ArchivedLogs:Encouragement

Encouragement
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Melinda	2013-10-02 '
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - 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 is such a lovely day, more reminiscent of summer than fall, Mel decides to text Lucien asking if he has time for a picnic. Plans come together quickly for that evening and Melinda shows up at Lucien's door with a picnic basket of all the things that Lucien didn't have in his kitchen for their meal. There's a little more food preparation, then a trip outside to lay out their provisions in the warm evening, just as the sky starts to turn golden with sunset. Melinda stretches out her legs near the pool, partially resting on the rocks that line it, nibbling on a piece of fruit as she settles into the quiet of food consumption. It doesn't last all that long, as something has been gnawing at her attention span all day. At length, she looks up, clears her mouth, and speaks. "You know, there is something that I've been meaning to run by you. You're a business owner, yes? More importantly, the owner of a business that wants to stay less than public with your dealings. I am looking into branching out from what I'm doing and would love to run some stuff by you." "Ah --" Lucien is sprawled out along the sun-warmed rocks, head near Melinda's hip and one leg extended along the rimming of the pond. His other rests on the ground beside, bare toes wiggling into the grass. He's dressed comfortably, emerald green t-shirt and dark jeans; somewhere inside a portion of their picnic food has been distributed to the children for eating while they do homework. Lucien's head tips back slightly to regard Melinda with a faint frown. "I do engage in business. I have never considered myself a business owner. Perhaps if I incorporated. Less than public?" His lips twitch. "Tell me you are opening a brothel. You already deal in mankind's favourite drug, branching out to other addictions seems a logical step." "Brothel? Oh lord, I can imagine the headlines now: 'Shelter Worker Takes Girls, Boys Off the Streets to Work For Her,' because you know I'd be an equal opportunity madam." She chuckles mildly and shakes her head. "No, what I am proposing is slightly more dangerous and interestly enough, legal, for the time being." She plucks another piece of fruit from her plate, careful not to drop any on the white section of her gradient blue tanktop. "I am looking to open a coffee or cafe club for mutants, modeled on the original concept of a speakeasy." "Really." Lucien's tone is drier, now. His eyes fix on Melinda's face for a long moment, and then close. "I hope you have found some /excellent/ insurance." "It's on the list of things to do," Melinda admits, weathering Lucien's dry look and turning her head away distracted. "I take it that you do not approve. I understand if you don't want to talk about it further." Her fingers merely pick at her food now. "Approve." Lucien echoes this word with a small chuff of breath. "I do not think it is a matter on which I have any grounds to approve or disapprove. This city has gone crazy. I should not be surprised you have joined it." His hand rests on his chest, fingers drumming slowly against his sternum. Aside from a large glass of (whiskey-laced) lemonade, still half-full, he hasn't yet touched any of the food. Just relaxed, languid in the dying sunlight. "Why?" "Because I go into work each day, dreading the moment when some fight will break out where some asshole starts picking on someone for simply being a mutant - and it causes property damage or gets media coverage and the owner decides to enforce a 'no mutant' policy." Melinda shakes her head. "I am not in control there, at least not completely, and the day will come in which my philosophy will run counter the profit that could be made just servicing the larger portion of the population. We already have some word of mouth reputation about being mutant tolerant, if not friendly." She frowns and blushes a little. "I... uh, feel strongly about this." "I see that. It's charming." Lucien's dust-dry voice is quiet, a very faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I do not understand how I managed to surround myself with so many people just champing at the bit to be the next martyrs for," his lips pinch thinner together, "the cause." "Really?" Melinda lets out the ghost of a chuckle, smiling as she focuses on Lucien. "People have to feel something. You probably know that more than anyone. Having a cause, doing what is right despite it being uncomfortable or downright harmful helps some of us feel like real, living and breathing people. And once we feel it, it's hard to go back." She inhales deeply, the sigh that follows warm and sweet. "I guess your occupation just helps you tend to draw you to people who would go to great lengths to feel something in this messed up world." "Forgive me," Lucien says, mild