ArchivedLogs:Insight

Insight
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	17 March 2015 (Part of the Future Past TP.)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. It is feeling like /spring/ outside, temperatures moving from above-freezing into what one might dare to call warm and the noontime sun shining brilliantly. Micah finally had very little outerwear to bundle off on his arrival, directed back by a younger Tessier sibling to the yard. He is dressed rather obviously for a midday work break: TARDIS-blue polo shirt, paler blue cotton long-sleeved tee beneath, khakis, hair still bearing some semblance of having been tended in the morning. He gives a little brisk rap of knuckles to doorframe by way of announcing his presence as he walks through. Lucien is dressed for gardening. Jeans, a faded denim shirt unbuttoned over a black undershirt. He's been working, at some point; there are tools not yet actually put /away/ but kind of stashed in a bucket to one side of the flower beds. He isn't working at the moment, though; /just/ at the moment he is in the process of being tipped out of the hammock onto the ground. Whump. It's probably just Micah's arrival that saves Matt from getting /tackled/. Instead he clambers into the hammock with a laugh, a lazy salute given to Micah. /He's/ in shorts. A reddish-pink t-shirt with a yellow star in its center. "... Hey, Micah." From Lucien, only, "/hrnf/." He's shaking at the hammock, not making it /easy/ for Matt to climb in. A fond lopsided smile spreads across Micah's lips at the brotherly almost-roughhousing. “Hi, Matt, Luci.” He wanders up with the very likely thought of hug delivery in his mind, but people are a little...hammocky and precarious just now for acting on it. “How are you guys? Wonderful out today. Can't wait to /really/ get started back out in the gardens at the Commons but they're callin' for maybe-snow later this week. Might hafta push it a little further.” Matt sticks his fingers in his ears at Micah's mention of snow. Lalalala. Unfortunately this means he also loses his grip on clinging to the hammock, spilling out of it -- sort of on /top/ of Lucien. Whoops. Lucien curls an arm around his brother, pulling Matt over and down -- or at least, trying to. He only makes it halfway before Matt struggles up to pin /him/ down against the ground. "-- It's gorgeous. /Totally/ spring." Lucien is eying Matt's arm like he's giving serious consideration to biting it. He doesn't, though. His head thuds back against the ground in resignation. "Almost spring. Not /quite/. You're being rather optimistic." "Nobody's ever accused me of /that/ before," Matt answers with a laugh. And no evident intention of letting Lucien back up. "How're you, man?" The smile only stretches wider at all the falling, flopping, and pinning. Micah claims a spot of grass next to the brothers to snag a seat so as not to be just /looming/ over them. “Almost spring,” he agrees with Lucien in word but Matt in hopeful inflection. “Not bad. S'a lotta stuff this week. Been a year since the Lofts tomorrow. Twins're turnin' eighteen on Saturday. Asked us not t'do anythin' for it. That kinda thing.” "-- hn." This time Lucien's eyes close, his posture settling out of play-fighting tension into just -- stillness. Matt rolls up off him. He climbs back up to settle properly in the hammock, this time, hands lacing together on his chest. "... a lotta stuff." "Or very little, really. Unless you intend to /commemorate/ the explosion, it sounds rather a quiet week." Lucien pushes himself up into a sitting position, starting to dust off dirt from his clothing. “No, I don't imagine there's an...event planned. S'more mental stuff than anythin'.” Micah assists with a bit of dirt brushing from spots on Luci's back that would be more difficult for him to see or reach. “How've all of you been?” There is a slight hesitation to the question. "It is rather a lot to process, all at once." Lucien shifts as he speaks, angling his back just a little farther away from Micah, just a little closer to the hammock. Matt drops a hand lazily; he's not really helping with the brushing. Just absently resting a fist against Lucien's shoulder. "Busy, mostly, I guess. Luci's auditioning again and Desi's fretting about hearing back from college and Gaetan's been suspended and Sera --" "-- is, I suspect, part of your reason for stopping by." Lucien's voice is soft and even as he cuts into his brother's words. His eyes