ArchivedLogs:Capturing Life

Capturing Life
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Sean
In Absentia	2014-02-02 Part of the Morpheus TP
Location <NYC> Tick-Tock - Greenwich Village
The quiet sound of soft music and softly running water greets the entrants to this tea house, playing from speakers hidden and trickling waterfalls cascading down the rocky fountains by the entryway. The ambiance here is subdued, a quiet escape from the bustle and noise of the city, focused on only one thing: tea. Tea of very good quality. They serve it in over eighty varieties, black and white, green and oolong, rooibos and herbals and mate, flavored and straight up. The seating here comes on cushions or kneeling chairs around low tables, the decorations in earth tones, and the knowledgeable wait staff is always helpful with a recommendation or a snack suggestion to pair with your drink. Behind the long counter along one side is an entire wall of bins of loose-leaf teas, available for purchase by weight. Outside may be a surrealist dreamland, but here inside Tick-tock it is as understated as ever. Quiet, meditative. This is perhaps precisely why Lucien has /chosen/ this place, tonight, tucked away by a waterfall in understated attire himself. Dressed in grey and black -- black button-down, grey slacks, his wardrobe very neatly elegantly /tailored/ -- he stands out for how much he doesn't stand out. Just quiet -- except for the somewhat pinched look he's giving the world outside. He's taken a seat by the window and he's studying the passersby thoughtfully. Watching, as people pass in and out of doors around. As they leave the teahouse and head back out into the technicolour electric lighting of the city-night. There's a tablet computer in his lap and it's open to more of the same -- not city-photographs, though, but an art newsletter reporting on a gallery opening some time a year and a half ago, a promising young artist highly praised. His show full of fairy wonderlands much like the city is today. Two fingers scroll at his screen. Two pinch at the bridge of his nose. Rub wearily at the hollows of his eyes. In front of him, his menu sits, ignored. Making his way indoors, Sean lets out a sigh of relief as the technicolor world bleeds away into a more sedate setting of the tea shop. The bright blood orange red of his jacket melts down into a warm brown over top of a pale blue shirt. The magenta trousers become black, and the messenger bag reverts to a normal olive green of military surplus ware. The calm sounds of running water and the sedate people inside garner a smile, and he heads to the counter right off. "Something spicey. Oh, maybe a mate and something with lots of cinamon? And lots of sugar." He nods a bit figuring that they could pick something out that fit the bill as he glanced around the room again, then outside, and shakes his head. "They have a dark roast mate," Lucien suggests, without actually looking up from his frowning study of the /offending/ world outside. "That is /excellent/ when you blend it with the spice mix they use in their Kashmiri Chai. Or just straight-up blend it with the Kashmiri Chai, honestly. And a touch of extra cinnamon." His softly francophone-tinged syllables are quiet; he doesn't speak loudly but he has a way of projecting all the same. Used to being /heard/, perhaps. And it's quiet in here, soft coversation, soft running water. Smiling brightly at the suggestion, Sean glances back to the counter staff. "What he said sounds good. With the extra cinamon." He turns back to the greyscale individual who offered the assistance, and noticing the tinged accent, he pauses a moment as if trying to remember before he tries with kinda badly accented french, "Many thanks for your help, I appreciate the advice of those well versed in a field." He pauses again as if rerunning what he said through his mind for errors and then just grins. As the tea steeps, he inhales the upflowing scents with a pleasant sigh. Lucien's eyes stay fixed on the outdoors, at least until the French slips across his notice. He turns, a small twitch of smile tugging briefly at his lips. His brilliantly green eyes are possibly the sole feature about him that seems like they /would/ fit in in the world outside, and his gaze runs down in brief appraisal over Sean. He sets his tablet down face-up on the table, the article with its pictures of Jackson's work face-up there as well. "{There are some subjects,}" he answers in much more easy-fluid French, "{on which I find it always worthwhile to be well-versed. Long day? Tea always helps me, at the end of those.