ArchivedLogs:Diversity of Tactics

Diversity of Tactics
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2017-08-23 "Inconvenient." (Followed by vacation.)
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. It's late, the house is still, and even the noise from the city outside has faded to a quiet din. Matt is sprawled on the couch in his Ace of Hearts shirt and black pajama pants covered in hearts, a computer open in his lap and Flèche tucked against his side. He looks pale and sickly, though in fairness no worse than he generally did before his treatment ended earlier this month. Lucien is, as ever, easy to feel before he actually /arrives/; the sound of a cab pulling up outside carries with it a tangled churn of mental workings. Strained and fraying on their dogged attempt to keep on -- to stay meticulously compartmentalized, to stay /awake/, to suppress and smooth over some things (deep muscle aches, a splitting headache, a prickling irritation, a throb in a possibly strained knee, all discarded as Not Currently Useful) so that others can get more dedicated focus. One of those others, evidently, being his phone; it's in one hand, headset on his ear, his voice quiet and very level as he comes in and slips his shoes off by the door. "-- as soon as I know. I have every confidence that they'll have an answer for you soon." His voice sounds perfectly confident, at least. The unsteady jangling in his mind (soon tamped down, though not without considerable effort), less so. He pauses in the living room only long enough to press a light kiss to the top of Matt's head, a casual touch that comes, just as casual, with a soft whisper of soothing, easing the edges of ache and exhaustion. He's soon continuing into the kitchen to start some tea, then on again to disappear briefly into his own room. By the time he returns his phone is stowed in his pocket -- though traded for his own laptop. Matt reaches up and squeezes Lucien's shoulder tightly as he passes, but does not get up. His powers, considerably less feeble than his body, stretch out to enfold his brother's, methodically lightening the mental load even as the younger man moves about the house. Flèche, once roused, has plenty of energy for following Lucien around, although her solicitous nosing and wagging is extremely sedate by her standards. Matt eyes his brother's laptop a touch dubiously, when it arrives. "You ought to rest." This gently, with no trace of censure. "There's tea on," Lucien's reply is prompt, without looking up, "what do you call that?" He hasn't quite settled, on the floor by the couch -- just made preparations to do so, logging into his computer, setting cushions just so. Petting Flèche. The strain in his mind eases, in part, though less so than it might otherwise; only so much load it's possible for Matt's powers to shoulder with only Lucien's overwrought ability to work with. "In my boundless creativity and whimsy, I call that 'tea'," Matt quips, "which, I will grant, you also need." He drops one hand to knead Lucien's shoulders while the other hand scrolls and clicks and occasionally taps out short notes. "Your head's a mess, and while I am more than willing to help you clean that up, that's really no longer adequate at this point." Flèche wedges herself beside Lucien and twists around to rest her chin on Matt's knee, staring at him--perhaps in silent protest that he is not, at that very moment, petting /her/. "I took a nap before the show," factually accurate; certainly at some point in his life Lucien has napped before one of his shows, though it being Wednesday he might be taking some liberties if he intends the logical implication that this happened /today/, "tea will do well enough for the moment. What I /need/ is to make a dent in the mountain of emails I've yet to reply to. {Do you know Jackson is yet to see a doctor? And,}" he's standing -- shakily, at first, to disappear off to the kitchen with Matt's mug, though his voice still comes from there, "{they haven't fed Dusk at all. And did you know the Sentinels arrested Ambassador Nebenzya today? Or tried to.}" There should perhaps be more dread in Lucien's voice but instead, a vague and weary amusement. "{I told him to pull those tin cans off the streets weeks ago.}" Matt levels a rather flat stare at his brother upon the claim of napping, equal parts skeptical and unimpressed. When Lucien emerges from the kitchen, Matt has set his computer aside, still open (his student advisee list is in the foreground, not quite eclipsing an improbably long email thread about study hall duties). "Fair enough," he allows. "{Even the cops hate those things, if only for the paperwork they generate. But no, the Sentinels will only get pulled if they go after someone in a position to affect policy, someone rich enough to sue--which amounts to the same thing--or if they kill someone palatable enough to generate widespread outrage.}" His eyes close; the tension in his frame would be subtle, probably, to most anyone but Lucien. "{But Jax and Dusk--that is a matter of making enough noise the right ears, which their lawyers can also do.}" Though here his lips press together tight. "{/Lawyer/,}" he amends, "but, unlike you, Tian-shin has staff, and /probably/ listens to /her/ brother when he advises her to take a break." "{Have you someone in mind?}" Light and musing, as Lucien returns with a tray of tea and lemon squares. "{And I've absolutely no doubt about Tian-shin's prowess at making herself a nuisance, but I'm sure Jackson would be the first to agree that sometimes a diversity of tactics is in order.}" A small smile ticks up at the corner of his mouth as he lowers the tray to Matt's reach. "And if you're using her as my standard for proper sleep schedules, I am well on track. Mmm. Have you new charges to shepherd?" He's glancing briefly toward Matt's computer, mostly in passing as he's offering up the tea. Which is, suddenly, rattling unsteadily on the tray, /his/ cup clattering against the plate of cookies. The clenched tightness in his hands is reflected in the electrical chaos within his mind, its careful (if tangled) regimenting breaking apart. From some narrow perspective it is perhaps more orderly, really, complex maze of activity partially simplified into a neat and synchronous firing. "{Hmm, City Council member, perhaps? I could stand to see Scott or that Elvis look-alike get tossed around by robots.