fix on Micah. There is, briefly, a fleeting twitch at one corner of his lips. "Even five years hence, it takes a crisis for you to visit." Micah leaves off his brushing as Lucien shifts. "It is. Can you blame me after that? He was offerin' maybe...help for her. That's gotta at least give some pause." He glances sidelong over at Lucien, his smile turned rather sad. "Was just over not long ago, but I guess that was more crises. I also don't mind," he adds only gently teasing, "the occasional invitation if I'm wanted more often. Our schedules don't mesh particularly well, but things could be arranged." He settles into his spot on the ground a little more. "We should have y'all over soon. Dinner or some such." "He was asking you to kidnap her to a world where mutants are killed or forced into prison camps. 'Help' is a generous turn of phrase." Lucien folds his legs up beneath himself, kneeling, now, in the grass. Matt uncurls his fingers, taking over the brushing for a last few stray bits of dirt still clinging to Lucien's shirt. "Invitation? That seems so -- formal." His nose wrinkles up. "There is always a crisis, I suppose." Lucien rests his hands on his knees, fingertips pressing heavily downward. "What do you intend to do about this one?" "Mmn, I was mostly teasin'. Wasn't talkin' /engravin'/ no-how. More of a feel free t'text me or somethin'." Micah's head shakes firmly. "No kidnappin' t'be done. Whatever we facilitate or not, it's gotta be...what y'all an' Sera want. I don't know if whatever medicine they got is somethin' that could be brought t'her instead. Or what...it's not me gets t'choose any of that." His fingers play through the grass for lack of anything else to do with them. "An' she's not a /bargainin' chip/ t'be used. There is the separate issue of...future-you's got the ability t'block mutant detection. An' it'd sure be useful t'know how. An' he's got /access/ at Osborn in the future that could be a wealth of information, I just... Don't know how t'get 'im t'work with us." Matt just /snerks/ at this. "Good luck with /that/, I have twenty-four years of practice and I still don't know how to get him to work with me." Lucien's eyebrows raise. His head tips just slightly to turn a look up to Matt. Matt's grin fades into a more serious look. "Honestly, it's not as though there's a trick to it. If he doesn't want to work with you you /won't/ get him to work with you. If he conditionally is willing to work with you he'll tell you his conditions. -- This feels so weird," he adds, down to Lucien apologetically. "Am I talking about you? Someone else? It's kind of both this is -- awkward." Lucien just lifts a shoulder. Very slight, very small shrug. "... and Oscorp's already set to let these -- Sentinels out on the streets, like, here and now," Matt adds, with a deeper frown and a glance down at Lucien. "Soon," Lucien agrees simply. “I don't know. He asked what we could do for 'im. The only thing he mentioned was bringin' Sera. Don't know if that /is/ the only thing. But he seemed like he'd be willin' t'help. With the maskin' ability, he'd just hafta explain how it works. But then he even went so far as t'/show/ us the Oscorp ID. What would be the point in that if he didn't expect t'be asked t'use it? I just don't know what t'offer. Or what y'all were thinkin' 'bout Sera. Thought maybe y'all might have a better idea'n I do. I mean, /considerin'/.” Micah's eyes track over to Lucien, a shrug also delivered with this. “Who better t'ask?” "If it were me," Lucien says this with a small wry tug at his lips, "I imagine I very much would expect to be /asked/. It is rather a leap to assume that means I would help, though. At least not without adequate incentive." Matt fidgets a little uncomfortably in the hammock. "Having a direct in into Oscorp could be /pretty/ insanely useful, it sounds like. Probably knowing that is why he showed it. Not to say 'I'm willing to use this' but to say 'just how much is this worth to you?'" Lucien tips his hand out to Matt in acknowledgment, then drops it back to his knee. "Considering? Considering -- what? You know more about this future than I do." “Okay, though, I just don't...have the first idea what to...incentive.” Micah's shoulders pull up again in an uncertain shrug. “I might know more 'bout the future but I'm not gonna pretend t'know /you/ as well as you do, Luci. It might be weird-future-you, but it's still /you/ as a base. So. If it /were/ you. What would you need