Logs:404
| 404 | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-11-24 "Oh no oh no oh no..." (part of rift tp.) |
| Location
<NYC> 6th Precinct - Greenwich Village | |
It's bright and it's loud, the fluorescent lighting harsh and intermittently flickering, and no doubt these things are not helping ease Lucien's already frazzled mind. It's been steadily tightening in on itself -- sensible acutely to his brother even if externally, he looks placid enough, Expression composed, posture upright, he's seated in a chair in front of a desk where some time ago an officer left them to fill out some paperwork. He's doing it in impeccably neat handwriting, precise and thorough all through the steady -- steady -- increasing taughtness in his mind. He looks neat enough, impossibly soft hunter-green sweater over a cream poplin button-down neatly tailored dark blue jeans. A very faint twitch in the corner of his mind with each flicker of light. Matt is sitting in the chair beside Lucien, swiping steadily on his phone, though he peers over at the progress on the paperwork every so often. He's dressed as if for work, in a seafoam green dress shirt, dark green tie covered with abstract plant motifs, gray linen vest, and black trousers with black oxford shoes, matching black suit jacket draped over the chair behind him. He looks pale and underslept, though not as sickly as he often has lately, his wig--the one barely distinguishable at first blush from his natural hair--flawlessly styled. His power is coiled tight around his brother's, bolstering without much attempt, at the moment, to ease the tension there, though the sense of watchfulness is strong. With no forewarning, Spencer appears next to Lucien's chair, somewhat underdressed for the weather in a lavender t-shirt with a twist of rainbow DNA splashed across the front, bracketed by the words 'B'tzelem Elohim' in Hebrew over a navy blue long-sleeve shirt, faded blue jeans almost worn through at the knees, and red high-top canvas sneakers, a a black Bucharian kippah embroidered with stylized stars and planets in many colors not quite disguising his shaved head. He looks horribly unwell, his skin pasty and dry, his eyes bleary and unfocused, and he's not altogether steady on his feet though this improves as he orients himself with much blinking to the space he's in. "Luci," he's saying before he even turns to the man, then adds belatedly, "Matt, where's Gae have you seen him is he ok?" Lucien twitches when Spencer appears; the tension across his mind fractures into a thousand brittle overloaded shards. Without Matt's careful bolstering, perhhaps this would result in a more health-threatening catastrophe, but with his brother's vigilant support his frayed neurochemistry does not actually seize. The rest of him does, though, fingers clenched tight around the pen and his eyes fixed blankly on the form he is -- was -- filling out. Matt's hand tightens on his phone at Spencer's arrival. He closes his eyes, focusing intently for a moment so that he might gather Lucien's scattered neurochemical functioning into some semblance of--actual functioning. Admittedly, it's a somewhat haphazard gathering for now. When his eyes open again they fix, vivid and steady, on Spencer. There's a tremor in his voice when he speaks, but his words come out clear enough all the same, "He didn't come home from the bonfire party at Xavier's--we thought he'd just gotten tired and stayed over, but..." His head shakes, his hand tightening yet further, knuckles white. "We've not heard from him since Sunday evening. Have you?" Spencer's wide gray eyes go even wider. "Oh no," he breathes, the words barely audible in the noisy surroundings. "Oh no oh no oh no..." His arms wrap tightly around his bony frame, fingers digging in and curling into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt. "I didn't go to the party I was sick I'm so sorry he hasn't answered any of my texts I shoulda gone!" Tears spill over suddenly from his eyes as he twists from side to side, like a full-body head-shake. Even after these mental ablutions, Lucien's response is slow. His grip on the pen eases gradually; he sets the clipboard down on his lap. His eyes don't immediately move from the page, pen flicking back and forth quickly between his fingers before, deliberately, his gaze lifts to Spencer. One brow lifts. As soon as the panicked litany starts Matt is levering himself heavily out of his chair to go to the boy's side. His power precedes him, threading neatly into Spencer's--taking a firm hold, and nothing more. He gathers the teenager against his side. "Spence," he coos--his voice, like his touch, is surpassingly gentle, "Darling. Have you--" His words falter and, swallowing hard, he tries again. "Have you tried going to him, since then?" Spencer presses himself into Matt's embrace, tears soaking the man's vest as his his arms slowly unwinding from around his own body so that he can use them to hold on tight. He makes an abortive attempt to jump somewhere, but his power is kept in check by Matt's. The contact seems to calm him a little, but it's still the work of a few false starts before he manages a recognizable response, "I tried but I can't find him he's not there I'm sorry he's just--" The breath he tries to suck in hitches with racking sobs, and his next words are a little muffled against Matt's side. "This is what happens when people die they're just--gone and I can't find them anymore." Lucien's eyes stay fixed, unmoving on a spot just a little past Spencer's head. The pen stops its spinning. His fingers clamp around it tight. Just as slow as before, he turns his attention back to the paper in his lap. Sets his pen back to it, to methodically, mechanically, continue working his way down the remainder of the form. | |
