Logs:Palatable

Palatable
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Rachel, Steve
In Absentia	2020-08-30 "Well, if you're not concerned about disreputable contacts..."
Location <NYC> Russian Tea Time - Upper East Side
This chic and upscale restaurant serves surprisingly little tea for their name -- though it can be found, on their menu, and quite good quality at that. Elegant and understated, there is an old-world feel to this place. For those who make their dress code (and book reservations enough in advance), the food here is good, hearty Russian fare, although the main attraction here comes not from their extensive food menu but from their extensive bar. Their vodka comes three double-shots to a flight, for those with strong constitutions (and a safe ride home.) It's a glorious, balmy summer Sunday outside, and the Upper East Side is bustling with activity. In here there's still a lively brunch crowd, though it's finally starting to thin out as noon fades to afternoon. Steve is still in his Sunday best, smartly tailored navy blue suit jacket and his iconic shield alike hanging from the back of his chair, his pale blue dress shirt and navy trousers neatly pressed, the silver star motif tie in a neat full Windsor. The empty glasses in front of him attest that he's sampled this restaurant's best-known offering in addition to whatever had been on the plate he just polished off, but if the vodka is getting to him at all he does not show it. "...it just isn't fair to Mel and my co-workers," he's telling his companion. "God knows what I'll do with myself, but it's getting ludicrous on days when Hive isn't there." In front of Lucien there is a similar empty flight -- though his plate is not quite so polished, some lingering quail still sitting in its bed of mashed potatoes and spinach and berry-wine sauce. His grey jacket, similarly, has been draped on the back of his chair, leaving him in pale grey seersucker plainfront trousers and deep pink button down, neatly tailored. "{Goodness,}" he replies in quietly amused Montreal-accented French, "{free time and the money with which to spend it how you see fit.} Some would kill for such a dilemma." Following a round of drinks, conversation, and a lovely Russian brunch, a party of well-dressed folks weaved through the bustling interior into the foyer. Rachel usually didn't enjoy brunch with clients as much as she enjoyed a quick cup of coffee and a brief run-down of the hourly rate and attached terms, but it was a nice day. It'd be a waste to pass up such a treat and her good mood led her to have some leisure—so, here she was. After the conversation steered into some closing pleasantries and an arrangement for a second consultation, she finally had some room to think. In the corner of her eye, she spotted an iconic shield hanging from the back of a chair. She turned her head to take in the sight. Steve Rogers and another familiar face seated with him. A brief moment of hesitation later, and she made her approach towards the two, stopping in front of the table before sparing the both of them a polite smile. "Mister Rogers, Mister Tessier, lovely to see you both here," she began. Focusing on Steve, she continued, "I actually had something I needed to talk to you about, if you don't mind me interrupting your meal, of course." Steve's blush is faint, the dip of his head sheepish. "{I don't mean to complain.}" His French isn't quite as fluent, his accent a bizarre melange of Brooklyn, Provence, and Montreal. "{It's just that I've been working since I was a boy.} That's...why I've stayed on even this long, if I'm honest." He looks up as Rachel approaches, blinking rapidly. "Ms. Haimowitz! What a surprise, and you --" He glances uncertainly at Lucien. "-- already know each other, I see. Ah..." He hesitates for just half a beat, though his smile is genuine enough. "I don't mind if Luci doesn't." "{You are a creative fellow, Steve. There are many ways to be productive that are not punching a clock.}" Lucien glances up as Rachel approaches. The smile that touches his face is reflexive, polite. His head tips in a small acknowledgment. "Ms. Haimowitz. Glad to see you still in the city. Far too many talented people fled this past year." His eyes flick across to Steve, hand tipping out towards his companion. "We had no real aims save a pleasant meal, and that has been accomplished." "A shame without a doubt, Mister Tessier," Rachel replies with a nod of acknowledgement. Her eyes flick back over to Steve and her expression mellows out. Something a little more neutral, albeit a bit illegible. "I'll be quick so you two can carry on with your Sunday. Mister Rogers, I do know that you're… against the new legislation that's yet to be implemented, and I believe it's time for me to take—" she pauses, struggling to find the exact word or phrase she's looking for, "—initiative. I was wondering if you could get me in touch with somebody who might be able to benefit from my support." Steve rises and slides a chair over from an unused table nearby to offer to their visit, blushing yet again. "If -- you would like to sit, that is," he adds, a touch belatedly. Still