ArchivedLogs:Wishes

Wishes
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Steve
In Absentia	2017-06-24 "{As hard as it may be to imagine, I spent most of my early life being the sidekick.}"
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. Despite the hour, there is still light left outside -- dim and rapidly diminishing, admittedly. Beyond the open windows to the backyard a twinkling of fireflies are emerging in the garden. Within the house there's music playing, Kings of Convenience piped quietly through the downstairs level. Upstairs a door is just closing -- Lucien is slow making his way down the stairs. Casual, in soft heather-grey v-neck tee and old faded blue jeans; he's absently smoothing a possibly nonexistant wrinkle from his shirt as he heads down into the living room. Stops beside the tropical aquarium, frowning intently at it. Steve has taken his time walking up from the subway station, enjoying the lazy summer evening. He's wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with a skeletal T-rex dancing above the word 'FOSSIL' spelled out of bones, very worn but serviceable indigo jeans, and scuffed black combat boots, his shield slung across his back on its harness. He pulls out his phone to check the time as he coasts to a stop in front of the Tessiers' door, then knocks on it three times firmly. It takes a minute before Lucien answers the door. "Steve. Bonsoir." His smile is easy, inviting as he gestures the other man inside. "{You've come just in time. -- Can I get you some tea? Water? Lemonade? Something stronger?}" "Bonsoir. And such a lovely evening it is!" Steve steps inside, far enough to be out of Lucien's and the door's path, and kneels to unlace his boots. "{A lemonade would be perfect, if you please.}" He tucks the boots away and straightens up. "How are you doing?" "{I've had a lazy sort of day.}" Lucien closes the door behind Steve, locks it. "{A million things planned and absolutely none of them accomplished.}" He sounds, for all this, somewhat pleased about this fact. Slipping back to the kitchen, he retrieves a pitcher from the fridge, pours two glasses full of lemonade, fresh-squeezed and pulpy and muddled with crushed basil leaves. "{What are your feelings,}" somewhat off-hand as he starts out into the backyard, "{about cannibalism.}" Steve follows Lucien into the kitchen. Stares out the window into the backyard, half-smiling in the way that people sometimes do when pleased but not exerting any conscious influence over their expressions. "{Days like that are pleasant. Probably /necessary/, to some.}" There's a slight but noticeable hesitation, but he does not sound at all diffident when he adds, "{How is Matt?}" The question does not really seem to bother him. He steps outside and closes the door behind him. "{The idea triggers a knee-jerk revulsion in me, but whether I'd consider it ethically acceptable depends on the circumstances surrounding it. I've read that it's a traditional part of funereal rites in some societies.} Then, frowning slightly, "I'm not /keen/ on it, personally, if that's what you mean." Lucien hands Steve his lemonade, trailing barefoot across the grass to settle down by the pond. Perching on the rocks, eyes drifting off between the flowers where the glowing green of lightning bugs blink in highest concentration. "{Matthieu is sleeping. Gods willing, he will remain so a while.}" A half-smile plays on his lips; he lifts his drink, sipping it slowly. "Mmm," this reply comes at something of a delay after Steve has spoken. "{There's a rather delightful production of /Sweeney Todd/ currently running at the Barrow Street theatre, you see. It's just -- a bit more gruesome than our usual fare. Less magic, more dicing people into meat pies.}" He finally tears his gaze away from the ephemeral lights, glancing back to Steve. "{For what it's worth, you needn't eat anyone /yourself/. Though if you come early, they will serve you pies. If you are so inclined.}" Steve takes the glass with a quiet "Merci" and trails after Lucien. Doesn't sit down at once. He slowly shrugs out of the harness for his shield, lowering it to the grass before sinking down to sit near his host. "{That's good. I was thinking...perhaps we should switch to coming over for dinner Sunday evenings for a while?}" He takes a sip of his lemonade and hums with appreciation. "{Oh! Well, that's a different matter. I'm more than happy to entertain /fictitious/ cannibalism. And I /am/ rather keen on pies, provided they have vegan offerings.}" Lucien's thumb traces lightly against the side of his glass. "{Matthieu will feel better on Sundays,}" he allows mildly. He slips his phone out of his pocket, swiping through its calendar. "{I'll get us tickets next week. Your Saturday looks free.