationship--real as well as imagined."

Lucien's fingers press tighter together. He pulls himself up fluidly from where he's been lying, arms not actually uncrossing until he has sat up; reaches out to pluck his glass off the fitfully dozing dog and refill it. The pull of whiskey he takes is deep. "While I'm sure your, ah, relationship with Ryan has been entertaining I do have to wonder, do you --" His fingers unfurl gracefully, palm tipped up. "Have an exit strategy?"

Steve glances aside at Matt, his brows lightly furrowed. "I'd be glad to keep you company at the hospital, too, comes to that." He also sounds casual, but downs the rest of his scotch. To Lucien's question, he chews on his lower lip for a moment. "It's been educational, too, but...no?" Kind of sheepish. "I'd been meaning to talk to him about that, but would appreciate your advice, too." He plucks up the bottle Lucien has just set down to refill his glass. "Would an amicable separation be too unrealistic?"

"We'll see," Matt says simply. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair and settles his chin in the palm of one hand. "I'm sure he'd be amenable, but that absolutely will not stop the media or his fans from manufacturing drama. Especially if they're already primed to think you're cheating on him with his BFF." His smile is lopsided but sympathetic. "But it'll still be less drama than waiting for Ryan to forget he's in a presumptively monogamous relationship. Or you, for that matter."

Lucien's lips compress. He takes another swallow of his drink, sets the glass down on a coaster on the table. Plucking his phone from his pocket, he taps at it briefly before handing it over to Steve. "I took the liberty of workshopping some potential statements the both of you might make. The first set there was for a more cordial dissolution of the arrangement." His eyes slip to Matt, his hand lifting to half-hide his smile behind a loose splay of fingers. "To be honest, I'm surprised he made it this long without slipping, given his general proclivities. I imagine that the compulsory staycation helped on his end, but with lockdown lifting and his album near recorded -- it might only be a matter of time."

Steve blushes lightly, accepting Lucien's phone. His eyes scan down the screen rapidly. "Gosh, thank you, I...don't know why I'm surprised you were two steps ahead of me." He passes the phone back. "It's Ryan's decision, too, but I'd prefer -- cordial. He's a dear friend and I'd rather not have to pretend to feud with him, too. Besides..." Picking his drink back up, he salutes Lucien with it, "...that might hopefully make less work for you." }}