Logs:Answers In Soup
| Answers In Soup | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2025-01-08 "He has a very eclectic fashion sense." |
| Location
<NYC> Le Carrefour, Le Bonne Entente - Astoria, Queens | |
<NYC> Le Carrefour, 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 plantlife becomes less formal as one moves out into the four arms of the conservatory, visible containers giving way to beds and terraces and eventually landscapes carefully cultivated to look wild. There is plentiful seating scattered along the paths and just off of them, from proper benches to picturesque logs to surprisingly comfortable boulders. By day, myriad butterflies dance amongst the enchanted vegetation, and likewise moths by night. A shallow stream weaves throughout, feeding ponds that host plants of their own alongside fish, frogs, and turtles. 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. Cyan wasn’t supposed to stay late, he was supposed to just look around for a little bit -- observe some ants, say hello to a particularly old hoof mushroom -- and then head out for the evening to make some deals. But then there were just too many interesting fungi to look at, too many fluttering bugs that just don't belong to this place and this season, and the little stream waving its way around was making a sound that just hit the right spot in his brain and before he knew it it was late. Crawled up under a large second-hand worn-out canvas jacket, nearly invisible in one of the more hidden-away corners of the conservatory, with a trail of ants using his arm as a shortcut to their favorite tree --and very much despite his natural wariness over places people might frequent -- Cyan has fallen asleep. It might be hard to tell when Lucien slipped in here even for an awake-person, with his long-cultivated rich-people's-servant-habit of simply materializing quiet and unobtrusive in the background. For an asleep-person, though, he may as well simply have magicked himself here -- he's tucked at a nearby table, simply dressed in (neatly-tailored) jeans, an impossibly soft green sweater over his button-down. He has a mug (matte silver on the outside, matte black inside) that he is intermittently sipping slowly from. There are two thermoses on the table with him, one larger than the other; another cup stands empty beside a matching bowl. His own bowl, set to the side, is also empty, but judging by its streaks and the spoon inside, only because the food has has clearly gone. Lucien is writing something on the reMarkable tablet he holds in his lap, his expression its usual quiet neutrality. Tucked half-beneath his chair, Flèche is also quiet, head on one front paw and a raggedy stuffed Lamb Chop toy pinned under the other. As Cyan wakes up his first thoughts are about ants. Half-asleep his brain calculates how long he would have to stay still for them to finish their work, if they ever will finish their work, or if he’s simply become part of their life now and this is how he should stay forever. Then as his brain becomes properly awake he becomes acutely aware of there being A Dog. While Flèce seems like the nicest dog in the world his brain floods with the thoughts of loud barks and teeth sinking into his skin. Without taking his eyes off The Dog, he reflexively puts one hand on his right forearm, feeling the scars there as fresh as if they just appeared. Then he realizes Lucien is there. Fuck. Very carefully he brushes the ants off his arm, moving so they’ll have to find another path up the tree, not once taking his eyes off Flèche as he disentangles himself from his jacket and gets up. Slowly, shivering as the adrenaline provoked by his phobia of dogs rushes through him. He knows it’s irrational, but no matter what he does his brain refuses to work with him on this. “Err...” he swallows hard, clears his throat, tries to chase the feeling away from his voice. “Hi?” "Is that a question?" Lucien is still working, his eyes down on his tablet. "Apologies, but I am not sure in which direction I ought to answer it." "Sorry, " Cyan forces himself to blink, to look away from The Dog. "I guess it is? A question that is." He remembers to breathe, wrap his jacked around himself as if donning armor. "What time is it?" "After midnight," Lucien replies first. He checks the time on his phone after that, tipping the clock on the screen towards Cyan for a more precise answer than this. He has looked up, now, studying Cyan. His tension, his shifts in breathing. His eyes drop to Flèche after this, and then back to his tablet. "You were communing with the fungus some time. I brought you soup in case you were hungry." His stylus tips to point towards the larger of the thermoses on the table. "You can take it to go if Flèche is a problem." "No, " the tone in his voice very much suggests he's not quite convinced. Cyan's hand is still touching his forearm, but he forces himself to move, to walk over and sit down. Still, his hands are trembling. "'s my problem, can deal." It's sheer stubborn bullheadedness that's keeping him from running. "I owe you an apology, " he looks to Lucien, carefully, as if searching for something -- he practiced this quite a bit, but now it just feels stupid -- "have been rude, sorry." "She does tend to frequent this garden quite a lot. I will not let her nearer you, though." Lucien is plucking some small scrap of dried mat from a little pouch beside him on the chair, dropping it down at Flèche's nose. Her eyes have gone immensely wide as she sticks her tongue out to lap it off the stones pathway. "-- Apology?" Lucien is looking up again, pausing in his writing. "I'm afraid I