ArchivedLogs:Escapes

Escapes
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Nox
In Absentia	2013-02-24 Seeking quiet in the shadows.
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Tucked down an alley, this out of the way coffeeshop is easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for. Unassuming from the outside, its inside makes up for it -- spacious, with abundant seating and plenty of plush couches and cosy armchairs along the room's edges. The coffee is good, the prices are cheap, and there is a definitive alternative vibe to the room, from the music they play to the art that hangs on the walls. The real draw to this place, though, stems from its client base -- one of the very few businesses in the city that is welcoming to mutants, Evolve has become widely popular as a hangout with that crowd, and it is quite common to see them among clientele and employees both. At night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits over the coffeehouse. It's early yet for the club crowd but the cafe portion of Evolve is busy as gangbusters, full of people intent on that last dose of caffeine to carry them through a future buzz or just hanging out before heading home. Nox fits neither of these two categories, which may explain why the woman loiters outside instead of in. Her presence, however, is a subtle one. Amid the flickering of neon and the deep shadows cast by the alley's wall, hers is a small smudge of darkness against the wall. The door opens, sending wafts of sweet smells and laughter out into the night. The door closes and leaves her in the gritty chill, two-dimensional head bowed, two-dimensional fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. But when patrons walk by--as they do in ever-increasing numbers--she grows alert again. People are studied, people are /seen/, but none are approached...and none seem to notice her. In the drift of people heading in and out of the coffeeshop, one more is not really such a noteworthy thing. Lucien seems /well/ in need of the caffeine as he heads to the coffeeshop, though, dressed simply today in jeans and a dark sweater over his button-down, a black coat over top. He is rather intently focused on a cellphone in his hand, frowning deep as he taps at his screen; whatever is on it brings him up short to linger outside the busy coffeeshop rather than in, leaning against the cold brick wall for a moment to finish composing an email. It would be poor manners to peep at the screen. Poor manners indeed. But Nox is there and Lucien is directly beside her and when she glances at him to see who's pressed against her patch of brisk, her eyes skim the screen before taking in the profile. When recognition strikes, it drives her back along the wall, rippling over brisk the way a swimmer would backstroke through water. Distance is better when she hails him, to keep the murmur of her voice from coming just behind his shoulder. "Mister Tessier. Hello again." The screen holds a half-finished email composed in reply to one from a lawyer; it is evidently discussing what evidence of abuse and neglect they might use in a custody battle although currently Lucien's email draft consists largely of expletives. Possibly just for /catharsis/; he is deleting this with a slight sigh to compose a rather more dignified version when the voice sounds behind him. The startled /jump/ and quick eep! he gives at the unexpected address is not dignified at all, and he whirls on a heel to -- frown at the shadows. And then frown at the shadows /more/. "-- Nox," he eventually ventures. Calm! Composed. Like he didn't totally just squeak in surprise. If he were a cat he would be nonchalantly licking his paw right now. He settles for brushing invisible lint off his coat and slipping his phone into his pocket. "What a delightful surprise." Nox is perhaps familiar with cats and so doesn't make a point of bringing up the squeak. There's a smile in her tone though, as she slips close enough for less distant conversation. The flatness of her silhouette bows outwards slightly, so it doesn't seem that Lucien is conversing with a /wall/. It also allows her to nod to him, briefly. "You're very kind. I apologize for the interruption, I seem to be experiencing a spell of poor timing this evening. Are you well?" she inquires, with a sense of study--lacking eyes means there's no proof she's looking him over. "Oh, my email can wait," Lucien says, a little wry as he fingers the phone in his pocket. "A spell of it?" There is a note of curiosity in his tone. His eyes are easy enough to read, flicking over the silhouette with a slight smile. "Oh, it has been rather a week," he says, and though there's definite traces of exhaustion in his pale and shadowed face his tone is light. "And it is only yet Sunday. Have you been well?" "Of timing. Of interruptions and surprises. It's difficult, to not sneak up on people. A poor habit but also difficult to break." But Nox seems fond of clinging to the wall--she sinks back onto it again, the outline of her head turned as if she were glancing down the alley. She hesitates. She looks at him again. "I have been lamenting the lack of simplicity in life, the inclination towards complication and...screens, one supposes. Layers upon layers. The irony of a shadow, complaining of lack of clarity. You look as if you could use a week in a feather bed, sir. A respite. You hide it very well." "A surprising habit," Lucien says, and here there's a faint trace of self-deprecating amusement in his voice, "/Some/ people might find themselves quite startled." His head tilts, slightly, watching the shift of shadow on the wall. "You would prefer life simple? Everyone has their cloaks that they wear. I make a living off of mine. It gives a good deal of practice --" His hand turns up, fingers spreading. "Hiding. I am not sure it is irony. Pure darkness might obscure but shadows have their own sort of clarity. Definition. You cannot have the shadow without something to contrast it to." "/Some/ people," Nox echoes and there's a hum in those words. They also lead her to step forward, peeling away from the brick and drawing the local gloom together to shape herself into something more normal. Not entirely so--the wall's pattern is visible through her--but closer. Enough that she can stand beside him and slip her hands into pockets that don't exist, timed to the act of his spreading fingers. "Have you ever been in pure darkness, Mister Tessier? No light, no noise. It has a weight and a sound all of its own. You could get lost in it, listening to that sound. I did, once. I came back but sometimes I miss it. How simple it was to just /be/. Am I keeping you from your coffee? Your email?" "I was in a coffin once," Lucien muses, hand dropping back to his more tangible pocket. "It was quite still. Dark. Not a thing I care for often but