ArchivedLogs:Sensible

Sensible
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2016-04-30 "Fish are sensible. They have never once slobbered on me."
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 just past midnight, and though rain continues on and off, the temperature has grown less chilly as the night wears on. Matt has just padded in from the garden, dressed in his Ace of Hearts shirt and black flannel pajama pants covered with little hearts. He carries in his han three equal lengths of twine, all damp from the rain like his mess of brown hair. Though he looks like he has just awakened from a particularly adventurous episode of sleepwalking, he strides with resolute purpose into the living room...and then drops down onto the sofa. Lucien has already been tucked into a corner of the sofa - also pajama'd, black pants and a plain white undershirt. There's a glass of Scotch on the table in front of him -- the bottle right beside it. He folds his book (/The Remains of the Day/ by Kazuo Ishiguro) closed around his finger as Matt drops down beside him, head tipping to eye his brother curiously. One hand stays in his book; his other reaches to /flick/ idly at a stray droplet of water in Matt's hair. Matt bites at Lucien's finger with entirely more vigor and enthusiasm than his langorous posture would suggest, though for all that he does not bite very /hard/. "{We should get a dog,}" he says, quite abruptly. His hands clasp the ends of the twine in and ties them neatly into an overhand loop. The breath of laughter that escapes Lucien is abrupt, but quiet. His shake of hand is halfhearted, a not very earnest attempt at first to dislodge his hand from Matt's teeth. "What need? {You're bitey enough for one already.}" Matt gives Lucien a somewhat disapproving sidelong glance. "{A dog is for /snuggling/, not for /biting/.}" Rolls his eyes, as if this bit of information /ought/ to have been entirely obvious. Lucien quirks an eyebrow upward. He reaches out, now, to swipe the loop of twine from Matt's hand, turning it over in his own. "{That sounds like it would get an awful lot of fur onto clothing.}" "{I get worse things than dog hair on my clothes just walking outside everyday.}" Matt does not resist the theft of his twine, and indeed there's nothing particularly remarkable about--hemp or jute, dyed into rainbow colors. "{What about a really short-haired dog?}" "/You/ do," Lucien scoffs lightly. "{A short-haired dog who would still chew my furniture and track terrible muddy pawprints on my floors?} We have fish. Fish are sensible. They have never once slobbered on me." "{Tiny dog galoshes.}" Matt had, perhaps, anticipated this particular objection. "{Or gigantic dog galoshes, I suppose, depending on the size of the dog, who in any event could be taught not to chew on the furniture and given plenty of other things to chew instead.}" Even so, he subsides into the couch a little more without any sign of enormous disappointment when he concedes, "Fish /are/ very sensible." There's a very faint widening to Lucien's eyes at the mention of /gigantic/ dog galoshes. He reaches for his Scotch, takes a slow swallow, pushes out a sharp breath again. The sharpness in his /expression/ softens as he looks back to Matt, watches him sink further into the couch. He lowers the glass to his knee, pursing his lips faintly. "You are serious about this." "{/Serious,/ certainly.}" Matt folds one arm behind his head and leans back, curling his legs up onto the sofa as well. "{However, I'm not going to /pine away/ if we do not get a dog. I know it'd mean some adjustments, probably quite a few inconveniences, and an additional expense.}" He gives a lopsided shrug, one hand twisting in the air, fingers splaying out. "{That's life. So is dealing with not having a dog.}" A very small, crooked smirk. "Or being sensible." "Life is often inconvenient," Lucien agrees mildly, leaning back as well and resting one foot up on the coffee table. His eyes drop to the circlet of twine in his palm, for just a moment before sliding closed. "{I will look at our budget.}" Matt's smile goes wide and joyous, but only for a moment. It fades to something quieter, more fond--perhaps even wistful. He starts to speak, but does not go through with it, chewing on his lower lip instead. He rises up onto his knees, leans forward to tug the knotted twine from Lucien's hand, but also to plant a kiss on his forehead.