ArchivedLogs:Multitasking

Multitasking
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2017-05-26 "There is a time and place for dignity. Belly rubs are not the appropriate moment."
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. Though it's only early afternoon, Matt is dozing soundly in his armchair, a small stack of papers in his lap. Or, at least, he /was/ dozing soundly until Flèche zooms into the living room and take a flying leap onto him, scattering papers everywhere. She ricochets off of him before he starts fully awake, and tears out of the room again even as he gasps and pushes himself upright. "Qu'est-ce..." Mumbled, indistinct, as he blinks and stares around at the chaos. It isn't long after this that Lucien emerges from his room. "You can be assured we will do everything in our power to make that happen for you." He isn't looking at Matt -- the tiny glowing headset tucked into his ear has, at least nominally, his attention. Some of it. The rest of it is split to the scattered papers on the floor that he is stooping to gather and neatly arrange. "I understand that, and I certainly -- no." He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps at it. The headset still glows, his expression slightly pinched as he kneels by Matt's chair to hand the papers back. "You don't even want to see what she's made of my study." Not /entirely/ helpless, Matt flops over sidewise in his chair so that he has at least recovered /one/ of the stapled sheafs by the time Lucien hands him the rest. The papers appear at a glance to be mostly presentable reports--though one has visibly over-wide margins and is typed in 13 point text--on a variety of paganism-related topics. Some already have red inked annotations in Matt's bubbly, uneven hand. "Desi has a double shift, but I'm sure Izzy will take her for a jog when he gets back." On cue, Flèche gallops back in, shaking a rope toy vigorously. She skids to a stop, dropping into a neat playbow in front of the two men, tail wagging high. "...a jog to the dog park, perhaps." "I'm quite sure Desi will not need to be taken for a jog later." Lucien's brows furrow in some small distraction. Another tap at his phone: "Several districts have put orders in already." He plucks one of the papers from Matt's stack, looking it over with an idle curiosity as he settles down cross-legged on the floor. His other hand takes Flèche's rope, tugging back at it. "Most likely she'll want a nap." Matt gives his brother the flattest look, and waits until he has finished talking to his headset before swatting him lightly with his stack of papers. "I meant /Flèche/." A flutter of anxiety crosses his features, there and gone. The report in Lucien's hand has more pages than most and is entitled 'Sun of Man: Unearthing Solar Monotheism in Late Antiquity'. "These are the early ones--my usual overachievers, a couple of aspiring witches, and quite a few I did not expect to receive on the last day of class." Flèche, meanwhile, is yanking exuberantly on the other end of the rope toy, shaking it every so often in an effort to free it from Lucien's grasp. "She's been so antsy lately." "Aspiring witches? Have you inspired any converts? Are you corrupting the youth?" Lucien leans back, braced against the chair as he wrestles Flèche for the rope. "I've not spent as much time at the dog park lately with her as I'd like. Certainly not half as much as she'd like, poor dear. Sometimes Jax takes her with Obie but --" He exhales sharply as he relinquishes the toy, slumps back against the seat. "I've had a mind to hire extra company for her." "I think most of them were already baby pagans before taking the class, and quite a few would rather I talked more about magic and less about Mesopotamia. But probably I /am/ corrupting the youth. I might well be doing so just by /being a witch./" Matt settles the stack of papers down in his lap again as he subsides back into the chair. "You've been busy," he murmurs quietly, tugging the loosely crocheted green throw smooth over his lap, though it is not cold in the least. "By 'extra company' do you mean another dog, or a dog walker?" Then, after a beat. "I suppose the latter often come with the former, to some extent." "Your presence just radiates --" Lucien is thumbing through the paper now on his lap, his head shaking with an irritation probably not attributable to high school research papers. Entirely more neutral in tone: "Certainly, but the Governor has had worries that might come off a touch aggressive at this stage." He swipes at the rope again, giving it a fiercer tug. "-- /corrosion/. Isn't that the role of teachers, after all?" His eyes turn up toward his brother. "I suppose the former. I've been looking into them, though, and there are some very untrustworthy looking services out there. She does need -- more, though." Matt waves one hand in the air vaguely. "Try telling parents that. Though I haven't actually gotten any complaints lately." Even at a cursory glance, the report in Lucien's hand looks meticulously researched, written with care, and peppered liberally with puns. Flèche throws her weight backward exuberantly, bent on winning the rope for her own this time. "See, /this/ is why we should just get another dog. Dogs are /very/ trustworthy." Then, more thoughtfully, resting his chin in one palm, "Maybe ask Steve? New Leash has a lot of volunteers, it doesn't seem unlikely some of them also do petcare professionally." "/Lately/. Clearly you should have cancer more often. It buys you such leeway. -- Are you sure you didn't just write this one yourself? {My gods, you /are/ having an influence aren't you.}" Lucien is pinching at the bridge of his nose as he looks over the paper, though there's a small upward curl to his lips. It remains even through the smooth shifting of his tone once more. "Pardon, but just to clarify, are we talking about a week from tomorrow?" Somewhere in the carefully controlled map of his mindscape there is a ruffling, an uncomfortable hitching that is hammered swiftly back flat. He leaves off the rope and throws himself forward instead, wrestling Flèche to the ground and burying his face against her belly. The paper he'd held spills back off him onto the floor. "Would you like that, hmm? Perhaps see some of your old friends again? I'm sure Steve would know who is reliable there." "Most of my students have been incredibly solicitous, so I shouldn't be surprised if they're plying their guardians on my behalf, too." Matt scribbles in the margin of the paper he's working on. His powers ghost over his brother's, gentler in soothing the wonted calm back into place. "Oh, that's ah...the young person who wrote that is both an overachiever /and/ a witch. Also has an intense crush on me." Flèche's joy at her victory is short-lived, eclipsed by her joy at /wrestling/, though the rope toy stays in her mouth while she wiggles around, legs flailing in the air. Looking on, Matt covers his smile with the knuckles of his left hand. "Precious pup! Isn't she just a paragon of dignity. Takes after you, I think." "A common problem among your students, no doubt." Lucien's voice is a little muffled against Flèche's fur. He rubs firmly at her belly, jostling her from side to side as the knotted ends of rope thunk against the floor. "There is a time and place for dignity. Belly rubs are not the appropriate moment." He pulls himself back up to a proper seated position, smoothing his shirt back ever so neatly into place. "I shall ask Steve his advice, then. She will be simply awash in pettings. More playtime than she can handle."