don't really understand what for." "Her home, I'm the intruder." It's not entirely clear if Cyan is saying this to Lucien or to himself. He shakes, trying to physically chase the feeling away, before clearing his throat. "I've been rude. Judged you on appearances and not on how you act. And I shouldn't have." His brows furrow as he considers how to phrase himself. "You've been kinder to me than you've needed to, and I'm grateful is all." "Mmm." Cyan's initial declaration draws just a soft hum from Lucien, though there's a slight pleased crinkle around his eyes as he looks between Cyan and the dog. He glances up swiftly at the second half of this, though, a touch of surprise visible in the slight hike of his brows. He magnets his stylus back to the edge of the tablet, and his head inclines small. "I have, myself, been learning to set aside some of my wariness, where it no longer serves me. I think perhaps attempting to put a little kindness back into the world is a natural corollary to practicing better recognition of those who've shown it to me." He is reaching now for his tea -- though he does not drink it, just traces his thumb slowly along the matte ridges of the mug. "Have things been working out in your new place of residence?" "It's great!" He reaches for the thermos with soup, simply holding it, so it can warm his hands, and give the trembling something to focus on. "I haven't really lived like that before, so it's taking some getting used to-" him not managing to sleep is not a problem Lucien needs to hear about "-but it's really great, takes a lot of stress off, you know? Not having to worry about where to sleep every night. I'm very grateful" He means it, any issues he's having is purely his own fault. Looking over to Lucien (and trying hard to not look too much at Flèche) he, for once, actually looks at his face, trying to get an inkling on what he's thinking. "If there's anything I can do to pay you or Anahita back, I will." He pulls his gloves off and opens the thermos, drawing in the scent of soup. "I know I have a debt to your father," he's still not entirely sure if Damien is real, "-but I do recognize your parts in this." "I am very glad to hear it." Lucien's softly even tone and steadily neutral expression do not really look any more or less glad of this than anything else, but that is par for the course. "Oh, Damien paid your room costs in full." There is just a hint of something wry in this statement, but it melts away with the following. "Anahita has dedicated herself to helping mutants who are having housing difficulties; I suspect if you are a respectful housemate, share with her some of your delightful mushroom facts, and pass her information along to others you meet in need once you are back on your feet, she will consider it energy quite well spent." There is a pause, here. Lucien brushes his thumb against the mug again before lifting it for a small sip. He's glancing more thoughtfully over Cyan before he ventures, still mild: "-- might I ask what -- precisely -- is the nature of your debt to my father?" Cyan nods, "mushroom facts, yes," he quickly sorts through his mental library of fungi-knowledge, "I can do mushroom facts." Would Anahita enjoy hoof-mushrooms? He makes a mental note to prepare the information in his brain into a sensible format. "Err... I don't really know..." Cyan's brow furrows as he tries to remember his encounter with Damien, turning the thermos of soup around in his hands. "I was dancing, and he just kind of showed up and asked what I...desired," had there been a weird inflection on that word? He can't quite remember but it feels like there was. "And I told him I wanted a home and he said he wanted my dancing and then he took me here," Cyan gestures at the garden around them in general. "I dunno he talked about gardens and fertile soil and like...a gardener?" He shrugs, finally getting around to pouring himself some soup. "Didn't tell me a prize really, " a sudden worrying thought occurs to him, and he raises an eyebrow at Lucien, "he's not like...some kind of creep, is he?" Not at all reassuringly, Lucien does not answer immediately. He rotates his mug slowly between his fingers, fingertips running along the small grooves banding it. "He is not a cruel man, and he is not a pervert," he replies slowly. "His ethics and his way of thinking are often out of alignment with what most people in this culture are used to, and he sometimes has difficulty understanding why his actions might then be upsetting." Though once he has said that, he is breathing out a soft puff of laughter: "-- I suppose in that he is not so very different from us." Cyan unhooks his masks, keeping an eye on Flèche as he takes a sip of soup. "So..." He takes his time now, allowing himself to think, "I can't really say I understand what's going on with all of this but-" very carefully he blows the steam away, "-I take it he's not just some dude with an eclectic fashion sense?" "He has a very eclectic fashion sense." There's a touch of amusement crinkling at the corners of Lucien's eyes; it slips away with his next sip of his tea. "He is a powerful man and -- as you have noted previously, that can in itself be a danger. I do not -- want to alarm you terribly here. I have no reason at all to believe he means you ill. Intent only goes so far sometimes, though, and he can be quite oblivious to the waves he makes in life." "Right...." Cyan sips his soup, paying especially attention to the things Lucien is choosing not to say. Powerful, oblivious...sounds like old money. "Well, if he's that into making waves, I suppose I should practice swimming." | |