}" Accepting the brewed cup and paying for it and another to be prepared, Sean makes his way over to Luciens table, gesturing if he may join. Waiting for the acceptance, he looks over fellow appraisingly with a slight smile. "Very. I had started a painting last night, and then when I wake up in the morning everythings gone...," he gestures to the outside as if to explain it. As he does, he notices the art on the tablet, raising a brow. "This cannot be the work of a guerilla artist. No one has that much," gesturing as if to figure out the word "whatever, is out there. I will need to get an entire new pallete if I want to do anything in this city unless I do it in pencil and ink." "{Passion,}" Lucien supplies lightly, in the pause. He unfolds his hand in invitation to one of the empty cushions at his table. "{And I think some people have it in spades. We have been living in interesting times. I know some people who genuinely want nothing more than to bring a little bit more colour to the world.}" Admittedly, Lucien's tone makes this statement a condemnation. Despite this, his mouth is curling /up/ into a smile, a small twist of amusement lighting his features. "{/I/ will need to invest in some painkillers. But surely this cannot last.}" "{Passion was not the word I was planning to use. Though I met a man colorful enough to enjoy this last night.}" Sean says as he takes up space on the empty cushion. "{Still, whoever accomplished this will be spoken of for some time. Notoriety, or perhaps one could claim the old adage, no publicity is bad publicity. I imagine the artist this mimics will be sought after. Such is the vaguaries of fate I guess.}" He offers a slight shrug and a grin at the other fellows smile, peering at the tablet to see if he can catch a name from the current zoom. Lucien turns the tablet towards Sean, nudging the article towards the man. "This is the man," he says, in English first. "Holland, then. Holland-Zedner, now. Famous for many things. {I cannot say,}" is in French once more, "{that I would like the city to remain in this state. But his eye for colour is something else.}" His lips press together into a thin line, his head tipping back slightly. "{Vagaries, though, indeed. I do not believe this was an intentional project. I am not sure what it was. Some --}" He draws in a slow breath. "{Quirk of genetics misfiring, most likely. So perhaps not the vagaries of fate so much as the vagaries of biology.}" With the name in front of him and the talk of him being famous for many things, Sean seems to put some things together. "Ooh, yes I have heard that name in the news." There is a slight frown of thought as he sips from his tea to give his mind time to process more. "{I think I would prefer the city in natural colors, but this reminds me of children's story books. As for vaguaries and genetic misfiring, I still had not thought anyone capable. The news says it extends for miles around. Biology is a strange strange mistress, but at least this is harmless. Unless one may die of embarassment at being unfashionable. I would not doubt your suit would look... tacky outside these doors in such colors.}" "{You should have seen me earlier. Sparkly orange loafers. Metallic pink pants. It was,}" Lucien laments softly, "{quite a travesty. I am made of stern stuff, though. Somehow, I endured. How have you held up through these trials? Zombies, you understand, I can handle. There are /weapons/ that can take those out. You cannot --}" Lucien's smile twitches upwards here in small private amusement. "{Kill a rainbow.}" Sean makes a gagging face at the color combination mentioned. "Truly you have suffered this day. No man deserves such a harrowing journey. You have my sympathies.}" His face remains serious for all of a few moments before he starts to chuckle. "{I have been covered in far more varied colors of paint on purpose and on accident. I don't think I would mind as much if it was running naked and covered in it. But you purchase clothing to make a statement after all.}" At the talk of killing a rainbow, he shakes his head. "{Black and white film perhaps? It would certainly cut out the colors.}" "{On purpose, I have had any number of --}" Lucien exhales a soft laugh. "{Colourful exploits. Nonconsensually it is another question entirely. Though I admit there is a certain headiness to watching people pass in and out of buildings. Almost dreamlike --}" His eyes slower. "{Which I imagine is much the point. Insofar as there /is/ a point to any of this.}" He tips his head tip to look at Sean. "{Naked and covered in it. What is it you do for fun, then?}" His lips curl, smile more amused. "{Or for work?}" "{I've been through art schools. Paint attacks weren't so uncommon. And ink. And whatever else one could prank another with.}" Sean smiles with some fondness for the memories. "{Hrm, it does have a bit of that quality. If one had a good camera, you could probably make some interesting shots. Thought it wouldn't be nearly as interesting if this doesn't go away eventually.