ArchivedLogs:Magic To Do

Magic To Do
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt, Steve, Desi
In Absentia	2016-03-20 "{There are people in this world who can move oceans.}"
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. Steve is making his way down the street somewhat more slowly than is usual for him. He wears a heavy black canvas jacket over a button-down shirt in soft pastel blue, pink, and purple plaid, khakhi pants, and combat boots. He carries a stiff cardboard envelope under one arm and a lavender basket covered with a pink gingham cloth hanging from the other. When he climbs the front steps to the Tessier house, an observant eye can definitely detect stiffness in his movements. He pauses for a moment at the top before knocking, firmly, three times. It takes a while before the door is opened, but eventually Desi answers. She's dressed in long striped socks in shades of purple, a long green skirt, a long-sleeved ombre purple top. Her eyes open wider, brows lifting when she see Steve at the door. Her head tilts slightly to the side, gaze flicking up and down over the man, hand lingering on the door handle. "{Good afternoon, Captain.}" Her smile is warm, tone pleasant -- if there's a small furrow that creases her brow soon after. "{I'm sorry about --}" For a moment her lip catches between her teeth. "{... well.}" "{Blessed Ostara,}" Steve says, his French rustic and continental in sharp contrast to hers. "{I come bearing...}" He lifts the basket. Looks at it. "{Well. Jax made these for the holiday, before his arrest. I think he'd still want you to have them.}" His smile is -- just a little strained. "{Also, I have something for your older brothers. I can leave it, if they are busy...}" "{That's so --}" Desi's brows have lifted higher -- but whatever she was about to say, she falls quiet, a small flush coming to her cheeks. She steps back instead, gesturing Steve inside. "{My brothers are in the garden. If Jax baked it I'm pretty sure Matt will love to eat it. You can head out there. I'll make some tea.}" Her head dips, slightly. "{... Blessed Ostara.}" Steve's quizzical look is mild, and he doesn't pursue. "{Thank you,}" he nods to her, entering and somewhat gingerly kneeling to remove his boots. He carries them with him through the living room into the kitchen opens the door to the back yard. Steps outside and back /into/ the boots. Somewhat uncharacteristically fails to lace them back up. "{Blessed Ostara,}" he says, his smile genuine, if thin. Shakes the basket in his hand lightly. "{Strawberry rhubarb tarts and lavender lemon cookies, courtesy of Jax.}" Matt /was/ lying in the hammock, but he perks up when Steve enters and slip down to land in a crouch. He looks less exhausted than he did when the two last saw each other, but there are still dark circles around his eyes. He wears an Elphaba-green t-shirt with the classical silhouette of a broom-riding witch passing before a full moon, captioned with 'Yes, I can drive stick' over a darker heather green long-sleeve shirt, and brown cargo pants, no shoes. "Hey! {Blessed Ostara.}" His expression at the presenting of Dessert is a strange combination of jubilant and crestfallen. "Oh! {Thank you for bringing them.}" He crosses the garden and wraps Steve in a very careful hug before relieving him of the basket. "{Come, sit down, please.}" Though there are candles, a bowl of water with a neat arrangement of flower petals floating in it, honey sticks, a covered plate of bread, set out on a blanket in the grass, Lucien is not near these things. He has also been draped in the hammock, in jeans and a long-sleeved pale-green button-down -- he has a book in hand though he's been ignoring /this/ too, in favour, evidently, of sleep. His eye cracks open though at the sudden unstable rocking of the hammock, jaw tightening in a grimace until he looks over at Steve. "-- Ah. Steve. {Blessed...}" His brows furrow, slowly, as he sits more slowly up. "{... Ostara. My goodness. Jackson is quite --}" His fingers tighten in the netting of the hammock. "{Something. Thank you.}" "{You're welcome.}" Steve only curls one arm around Matt, though he squeezes more tightly for it. The offer of a seat, however, he accepts quite readily, sinking into a chair by the pond with a slightly strained "{Thank you.}" Then, "{Yeah. He is...quite /something/,}" though his voice is soft, there's a carefully constrained fire beneath it. "{I needn't linger long, but if it wouldn't trouble you, I would like to rest, at least, for a little while. How is your holiday so far?