ArchivedLogs:Black Swans

Black Swans
Dramatis Personae Anette & Teague
In Absentia	2015-12-28 “Thank you for your advice, Elton John.”
Location <NYC> 908 {Teague} - One Sixty-Seven - Upper West Side
With an extravagant view of the surrounding city and Central Park from its ninth floor balcony, this apartment would be more aptly suited for a Bond villain than a ballerina. Perhaps there is a wealthy benefactor involved. Boasting a massive diamond chandelier visible from nearly every room, the space is likely larger than some houses. It might be easy for one to expect to find a formal sitting room to be done up thickly in the Parisian style, heavy on every sinful luxury ...but this four bedroom, three-and-a-half bathroom apartment is almost completely empty. Dust from the work of recent contractors settles in odd nooks and crannies, as well as the occasional abandoned wrench. With it's new stainless steel appliances and marble countertops, the full restaurant-grade kitchen is also empty but for a few packages of Chinese take-out in the fridge. Almost every single room besides the Master Bedroom is a wasteland of naked walls, save for the smallest bedroom which has been converted into a mirrored in-home dance studio complete with ballet barre. The Master Bedroom is at the very far end of the suite and connects to its own albeit smaller private balcony. Though fully furnished, it is kept minimalistic and clear of personal effects. Mounted above the king-sized bed hangs a Degas depicting ballet dancers. Of course, it's just a print -- or is it? It's late into the evening, but the city is wide awake. Quite appropriately, Puccini's "Nessun Dorma" plays over the desolate penthouse's built-in sound system. Uncommonly warm as this winter has been, Jewel pads barefoot through his halls in little more than a pair of briefs and a sheer, ostrich-trimmed dressing gown. Walking on the balls of his feet, the petite young man makes little noise as he glides out onto the main balcony. He pays little mind as the robe floats open in the breeze. With a glass of merlot in one hand and a diamond cigarette-holder in the other, he makes no attempt to close it. Up, up, up she flies, Anette's wings beating as she flies up to the balcony from the ground below (after carefully ensuring no one would see her, of course). It helps that she's a fast flyer so by the time Teague realizes someone is approaching, she's already standing on his balcony, grinning as she looks him over. "Well hello Hugh Hefner," she teases, tucking her wings closer to her, "Long time no see." His state of dress, or lack thereof, doesn't seem to bother her any. "You'll age yourself with such /dated/ /references/," the Londoner responds coolly without missing a beat. He sets his glass down on the flat of the railing, pivoting to stroll back towards the open double doors. "Merlot?" Jewel offers, already making the long trek into the kitchen to retrieve some. "Ah yes, thank you for your advice, Elton John," Anette responds just as coolly. At the offer of wine, she doesn't respond, merely following him to the kitchen. "Haven't seen you in a while and considering the last time I saw you, we both had the zombie plague...just wanted to check on you." "Ah yes, thank you for your advice, Elton John," Anette responds just as coolly. At the offer of wine, she doesn't respond, merely following him to the kitchen. "Haven't seen you in a while and considering the last time I saw you, we both had the zombie plague...just wanted to check on you." "You may call me the Thin White Duke or nothing, thank you," Jewel turns his back to Anette as he pours her a glass. He does smile just a little, but it dissipates by the time he turns back around. "Oh, I've left mine outside," he huffs, patting himself down as if the glass might simply appear in one of his robes tiny, impractical pockets. "Cheers," making due, he holds up the whole bottle to clink, "To not being a mother fucking zombie." Anette takes the glass and holds it up to toast. "Cheers Diamond Boy," she says, clinking the glass with the bottle and taking a sip. "It was...a close call," she says. "Surprised I made it honestly. So, what're you doing all the way out here? I finally have my own cabin and you're nowhere to be seen. Hardly seems fair." The teen takes a swig from the bottle before replacing the cork and setting it aside. He motions for Anette to lead the way back towards the balcony, "All the more reason to leave. So. Much. Drama." He winks, strolling lazily over to his abandoned glass, "Unfortunately, the ballet gives me access to influential people and so, I've been ripped away from home. And living up in this tower, godforsaken as it is, is a degree more fucking comfortable than any of the safehouses. Christ, at least the zombies are well-dressed." Anette takes the hint and begins walking towards the balcony again. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. You've got a decent place here. Even if it is far from home," she says, stepping back out to the balcony and hopping up to sit on the railing. "So you're doing alright then? No trouble or anything?" Not having wings, Jewel opts to lean against the railing, instead. "I'm well," he responds neutrally, watching the women from behind lazy eyes, "And you? And your many vices?" The boy's eyebrows waggle flirtatiously, and he hides behind taking a sip of his wine. "Ah, vices. Recently swapped out one for another," Anette says, smirking faintly as she takes another sip of her wine. "Ah, and you missed my announcement. I'm newly single and I /swear/ if you make a Freebird joke, I will toss you off the balcony myself." All said jokingly of course. "I forgot how much I enjoyed being single, to be honest. Much more freeing." “I’m not really very much a fan of Southern Rock, believe it or not,” Jewel purrs, setting his glass aside and looking down into the city, “It is. