ArchivedLogs:Ammunition

Ammunition
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2015-05-05 "Some men just want to see the world learn."
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. It’s a clear, balmy night, spring-like in a way more often imagined than realized. Lured, perhaps, by the near-perfection of the weather, Matt slips outside into the garden. He wears a seafoam green t-shirt whose front is largely taken up by a white sperm whale, and faded blue jeans with cuffs worn through from dragging on the ground. Barefoot, he picks his way to the pond and settles into a chair. He hunches around the steaming mug in his hands as though he needs its warmth, and the book he brought along (/The Raw Shark Texts/ by Steven Hall) lies in his lap unopened. The door to the garden opens -- from the street side, not the house. Lucien is dressed down, jeans and a grey button-down, his hair tousled and still damp with sweat around his temples. There's still traces of makeup lingering around the edges of his hairline, too, not quite entirely wiped off. Though he hasn't reached the house yet he sheds his shoes and socks halfway across the yard, scrunching toes into the grass as he detours over by Matt's chair. He drops his messenger bag into the grass by the chair, stooping to pluck the mug from his brother's hands and steal a sip of tea. Maybe a long gulp. The tea, one of their Ali-shan oolongs, is still quite hot, though eminently drinkable. Matt protests to the absence of the mug from his hands with only a mild, perfunctory grumble. But he makes no move to take it back, eyes dropping to the book which he has finally pried open to what looks look like a completely blank spread. His fingers play along the crisp fore-edge, delicately exploring the ridges there as if he could divine some meaning from their pattern. “{Did you win this time?}” he asks at last, his smile thin but genuine. If Matt is not reclaiming his tea, Lucien certainly isn't /offering/, happy to keep the stolen mug. His eyes lower to the blank page, brows furrowing in mild puzzlement at the lack of /book/ in Matt's book. "{There is no winning.} -- In truth, I will be rather relieved when the show closes at the end of the month. {Are you reading -- anything?}" Frown. “When the curtains draw back and there you are, stripped of the magic and glamour of the stage?” Matt curls his fingers into the fore-edge and, taking a stack of pages in hand, squeezes them beneath a thumb nail until they start flicking past. In flipbook animation, a dim shape appears in the depth of the book near the spine and grows larger and larger, a text-art shark breaching out to strike at his hand. It falls short, however, when he runs out of pages. “{I got to this part. Now I’m not so sure I’m actually reading a book anymore. It’s ah...postmodern, I guess.}” He lets the books fall back open to emptiness. “{Have you heard anything else from the future?} Second hand, third hand, whatever?” "And here I am," Lucien agrees softly, eyes following the animation on the page. "{Have I lost my magic, do you think?}" There's a trace of amusement in his voice. "The world has magic enough of its own. {I will be glad to get back to it. Ah -- your book is trying to consume you.}" After a pause, a moment of contemplation: "{I suppose so many books do, though, don't they?}" Another long pull of tea, and now he finally returns it. "I hear a good deal from the present." No amusement in his voice, here. A small furrow of brow, a small press of lips as he lowers the mug back towards Matt. Lowers /himself/, too, sinking down to settle in the grass, head resting up against the side of the chair. "{The first run of Sentinels has shipped out with EMS, now. I suppose the future is slowly creeping up on us.}" His voice is soft, steady and even. Something shivers across the surface of his mind, quiet and reflexive as his powers automatically smooth over some stray wisp of emotion that never quite gets a chance to surface. “{Hardly.}” Matt flips through the shark-approach sequence again. “{You could certainly use the break, though. I…}” He trails off, though it doesn’t sound like an effort to censor himself so much as mere uncertainty. Abandoning the thought with the barest shake of his head, he lifts one hand to take back the tea. His other hand drops to his brother’s head, tucking back a sweat-damp lock of hair. “The book is about someone who unknowingly looses an entity that consumes him all he loves, I think. {Or about madness.}” Lucien’s emotional immune response eases off subtly, dampened alone without drawing along the vast constellation of related biochemical abilities. “{Perhaps I should be more worried about that and less about Io’s final solution reaching back through time.}” An errant breeze sends the pages of the book flipping. Matt makes no move to stop it, but only sips his tea. "{/Or/? It could well be about both. It seems likely enough the one would lead to the other.