Logs:Working

Working
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt	2023-07-31 "{I don't know what to think, but I believe you.}"
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. Lucien has not been so very long home from Ohio, but long enough that Gaétan's things have all been tucked away in his room; long enough that he's disappeared for a longer than usual stretch into the shower. He's emerged just a short time ago and vanished into his room, where -- perhaps he had intended to do something else. Get a food. Relax a moment. Finish getting dressed. Instead he has fallen into a predictable trap, and is in jeans, no shirt, towel somewhat comically draped over his damp hair where he'd forgotten it. He's leaning up against the side of his desk, reading a confirmation number -- a flight to Atlanta, evidently -- off his tablet to someone at the other end of the phone tucked against his ear, even as he also forwards the confirmation email. Opens a different inbox, this one rather stacked with unread messages about the hotel. His wince comes with a sluggish shifting in his mind, trying (with little success) to dredge up some vestiges of energy as he begins adding careful labels to the emails. Perhaps Matt was expecting Lucien to emerge at some point, but if so he's likely abandoned that notion and guessed the shape of the trap by now even without his power. Still, it's another few minutes before he comes to the door with a slightly blunted tap-tap of one elbow. A moment after that, the door opens to him awkwardly balancing a wooden tray on one hip. He's in a blue tee with a cartoon figure reading beneath an arch of books, bracketed by the words BEST TIME MACHINE, EVER! and black cargo shorts, and looks little worse for his brief second stint in Prometheus and only slightly longer first stint at SHIELD. "Welcome home." He deposits his tray on the desk and claims one mug of fragrant milk oolong for himself, leaving the other and the plate of honey spatchcock chicken, grilled lemon-pepper broccolini, and roasted purple baby potatoes for his brother. "{You ought to eat, I expect.}" Lucien is just hanging up the phone as his brother enters, though he's moved on to texting as Matt sets out the food. "{You didn't --}" he is starting, with a small frown, but then glances towards the plate. "Ah, La Vie. {Thank you, yes. I probably should.}" He picks up the tea first, though; the food can wait. He sinks down into the chair at his desk, pushing his towel down around his shoulders as he takes a sip of tea. His eyes have fixed steadily on his brother over the mug, and by the time he puts it down a frown has etched itself deep into his expression. "Mnnh," sounds just a little disgruntled. "{What did they do to you.}" "{They've been very solicitous.}" Matt drapes himself on the futon, cradling his tea to his chest. "{Lucky thing, as many teenagers as we've got about.}" He closes his eyes and sips at the tea. "Spirited us away somewhere I can only describe as Electric Kool-Aid Acid Jail, spat us back out, depowered us, and shipped us off to SHIELD." His placid expression does not change with the casual addition of, "{Most of us. I'll be in working order again soon enough.}" His lips compress. "{I don't need powers to tell me you are pushing yourself too far.}" "{Not far enough.}" Lucien's attention has started drifting back to his phone even as he sips at his tea. "{I've no idea how to even begin tracking those coming out of these places -- let alone directing the appropriate help their way. They will need a full-time staff just to sort genuine inmates from scammers and gods only know when Ryan or Jackson --}" His lips compress, and it's only when the screen grows unsteady from the tremor in his hand that he sets the phone aside, cupping both hands tight around his tea. "{Gaétan told me about Psychedelic Jail Dimension. I don't expect you had much capacity to enjoy the surreality.}" "{We didn't know if Ryan was going to make it.}" Matt sounds profoundly dispassionate about all of this. "{But I insisted we set him up by the pool with a fancy cocktail and a giant bong. I should track that merc down.}" His eyes narrow minutely on Lucien's phone until he puts it down. "{I cannot match your flair for logistics, but I would like to take something off your plate.}" He leans forward and spears a potato for himself, chews it over thoughtfully. "{Unless that would in fact be more work for you.}" He offers the next potato to his brother with an expectant lift of brows. "{I am sure he was quite appreciative of your efforts, once he learned. It may be some while yet before he gets back to the pool.}" It is not difficult to tell that Lucien is struggling not to pick the phone back up, eyes flicking towards it and his hand dropping away from his mug. He resists, though. Leans forward to eat the potato instead. "{I will be fine. You have a school full of malfunctioning and traumatized children to deal with, if you want to still have a school come September.}" In the pause, here, he sets his tea down and reaches a little reluctantly to take the fork for himself, though after this he mostly just stares at the plate as if he is not quite sure how to tackle it. "{Gaétan says he is not returning.}" Matt's expression flashes through something too unusual and rapid for Lucien to easily interpret, but when he speaks he sounds only faintly miffed, "{I can't help terribly much with the malfunctioning until I'm done malfunctioning myself.}" He sips his tea placidly. "{Though I suppose the experience and knowledge can still help. Chaz isn't pressing me about it either way, which is novel.}" He doesn't sound nearly as pleased about this change as he probably wants to. "{So I hear. I can hardly blame him. I doubt we could sway him if we wanted to and I'm not sure we should if we could.}" Lucien's eyes fix on Matt for an uncomfortably long moment before dropping. "{Of course we should. Could is another matter entirely.}" He sets the fork down, and pulls his towel up to rub against his hair once more before folding it neat and draping it over a forearm. His gaze has shifted critically towards the door, perhaps judging it for being so very far away from him. He does not get up, just keeps the damp towel over his arm as he slumps back in his seat, his other arm propped on his armrests and fingers rubbing slow at his temple. "{Are you going to ask.