ArchivedLogs:Cookie Tyranny

Cookie Tyranny
Dramatis Personae Desi, Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2016-05-18 "We mustn't suffer special cookie interests to corrupt this home."
Location <NYC> 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. Another rainy day has ebbed into a drizzly evening, the air not all that chilly but rather damp. Dinner at the Tessier residence has come and gone, Gaetan retreating shortly thereafter to his room, from which muffled music now drifts. Dressed in a red t-shirt featuring Calvin and Hobbes riding the Millennium Falcon and one of his old, threadbare jeans, Matt kneels on the floor beside the couch, the big stack of exams pushed to one side now and his laptop open in front of him. "Oh! We'll also need a couple of large tins or jars for treats." He's typing rapidly while he speaks, adding to a document that contains a long bulleted list. The earlier entries were simple and straightforward: 'leash,' 'harness,' 'poop bags,' and the like. But lower down the descriptions of dog-related items grow longer and more baroque. "Like a cookie jar, maybe. With her /name/ on it." "{Customized tins.}" Lucien is sprawled out on the couch, still in slacks and vest and dress shirt -- though his sleeves have been rolled up above his elbows and never bothered to roll back /down/ since washing dishes. One arm is crooked across his eyes, not doing an altogether complete job of hiding his wince. "Are you worried someone /else/ will try to eat the dog treats. I will make you cookies of your own. In your very own cookie jar. If you are /jealous/." Desi is curled in Matt's armchair, wearing a lavender babydoll shirt emblazoned with a many-colored phoenix, gauzy black wrap skirt, and long striped socks in alternating bands of light and dark purple. A smallish, maroon hardbound copy of Sartre's /No Exit/ lies open in her lap in the curve of her wrist, though she is spending as much time peering over her brother's shoulder at the list as actually reading. "{Cookie jars for /everyone,/}" the quiet tone of her voice makes it sound more like a bemused suggestion than a demand. "We mustn't suffer special cookie interests to corrupt this home." "{Of course, and treats to go /in/ them, as well.} Matt starts a new line on the list and enters that, also. "Or do you mean to bake all of her treats yourself? {That would be delightful, but I am not a jealous man.}" He draws himself up, sitting back on his heels. "{I'd share /my/ cookies,}" he says, quirking a smile at his sister. "{This house is founded upon equal access to cookies,} but I imagine dog-specific cookies might not be so palatable to /people./" The crook of Lucien's arm presses further down against his eyes. "{Cookie jars for everyone.}" His assent sounds fairly /weary/, but there's a small twitch that curls upwards at the corners of his mouth regardless. "And why shouldn't I? Jackson bakes treats for Oberon, I am sure he would share recipes if pressed. I did taste some of his birthday cake once. Slightly more bland than if I were to bake for one of you, but certainly not /un/palatable. I don't know that I would call it /corrupting/, exactly. {Well, no more so than this whole venture is to begin with.}" His hand drops away from his face, now, to rest -- heavily, heavily -- on his chest. "Some sort of. Storage. Place. Did you remember? For their -- toys. Gear. /Accoutrements/." His fingers flutter towards Matt's list. "{Should the jars be colour-coded, do you think, or will names suffice?}" "{Not all cookies are equally palatable to all people /or/ dogs, even when made by a masterful baker.}" Desi closes her book and folds her hands in her lap, her face composed into a blank, business-like mask. "Have you a name in mind for her--a new one, that is--or do you mean to keep the one she comes with? {In either case, the cookie jars should absolutely be color-coded.} I call purple." She leans forward and scans Matt's increasingly elaborate list. "You have 'treats' down three times already, and 'toys' twice. But no toy box...toy basket? Toy /chest/. Like a treasure chest." Matt lifts a hand to his lips, accenting rather than covering his delighted smile, which he twists around to offer his brother. "{We could get bone-shaped cookie cutters!}" He hastens to add /this/ to the list, as well. "If you get your own cookie jar," this with a sidelong glance at Desi, "then you must ensure the cookies get eaten. Or keep a secondary cookie jar in your dorm room? Though maybe it would just be additional enticement to come home more often." He looks back at his screen. "{Oh, my. No, I do not have anything of the sort yet. But a toy chest sounds wonderful--a /personalized/ toy chest. We could paint it!