Logs:Maternal Education

Maternal Education
Dramatis Personae Elie, Gaétan
In Absentia	2023-09-29 "{I'd like a school that doesn't land me in any genocide dimensions or horrible torture prisons.}" (beginning to lean in.)
Location <PRV> 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. The house smells delicious -- has Gaétan been cooking? Sticking one of Lucien's carefully prepared meals in the oven counts, probably. There's a leek and thyme chicken pot pie, flaky puff-pastry crust perfectly crisped, that he's just taking out to set on the counter. From here he's frowning uncertainly between the door to the cellar and the door to the tea cabinet, but he hasn't actually decided between tea or wine when the melodic chimes of the doorbell play gently through the house. He's still got the oven mitts on, homey contrast to his neat button-down and trousers, and this makes his attempt at smoothing his overgrown-shaggy hair into place as he follows Flèche to answer the door a little futile. Under the eaves of Chez Tessier is one Elie Tessier, back from the dead and looking ever so grand for it in a bold and beguiling garnet red satin bowknot top and black pencil skirt, sheer hose, black pumps, black Teflar tote on one shoulder, perfect matching makeup and perfectly feathered waves of hair. "{Well, aren't you precious,}" Elie coos at the smaller, fluffier greeter at the door, though she does not bend to give Flèche any further attention before snapping shut her black-and-white checked pagoda style umbrella and stepping over the threshold. Her vivid green eyes and growing bright smile seem to be for Gaétan alone. "{Hello, darling,}" is warm, accompanied by a tight embrace and bises on each cheek. When she pulls away one hand has found the long end of her son's shaggy hair, appraising it critically before letting it drop and considering the rest of his appearance. "{Oh, look at you. So much healthier! I was getting worried you stopped eating, as well.}" Flèche is prancing at the cooing, ears pricked up and tail swooshing wildly. Gaétan does not prance, one eye squinched up as Elie fusses at his hair. "{Impossible to stop eating around here,}" he reassures her, "{Luci cooks to feed an army.}" He's tugging his oven mitts off now, bapping them restlessly against one palm. "{When did you get into town?}" is just curious, but the follow up, "{... are you staying?}" comes out more wary than he maybe meant it. Only the faintest press of lips here, when Gaétan mentions his brother, quickly gone again. "{Oh, not very long ago,}" is not an answer, exactly, but Elie is breezing past that as easily as she's breezing into the house, abandoning her umbrella (and only her umbrella) in the entryway. "{It has been such an aggravation trying to find an acceptable place to live, especially since --}" Elie purses her lips, this glance at Gaétan tinged just barely with disappointment, "{-- well, they make it so difficult to transfer to the best schools, it turns out, when you are entering grade twelve. But!}" She pats her bag -- there is a soft flutter of paper within. "{Not to worry, my dear, if you do not wish to return to Xavier's I am sure we will find some worthy option among my research.}" "{Live}?" Gaétan has perked up here -- only a little, but enough that at first the rest of what Elie says slides by him. "{Where are you looking? If you haven't found some place, Luci's got a whole entire...}" But this trails off as his brows pinch inward. His pace become decidedly more of a trudge as he trails her wet footprints toward the kitchen. "{I was just gonna get my GED, I can definitely pass that test.}" "{Oh, never you worry about that!}" Elie sets her purse on the countertop, pulls out a mint-cased iPad and a folder of loose paper. "{If you land in another private school -- are you sure about Xavier's, darling, it is a trek but it is quite a good school, -- I have my eye on this absolutely precious spot in Astoria, but of course if we look at public schools, Scarsdale isn't so far but we must have an address there.}" There's a single wrinkle forming on her forehead -- maybe it's at the idea of Scarsdale, maybe it's -- "{Really, the GED?}" She tsks, once. "{Why would you limit yourself so?}" "{I'd like a school that doesn't land me in any genocide dimensions or horrible torture prisons.}" Gaétan is pretty emphatic, here, on the topic of Returning To Xavier's. "{I don't see what difference it makes,}" he's declaring this with a practiced confidence, "{there's lots of people interested in my work already. I don't need a diploma for that. Besides, you...}" But he's looking to her uncertainly and quickly veering aside from this comparison. He gets plates out instead, his, "{Have you eaten?