and inflectionless, "I have very little comprehension of what it is like to be like you real living and breathing people." He opens his eyes again, expression neutral as he looks up at Melinda. "Hardly." He pushes himself upright, reaching for his lemonade. "I don't know what misconceptions you have about my work, but none of my clients are much inclined towards martyrdom. And an hour with me is hardly any great effort. Many people do seem to have a penchant, though, for --" He pauses, only briefly, to take a small sip of lemonade, granite cubes clinking quietly in his glass. "-- grasping for death in a misguided effort to feel alive. You are hardly alone in that." Melinda's expression darkens as Lucien speaks, embarassment evident. "I... I am sorry. I wasn't really trying to cast aspersions on you or your clients. I... have become a little defensive about this venture and it's affecting my mood. Please excuse my poor attempts at humor. I will refrain from drawing parallels right now." Her eyes search his face. "I know you are concerned about me. I really have no intention of martyring myself, but I can see many opportunities it to happen, with this business plan." "Mmm." Lucien tips his gaze down into his glass, absently tipping it back and forth to watch the liquid shift inside. "You hardly need defend yourself to me. Start whatever business you want to start, I am hardly one to interfere in another's life choices. But if you come saying you want to run the idea by me --" His hand tips upwards. "Well. When you /ask/ my input I will not refrain fron giving it. You began by asking to run things by me /as/ a businessman and, well." A thin curve of a smile flits across his face. "This seems terribly poor business sense." "You are right. I did ask for your advice. I may have had other ideas of how this would have gone." Mel shakes her head a little. "Yes, it doesn't really make sense on paper. The actual idea is to run a coffee bean roastery and wholesale company, with the speakeasy as something we feel out as we go. Yes, there's a hole left where Evolve used to be, but I am reticent to run headlong into that spot. I really want to do it safely and completely under the radar - silly pass phrases and secret codes and everything." She sets her plate aside, her posture staying slumped. "Pass phrases. Secret codes." There is no greater inflection in Lucien's tone here, either, dispassionately directed down to his lemonade. "Goodness. Melinda, if you think there is /any/ way this is going to be completely under the radar you might be too hopelessly naive to run such a place. Do you know how speakeasies flourished? It was not by hoping to remain entirely secret, it was by being /lucrative/ enough to pay bribes or simply /weather/ the completely inevitable raids and fines by authorities. The /only/ way to keep such a place secret is not to tell anyone. And if you /thoroughly/ individually vet every single person who you ever tell -- well. You might hold out for a few months before one of them slips up -- or deliberately gives you away -- anyway, but you also will fail to reach the overwhelming majority of your target audience. You simply cannot /have/ an establishment that is both under the radar /and/ sees proper outreach to the community you hope to serve. Because if you tell me there are more than ten people on earth that you actually trust implicitly I will tell you that you are a fool. And the instant you start letting people in that you /don't/ know thoroughly and trust implicitly is the instant you give up hope of keeping it a secret." Lucien's eyes lift from his glass, but only to turn up to the sky instead. "So. How exactly /do/ you plan to vet your clientele? And do outreach at the same time? I imagine if you are trying to make a safe place for mutants, you do wish actual mutants to find out about it somehow?" "Oh, I know I am incredibly naive and horribly idealistic." She takes a deep breath as she considers what Lucien says. "I really don't know that bribing officials is really something that needs to happen, as I am not anticipating police raids. We have briefly touched on the notion that we need to have security, but we are still very much in the beginning stages of planning." She finds her drink and takes a large swallow and holds it in her cheeks for a second before letting it escape down her throat. "And... well, I'm sure you won't be at all surprised when I say that Jackson has already volunteered to do outreach." "I wasn't suggesting you bribe the police. I was explaining that your romanticized version of how to be clandestine, while applicable to /actual/ speakeasies, is completely pointless for what you are trying to do. You won't have the police to fear. When you slip up and tell the wrong person, you and all your clients will be at risk of assault and death, not city fines." Lucien's eyes don't leave the sky overhead. "Security might be good, though I doubt such an enterprise will