ArchivedLogs:Choices

Choices
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt	2015-10-19 "Sadist. It is the first thing that comes to mind when anyone thinks of you."
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 crisp clear day -- it's not /warm/ but it's gorgeous all the same, sunny and bright. Despite the not-warm, Lucien has worked up a sweat the past few hours, the sleeves of his henley shirt rolled up past his elbows and his forehead beaded with wet. At the moment he is carefully repotting dormant lily bulbs, a healthy coating of grit already on his hands from previous work. Most all the herb and vegetable garden already looks fairly sparse, crops harvested and herbs brought inside. Some of the flower beds remain intact, the hardier perennials stil where they are, though there are quite a few empty spaces where some of the more delicate flowers have been -- or are in the process of -- being relocated. The door from the kitchen opens and Matt strolls out with not one but *two* thermal bottles in his hands. He wears a light blue jacket unzipped, beneath it a black t-shirt with a detailed blue line drawing of a house, a tunnel spiraling deep into the ground beneath it. His jeans are overlong and frayed at the cuffs where they habitually drag on the ground, especially given he is only wearing flip-flops at the moment. "Masala chai with the Puttabong Assam," he says, waggling the bottle in his left hand, and then the other one, "and this is the Shinzhu bai-hao oolong. Which will it be?" He raises one bottle while lowering the other, then reverses, as though he were a balance to weigh the relative merits of the brews. "You are really going to make me choose? Cruel." Lucien pats lightly at the dirt in the pot, his hand lifting to trace fingertips gently along one the stem of the lily. "A sip of one, and then the other. I /do/ love that Assam." There's a warmth in his bright green eyes when he looks up, a small crinkle at their corners. He reaches one (gritty-dirty) hand out to Matt, fingers grasping for the bottles -- either bottle, rather indiscriminately. "Well, it's common knowledge that I delight in your suffering," Matt admits, not sounding the least bit contrite. "Oolong first." He holds out the lighter colored of the two vacuum bottles. "You'll not be able to taste it properly after the chai. I made it *pretty* strong." His eyes scan the beds. "You're pretty far along." Then they dart to the wall. "Wonder how they're doing with that. Or *what* they're doing with that, even. Have you peeked at it yet?" "Sadist. It is the first thing that comes to mind when anyone thinks of you." Lucien plucks the bottle from Matt's hand, opening to take a deep breath, first, and then a sip. "I've had time. I enjoy Mondays." His eyes track after Matt's, following the other man's gaze towards the wall. "I haven't, no. I imagine it is --" He pauses, taking another sip. "Extravagant. Do you think we should ask them to do the inside, as well?" There's a very -- very -- faint press of his lips. "Perhaps if they can manage /some/ shade of refinement. No /glitter/, maybe." "If I were a proper sadist I'd *love* Mondays." There's a wry twist at the corner of Matt's lips. "Especially the first class, when my students come trudging in with sagging shoulders and hollow eyes. "And dear sweet gods, you should read some of the essays I just got." He pops the cap from the other bottle and takes a sip of the black tea. That he had brewed it strong is certainly no exaggeration, as the heady fragrance of the spices is immediately sensible, quite different from the delicate aroma of the oolong in Lucien's hands. "I think they can. Really, have you seen their commissioned stuff? Anyway, I don't think glitter automatically *precludes* refinement." "I was not originally planning on having the inside done but --" Lucien's eyes lower to the pot in front of him. He takes a longer sip of the tea, then offers his bottle out, clearly intending to trade it for Matt's. "I will just have to love Mondays enough for the both of us, then. I feel quite rejuvenated by the end. Are you trying to ruin that by getting me to read your students' work?" His brows lift. "I remember high school. High quality expository writing did not feature promimently." "I think it'd be lovely. Glitter or no, there'd have to be a bit more negotiation for a mural in *here*, so that it will harmonize with the garden." Matt relinquishes the chai without closing it and takes back the oolong. "Well, I have to keep up my sadist cred, and forcing you to choose between teas just isn't enough." He chuckles, running a hand through his short brown hair, though it looks no more touseled for the mussing. "I admit, most of them leave a lot to be desired in terms of style, composition, and...comprehensibility. But I have found quite a few gems in the rough." He inhales the oolong