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever even considered the alternative.” Bringing his cigarette-holder to his lips, Jewel takes a slow drag before easing out a stream of smoke into the air, “There’s another reason I procured this place.” The confession is made in a distant tone. "Knew there was a reason I liked you," Anette says with a chuckle, carefully her glass down on the railing beside her. "I never was that type either. The thing with Daken was an experiment." She watches him closely, piercing yellow eyes scanning his form with his last sentence. "Oh?" is all she says, curiously awaiting his response. "I have it in mind to /relocate/ someone," Jewel explains quietly, gently rocking his glass in order to aerate the red liquid within, "Whom I neither particularly like nor trust enough to vouch for, but do owe .../something/ to. So, measures had to be taken to distance myself. At least, for the sake of appearance." "Relocate?" Anette repeats slowly, eyes narrowed faintly as she struggles to understand. "What does relocate mean?" she asks, setting her hands down and gripping the railing as she leans forward, watching Jewel. "What's going on?" Jewel rolls his eyes rather theatrically, “You really take the romance out of the sort of lives we lead, you know that?” He smirks, puffing his cigarette, “I have a half-brother with talents like mine. Unfortunately, our father has his claws in him and I have it on good authority that he’s being mistreated and used.” He taps some ash out over the edge of the balcony, “Only, well, it’s complicated…” "Mm, ask around the island and I'm pretty sure you'd find I've been adding romance to quite a few lives lately," Anette says with a playful wink. "A half brother? That's...that's rough," she responds, her playfulness dying down and her tone becomes more somber. "Do you have a plan? Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, hopping off the railing and on to her own feet, taking her glass of wine back and taking another sip. "I already have a Mastermind, if you catch my meaning," Jewel coos, ashing his cigarette and replacing it in his hand with the wineglass, "My father is a U.S. Congressman. And staunchly anti-mutant, despite having such a knack for propagating us." He watches his wine for a moment, eyes flicking up, "But any support from you would not be forgotten." "If you need anything, just yell. Whether it's aerial support or a drinking buddy. I wouldn't recommend both though," Anette says with a light nod. "So our government is made of hypocrites and bigots. Who would have thought?" she adds with a dark, amused tone. Scoffing audibly, Jewel tilts his glass. He responds in a similar black but humorous tone, "Well, it's not /my/ government." He extends his drink to clink once more against Anette's before turning to fully appreciate the view from where they're standing. "So, who are you romancing? /Guyliner/, obviously. But who else? Don't tell me that naive little bat boy." He arches an eyebrow, taking a moment before he specifies, "/The orange one/." Because they live in a world where you have to specify which bat boy. Anette clinks her glass against Teague's again and takes a large gulp. "Not mine either," she responds, glancing out over the balcony to appreciate the view. His questioning gets a chuckle and grin. "What do you mean 'obviously'? You don't know that," she says. "Well, I had been romancing the bat but he's got it in his head he's in love with me. Oddly enough, the other bat turned down my offer. Something about the apocalypse and morals." She glances towards Teague with a playful wink. "What about you? If the stereotypes are true, you should have your pick in the ballet." "You'd be surprised," Jewel wets his lips in the wine, shifting his sultry-lidded eyes to look over at Anette, "But /no/." And that's as much elaboration as he offers before turning back towards New York, "In love with you?" Letting the thought sink in, he throws back his head and empties the rest of his glass. A breeze coming up between the tall buildings makes its way up around the pair, tousling their hair and clothes, "I don't ever want to be in love." "Hey, to each their own," Anette says with a shrug to his very firm 'no.' She stands still as Teague thinks over the image, or whatever crosses his mind, stretching her wings out behind just enough to catch some of the breeze. "Yeah...in love. I don't want to be either. Even if I did, he's a good kid. He can do better." She glances sideways towards Teague, thinking and contemplating saying something. However, she decides against it and takes another large gulp of wine and looking out. "As someone who's been in love...I don't even know anymore." "I never have," with a heaved sigh, Jewel turns on the ball of his foot in a slow, half-twirl. He leans his elbows back against the rail, "I have a matinee tomorrow. I should get some sleep." He pouts, leaning his chin into the fluffy ostrich trim of his robe, "You're welcome to stay, of course." For all of his attempts at sultriness, there is no innuendo nor a motive in the offer. "You know, you should get me in. I think I'd make a /fabulous/ swan," Anette says, stretching out her wings and attempting a faux ballet pose. "I should get back to the island. Sleep well, handsome," she says, finishing off her glass and setting it down on the railing. With a wave, she hops back on the railing, swinging her legs over and dropping, spreading her wings out and coasting in the direction of the island. “You’d make such a graceful Odile, for sure,” the dancer responds with quiet amusement, dipping in an elegant plie-like bow in response to her attempts. As she hops over the edge of the balcony, he moves to take up the glass and watch her go, “Fly safe.”