}" The questioning uptick to his tone is perhaps a formality; he's not even really looking at Steve with this question. "{Though on that note I have some new demands on your time I've been meaning to ask you about. This week has just been a little --}" His lips press together, the sentence aborted in lieu of another sip of lemonade. "{That was my thought,}" Steve admits, smiling ruefully. He starts to reach for his own phone, but doesn't completely the action. "Saturday is the 1st, right? I'm free -- somehow." He takes a long gulp of lemonade before setting the glass down nearby. "{/New/ demands? What kind? I'm sure they're completely reasonable, compared to the demands on yours.}" "{You /were/ free. Now you will be joining us at the theatre and suffering through Matthieu singing "A Little Priest" the entire rest of the night.}" Lucien finishes tapping at his phone, slips it back into his pocket. "{I have a short list of people very keen to meet you, and an even shorter list who are quite set on /being/ you for a time. I'd like to get back to them sooner rather than later -- do you,}" he's eying the shield, now, where it sits in the glass, "{ever give /lessons/ with that, by chance?}" "{Excellent, I look forward to it. Including,}" Steve confides, "{Matt's singing.} He lifts his cup for another drink, his brows wrinkling in perplexity. "{There are always a lot of people who want to meet me, and probable, I imagine, some at least who would, to varying degrees of seriousness, like to be me. Or be /Captain America/, at least. I'm not in the habit of indulging them, except for the children.}" He strokes his chin, a dusting of blonde stubble already /audible/ where it rasps his fingers, if not very visible. "I've never really considered giving /lessons./ Frisbee-throwing, perhaps?" "{Come, Steve, give me some credit.}" The wider flutter of Lucien's eyes, the reproach in his tone, the light press of fingertips to his chest, these all point to to how /very/ wounded he is now. "{Do you think I would have brought it it up were they just a motley group of hangers-on? The oldest of the lot is not yet twelve. May,}" he muses as almost an afterthought, "{never be twelve. Are you at all familiar with the Make a Wish foundation?}" "{I do not give you nearly as much credit as you deserve,}" Steve admits, bowing his head. "{You have my sincere apologies, but I really wasn't assuming anything about the requests /you/ had in mind. There /are/ situations where I indulge fans who are /not/ children.}" To the question he nods. "{It's a charity, no? For sick children. I do not know precisely /what/ they do for their beneficiaries, though I'm putting it together now.}" "{Yes. They -- grant wishes to children with life-threatening conditions.}" A small crease has formed between Lucien's brows, though it smooths away as he takes another sip of lemonade. "{I feel confident enough we could find room in your schedule to accommodate some tiny new superheroes. You'll have to be the sidekick, of course.}" Steve blinks. Then blinks again. Frowns. He seems a little at a loss, but nods. "{Absolutely. I would be glad to do it, if it would bring them some happiness. Perhaps we could arrange costumes -- uniforms, that is -- for them?}" Then, with a wan smile, "{As hard as it may be to imagine, I spent most of my early life being the sidekick. I've had some practice at it in more recent times, too.}" "{I know many excellent costume designers, as it happens. I'm sure we can arrange something.}" Lucien settles back, draping himself down languidly along the rock-rim of the pond. "{I have a very active imagination.}" His head turns, eyes slipping away again, idly tracking the erratic path of one fast-blinking firefly. "{In my experience,}" quieter, "{they are rather adroit at bringing happiness.}" "{I suspect your imagination might low-ball just how often I had to be rescued.}" Steve's smile is crooked and fleeting. "{It's humbling, being the subject of a /wish./}" He swishes the remaining lemonade around his glass meditatively. His eyes flick up toward a window on the second storey. Very briefly. "{I'll come up with a crash course in tiny Cap training, then. Thank you.}" Lucien's eyes follow the path of Steve's -- though his gaze lingers there longer, a brief tightness creasing deeper lines around the corners of his eyes. "{Goodness, what are you thanking /me/ for?}" Once he finally looks away, picking up his own lemonade to drain it. "{For filling a perfectly pleasant evening with talk of work? Come, let me refill that.}" He's gesturing to Steve's glass with his own empty one as he stands to head for the door. "{Perhaps on the second glass I will be a better host.}" "{For bringing this to my attention. It's a far better use of Cap's fame than /most/ of my engagements. Especially the more public ones that are coming up.}" Steve downs the rest of his lemonade and hands Lucien the glass. "{Thank you very much. Were you anyone else, I'd say this is hard to outdo.}" He quirks a smile. "But this /is/ you we're talking about."