Logs:Different Key

Different Key
Dramatis Personae Steve, Tony
In Absentia	2020-09-15 "You don't miss much, do you?"
Location <HFC> Bishop's Salon - Hfc Second Floor
One of half dozen such rooms at the club, this is an intimate parlor where one might take luncheon, tea, or brandy and cigars after supper. Each is sumptuously appointed in the theme of a chess piece--the Bishop in this case. For all that, the decor is fairly light on actual Christian symbolism. Aside from the Paradise Lost triptych over the mantle, an illuminated manuscript on its own pedestal in one corner, and an ornate gold monstrance (absent the host) mounted above the door, the paraphernalia on the shelves and walls mostly relate to general Medieval scholarship and scrivening. "You know, I'd never seen the rest of this club before today, but this is more or less exactly what I imagined." Steve is gazing around the parlor, his eyes lingering on the painting. "They sure don't go in for subtle here." He's just shed his navy blue tailcoat, whose peaked lapels along with the a matching satin vest under and stark white dress shirt with a black string tie all conspire to make him look just a touch anachronistic without appearing gauche. His shield is leaning against his plushly upholstered chair. "Thank you for the invite -- and the gift basket, by the way." "If they were aiming for subtle they might have given this place a different name." Tony is leaning forward, pouring two servings of whisky out of an ornate glass decanter that has just recently been set here -- on a silver platter -- by a member of staff who even in the otherwise empty room managed to make himself unobtrusive in his delivery. Tony himself is something of the opposite, dressed in black herringbone tuxedo jacket with striking red trim on its satin shawl lapels and pockets, matching trousers, red vest and white shirt cinched with a classic black bow tie, and patent leather loafers. Tony slides one of the glasses to Steve, leans back in his chair with his own. "Isn't unsubtle about your speed by now, though?" He swishes the glass absently, then takes a swallow. "Saw your, ah -- paramour making a spectacle of himself in the news the other day. Seems you have a type." "Thank you." Steve takes up his glass. A little defensively, "We broke up. I'm not even sure we're friends anymore." He takes a sip, then looks up, startled. "I guess Howard was a bit..." His lips press together, but then curve into a reluctant smile. "Grandiose. I'm honestly surprised in retrospect we managed to keep it on the q.t., the way he was." "Huh. That right? Can't believe Twitter would lie to me." Tony's cavalier tone sounds anything but disbelieving. He huffs a short-sharp laugh, tapping the glass lightly against the arm of his chair. "Please. The man kept a lot of secrets. Real surprise is that you were one of them." "It wasn't a lie," Steve says evenly, "just a mistake." He rubs at his temple as if pained. Takes a gulp of his whisky. "Not the only mistake I made with Ryan, that's for sure." Shakes his head. "I know. Howard was young when I knew him, but even then he played close to the vest while acting like he had all his cards down on the table." He sighs. "We probably would have driven each other up the wall if we'd only had the time." "Huh," says Tony, again, and this time gets up from his seat. "The cameras do paint over a lot, don't they." Kind of an aimless pacing, nominally over by one shelf though he doesn't seem like he's that invested in the pens and inkwells and knives laid out there for display. "Who knows. Maybe you'd have mellowed the old man out." His brows crease on his next sip of whiskey. "Less old, then." "They do, and thank God for that." Steve's laughter is quiet. "I think he -- needed a lot more than I was ready to give. Ryan, that is." He frowns down into his glass. "I don't really know what Howard wanted, ultimately, but he was a headstrong fella. Think I'd have to be pretty arrogant to imagine I could have changed him." "Yeah? How often did, uh, Ryan get arrested while you were a thing?" Tony fetches one shoulder up against the shelves, sipping at his whisky and eying Steve briefly. "Somewhere under that hammer and sickle of yours there's a good influence. Lurking." He pulls away, path slowly meandering back towards his chair, though he leans against the back of the large armchair rather than taking a seat. "Headstrong. Sounds like -- nobody in this room. You're probably right." "None, but ah, I think shelter in place gets more credit for that than my..." Steve trails off a moment, looking up at Tony, startled. "...influence." The corner of his mouth twitches up. "You don't miss much, do you?" His eyebrows hike up. Chuckles. "Neither did..." He pauses, studying Tony thoughtfully. "The way I talk about him -- Howard? It probably jars a lot, and I'm sorry." His head dips slightly. "I know he wasn't a good father to you." "Man taught me everything I know." This comes glib and practiced, something rote about the words. Tony drains his whisky and finally settles back in his chair to pour another measure. His small chuff is almost a laugh. "You're not the first person in my life to sing his praises. Just, ah, usually hear that tune in a slightly different key." Steve downs the rest of his drink, too. Offers his glass for a refill. "I think it was just hard at first, to want to think of him as anything more or less than I remembered. Harder still to question whether he was really as he seemed, even then." His head shakes. "It's strange to lose him and find he lived an entire life after that. I'd wager it's strange for you to confront the life he lived before, too." Tony pours another round for Steve, too, and leans back in his chair. "Mmm," just a casual dismissive sound, head tipping back against the chair's back. The twitch-tug at the side of his mouth is quick. "Honestly, Stars 'n Stripes, who is really what they seem?"