we have different perspectives on the matter, I imagine." He glances to the door of the coffeeshop, and then shrugs a shoulder. "The coffee was an excuse, really," he admits. "I needed to get out. Am I keeping you from anything? Were you --" He glances down the alley, one direction and then another. "Waiting for something?" "A coffin." She is so surprised to hear this that she deliberately wills more definition to her face, simply so she can raise her eyebrows at him. "You live a most interesting life, I think. And in this instance, I think I prefer not to know." A smile tugs at her lips after that, while Nox shakes her head. "Watching for someone. I thought she might be back this evening but it seems unlikely, now. I'll probably find her at home crying into her pillow...the third time in as many months, alas. You could not pay me to be that young again, Mister Tessier. I may have said as much before." "They say that is a curse. An interesting life." Lucien's tone is absent, noncommittal as to whether he agrees with this assessment or not. "Teenagers? Goodness, what has happened this time?" His smile is a little wry, his head tipping back to turn his gaze up to the sky. "I have to agree with you there. My house is currently overflowing with children. It makes me recall how much I do not want to go back to that." "But would those so afflicted change it for something more mundane? Even I might not, and I've already complained once this evening. I am myself reminded never to complain." Nox grows silent as a quartet of revelers enter the alley, their destination clear from both the volume of their chatter and their colorful clothing. She bows her head, outline growing briefly more solid--and with the addition of the false silhouette of clothing--until they pass into the warm, glowing interior of the cafe. "A broken heart or bruised feelings. At that age, perhaps they're interchangeable. Fortunately neither of us need ever go back. Are these your children?" she asks, curiosity unveiled. "Some days, I might," Lucien allows, quiet, still looking upwards a long moment before he turns his gaze back to Nox with a quick smile. "Other days, well. I suppose I would get bored if things were quiet." He turns his head to watch the clubgoers head inside, for a moment. "At any age those can be hard aches to repair. I am rather glad to have grown out of /acquiring/ them so easily. I hope your friend finds something new to focus on, soon." He answers curiosity with a slight shake of his head. "Not quite. My siblings. Younger ones. It is good to have them, but I forgot how -- loud. The house gets." "The trick then would be in making certain of having quiet places. Or at least the avenue of temporary escape. But you've seen to that." Her hands, gone misty again, spread to encompass the alley, those within it and those now not. "I'm sure she'll find someone else to make her cry, soon enough. And how is Matt, Mister Tessier?" Nox asks, softer still, "I've kept him in my thoughts, these past weeks." "Lucien is fine," Lucien says, still quiet if not perhaps as much so as Nox. "Everyone needs their escapes, I think. We might all go mad otherwise." There's a somewhat distracted tone to this, brows creasing slightly as he delays answer to the last question. "Cheerful," is what he settles on in the end. "He is usually cheerful. Moreso having the children around. Noisy or not, they are an escape." Nox is content to remain silent during the delay, and to continue it on afterward. This time she's the one who tilts her head back to study the slice of sky visible to them. "One can understand that sort of escape. Perhaps when it is quieter, with your permission, I might visit again. I've meant to come by to say thank you, for his actions and yours in the park. Perhaps I could read to him. If it's something he might enjoy. I know I did. Do. When I'm not feeling well." Lucien tips his head in a slight nod, and though his expression is reserved there's a greater note of warmth in his tone. "He enjoys that quite a lot, on his bad days," he says, and, softer, "which have been coming more frequently, of late." It is with a quick smile that he adds, "You are certainly welcome to come by. To read for him or for yourself. Books are there to be enjoyed." And then, quietly curious: "Where do you find your escapes?" "Then I shall." Nox turns a smile towards him. It flickers slightly, lost as she fades in and then out, when that question is directed at her. When she ducks her head again, after a significant pause, it's to hide any expression that might linger. The confession that follows is quietly embarrassed. "Carnegie Hall. Broadway. Shows...I cannot pay and if I could, they'd likely as not bar my entrance. So I slip in. I would appreciate your not turning me in." "Music is there to be enjoyed, too," Lucien says, warm once more. "Just this past week I was at Carnegie Hall. Yo Yo Ma performed. It was quite an evening. I admit," he says, and here he seems to echo a trace of that embarrassment, "that I have rather an affinity for Broadway, myself. Perhaps --" He glances up at Nox, thoughtfully. "You might slip in some evening when I am attending. I promise not to turn you in," is added with a crooked quirk of smile. "I couldn't, however much I might wish to." Real regret rings true in her tone, soft though it is. Nox is already shaking her head, dismissing the idea before truly considering it. "All of those people. I have to stay to the edges or be noticed. Or slip beneath their feet and that can make listening very difficult," she shares with him, her smile turned rueful. "You would be surprised at how often even the quietest listener fidgets with their feet during a performance. Even you do it without being aware, I'm sure, and you're rather more controlled than most." Lucien considers this in a slow stretch of silence. "In some of the boxes," he muses, fingers tapping against his leg, "it can be quieter. Though the views from the sides are not always the best. But if there were nobody else in the box it would be, at least, more private." "I've never been in the boxes but that might well work. I'll have to peek inside of them, the next time I steal away for an escape." Nox's tone, slow and thoughtful at first, grows brighter as she considers the idea. "Ah, you see. It was my stroke of luck to have met you. Thank you, Mister Tessier. Lucien. I should let you continue with your quiet-seeking but I am glad to have had the chance to speak with you again." "As am I," Lucien says, soft but warm. "It was a -- pleasant escape. Be well, Nox. Have a good evening." His head tips towards her in a nod, and then, rather than continue into the coffeeshop, he turns to go back the way he came, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he does to return to composing his email. With decidedly less profanity, now.