ArchivedLogs:Gambits

Gambits
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2015-05-21 "{I am only ready to do what needs to be done.}" (Part of Future Past TP; takes place immediately after Weapon.)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Upstairs - Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and /more/ books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues, has a pair of twin beds with matching butterfly-patterned bedspreads and a similar fabric for the window curtains; a wealth of stuffed toys is neatly arranged on both. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles. The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub. Other than the ticking of a few clocks and the rain and wind that taps the windows at irregular intervals, the house has fallen nearly silent. It's maybe a little late for tea by most people's standards, but that's what Matt brings in with him. It may be a little late even for /him/; his eyes are bleary behind drooping lids, and his shoulders are slumped. He returns a much-loved hardbound book to its place on the shelf and collapses into a surprisingly neat cross-legged position by the chess table, staring at its unpeopled squares. Lucien trails Matt into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. At some point he's put his towel -- away, somewhere, and claimed a soft heather-grey tee shirt to go with his pajama pants. He leans back against the door for a long moment, eyes fixing on the chess table rather than on Matt. It takes a long while for him to pull himself away and follow further into the room; he folds himself down only slowly to sit opposite Matt. Kneeling, sitting back on his feet with hands resting lightly against his knees. He opens his mouth. Closes it again, saying nothing. Matt's eyes remain fixed on the chess board. His hands grip the mug tight, raising it to his lips for a long pull. He closes his eyes, savors the tea for a moment, then swallows. Only after all that does he make eye contact with his brother. Subtly, with the ease of familiarity and practice, he dulls the ever-vigilant function of Lucien's power that keeps his emotions preternaturally level. "{Would you have done it if I weren't there?}" There is no recrimination in his voice, just a vast, weary sadness. Lucien's fingers press harder against his knees. His shoulders tense, eyes dropping as his breath hitches once inward. "{He asked,}" his voice is very low but for all that it still is not entirely steady, "{for our help.}" "{He did.}" Matt nods. "He was also in pain, despairing of a future he feared he would be used to create. {But do you think you would you have done as he asked, were I not there? I do not ask this to be cruel, or so that I may pass judgement on you.}" He turns the mug between his hands slowly, eyes dropping back to the board again. When Matt's eyes drop, Lucien's lift. He swallows, lifting his hands -- almost as though to reach across towards his brother. Almost. But not; instead he drops his hands to the board, one fingertip tracing the edge of a square. "Without hesitation." His answer comes after a significant delay. There's no gasp of horror, nor any other indication of shock and dismay from Matt. He just nods again, watching Lucien's hand on the chessboard. "{And had I asked you to kill /me/, so that Io's plague might never come to be, would you have done it?}" There is a momentary hitch in the motion of Lucien's finger as it traces around the square. He tenses, blinks, and resumes the repetitive motion, his hand a little shakier than it had been before. "{Please,}" he whispers, "{do not ever ask that of me.}" "{You know I wouldn't.}" Matt's voice drops to a gentle whisper. "{Gods know I don't want to die, but there are days...}" His head shakes vehemently. "Ah, but that's neither here nor there." His shoulders sag, and he hunches in around his tea. "{We need to talk about Oscorp.}" Lucien's finger stops moving, his hand pressing down to splay outward against the board. His other hand lifts, elbow propped against the table as his head drops, resting his cheek in his palm. "What is it you want me to say." Now his voice is just flat. Kind of tired. "Only that you know what you are doing." Matt finally peels one hand away from his tea to settle it, still warm from the mug, on Lucien's. "{If you don't want to tell me something about your life because you think it would hurt me to know, then consider how much it can hurt you in ways you may not realize.}" Lucien's eyes slip closed. His hand trembles beneath Matt's, then turns upward, fingers curling around his brother's. "I know how much it might hurt me. {But the world -- hurts,}" he says, a touch stiffly, "{whether we sit by idly or no.} And men like Osborn, they will work towards our destruction. Whether we sit by idly or no." Matt digs his fingers into Lucien's palm, though his nails are filed short enough that they can sting but so much. "I agree. I have reservations about your approach, {but not only because you are so ready to kill.}" He almost smiles, for the first time that Lucien has seen since Jax arrived that night. "{I also fear you are not as good at this game as you think.}" His head inclines at the chessboard. "{Let me help. Do not count me out to protect me when you know full well you cannot.}" "{I am only ready to do what needs to be done.}" Lucien doesn't smile. His jaw tightens, the pads of his fingers pressing harder against the backs of Matt's knuckles. His hand lifts, carrying his brother's with it, forehead resting against the back of Matt's hand. There is a long moment where he is quiet before he lets go. Exhale sharply, almost amused. He reaches down, opening the drawer on his side to start setting out the white (or red, really) stone pieces in their place. "{You always have been the stronger player by far.}" "{Sometimes searching for a less obvious solution yields a better one. Sometimes you can /make/ one.} Or fake one." Matt lines up the black pieces on his side, much less methodically than his brother. "{But trust that I know when to play a gambit, too.}"