}" At the question of what he does for fun, the smile is a bit mischeivous. "{I assure you, only for fun. I imagine a good caberet or a modern art piece could manage for work, but it's not really my style. I like to capture life, but when life looks like a cartoon, it... gets problematic.}" "{Paint attacks. There's a Hindu holiday that sounds rather similar. I imagine if it were widely celebrated here, the city might look somewhat similar afterwards.}" Lucien tips a hand up and outward, towards the windows and the particoloured city beyond. "{Photographers are likely having a field day today. I can only imagine they are /flocking/ to New York in hopes they catch it before it vanishes. Presuming it will.}" He tips his head slightly to one side, sliding his tabley back in towards himself and running his finger down along its screen. "{I always do wonder if circus performers dress more like me in their off days. What sort of life do you capture? Life -- these days especially -- it tends to run such a gamut.}" "{I've heard of it, but never participated myself,}" Sean says as he takes a sip. "{And therein lies the rub. A painter may make life look unnatural and be considered a poor painter. But a photographer managing the same is a genius.}" Frowning, he looks outside, though the frown is hard to keep as he watches the brightly colored people go by. "{I don't know many circus performers, but the burlesque performers I knew were pretty quirky. They'd be more likely to dress like you on stage. At least to start...and end up in far less, and mostly spangly.}" There is a bit of a smirk at that, and a slight glance to Lucien perhaps wondering if he was the same. "{As for what I capture? I like crowds, I like rooms. The real nitty gritty things that you see in every day life but no one bothers to paint. No one's desk is clean and neat after all, so would it not be more realistic to see the stacks of paper strewn about with coffee stains on them. You want to see the man in the diner that has managed to drip a bit of egg on his sleeve, and the ladies behind him gossiping. Of course I do still always have a love for mountains and nature, but that does make me a bit homesick.}" "{Homesick? You are not, then, a city native?}" Not that he is either, clearly, with his accent. "{I do love the mountains, even if I never get out to them nearly as much as I like. What mountains do you hail from?}" Lucien looks amused at the mention of circus performers. "{I have known a few myself,}" he admits. "{Though more big stage than small ones. I do like the intimate performances, though, they have their own charm.}" "Crested Butte, Colorado," Sean says with a bit of a smile. "{It's a nice place, hippies and skiing and tourists. But I've done a bit of travel since, mainly for schooling, but also a bit of traveling.}" Finishing off his cup, he lets the empty sit, not bothering for his refill yet. "{The mountains are good for peace and quiet. And a bit of athletic activities. That and a nice cabin and a fireplace make it all sorts of comforting. But comfort and relaxation do not tend to be great friends with making money enough to swim in a la Scrooge McDuck.}" Tilting his head looking at Lucien, he smiles. {"Which one? The biggest I know of would be Circue du Solei, and ahh, so beautiful what they do.}" "{/Really/. I had an acquaintance take me skiing there once. Truly gorgeous place.}" Lucien glances over Sean with a little more interest, his eyebrows raising. "{Peace and quiet is admittedly --}" He tips his hand up towards the little peaceful shop around them. "{One of my favourite parts of life.}" Though here his phone buzzes in his pocket; he presses his lips together as he glances down to answer it. "{Though not, unfortunately, one I shall get to enjoy much longer. My apologies. I do need to take this. It has been lovely to meet you though, ah --}" He raises his eyebrows as he extends a hand towards the other man, questioning. Offering a hand back in friendship, Sean smiles. "{I should get my beverage and head back to my studio anyway. It was a pleasure...}" he pauses blinking then laughs. "{I never even got your name. I am Sean, and it truly has been a pleasure. Much luck with your phone call, and wish me luck that I am not too tacky when I depart this place.}" Digging out a blank artist trading card he flips it onto the table, the back side of it having his email on it. {"In case you ever need life captured.}" The handshake Lucien offers comes with a very subtle-faint wash of something warm and pleasant, really too soft to be particularly noticeable past the friendly-warm feel of hand-in-hand, cheerful smile, brilliant green eyes. Amiably offered, "Lucien. Enchante." He picks up the card with a small nod, and possibly would offer more, but is already swiping on his phone before his voicemail has a chance to pick up, his next, "Salut." offered to his phone and not to Sean. He does look over the card, eying it with a smile and pocketing it as he gets up from the table.