Logs:Creative

Creative
Dramatis Personae Fury, Lucien	2023-02-09 "Your resourcefulness continues to surprise me, Mister Tessier, and I don't surprise easy."
Location <PRV> The Belfry - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria
Nestled just below the belfry and above the gardeners' workshop and storage rooms, this penthouse apartment is accessible only at the proprietor sufferance via a special panel in the elevator and a locked utility stairway. The whole of it is psi-shielded, and equipped with a largely unused power suppression grid as well. Spanning one and a half levels, this space could be mistaken for an extension of the conservatory below, with plentiful bookshelves and greenery spilling from every nook, but even a cursory examination will reveal the personal touches that went into its design, softening the neoclassical aesthetic of the building at large with paradoxically fastidious whimsy. The elevator shaft bridging the full level and the loft is, save for the doors, encased in the (probably artificial) coral reef of an immense cylindrical aquarium that houses a thriving tropical community. The sitting room immediately adjoining this is bright and airy, open to the empty half of the story above, with a plush circular sectional couch, a low tea table, a sideboard and a bar, its walls covered with lush trellises where not taken up with recessed bookshelves. Opposite the oceanic entryway on the western wall, tall french doors lead to a crescent balcony with views of the waterfront and city beyond as well as the restaurant terrace and garden far below. To either side of the doors, floor to ceiling waterfall windows feed twin pools connected under a thick glass floor panel, an indoor pond lined with smooth river stones and stocked with hardy freshwater fish. On the other end of the apartment, tucked under the loft and behind the elevator shaft, is a large kitchen bracketed by a pantry on one end and a breakfast nook on the other, its culinary conveniences--even the the refrigerator and ovens--hidden behind opaque glass panels that light up at a touch with lists of their contents. An elegant floating stairway spirals up around the elevator cum aquarium, its balusters and those of the loft's railing above twined with well-trained philodendrons. The long wall of the loft showcases a variety of bows from historical and modern, humble to ornate. A no-nonsense workshop at one end of this gallery stores the less picturesque archery paraphernalia as well as a wide range of tools, striking a quaint contrast with the cozier if no less utilitarian study at the other end. Open offset doorways at either end lead to a capacious bedroom with a king sized bed, its walls graced with myriad orchids and other epiphytes in Greek sconces. The generously sized bathroom is tiled with mosaic scenes from classical mythology and has an entire corner dedicated to the antique clawfoot tub. The walk-in closet is similarly generous, with specialized storage for every imaginable accessory, and a hidden staircase leading to the belfry above and the exit below. At this late hour, the sounds drifting up to the belltower from the hotel itself have largely dwindled -- the restaurant below has shuttered, its patio empty; the hubbub from the well-insulated club many floors below does not quite carry this far except in brief intermittent muffled thump when wobbly-tipsy patrons stumble out singly or in pairs through the lobby doors; the garden contains only one young man comically overbundled for the mild weather and hunched over his laptop in a feverish rush of writing. High up above it all, Lucien is just settling in, ensconcing himself among the lush greenery in his living room. He's been back long enough for a post-show shower and change, fine v-neck cashmere sweater in a deep blue over cream poplin button-down and camel twill trousers. He is just setting a tray down on a small table -- a very fine scotch in a very fine crystal decanter, two squat matching glasses there though at the moment he is here alone. The elevator shortly disgorges one Director Nick Fury, looking somehow bedraggled despite his sharp attire. Or perhaps it's because of his sharp attire: a black three-piece suit with white pinstripes, crisp white shirt, black oxford shoes, and red satin tie. It doesn't help that he's nursing a visible reminder of his still-trending encounter with Captain America's fist, his cheek swollen tight and garishly mottled. He only takes one step inside before coming up short. His eye follows the path of a brightly colored reef fish up into the archway overhead, then out across the library-garden of the living room, to the lights of Manhattan glittering through watery curtains. Finally his gaze settles on his host, and he stalks into the living room. Is it his company that softens his habitual scowl tonight, or is it just a side effect of the bruising? "Goddamn. I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure weren't this." He looks up again, at the high windows and the vine-wreathed railings. "But I don't suppose you invited me just to show off." Lucien is just finishing pouring the second measure of Scotch when Fury arrives. He rises smoothly, bringing one of the glasses over to impress it upon his guest. He is remaining solidly in Fury's space after delivering the drink, his hands lifting to unfasten the older man's tie with deft fingers. "Did you know," there's a just slightly hushed-conspiratorial cant to Lucien's tone, his eyes wider as if imparting some fascinating new information, "that it is not possible to sue the U.N." Fury accepts the glass and lets Lucien relieve him of his tie. His eyebrows lift up, the left