ArchivedLogs:Entertaining Trouble

Entertaining Trouble
Dramatis Personae Desi, Lucien, Matt	2018-03-04 "{Do we really think /more/ superpowers in his hands is wise?}"
Location <NYC> 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 front door opens and shuts quietly, admitting Desi from the dreary cloud-dimmed afternoon. She's wearing a soft fawn-colored coat that reaches her thighs, unzipped over a vintage pink blouse that would probably look frumpy on anyone else, a three-tiered purple skirt, and slouchy brown boots. Her makeup, mostly nude with a touch of lilac eyeshadow and faintly shimmery pink lipstick, has clearly seen a long day and doesn't quite disguise the dark circles under her eyes. She has a brown canvas satchel slung over one shoulder and carries a nylon grocery bag in the same hand. Leaning against the closed door, she starts to remove her boots, her movements slow and ginger. Matt is parked in his armchair, with two approximately equal-height stacks of papers on the coffee table in front of him (one with his handwriting added, one without) and a laptop balanced on one folded knee. He's wearing a seafoam green t-shirt with a huge white whale on the front beneath a seven-pointed star, and ancient, threadbare brown corduroys. He looks--not /quite/ as exhausted as Desi, but certainly not /well/, either. Flèche has been napping by his feet, but jumps up at Desi's entry and bounds over to greet her with snuffling, wagging, and what she probably thinks is a smooth, subtle investigating of the grocery bag. "{Welcome home,}" Matt offers with a smile, looking up from his screen and setting aside the paper he has been liberally peppering with comments. "{How was the dread post-church shift?}" Lucien /looks/ cozier and better-rested than his siblings, tucked into one side of the couch with his legs curled up beneath him, comfortably dressed in well-worn grey jeans and a waffle-weave long-sleeved green henley. He doesn't immediately look up, when Desi arrives, attention perhaps torn between the headphones tucked into his ears and plugged into his tablet, and the very well-tabbed book in his hand (/The Actor's Book Of Monologues for Men/). His mind has been rather less at ease, carefully regimenting itself and keeping a watchful intertwined vigil on Matt's current state. He sets his things aside as Desi enters -- swipes at a buzzer on his phone very shortly afterwards. Stands, quietly, to disappear into the kitchen. Returns a moment later with a tray, set out with three mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate-raspberry scones that he sets down on the coffee table. Desi abandons her boots in favor of petting Flèche while skillfully maneuvering the bag out of her reach. "There's nothing in there you'd want anyway," she says, conciliatory. With a final scratch behind the dog's ears, she hoists herself to her feet and stows boots and coat. "{It was on the busy side.}" Her tone is light, her flop down onto the couch considerably less so. "{Penny came down with that accursed flu, too. The tea I ordered came in, though.}" She twists around to drop the nylon bag into Matt's lap, then props her chin up in one palm. "{How're you doing?}" Her eyes dart, with a faint frown, aside to the stacks of papers. Then to the tea and scones, the frown dissolving. "{Thank you.}" She even pulls her legs in far enough to leave Lucien room to sit as she takes up one of the mugs. "{Alas! May she mend swiftly. It's likely to be something of a /week/, then.}" Matt winces--to Desi's eyes, it may be hard to discern whether it is in sympathy with her work situation or a reaction to actual pain, though to Lucien, even from the next room, it is plainly both. The headache which had receded to a low, distant discomfort has flared up into fresh agony that exacerbates the body aches already rendered keen by renewed motion. "{That partner dance project...are you presenting /before/ spring break, or after?}" He peers into the bag with interest. "Ooh, I adore that Darjeeling." Then into the mug he snags for himself, inhaling deep. "And that jin xuan! {Thank you.}" He eyes the scones speculatively, hunger warring with nausea--the former definitely moving toward victory, though it's a process. "{I--am probably going to have to stay up late to get these done.}" He nods at the papers with a weary smile. "{It'd go a sight faster if they weren't so /entertaining./}" "I think you underestimate her appetites. She'd eat concrete slurry if she thought it was something /we/ ate, and love it too." Lucien nudges the dog gently toward one end of the couch as he settles back down, taking one of the mugs with him. His brows have pulled faintly inward, his fingers wrapping tightly around the cup. His mind braces against the pain and nausea coming from Matt, powers slowly reaching outward to blunt the worst edges of these. "{You've till the end of the day tomorrow, no? You'd be better off resting tonight.}" "Mmm, I'll be sure to put concrete on the list." Desi sips at her tea, watching Matt impassively over the brim of her cup. "{This Wednesday. We'll be practicing first thing tomorrow.}" Setting down the tea, she takes up one of the scones and nibbles on it. Flèche leans across Lucien's lap quite shamelessly to snuffle at Desi's snack, tongue darting out. "{I'm sure the administration would give you an extension if you asked. They know perfectly well you were hurt in training.}" There's only a faint hint of reproach in her tone, which vanishes when she adds, "{Besides, it's only fair considering how willingly /you/ accept late papers.}" Her free hand flutters along the tabs crowding the fore-edge of Lucien's book. "Found anything satisfactory?" Matt subsides into his chair, shoulders relaxing gradually as the worst of the pain and nausea eases. Then he frowns anew, though not for pain. "{You've a double shift tomorrow, too, have you not?