}" kind of a formality, seeing as he's already starting to serve up careful squares of the pie. Elie's eyes flutter open wider at genocide dimension, though she hardly has time to linger on that before her youngest son is pivoting to her schooling. Where Gaétan trails off, Elie pushes, voice just a touch cooler. "{I what, dear? Managed well for myself inside that horrid place? With more education,}" Elie says, her voice softening, "{I may have never ended up there, I could have provided for you all, without --}" There's a hitch, here, small, Elie's eyes dropping to the folder of neat printouts and glossy brochures. "{-- There is a difference,}" she continues, quiet but fervent, "{in how the world will treat you, in the opportunities that could pass you by without a diploma. I have full confidence in your talents, but that world of your brother's seems so very fickle.}" Another line forms, joining the other in creasing her forehead. "{Did your brothers truly have no objection to this plan of yours?}" "{Matt's teaching at Xavier's so he's contractually obligated not to like me dropping out,}" Gaétan replies with a very small puff of laugh. "{But he didn't really object, no. And Luci thinks dropping out is dumb as rocks but I think he gets --}" His brows knit, slow. He moves the plates to the table and gets out a pair of glasses -- just water, now. His eyes flick to Elie and then back down to the plates. "{It's not really the same, but school was tough for him, too.}" Elie taps one perfectly manicured french tip against the table's surface, a thoughtful moue settling onto her features. "{No,}", comes out at length, on the edge of a sigh, "{it is not the same.}" That is all, for now, that she has to say on the subject of her eldests' education. She flicks through her brochures, pulls out two from a plethora of prestigious names -- The School for Young Performers and the Professional Children's School -- and pushes them with her fingertips towards Gaétan. "{Darling, there are ways to finish high school while getting your career off the ground. It needn't be one or the other. But finishing, properly --}" There's an edge of pleading here, pressing the issue to an extent that might seem like Too Much from anyone else, "{-- it would make me ever so proud, and I know you're more than capable of doing both. Besides, you should set a good example for Sera, no?}" It's Sera's name that brings Gaétan up short -- he was just on the verge of some objection or other, but his mouth closes here. His lips press tight together and though this expression looks like defiance, he's pulling these brochures closer. He sets the glasses down on coasters and picks up the first brochure as he slips into the bench seat. "{I feel like Sera's going to do her own thing no matter what any of us do.}" This sounds kind of wry, a little amused, and he's adding afterwards, "{-- but if she does follow anyone's example it'll probably be Luci's.}" He pulls his plate a little closer, though he's still mostly focused on the brochure. "Man," he's murmuring this quietly as he flips through the Professional Children's School's glossy pamphlet, "{if he'd had somewhere like this there'd probably be four Tonys on the mantel by now.}" "{Nevertheless, we might provide her more options.}" Once the brochure is in Gaetan's hands, Elie smiles and settles into the seat beside him. Only now is she reaching for the glass he's brought her, only now is she pulling a plate close and carving off a bit of pot pie with the edge of the fork. Takes one delicate bite just as Gaé speaks again, takes her time finishing the mouthful. "{... Do you,}" Elie asks, tilting her gaze out into the living room, perhaps to look at the mantle and the Tonys that may or may not be on it, "{like living here? With them all?}" "Uhh --" Gaétan doesn't answer at first. Maybe this is just because his mouth is full of Lucien's flaky-herby pot pie; he's taking his time over a bite, washing it down with a mouthful of water after. "House is nice. Luci's food is great. I dunno. {I think I was really looking forward to graduating, moving out, before...}" His head bows, his eyes fixed on his plate. "{I don't know. Are you,}" he asks this extremely skeptically, "{going to miss Ohio?}" Elie is taking just a little longer with her next bite of pie, taking just a slightly longer sip of water to wash it down before pulling a hanky from her purse and dabbing her lips dry. "{...In some strange way, I do think I will miss it, now and again. I was in there so long...}" Her air of contemplation gives way, when she looks back at Gaétan, to something more fragile. "{Those years of horror gave me new strength, and new skills, and somehow --}" Her hand lifts to the shag of Gaé's hair again, no longer critical but perhaps softly awed, "{-- my children.}" The next pause is smaller, Elie's eyes growing wide and hopeful. "{Wherever I settle here, there will be a room for you, should you ever want or need, my darling.}" Gaétan gives Elie a long and considering look -- it's hard to quite read at first, but by the time he looks back down to his plate there's a very small upward tug pulling at his lips. "{Hope one of those new skills is chess,}" is what he says lightly, "{you think Matt used to trounce you, you will not even be ready for Sera.}"