}" Matt's musing on this matter sounds ever so casual. "{Though the Mayor would be /so/ much more dramatic.}" He takes his tea and a lemon square from the tray with a quiet "{Thank you}" but does not start in on either, just yet. "I don't disagree, but I do think you'll be far more efficient at all of those tasks once you've had some rest." He glances at his screen, too. "{Oh, yes. Including one of the boys we ran into at Evolve on Saturday, Kavalam. I had no doubt that--}" Matt actually breaks off a split second before Lucien starts seizing visibly, emptying his hands swiftly but without evident panic, plucking the remaining mug and plate from the tray. His powers clamp down on his brother's, which does not stop the seizure but does make it safer for him to guide the other man down to the couch, kind of awkwardly half in his lap. He works the tray from Lucien's grasp, sets it out of the way, glances at the corner of his laptop screen for the time, then just sits there, gently cradling his brother's head to keep him from hitting it in his thrashing. Flèche paces between the couch and the coffee table, wide-eyed and whimpering very softly under her breath, too worried to raid the cookies sitting there in easy reach. Lucien, for a time, is not very conversational. In fairness to the previous conversation, he's /probably/ listening to Matt approximately as much during his spasming-thrashing as he was a few moments before, at least as regards his need for rest. It takes a bit shy of two minutes for the jerking to subside, into an only intermittently twitchy quiet. A couple minutes after /that/ before -- groggily, exhausted -- his mind starts more deliberately attempting to reassert order, tangible to Matt several moments before Lucien actually opens his eyes. There's a blank confusion as he stares -- up, now, at Matt. Who was definitely /down/ before. Matt does not appear very alarmed by any of this, idly smoothing his brother's hair back into some semblance of its previous state of deliberate disorder while waiting out the postictal unconsciousness. Even so, he lapses into a faint smile when Lucien wakes at last. "{You just had a seizure. You were out...}" His eyes dart to the clock again. "{...a little under five minutes.}" Flèche's tail starts wagging again, uncertainly at first but then faster, as she snuffles at Lucien's neck and licks at his face. "{Easy, my dear, give him a minute.}" Matt shifts the hand that had been cupping the back of his brother's head to (somewhat half-heartedly) fend off the dog's affection. "Inconvenient." Lucien's eyes close again, his head turning slightly to shift his face, at least, a bit more out of the way of Tongue. "{The tea hasn't gone cold?}" With a good deal more worry, here. He struggles a little clumsily to sit up, flop back against the couch. Pet the dog with one hand, pat groggily for his phone with the other. Not one to leave such vital questions to guesswork, Matt takes an experimental sip of his tea. "{No. It is still quite warm.}" Though he sets it back down again to help prop Lucien up, tucking a cushion under his head. "{I do hope,}" though he doesn't sound /particularly/ hopeful, "{that you are preparing to silence that phone and set an alarm.}" Flèche looks delighted, her tail wagging fast as she pushes her head up into Lucien's hand, as though she has, with her nosing and licking, successfully revived her fallen Person. Lucien tips his head back, one thumb frozen hovering over the screen of his email. His other arm curls snug around Flèche as though the pup's warm affection were a /shield/ against reproach. "Alright, this is what is going to happen." Matt plucks Lucien's phone out of his hand and replaces it with a mug of tea. "{You'll drink this tea, which will be delicious. You'll go to bed, where I'll make sure you get to sleep without any more seizures. When you wake up, you can answer emails and pull strings and grease palms...}" His lips tug into a fey smile all of a sudden. "{...until it's time for you to head upstate.}" Lucien doesn't fight the theft of his phone much -- probably the immediate replacement of the mug with tea helps to soothe the sting. His small sigh is, at least, resigned rather than a precursor to further argument. He takes a long sip, easing back somewhat mollified against the cushions. "{I should at least shower first. Those stage lights get no less hot over time.}" It's only at a delay that this fully registers, his brows pulling into a deep frown. "Upstate? {Oh, gods, what appointment have I forgotten. Please tell me it's in the morning.}" He's almost reflexively reaching out toward Matt again -- for his phone. Matt's smile blossoms into a full-blown mischievous grin as he holds Lucien's phone out of reach. "{It's not on your calendar--/yet/--but you have an archery-and-puppy playdate up in the Gunks with Chloe and Clint.}" He finally returns the phone and picks up his own tea again. Then adds, his smile mostly hidden by the brim of the cup. "{You'll be out sick, of course, so there'll be no hurry to get back.}" Blink, blink, blink. Lucien takes another slow sip of tea. Slightly -- slightly -- pained: "... do Chloe and Clint know about this, yet?" Matt sighs theatrically, his mouth pulling the one side as he regards his brother. "/Really,/ Luci." He lowers his teacup primly to his lap. "What sort of rank amateur do you take me for? {Yes, they know. You, my dear brother, have been outplayed.}" Lucien lifts a hand, slowly rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He lifts his cup, as well -- doesn't quite take a sip, lowers it with a /slight/ wince. "My gods." Heavily, as he pulls himself to his feet, palm dropping to the top of Matt's head to gently SHAKE at it as he drifts off towards the bathroom. "That's it, I'm resigning. /You/ can clearly handle all the drama from here."