have the /funding/ to secure the kind of security you need. With the sort of budget I imagine you'll be working with, your best security will be caution. Once you start letting in the wrong people your game is already over. Unfortunately --" His cubes clink in his glass again. "There is not any way to do outreach and keep such caution both at once. Groups that wish to remain actually secretive thoroughly vet /each/ individual they ever tell. Which would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" The comment about Jackson earns a soft huff of breath. "Unsurprising," he agrees. "The man is more fool than you. Though I imagine he knows a thing or two about paranoia. You should have him do security instead." "I'm not even sure we have to wait until we let the wrong people /in/," Melinda admits quietly as she picks at the bottom hem of her denim skirt. "All anyone has to do is decide to protest outside, draw the wrong attention, and everything is over." She wets her lips. "Security is my primary concern now. I can't imagine going forward without some type of concrete plan for that now." "With a project like this, Melinda, either the world changes radically or sooner or later everything will be over, no matter what you do. Perhaps you should focus on how best to serve your target demographic while you can, rather than theatrically romanticized notions of secrecy that will provide you effectively zero extra safety overall. What exactly," Lucien wonders, "would you like this place to be? Just a cafe to relax in safely? A meeting ground to organize in? A networking space to meet other activists? Or perhaps no activist focus at all, and simply a place to -- /be/?" "I want it to be a safe place where people can just be. Yes, the speakeasy is a romanticized and definitely theatrical idea on my part, but you know me. I like theatrics." Melinda sniffs softly, a smile making its way back onto her lips. "Maybe we are getting carried away - a little lost in the notion that our gimmick will do anything to abate the looming danger around the business." "Everyone has their fantasies they cling to to make life more palatable, I suppose." Lucien takes another sip of his lemonade, his other hand splaying out against the rocks beside himself. "So long as it is tempered with practicality, I suppose there is no harm in it." His fingers drum against the rock, now, in a soft pattering of sound. "So how far have you gone towards bringing this idea to fruition? Only dreaming? Or do you have more practical steps like funding and a location?" Melinda moves a little so she can lay out more comfortably on the grass, exhaling as she closes her eyes, slowly relaxing. "I have some funding and we've narrowed it down to two or three locations that we would like to be in. The rest is waiting for us to come up with a stable business plan and find more financial support. The first one sort of fell in our laps, as it happens, but I don't know the guy all that well and don't want to only rely on him when push comes to shove." "You are planning to open a business," Lucien muses, quietly, "perhaps you should just aim to make sure it is solvent. Then you would have nobody to rely on for support except your own," a small smile tugs at his lips again, "business acumen." "I intend to make sure that the bean business carries the entire weight of the business to start, being the end all and be all of our enterprise on paper. I am not sure I can save up all of the necessary funds to purchase the stock and equipment before opening, but I can definitely work all of my coffee contacts to have a thriving client list and orders beforehand. That should make any credit we do take to start easily reimbursed to any funders." Mel scratches at her belly lightly, pursing her lips at the heavens. "I also need to sit down and focus on a presentation, as every other time I've spoken about it, I end up confusing the listener with the two aspects until neither seems like a good idea." There's a pause and then, "Not that the speakeasy seems like the best idea to anyone yet." "Perhaps most people have more self-preservation than you do." Lucien flashes Melinda a small smile. "I will just have to enjoy the time I hve with you while it's still here." Melinda rolls her eyes and shakes her head, nudging him in the shoulder with her nearer hand. "Don't start planning my funeral yet. There is always the possibility that I will make buckets of money off of mutants with internet jobs and no where else to go and receive so many invitations to buy me out into early retirement that I only have the place a year, tops, and even Evolve stayed open longer than that." "Good. When you make piles of money off of it, in lieu of dying you can take me on vacation. And open a proper mutant haven once you are swimming in cash." Lucien's smile remains, if smaller. He bumps Melinda's shoulder back lightly with his, leaning forward finally to pick up some food and begin to eat.