t'hear?” Lucien's brows lift. He looks up towards Matt again, one finger lifting -- then dropping again. Back to his knee. Matt just gives him a small shrug. Kind of what-can-you-do. "You have been a client but have you ever been to my website, Micah?" Lucien asks. "The one I use for escorting." The amount of blushing here is rather unfortunately predictable. The grass under Micah's fingers develops a certain more interesting quality. Almost attention-grabbing. “Ah...no. Can't say I've really had reason t'be.” "Well, you /have/ been a client," Matt points out with a crooked smile. Lucien exhales quietly. "It is just, among many other things there there is a whole section on etiquette. What I expect from the people who come see me in terms of their comportment in our relationship. And it does not matter how clearly I spell these things out. What my rates are, how I handle people wanting extra time, what topics are off limits, what sorts of places or events I will not attend -- there are still always people who will come, and insist I should change my standards for them because they are so much more charming or witty or intelligent or deserving --" He turns his hand upward, fingers spreading slightly. "And I don't make this difficult, it is just, I have something they want and they don't like my terms so think negotiating will somehow convince me to make an exception -- for them. It never works, though, you know." Once more his hand drops back to his knee. "I mean to say, you have already /had/ this conversation with the relevant party. You don't like his terms. If it /were/ me, what I would need to hear is 'yes'." It's still really interesting grass. Just. Fascinating. This doesn't do much to hide the red now tipping Micah's ears. “S'pose that means it's a moot point. Unless by some chance it turns out that what he's offerin' is, independently, what y'all an' Sera decide is best for her.” "Tch." This noise does not sound promising on that front, anyway. "Shipping her off to the apocalypse? Hardly likely. This entire scheme could fall apart at any moment. We are hardly going to risk trapping her in that hell." "That was my reaction, too," Micah agrees with a shrug that implies he'd expected to hear no different. "I was hopin' that maybe there was some medicine that could help her could come back /here/. Both for /her/ sake an' for... But if there's no negotiatin'. That's just...a lot of potentially really helpful information. Not gonna pretend it don't hurt cuttin' that off, neither." Breath puffs out through his lips heavily. "You asked," Lucien says with a faintly weary edge to his voice, "what I /would/ say if it /were/ me, Micah. And I told you that. But it is /not/ me. And when it comes down to it it's simply stupid to act as though it were. Five years -- of the entire world falling apart? Of losing my entire family, of watching the country gear up for genocide? How on earth could I /possibly/ sit here in my comfortable garden with my comfortable life and my brother at my side and tell you what that man is thinking." “I just...I figured if anyone would have more insight it'd be...” Micah's hand lifts vaguely toward Lucien. “We offered t'bring whatever intervention back to Sera. We told 'im what our aims were, t'prevent all that horror-future from bein' what it would be. He seemed unimpressed. We asked 'im t'name anythin' it was he wanted an' bringin' Sera was the only thing he'd say. I'm kind of at a loss here.” "I was there. I saw." Lucien's tone is mild. "You claimed to be time travellers who had come with the explicit intention of destroying his entire reality. Would you have been impressed?" "I been there any number of times. Bein' the me from that future." Micah shudders faintly. "Been more'n impressed. Outright asked for it. Workin' toward it, actively. Both of us." Lucien's jaw tightens slightly. "The fact that you're still here alive is all the more evidence he is -- not me." Matt rubs a hand briefly against his eyes. "You do have kind of a -- tendency to trust people," he says to Micah. "Just a smidge more than we do." “It's m'friends an' family doin' all this,” Micah returns with a somewhat lost look to his shaking head. “If I'm not trustin' them, then what's the point?” Once more Lucien's eyes lift to Matt. A small raise of eyebrows, a small press of lips. Matt doesn't answer. He just gives Micah a small smile, his hammock rocking unsteadily as he leans out to squeeze the other man's shoulder.