}" Matt peeks beneath the gingham cloth, sneaking out a cookie to nibble and then...holding onto the basket. He might want /more/, after all. "{Troubling? What nonsense. Our day has been...well, less eventful than yours. Stay a while, please.}" He's studying Steve closely. "{How are you mending?"}" Lucien rises, slipping off past the others and into the house. He is back straight away, though, a tray with three cups of Assam on it already. "-- Desi was brewing tea. {It perhaps does not help, but.}" He stops by Steve's chair, offering out the tray. "{It certainly never hurts.}" "{I'm...mending,}" Steve allows. He still looks a little pale, perhaps, but the deep bruise on his cheek has already faded to faint purple and yellow. "{Fast, even by my standards. Better care, I suppose. The injury is still painful, but not the most unpleasant thing in my life by a long shot right now. Oh, and...}" He hands the envelope to Matt -- it's large, addressed to both him and Lucien, postmarked from Thursday. "I'm as good as my word." His smile comes a bit more relaxed at the offer of tea, and he takes one of the cups with a grateful nod. "{Thank you, and...some days I think it does. Help.}" "{Thank you! Should I act very surprised by what's in here?}" Matt receives the envelope, then holds the cookie in his mouth so that he has a hand free to snag tea, as well. When realizes he cannot /drink/ the tea like that, however, he has a moment of paralysis. Then passes the envelope on to his brother. "{Here, you're better at acting,}" he explains, once cookie has been removed from mouth. "{How're things at the Commons now?}" Lucien only looks the /faintest/ bit exasperated at his brother -- he has to actually set the tray /down/ so that he has a free hand for the envelope. He takes the envelope, takes a seat in the chair Matt leans on. Then opens the envelope, carefully drawing out the two sheets of paper inside. The larger of the two is a sheet of heavy, fine paper bearing an inked drawing of the Matt and Lucien sitting together on a bench beside a roaring campfire. Lucien's posture and dress are impeccable, down to the pointy witch hat poised elegantly upon his head, and his eyes are closed, his lips parted to speak -- or sing. Matt's witch hat sits crooked on his head as he gazes up fondly at his brother, his smile half-hidden behind the cup he lifts to drink. The warm light of the blaze reflects on their faces, which seem to glow faintly in the darkness. Whether /surprised/ or not, Lucien's smile has a decided warmth to it as he looks at the paper, tipping it up for his brother to see. "{This is lovely.}" His voice is quiet, eyes lingering on the page until he turns his attention to the note that accompanies it. ({Blessed Ostara! A few days early, true, but it feels close enough by the weather, at least. May spring's return bring life to the land, hope to those who dwell upon it, and joy to your home. In friendship and solidarity,} Steve Rogers) His smile twitches -- just a faint bit wider as he sets the drawing carefully on its cardboard on the table, fingertips resting lightly on its edge to keep the wind from stealing it. His other hand reaches for his mug. "{Such nonsense, though.}" His head is tipping towards the note. "{You've given it right on time.}" "{Crowded and chaotic, but getting better. Many of our guests have been eager to get back to their families and their lives.}" Steve looks thoughtful, blows across the surface of his tea. "The media, though...that's gotten /worse/." He frowns. Shakes his head. "I should give them a statement." Doesn't sound too sanguine about it, though. But then, "{On time? Oh, so it is!}" Steve looks up at the sky, gives a self-conscious chuckle. "{The sudden chilly turn in the weather must have confused my internal clock.}" His smile is warm, all the same. "{I'm glad you like it. That was Yule...seems like an eon ago, but it stuck with me.}" "{I'm kind of amazed they haven't cornered you already,}" Matt says, not unsympathetically, "{especially after this morning.}" He sips at his tea and watches over Lucien's shoulder as he opens the envelope. "{The ballad of Tam Lin,}" he says softly. "{I remember.}" He leans a bit more heavily on the chair, on his brother's shoulder. "{Thank you, it is a wonderful gift. I think we can forgive your internal clock. This time.}" "{It was a pleasant night.