ArchivedLogs:Cupid's Lament

Cupid's Lament
Dramatis Personae Anette, Teague	2016-01-13 "I've flown in worse."
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? High above the frigid city streets, Teague’s tragically empty luxury apartment is a warm and welcome sanctuary. It appears a new piece of furniture has been brought in. The young man sits on the smooth hardwood floor just in front of it: a small standalone iron cast fireplace. Light glimmers off of the vulgar diamond chandelier above him as he tips a piece of baguette into a large mug of tomato soap. Surf rock plays quietly over the surround-sound as Teague turns to look out into the gentle beginning of snow flurries, which will soon pass without even sticking. Once again avoiding a more standard entrance, Anette elects to fly up the side of the building and landing on the balcony. She politely knocks on the door before not-so-politely entering before she hears a response. She shakes the snow off her wings before stepping fully inside, she slings the coat she had been carrying over her wings, properly wearing it. Once inside Teague's living room, she grins. "Hey Diamond," she says, awfully cheerful for her usual self. "Am I interrupting anything?" “By all means, make yourself at home,” Teague rocks on his hips to face Anette as she enters. Appearing rather amused by her entrance, he pops the sliver of bread into his mouth and chews. “Mmh,” the teen brings the back of a hand up to cover his mouth while he eats and gestures outward to the wall of windows with the other, “I can’t believe you flew in that.” Anette glances toward the window with a shrug. "I've flown in worse. That's nothing." At the offer to make herself at home, she does just that, picking a nice, comfy piece of wall to lean against with a content sigh. "And how have you been?" she asks, a sly grin still present on her face, despite her best efforts to come off as casual. The apathetic teen shrugs his shoulder, “Status quo.” His heavy lidded eyes turn to stare down at the fire just beside him as he stretches out his muscular legs. His bare feet and toes are a patchwork of ace bandages. “Rehearsals have me busy. And sore,” his eyebrows flick with mild suspicion at her grin but he won’t give her the satisfaction of asking. Instead, rather mildly, he reaches for his glass of wine and takes a sip, “How are things at home?” "Home is good. You missed a fun party. Pedro and I threw it together. A sort of...congratulations to us for surviving the zombie apocalypse party," Anette says, looking over Teague's bandaged feet. "I take it ballet is more brutal than it looks?" She suddenly raises a brow and grins, this time more openly. "Speaking of Pedro, I was just wondering. What are your, ah, thoughts on him?" “Seriously.” Teague’s expression more or less flatlines. Flattening his lips into a thin line, he peers, “What the fuck are you getting at.” He switches out his wine for the mug of soup, stirring it before bringing a spoonful to his mouth. Anette lets out a sigh, her grin disappearing just as quickly as Teague's. "Yeah, I can't even manage my own love life. Alright, here's the deal. I need Pedro out of my hair. He's a good kid but...if he keeps pining after me, he's gonna get hurt. So I was thinking: you're single, he's obviously single, you're both incredibly good looking." She leans back off the wall, hands slipping into the pockets of her coat. "I just wanted to ask if you'd be willing to go on a date with the kid. Distract his mind a bit, give him a chance to consider someone...not me. I know you said last time you don't do romance or love but I'm not even asking that. Just one measly little date. It doesn't even have to be a fancy one and I would owe you." “Absolutely not,” Teague pants in what could be perceived by some as a laugh. He widens his eyes and slow blinks, leaning closer to Anette despite the great distance between them. He gives no further explanation, nor does he appear to feel any great need to. Eventually, the metal spoon clinks again in his mug as he stirs and takes another sip of his tomato soup. “Now, did you want wine? Because you know where it is.” "I'm...good," Anette says, a bit stiff, clearly not expecting the reaction she got. "Why not? He's cute, he's sweet, and if I say so myself, not terrible in the bedroom. For all I care, you can go to White Castle, eat greasy burgers, and then never speak to the other again. I just think getting him out there would do him some good. Unfortunately, my options are limited." Teague blinks, again. He shifts his eyes around the room and then, back to Anette. "I don't know if you've mistaken me for someone else, Anette." He pauses, speaking slowly and carefully as if just now breaking some new terrible news to her, "I don’t like people. They're irritating." Teague flaps his hand on his wrist, "What? You're sore with me so you aren't going to have a glass of wine?" "You know...I can't even blame you there," Anette says, nodding slowly in agreement as she fails to think of some argument. "And please, I'm not that shallow. I need to fly home in a blizzard," to the accusation of being sore. "I know you've had a rough life. I won't even pretend to know the whole story but I did hear you talk in your sleep the night we robotripped. Maybe something like this would do you some good as well? Something casual and, dare I say, possibly fun?" "I don't know how I can be any more clear," Teague's expression grows more serious as she attempts to appeal to his emotions, "So allow me to be more firm. My answer is not going to change." Shaking his head some, his sultry eyes turn back towards the city-scape, "I appreciate the sentiment." Teague brings up a finger to amend his statement, "And thank you for calling me incredibly attractive, earlier. That didn't go unnoticed." Anette sighs, combing her hair back away from her face with her fingers. "Well, I tried," she says, slumping just a bit in defeat. His thanks for the compliment does cause a brief smile. "Well, I call it like I see it." “So long as it serves your own means,” Teague teases, waggling his brow at her. The teen pads barefoot across his floors, crossing into the kitchen to rinse out his soup mug and wine glass before loading them into the dishwasher. The sound of the machine rumbling as he turns it on can be heard all throughout the vastly under-decorated space, “Now, fly home. I have to be up in five hours.” "Hey that's not tr-...entirely true," Anette says with a grin, though with some firmness that suggests she's completely serious. "My options were limited but there were options. I asked you because I thought it would do you some good, too. But hey, if you don't want to, that's fine." She removes her coat, draping it over her arm as she turns back towards the balcony. "Take care, Jewel." “You, too,” the boy answers quietly. He steps out from the kitchen and leans there against the wall, watching her go.