Logs:Entente

Entente
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2023-02-02 "{Hiring Chaz must cost as much as the property and the renovations combined.}"
Location <NYC> Conservatory - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria - Queens
Above the bustle of the clerestory restaurant, tucked at the base of the bell tower, this indoor garden and library is out of the way and easily overlooked, sure to become a favored "hidden gem" of travel guides. Low bookshelves full of mythology, fairy tales, and folklore ring the central elevator shaft and the stairway spiraling around it like an easily navigable labyrinth. Beyond these are plants in a variety of tastefully whimsical containers, each with its own engraved plaque giving the common name, the scientific name, and their significance to various traditional stories and practices. The walls have been done away with so that the room extends beyond the doric columns into a surreal rooftop garden enclosed with glass stretching between the tower's massive buttresses. The arrangement of magical plants becomes less formal as one moves outward, with seating scattered throughout from proper benches to picturesque logs to surprisingly comfortable boulders. Wandering the outer edges of the conservatory, one could almost feel lost in a mystical forest but for the stunning views of the cityscape beyond the glass. The evening has been chugging along more or less precisely to plan; there are satisfied guests polishing up their meals in the restaurant as the hour grows later, an eagerly anticipatory line of New York's glitterati waiting to get in to the packed nightclub, some of the staff sharing a celebratory toast in the staff room after the final successful tour. Up here the conservatory is not empty, but it is spared the bustle below. Lucien, dressed in a silver tuxedo with peaked black velvet lapels, skillfully tailored to minimize rather than accentuate his impressive musculature, black monk shoes embossed with floral scrollwork, a brocade waistcoat in black and green with tiny glimmers of bright gold to match the cravat tucked soft and loose beneath the open collar of his brilliant white shirt, is currently stooping to explain to the young daughter of Lost!'s newest Faun, "-- and it's long been known that planting foxglove will attract the fae if -- against all odds -- that is an outcome you desire." The child's wide eyes and sharp laugh at the Patent Ridiculousness of proactively seeking the fae do not stop her from surreptitiously -- so she thinks -- pinching off a pink bloom to keep for herself when Lucien stands to leave. He hides his small smile at the theft, wandering further into the conservatory to fetch himself up against a boulder beside which a large tumble of maidenhair fern is spilling; he brushes one fingertip lightly up against the fronds. Among the flourishing greenery and bright flowers, the sweet-spice smell of clove smoke still clinging to him can almost go beneath notice. The star of the evening is left for a while to the mercies of the fae, the sounds of passing guests dampened by both foliage and meticulous acoustic design as though reaching him from another world entirely. Matt's power, when it finds him, also feels at first distant and otherworldly, stretched to its utmost limit and threading faintly into his like curls of incense. It's another little while before Matt himself wends his way through the garden to him, unhurried or perhaps just tired, trailing his own fingertips over leaf and bark and occasional thorn. His tuxedo is black with silver velvet lapels, and--perhaps unexpectedly to those who know them both--more conservative in cut than his brother's, his black dress boots embossed with leafy arabesques, his waistcoat a luxurious deep green velvet with similarly intricate arabesque burnout edged in silver, and though he did arrive with a matching tie it is now nowhere to be seen, the spread collar of his fine soft shirt left rakishly undone. He fetches up beside his brother, not exactly offering his plate of hors d'oeuvres but certainly placing it in easy reach. "{This was brilliantly put together, darling.}" He smells of his own junipery cologne and ever so faintly of someone else's more floral scent. "Trying to catch your second wind? Or third?" Lucien's mind eases into the faint touch, and though his mental landscape is dragging heavy with exhaustion his reply is reflexive: an invigorating flutter, easing away exhaustion and leaving in its place a pleasant clear-headedness and brighter energy. "{I should at the least make an appearance downstairs.}" Lucien does not sound greatly enamored of this prospect, truth be told. He delicately plucks a smoked salmon canapé from Matt's plate, nibbling at it very carefully. "{But I thought it prudent to remain upstairs just a short while more, until --}" His lips compress in mild distaste. "{Your teammate has left the premises. A second run-in would be two too many.}" Matt's power threads through his brother's, easier now with both proximity and care though its touch remains light, and bolsters the processes that habitually keep Lucien functioning well after most people would crash for one reason or another. "{I'm not hurrying you,}" he promises. "{As with any good party, the revelry is slow to wane. You've got a little time yet.