seems to have trouble resuming his own seat, with a lady still standing. "If you mean the MRA, yes. Bad enough it was passed to begin with, but now..." He frowns thoughtful. "I understand you're in law, but I'm not clear in what capacity, or sure who would be the best point of contact for you on this topic." He raises his eyebrows at Lucien here, inquisitive. "I have some passing acquaintance with our legislators, and I'm fairly close with some mutant community activists, too." Lucien is quiet, during this. His expression remains fairly neutral, though there's a touch of curiosity in the slight uptick of his brows. His eyes shift from Steve to Rachel, one hand dropping to his lap to smooth lightly at the napkin there. "It's a touch out of your usual purview, is it not?" Rachel steps back as Steve pulls out the chair. She slides into the seat after a moment of hesitation and offers him a pleasant half-smile and a quiet "thank you". She then looks towards Lucien and takes a moment to think about her reply before meeting his gaze. "Indeed it is. As of right now, I'm in a tough position. My colleague believes that it'd be risky to provide any support openly, so for the time being, I want to know who might be able to accept some financial and maybe legal aid not-so-openly. Perhaps someone who might be interested in helping push back against the MRA?" she trails off as she glances towards Steve once more. "I imagine it's always a risk," Steve concedes, "and now more than ever, with bigots eager to paint all mutants as terrorists" He bows his head. "It may not do your firm a lot of favors to take a side. But there are folks fighting this who would probably like all the support they can get." He pauses for a moment, pale blue eyes unreadable. "How quiet are you aiming to keep your involvement -- for now? I'd just offer to introduce you, but I'm not sure if that would negate the whole point of coming to me, to begin with." "I imagine it will lose them quite a few clients, if that came to light. Registration had firm bipartisan support before, and after that latest attack?" The flutter of Lucien's fingers is dismissive. "You'll hardly win yourself any friends going up against it." Though here he pauses, glances across the table to Steve. "-- At least," with a slight tilt of his head, the faintest grace notes of amusement in his voice, "not any reputable ones." "Quiet enough that any clients I work with will remain unaware of my position. Until it becomes a little more acceptable, private introductions and exchanging some contact information is all I'm looking for." She folds her hands in her lap and narrows her eyes at the supposed tongue-in-cheek between Lucien and Steve. A little part of her begs her to push her luck and ask "the question", but it isn't her business nor is she on close enough terms with either of them. So, instead she opts to study Steve's reaction for her answer. "Well, if you're not concerned about disreputable contacts," Steve hedges with a dip of his head and the barest hint of a smile, "I can make a quiet introduction or two. The fella I have in mind is mighty busy, but then I'm sure you are, yourself. We'll find away to make schedules line up, I'm sure." His head gives a slight shake, but his expression -- faint smile, neutral -- makes it look less like a denial and more amazement. "I appreciate you taking the risk, Ms. Haimowitz, no matter how quiet. There's plenty of folk not willing to do anything at all, and plenty of folks who are going to suffer under this law." "A bit of a catch-22, is it not?" Lucien reaches for his water glass, taking a very small sip before he returns it to its place. "Who is speaking for mutants at the moment? A motley crew of anarchists and outright terrorists and -- well." The tip of his hand out toward Steve is brief. "I'm sure you have your own feelings on men like Ryan Black and Jackson Holland but much of the world thinks them quite extreme. And most of those who are more, ah, palatable to the average American sensibility -- stay that way because they have the good sense not to publicly side with a group of anarchists and terrorists." The smile that touches his lips is quite fleeing. "Such is life. I wish you luck with your new endeavor, Ms. Haimowitz. Whatever happens, I've no doubt these next months will be a tumultuous time for activism." There's a spark in the woman's eyes as the conversation carries on, but as soon as it comes, it disappears without a trace. She opens her mouth as if to add something before she decides against it. With that, she stands from her seat and nods at the two of them. "Thank you, Mister Tessier. And, Mister Rogers, whenever you get the chance just send me an e-mail with whatever time would work best for your mystery contact—I'll be sure there's room in my schedule. It's been a pleasure talking to you two," she says as she pushes the chair borrowed from the table over back into its respective place. Her gaze lingers on them for a moment. "Have a nice rest of your Sunday." She tacks on the last part as an afterthought. Stepping back from the table, she turns on her heel and makes her way towards the foyer.