deeply. "Did you know Shane joined the X-Men?" Lucien sits back on his heels, looking over at the large stretches of blank wall surrounding their yard. "Mmm. Something detailed. And natural, I should think." His hand pauses halfway to lifting the tea to his mouth. "Goodness. To Jackson's great delight, I am sure." His tone has slipped much dryer. "Was Evolve not netting him enough death threats?" "Maybe a forest glade," Matt muses, "with a little creek winding through it, sheltered by a smoky ridgeline..." He takes a sip of the oolong tea and snaps its lid shut. "I feel like a bad friend for not having noticed any significant additional fretting on Jax's part. Though I did, actually. I just attributed it to the other newly fret-worthy things in his life." The shrug turns into a roll of his shoulders, then a stretch. "Danger or no, I feel like he's overcommitting to fill the void B left. He's trying to recruit *me,* too." "I would quite like that. That should be good for a hefty extra commission, no?" Lucien caps the lid of the tea, sets the bottle aside. "He has had quite a lot worth fretting about. And your plate has not exactly been /empty/, either." He picks up the pot, getting to his feet with a soft chuff of a laugh. "You? Leather isn't quite your style." Matt guffaws. "That makes it sound like you'd pay them extra to paint something 'normal', {no monsters or spaceships or glitter.}" He switches to French mid-sentence without pausing so much as a beat. "Not Jax's, either. I think there's more than one way of going about superheroing, and I think it's needed. I'm considering it, but I need to decide if I'm considering it for the right reasons." His brows furrow ever so faintly. "{If you say no, I will walk away. No questions asked.}" Lucien's laughter fades -- the warmth slipping away from his eyes -- as Matt continues to speak. A slow hard clench tightens the line of his jaw, his fingers curling tighter against the pot he carries. He heads back with it towards the kitchen door, head bowing has he starts up the steps. "{Why are you considering it?}" Matt has not ceased frowning, and he shakes his head. "I want to help people. {But I suspect I might also want to do it for...penance, I suppose.}" He clasps both of his hands around the canister of oolong tea. "And I'm not sure that's a healthy approach to this sort of thing." The breath Lucien exhales is sharp. He continues into the house to find a new home for the lily (by a window in the dining room), slipping into the kitchen afterwards to start a new kettle of water boiling. He scrubs his hands clean, then, taking rather longer at this task than may be strictly necessary. "{Penance.}" It takes a good while before he actually speaks. "{Saving people is one thing, flagellating yourself quite another.}" Following his brother inside, Matt lingers by the kitchen door. "I know that, {and I have no interest in self-flagellating.}" He folds his arms across his chest, not looking so much defiant as hunched and small. "I'm probably just overthinking this. Second-guessing myself. But..." His eyes seem to stare through the kettle rather than at it. "...the *guilt* is real, anyway." Lucien squeezes his eyes shut tight as he turns off the water. He moves to get a towel, dry his hands off before measuring leaves into a tea infuser. "You are considering signing up for a team of vigilantes with a death rate exponentially higher than even the average of the /mutant/ population. I do not think there is any amount of thinking that could be /over/thinking, for such a venture." With a slow exhale, he steps towards Matt, resting his hands on Matt's arms. There is a moment where he looks like he may say something more -- but instead, just tips his head forward, resting his forehead against Matt's. "{Well, I'm not about to stop thinking and just *do* it.}" Matt's voice drops to a soft murmur. "I know I'm no kind of warrior. But going into this sort of thing with a martyr complex is going to get me killed no matter how skilled I get. And in the end..." His head hangs a little, the weight resting against Lucien's. "{...my family comes first.}" "I would disagree with that. Your battlefields have just been less physical." Lucien's hands slide upward along Matt's arms, resting at the older man's shoulders. "{I know we do.}" There's a heavier note in his voice, here. He tips his head up, touching a gentle kiss to Matt's forehead. "If you go into this, go into it to help people. I need you coming back out of it, as well." "I don't suppose the X-Men are in any *particularly* dire need of a good chess player." Matt raises his brows, the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smile. "{But I will...sort it out.}" He wraps his arms around his brother, holds on tight for a moment. "And I mean to help, superheroing or no." His eyes flick to the kettle just as it starts whistling. "Tea first."