}" Lucien's eyes close, pressing tighter shut. "... and how much moreso if you /knowingly/ --" He breaks off, here; though in his case, perhaps this /is/ censorship. He swallows, head tipping forward to press his forehead slightly harder against Matt's hand. "{The Sentinels aren't the worry. They're a tool. The people who wield them -- that's always where the danger will lie.}" “{Yes, I suppose it deals with madness either way,}” Matt agrees mildly, setting his tea down (reluctantly!) to stop the pages still intermittently flying with the wind. “And either way, I probably won’t like it much if I read ahead, no?” But his hand lingers on on the page it caught. The fingers of his other hand trace Lucien’s hairline absently. “{Of course, and the danger would remain even if the Sentinels didn’t exist. They can subjugate us with other tools, kill us with other weapons.}” He falls silent for a moment. “{And yet,} I just can’t quite shake this sense that I’m...ammunition.” "{I don't know. Would you? Does knowing the ending ruin the story?}" Though it's warm, there are goosebumps prickling Lucien's skin; the hairs on the back of his neck all stand up. "You are. {Perhaps. But with you or without you, they'll always find weapons.} /You/ aren't fueling their hate." “{Only if it is a very poor story, and then there really isn’t much to ruin.}” Matt slumps into the chair further. “I just suspect it’s about to go rather badly for the beleaguered and honestly not very lovable protagonist, and there isn’t anything I can do about it. The ending is fixed already.” He sighs, smoothing back Lucien’s hair gently. “{Not so /our/ story, I hope, however poorly written. I’m not going to kill myself to save the present from the future or anything, but I think...I need to do /something./} Out there.” He gestures vaguely at the city beyond their garden wall. "If you think the ending is fixed already --" Lucien's voice is quiet, the words sung just under his breath before he exhales quietly. "{If you need to do /something/ I suppose I suggest you talk with Jackson and his band of terrorists. Though it is as like to get you killed as anything else.}" There's a small grim twitch upward to his lips. "{But then, maybe the ending is fixed. Who knows. Who ever knows. What is it you /want/ to do?}" “When you think about it, a fixed future is very liberating in a way.” Matt doesn’t sound overly joyed by this thought. “{If it is, whatever we choose to do is in any event what we must do. Liberating, though not comforting.}” He picks up his tea again and take a sip, looking down into the mug ruefully afterwards. “{Come now, I’m completely useless in a fight. But I’m reasonably sure my abilities can be very useful somewhere. But what I /want/ to do? Even now?}” He chuckles, with mild but genuine amusement. “Teach.” "{Liberating, but hardly my idea of --}" Lucien's lips compress. He reaches up to snag the mug back as Matt stares down into it. "Liberty." He curls his fingers around the mug, taking a long sip. His next smile comes easier, warmer. "{Goodness. You want to do something that will /actually/ make a positive impact?}" He sounds downright scandalized. “{It’s gone a bit cold,}” Matt cautions him, giving up the mug yet again without a fight. “So what would you call liberty? Not the ‘Murcan version, I’m sure.” He leafs through his book aimlessly, backward and forward. “{I’m such a rebel. What can I say?} Some men just want to see the world learn.” "{... oh my gods.}" This comes out as a /groan/. Lucien doesn't actually answer Matt. He swivels around to /shove/ at the chair, tipping it backwards. POSSIBLY towards the pond, he doesn't much seem to /care/ if it tips Matt into the grass or the water. That pun was painful. Matt, grinning broadly, perhaps does not adequately defend against the attack. The chair promptly topples, spilling its occupant toward to the pond. He twists in mid-air inelegantly, but not to save himself from a dunking. Instead, he slams the book shut and tosses it in one smooth motion to Lucien before landing in the water with a splash. Drowsing fish, startled awake by the sudden addition of Human to their perfectly manicured world, dart away in all directions. The smile returns to his face. “{Worth it.}” Lucien is already leaning forward as Matt twists. Not to help catch his brother. Just to snatch the /book/ out of midair. His knuckles press lightly to his lips, stifling a smile as Matt hits the water. He leans back away from the water that splashes up, cradling an arm protectively around the book. "{If you are arming the future with terrible puns we really are all doomed.}" Matt picks himself up and climbs out onto dry land, a bit unsteadily for the extra weight of soaked clothes. “{But no!}” He only manages to look crestfallen for the barest moment ere his grin returns brighter than before. He wrings the hem of his t-shirt, sprinkling the grass beneath his feet. “{I will arm the future with /fantastic/ puns.}” Lucien just shakes his head. Despondently. He scoops up his bag to sling it over his shoulder, heaving a very /exaggerated/ sigh as he leaves Matt dripping in the grass and tromps off back towards the house. And locks the kitchen door behind him.