}" Lucien leans back when Matt leans in, head tipping back against his brother's hand. He lifts his tea, takes a small sip. "{And a beautiful drawing. Come Beltane, I hope, we can celebrate with more /colour/ about. The Commons look lovely in bloom.}" He's mostly looking at the basket, though, lips pressing slightly together. He pulls his gaze away at length, green eyes flicking back to Steve. "Any statement you gave would certainly be /heard/ widely enough. What exactly would you say?" "{Beltane, that's...on May Day, right?}" Steve looks around the garden. "{I imagine it's quite lovely here, too, come warmer weather.}" His gaze comes to rest on the basket, as well. One of his hands starts to reach for it, but then he wraps it around the tea as if his other hand weren't strong enough to lift it for a sip. Does not answer at once. Then, finally, "{I want to explain why that raid was necessary. That real terror is imprisoning people for the content of their genetic code -- to say nothing of what Prometheus was doing before it was shut down. That the liberty and justice Americans claim to hold sacred mean nothing if they apply only to some.}" He shakes his head slowly. "{But I'm not sure it will help anyone to say those things. Feels a bit like screaming at the ocean.}" "{The first of May, yes.}" Matt kneads at the back of Lucien's neck idly. "{It's another fire holiday.}" He looks down at the drawing, then back up at Steve. "{There are people in this world,}" he says evenly, "{who can move oceans.}" Lucien shivers, head tilting forward again now. There's a muddle of feelings that wash over to Matt with the contact; a pounding throb of headache, a heavy cloak of exhaustion, a layer of grief threaded through the rest. He takes another sip of tea, lets these things sink somewhere farther back in his awareness. "{I have been going over the files retrieved from the facility. The information retrieved is certainly compelling evidence as to the necessity of the raid. Though making people listen -- in a way that will have impact --}" His other hand lifts, rubbing slowly at the hollows of his eyes. "{That will take some very powerful magic indeed.}" "{I'm not a magician or a witch,}" Steve studies the items arranged on the blanket in the grass. "{I cannot move oceans, and I certainly cannot make people /listen,/ but...}" He closes his eyes, takes a long drink from his cup. "{...it's true. Whatever I -- whatever /Captain America/ says about this /will/ be heard. Help me make that count.}" When he opens his eyes and turns, he's not only looking at Lucien, his gaze darting between the brothers. "{I know it is a great deal to ask, and I will compensate you for the work unless you insist otherwise.}" He shakes his head. The rueful twist of his mouth isn't /quite/ a smile. "I got paid time off for the raid." Matt's hand keeps rubbing, his power threading through Lucien's though not modifying it: just a steady presence. At Steve's request, he looks down at his brother. The worry that winds through him is just a louder echo of the same concern that always lurks somewhere in him. "{Might not go well for you, rocking the boat.}" Perhaps that worry isn't /entirely/ for Lucien, after all. "{Though I guess you already burned that bridge...}" Slight pause. "{...boat?}" "Taxpayer-sponsored terrorism?" Lucien has a small chuckle for this, at least. "You speak, then, Captain Rogers. {I will make sure people listen.}" His hand lowers, back to his lap. "{I will make sure they have little choice.}" He straightens, takes a deep swallow of his tea. Tucks the drawing and its note back into its protective cardboard to settle it safely underneath the tray. "{But please.} We have other magic entirely to attend to, first." His eyes have flicked away -- to the grass, its candles, its flowers. His gaze lifts for only a moment to his brother before returning to Steve. "{I imagine your day is quite full, but. If you would care to stay?}" "{How my new coworkers react is going to tell me a lot of what I wanted to know about them, that's for sure.}" Steve drains his tea, sets down the cup. "{Thank you. I hadn't intended to talk about all that, coming here. Just to bring holiday greetings and dessert.}" He turns and looks to the southeast, as though he could see through all the intervening buildings to the Commons somehow. "I don't doubt they could use extra hands, though frankly I'm not sure I could even get /through/ right now. {And, in any case, I would like to stay.}"