}" He takes a long pull of his tea, closing his eyes. "{It's not just the papers--I have numbers to crunch and spreadsheets to fill after. But that won't take near so long, and I can probably afford to put some of these off until tomorrow, at least. I could do with extra rest, it's just...}" His eyes ease open again; what flutters in him now isn't any additional physical discomfort, but a sense of disquieting urgency. "{I guess I was just...hoping to do get it all done with time to spare.}" His head tilts minutely. "For a change of pace, you see." "{There are other employees. Ones who aren't currently invalid.}" Lucien's words are directed somewhat mildly down toward his tea. He crooks one leg slightly up, gently pushing Flèche back away from Desi's scone. "{If you do the papers, I am more than capable of handling the spreadsheets.}" He lowers the mug, his fingers curling tighter around it. His eyes dip to the book, drawn by the flutter of Desi's fingers. His mind is still elsewhere, though, focused outward; gently soothing the less visible flutter he feels in his brother. "I'm still looking." "{I had a double shift,}" Desi points out, "{/before/ Penny got sick. But Mondays aren't so bad, really.}" She saves her scone from Flèche with a bit more finality, devouring it in short order and washing it down with tea. "{If you want a change of pace, you might consider the kind of training accident that leaves you with a cast to sign, or a portentious scar.} Or /superpowers./" She quirks both eyebrows up at Matt, then down a touch at Lucien. "I will happily write you one, if nothing in there speaks to you." "{As though you haven't enough work already.}" Matt's eyes flick between his siblings, further muddling which of them he means, if not both. "{Very well. I shall desist from this,}" with a wave of his hand at the papers, "{by suppertime, and finish tomorrow. I would be glad of your help with the spreadsheets if you've time.}" There's a quiet wash of guilty relief through him at speaking this decision aloud. His powers reach back into Lucien and echoes the soothing touch of the other man's abilities. "Perhaps after supper we might help you winnow those," with a nod at the much-tabbed book, "down." He finally takes a scone for himself, starting in on it a with a small nibble and a large bloom of pleasure even though the nausea is trying to fight its way back up. "{This is /most/ excellent!} At any rate, though I little doubt that Desi's effort would outshine anything in that book, casting directors are a stodgy breed and speaking to /them/ is as much a matter of skill as pedigree." "Yes, certainly what this situation needs is for you to add to your workload." Regardless, Lucien is nudging the book towards Desi. "Perhaps something will speak to you more." /He/ is just settling back in the couch, lifting his mug with one hand and burying his other in Flèche's scruff, scrunching slowly at her fur. "{Do we really think /more/ superpowers in his hands is wise?} The complement he and his fellows already possess seems to land them in enough trouble as it is." There's a pause. Another slow scrunch of the pup's fur, another sip of tea before he lowers his mug to state mildly, "I'm making a tomato basil soup for dinner." This time not really fighting the nausea so much as watchfully monitoring it. "It gratifies me so that you will deign to see sense." Desi wipes her fingers delicately on a napkin before opening the book of monologues in her lap to the first tab, eyes scanning down it in rapid zig-zag. "{I can think of a few that would look good on him and cause only /minimal/ trouble. Or at least more /entertaining/ trouble.}" Her eyes dart to Matt briefly before returning to the page. Quieter, only the barest trace of concern in her tone, "{Still don't know what it is?}" Matt works at his scone slowly but diligently, alternating bites with sips of tea. "{Forgive me, I've been slacking.} Next time training goes awry, I'll strive to come out of it with my hair all standing straight up. Or maybe with an immunity to nausea." Though even as he says this, his resurgent nausea recedes again into the background. "Oh, basil! I look forward to it." The enthusiasm is /mostly/ genuine. He does not answer Desi at once, but takes his time with what's left of his snack. "{Not yet. It still presents an awful lot like side effects from chemo, but...}" He gives a small, weak shrug. "Not /quite./" "{More entertaining. I admit, this routine is growing a touch stale. You could do well with some fresher material.}" Lucien curls his legs back up onto the couch, folding a little more snugly into his corner. "Have you considered," comes after a lengthy pause, "having Joshua try to replicate it? Perhaps under less duress." {You're ever so obliging. Do try for immunity to /cancer/, if you're going that general direction anyway.}" Desi's smile is quick and sharp. "{But, lest you think me unreasonable, I'll settle for the ability to animate paper, or for the odds of your success to increase in proportion to the drama of your actions.}" She takes a long draught of her tea, eyes lingering on the text currently before her. "I begin to get the impression that this power only rears its head under duress." Her brows wrinkle faintly. "Or only does so /noticeably/, at any rate." "{I'll try not to let you down.}" Matt huffs a soft but sincerely amused laugh. "Here you are, criticizing my range with one breath and recommending more of the same with the next." He wraps both hands around his mug. "But yes, we intend to. I was hoping to, if not /recover/, at least gain more information first--and honestly, I was not keen to risk more of /this/ during exams. But I doubt there's much more to be learned from the fallout at this point." His lips press into a thin line. "Duress can be manufactured, and..." His gaze settles on his brother. "{I would feel better doing it with you present, though I am also loath to put you in danger.}" "{It will perhaps be easier for him to remedy the damage if he even can learn what it is.}" Lucien's lips press thinner together. "And I have no doubt we can fabricate him some duress."