}" The shift of his attention would be nearly palpable to anyone near enough to observe, but it is almost literally palpable to Lucien now. "{Mm. Teammate. Well, either you have managed to run afoul of Tian-shin's actual temper, or...}" He studies his brother sidelong, considering. "Kitty." "{Last time I set eyes on Ms. Hua, she was draped elegantly in the lounge rather tipsily insisting to Ion that he could not lure her into dancing.}" The mild amusement in Lucien's tone suggests he already has his doubts about Tian-shin's -- or, perhaps, simply anyone's -- ability to hold strong for long against Ion's energy. He dabs a crumb off the end of his finger with the tip of his tongue, idly brushing his hands together after. "Kitty," he allows, "has not been having a good evening. {I am falling short of my duties, I suppose.}" Matt breaks into an indulgent smile. "{Good. She needs to cut loose more often. I have every faith in Ion's judgement. In that department.}" He only leans on the qualification just a little. "{Kitty... also needs perhaps to cut loose, though certainly not by giving you a hard time over...?}" He nudges an egg tart speculatively but ultimately doesn't pick it up, opting instead to turn that same hand up to indicate something unnamed and unseen hypothetical. "{Surely it cannot be the Flaming Skull Demon nonsense again. Or still.}" "{Goodness, no. She is furious that among the hundreds of employees working here now I had the absolute audacity to hire her father, a man she had never mentioned before berating me for this egregious lapse in judgment.}" Lucien's fingers have returned to a light trace against the fern fronds, eyes settled on the greenery as it bends beneath his touch. "{I ought, I suppose, have psychically divined their terrible relationship. As we all very well know, abusive parents are all equally as terrible with the outside world as they are to their children.}" Matt raises his eyebrows. "{Her father,}" he echoes thoughtfully. "{Why, I didn't think you needed a geneticist on staff. Hiring Chaz must cost as much as the property and the renovations combined.}" He transfers some of his leaning to Lucien's shoulder, less exhaustion than just a steady and steadying pressure. "{Though if you had, he might have warned you about his competition. I don't recall her ever mentioning a father, and I suppose now I've a notion why.}" His lips compress, the glassy stillness that's always beneath the livelier complexities of his mindscape--deliberate and otherwise--rising to swallow the compassion he's struggling to summon. "{I doubt he's near so charming as Mother was even at her worst. Probably more competent, if he met your standards, but if he's the sort to...}" His power weaves tighter with Lucien's, stretching outward again, questing in superfluous vigilance. "{What do you mean to do?}" "{He certainly did not strike me as the sort of person I would be keen to befriend, but I do not hire accountants for their charm.}" Lucien's senses thread in reflexive curiosity through Matt's, filtering in the complicated rise and fall off feelings. His own compassion is far less complex if no less lively, one steady soft ticking beneath the busy clockwork hum of his mind. The prickling hurt and irritation that run around and through it do nothing to mute the concern that remains there. "{I don't think I can well fire the man. If he is anything like --}" He bites this line of thinking back, pulls his hand quickly away from the ferns as if suddenly afraid he will damage them. "{I would rather mislike to bring further upset into Kitty's life, and some men have a way of taking their own misfortunes out on -- easy targets.}" The slump to his shoulders here is very slight, would likely not be particularly noticeable in a less-tailored outfit. "{It is a cushy enough job. Perhaps if he is kept both busy and comfortable, he will have less time and inclination to make trouble here for her.}" He does not add an or else, but there is something in the soft intensity of his voice that implies it well enough all the same. Matt's teeth grind hard, but he sounds altogether unperturbed when he replies, "{I think that wise. If nothing else, you will have him near at hand, should he need watching.}" His tranquility belies the snarl of confused mental processes that are only just starting to sort themselves into comprehensible channels: easy and plentiful annoyance, painstakingly cultivated concern, deep and abiding rage, aching affection, ferocious protectiveness. It's this last that pushes through through the morass and out, an impulse that propels him to curl an arm around his brother's (much wider) shoulders. The same impulse rallies his half-conscious empathic processes and, fully conscious now, they start laboriously imitating Lucien's compassion. "{I'll nudge someone into checking on her.}" He takes a slow breath and lets it back out. "{Then perhaps we go down? I can make sure she's left, and you can make sure the accountant hasn't.}"