}" "Mm." Matt's brows furrow ever so faintly, not quite a frown. "{I don't think it's possible for us to fully understand how difficult Xavier's is for him. It had been difficult even before Prometheus, but now... If it were, perhaps we could help mitigate it. Or perhaps we would agree with his decision, unlikely as it seems.}" His head shakes, his gaze drops to his tea. "{Or perhaps I'm just projecting far beyond what I do understand.}" His posture doesn't change at the question, but a stillness comes over him. He breaks it quite deliberately by getting up to close the door and then lock it, though after doing so he does frown. It's fleeting, and when he returns to the futon his flat composure is also back in place. He sets the plate in his lap and starts carefully cutting the chicken into bite-sized pieces, rolling each in the sauce. "{Was it really her?}" "{Xavier's is not the only high school on earth. It is not, last I checked, even the only high school in New York. Dropping out is a flabbergastingly stupid decision. I know you all think I can always just --}" Lucien cuts off as Matt goes to lock the door, his own posture stilling, as well. He's staring at the door handle and not his brother, his arm shifting in tiny but restless movements beneath the drape of the damp towel. "{It was her.}" Matt's expression does not change, and he does not look up from his work. "{It's flabbergasting because--}" The moment his tone starts to go sharp he stops and reroutes evenly to, "{I know. But he just got back, and there is time yet.}" The faint tremor of his hands is nearly invisible, but easier to hear in the tap of the utensils on the plate. "{She is alive.}" This isn't a question, or at least does not sound like one. "{I thought you said she was dead.}" This does not sound like an accusation, either. "{But maybe I heard what I wanted to. You phrase things certain ways--I know you don't always intend it to mislead, but even I miss it, sometimes. And at the time...}" The knife and fork pause in the air over the food. "{Are you absolutely certain she was dead?}" Lucien starts to reach for one of the many fidgets neatly arrayed on their small shelf atop his desk, but then drops his hands back to his lap. His fingers scrunch in against the towel, expression slightly twisting as he does. "{I didn't --}" starts out sharper, defensive, but his tone deflates in time with his posture. "{I was certain,}" he replies then, softer and more careful. "{Until recently I was very certain. And yet.}" Matt lets out the quiet breath he had been holding. His hands resume, arranging the food into slightly neater piles before he returns the plate and utensils to Lucien. Only now does he look at his brother again. There's no suspicion or reproach written in his countenance--but then, there's not much of anything written there right now. "{I believe you.}" He picks up his tea again and takes a deep pull, his eyes sliding shut. "{I don't know what to think, but I believe you.}" When he opens his eyes again they are glassy and distant. "{I don't suppose you talked much.}" A very faint flush dusts Lucien's cheeks as Matt returns the neatly-cut up food to him, but he takes it quietly. Setting his towel back aside on the arm of his chair he only now, finally, starts eating. "{I tried to avoid it.}" His mouth compresses, briefly. "{Admittedly, it was not hard. We were both quite busy. She had cameras to cry in front of and I ...}" His fingers tighten against his fork. "{Well. There was quite a lot more going on than just her.}" His eyes lift back to Matt. "{When will you. Stop malfunctioning?}" Matt gives a breathy puff of laughter--or is it a scoff?--but no further comment on the subject of Elie Tessier, at least. "{I've noticed.}" His teeth click against the brim of his mug. "{Another week, give or take. Maybe if I drink a lot of tea, it'll clear my system faster.}" He slumps back against the futon. "{I'll be fine. There's a lot more going on than my deep displeasure at being} hoisted with my own suppression." There's a small delay before he adds, "{Hive is still unconscious. DJ, also.}" "{I can help it clear your system faster,}" Lucien replies with just the faintest bit of indignity before he allows: "{... but not much.}" Even so he is studying Matt now with a thoughtful intensity that does not exactly fade even as his eyes tic slightly down. "{Will they wake?}" Matt doesn't sit up, but he does kind of roll himself towards Lucien. He pulls one hand from his mug but stops short of actually reaching for his brother. "{Of course you can, my dear. But you are exhausted, and as you say, have much to do.}" When he returns his hand to the mug he grips it tighter than seems altogether necessary. At least it's not shaking. "{If you truly think you can spare the time and effort, I would be grateful. But it isn't important enough to risk your health.}" He looks past Lucien at the bookshelves behind him. "{We don't know, but.}" He turns the same hand up, his half-shrug at once despairing and nonchalant. "{It doesn't look hopeful.}" Lucien is still working methodically through his food, chasing his bite with a sip of tea. "{I can manage my own effort -- and my own health.}" His mouth gives a small sideways twitch, and he adds just a little softer: "{But I manage it a great deal more easily when you are in proper working order.}" After this his expression just goes flat, his fork tracing lightly through the sauce on his plate. "{A cruel irony to come all this way only to die fighting the same war. Perhaps --}" He lets out a slow breath, and whatever reassurance he may have been trying to summon up fails, here. "{I am sorry.}" "{Flatterer.}" Matt echoes that barest twitch of a smile. "{But correct on all counts nevertheless. Thank you, darling.}" His affect doesn't fully return to his different yet also flat baseline, but the smile does fade to something more vacant. "{Is it ironic?}" There's no challenge in this, just a kind of idle curiosity. "{I suppose it is. He's not so ready to die as Flicker was.}" His eyes are watering, but this effects no change in his expression. If he didn't blink them back, it would be easy to think he hadn't even noticed. "So it goes." Lucien's eyes flick up from his plate, briefly meeting Matt's bright eyes with his clear ones. There's no particular change in his expression, either, through his long study of his brother's face, before he drops his gaze and continues working slow and methodical through his neatly cut-up food. "So it goes."