}" "We are /not/," Lucien sounds crisp on this point. /Firm/. "painting it. {Varnishing it, maybe. /Staining/ it. A respectable mahogany, perhaps.}" His eyes are closing again. "{A nice chestnut.} Something to match the bookshelves." His eyes are closing -- though not before they've swept, briefly lingering, over Desi's face. "/I/ would keep the jars /filled/, to be sure. That is as much responsibility as I claim." "Never you fear, I have my own methods of making cookies disappear." Desi pauses now, picking up her book as if about to open it and start reading again. "Though...I've been thinking about moving back in come fall, anyway. {It would ensure that I'm present to provide proper oversight to cookie distribution.}" She puts the book back down, settling one hand over it, slender fingers playing along the title imprinted on the spine. "A proper treasure chest should be stained and antiqued, not painted." "Cookie tyrant," Matt accuses, annotating his entry on the toy chest further. "Each cookie in its proper place, or else it vanishes in the night, leaving not so much as a crumb." Though here his hands stop moving on the keyboard. He leans back on the couch, resting his head against Lucien's shoulder, as he studies Desi's face. "{Why are you thinking of moving back in? It's not that we wouldn't love to have you around more, but you /like/ living in the dorms, no?}" "Baking is not like cooking," Lucien replies mildly to Matt's accusation. "You need to have order with this sort of thing." His shoulder shortly proves a fickle pillow; his brows crease and he shifts, pulling further up onto his side on the couch so as to better look over at Desi. He props himself on an elbow, head resting on his knuckles; he says nothing, though one eyebrow arches curiously. Desi does not wilt under her brothers' combined scrutiny, as intense as it is. Her face remains impassive, though her hand does curl tighter around the book. "{I like it, yes. But I also like it here, and I know things have been...difficult. Not /just/ financially.}" Her eyes drop to the temporarily abandoned list in front of Matt. "You two have..." But she abandons this line of thought with a slight shake of her head, a lock of long brown hair falling across her cheek. "If I moved back in, it'd be easier for me to help with the dog and with Gae. It isn't as if I'd have any trouble getting to class on time /or/ participating in campus events from here." Matt grumbles as Lucien shifts out from under him, and he leans his head on the arm of the couch instead. "{By the same token, though, campus is not far from /us/, and anyway you spend plenty of time here.}" He smiles, a thin, sad smile. "Gae is...going to need time, just like the rest of us. I know he talks to you, and you're there for him when it counts." His gaze follows hers to the screen and the list. "{You and I will both be home all summer, it's plenty of time for the dog to settle in. And if she's not able to stay home alone all day come fall, I'll just take her to work with me.}" "{Things, I suspect, will often be difficult.}" Lucien's agreement comes quietly, his head inclining slightly in acknowledgment. "{Which is all the more reason that you should /also/ have a respite -- be in surroundings you enjoy.}" His eyes drift off towards the stairs, then return. "{It is not as though we are far. And you will only be in college the once.}" Desi's brows pull together, then ease again. "I probably should have just skipped ahead to the conclusion we all knew from the start--that I /am/ considering it primarily because I don't want to burden you more than I must." She pauses again, and very deliberately sets her book down on the arm of the chair. "I'll try to find a summer job, at least." Then, with a wry half-smile, "{I do enjoy /these/ surroundings, too.}" Suddenly, she sits up straighter. "A dog house! A fancy one with climate control with a plush bed and a drinking fountain." "You're not a burden; you're /family/." Matt rolls onto his knees and props his chin up in the palm of one hand, his elbow braced against the couch now. "{Anyway, you never know,}" this languidly, "{she might go to graduate school. Get five PhDs.}" Desi's exclamation draws from him a faint frown that looks more puzzled than troubled. Then he grins. "Look, if you really wanted to move back in, you may certainly live in your /room/. Unless living in a dog house will really assuage your concerns about being a burden..."