one dragging even lower than usual. "No? Well, that explains why I ain't never heard of it happening. Here I thought it was just on account of us being so generous with our settlements." The corner of his mouth turns down. "Usually." Lucien twines the loose ends of Fury's tie slowly around his hands. "How generous do you think you all will be with, say, a mutant terrorist?" Fury's right eyebrow drops level with the right again, his gaze steady. His voice, steady, too. "It ain't up to me. I can appeal to my boss in the Security Council, but I got no pull at the Office of Legal Affairs." He takes a sip of his whiskey, not even slightly awkward where he has to lift the glass around Lucien's hands where they're gripping his tie. "I done wrong by Mister Holland, but he has got bigger problems right now than financial compensation." "Mr. Holland has nothing but time, these days. Time enough for many problems. Time enough to create an even bigger one for you, I expect." When Lucien withdraws he takes Fury's tie with him, draping it loosely around his own neck. He is drifting back to the table to pluck up his own drink, his free hand still toying lightly with the end of the tie between his fingers. "Do you think you will find the leak? You do rather need someone to throw under the bus in short order or the backlash may be well out of your control." "It's my house," Fury says, mildly. "I do need someone to throw under the bus, and I will find him." He drifts further into the room, turning a slow circle and stopping to look at the gigantic aquarium. "Not sure that'll cut it." He take a longer draught of his whiskey. "DHS still gon' want my head on a plate, and Holland back in their cage." Lucien settles himself down in a corner of the couch. His lips compress just slightly at the mention of DHS, and for a moment he just swirls the Scotch slowly in its glass, watching the light glimmer through the amber liquid. "If the government finally saw fit to release him," he decides, gaze still fixed on the glass and not on Fury, "I suppose that might go a long way towards taking some problems off of both your plates." "Believe me, I'd like nothing better." Fury's head shakes slow, his free hand lifting to press fingertips to his cheek. He does not wince. "I burned a lot of favors getting him out of there to begin with, and none of them Capitol Hill motherfuckers want to come off 'soft on terror'." While he'd been plenty frustrated on this topic before, he sounds merely resigned now, if not outright neutral. "They need to look like they're being tough on someone. If we could spin this against DHS somehow -- or better yet the AG -- I still got some contacts I can lean on to get him the pretrial hearing he ought to have got almost a year ago." His face contorts, lopsided. "Tall order, though, especially after he done lasered half a dozen military grade surveillance cameras without so much as blinking." "Many of the conditions you have been keeping them in have been proscribed for you by DHS, no?" Lucien is still studying his Scotch intently. His fingertip traces slow against the smooth ridges of the crystal. "I can think of some things that might look well for you and poorly for the AG who has been foot-dragging about prosecuting a Nazi pedophile while compelling you to keep Jackson in the same conditions. Suppose," he volunteers this as casually as if it is an idle hypothetical, his tone a stark contrast with the continued focus of his expression, "your men heroically thwarted a jailbreak attempt by some of his devoted fascists DHS is seeing fit to leave at-large? Say -- this weekend, perhaps." Fury scoffs. "Near enough alla them. We just 'supporting a member state', and while I been steady creative interpreting their rules I can't get away with outright defying them." He takes another gulp of his Scotch and drifts over to sink heavily onto the couch. His eye skates aside to Lucien, thoughtful and appraising. No cocked eyebrow this time, though. "I suppose that might motivate my so-called 'allies' to grow a spine and the AG to look alive. I'd need to play my cards right about the camera business so the news don't try to make it out like Holland sabotaged them to help Heidlage." He frowns down at his glass. "Ideally, if we can turn attention away from the memes and Holland's frankly terrifying powers and toward the privacy of a minor being held without trial? Might could get that Ford kid released, too." He sets his glass down on a coaster that just happens to have been left in comfortable reach. "Your resourcefulness continues to surprise me, Mister Tessier, and I don't surprise easy." "Mmm. Directing an audience's attention is one thing I have some practice with." The sharp focus in Lucien's expression eases at the compliment, the barest hint of a smile glimmering warm in his eyes and not so much on his lips. He only now takes a slow-savoring mouthful of his drink, a pleased hum in his throat as he swallows. Very seriously he informs Fury: "Well. My horoscope told me I ought to get creative in my dating life if I want to keep things fresh." "Hah!" It's not always easy to tell whether Fury is genuinely amused or what at exactly, but either way he's letting his smile tug at his injured face. "Whoever thought they needed to tell a Scorpio that ain't never dated one." He turns a little stiffly to face Lucien. "Can't match your creativity or your knack for directing attention." He grasps the tails of his own tie where it's still draped around Lucien's neck and winds them slowly around his hand. He does not pull -- at least not yet -- but his hand is broad and calloused and the motion effectively reels Lucien in. "But fresh I can do."