ArchivedLogs:Inside Man

Inside Man
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Micah	Tuesday, 27 June 2017 Lucien may have gotten in a little over his head. (Part of the Future Past TP.)
Location <NYC> Gioiello - Gramercy Park
With a cuisine focused in the heart of the Mediterranean, this restaurant truly is a jewel of New York's dining scene. Its dress code is black tie and its reservations are booked months in advance, but all who come agree that the wait is well worth it. The chef here is praised by gourmands far? and wide. The décor matches the high standards of the cuisine; quiet sumptuous elegance to fit the sumptuous palate. For those who can afford its hefty price tag, it is a stop of every foodie's docket. It's been a long evening for Lucien so far, but even so he looks rather /energized/ as he heads in. He's shed his stage makeup, traded costumes in for a trim black tux, simple but elegantly tailored. His hand rests lightly at the small of Micah's back as he heads in, stopping by the host to give his name, explain that only two and not three will be dining tonight. They are led promptly to their table, a quiet booth near the back, secluded enough to suit Lucien's taste. He, at least, seems perfectly at home as he eases into his seat, taking his menus with a faint look of anticipation as he opens the wine list. Micah is rather energetic, as well, full of that buzzy-bounce that seems to come after going to a show, no matter how late. His likewise-simple black tux, while not as nice as Lucien's, didn't require a costume change, at least. Even his auburn hair is rather uncharacteristically tidy. For all he has the required uniform, Micah is still looking rather out-of-place, wide-eyed and a little clingy at Lucien's side (well, more than usual) as if the man is serving as a proper escort to give him permission to be there. The secluded nature of the seating suits him very well, indeed, the air of 'street urchin adopted by crazy rich man' fading somewhat once they're tucked away. He /opens/ the wine list since that is what one does, eyes skipping over it precisely like a functionally illiterate person's. Yep, those are words. While he has been a stellar student of tea, wine never seemed to follow for him. “'Pologies Jax couldn't make it. His schedule for bein' out of town seems t'get last minute changes as often as it doesn't.” Those hazel eyes do dart back to the menu now and then as if they're actually getting something out of it. "I can hardly fault him for that. The work he does is --" Lucien's eyes skip down over the menu, a small smile twitching at his lips. "Well. The show will -- with any luck -- be running some short while. What he is doing is /important/. And I am rather glad it was work and not any -- more serious emergency." For a brief moment there is a faint tightening at his eyes before he looks up with an easy smile to Micah. "You look rather as though you're worried someone will throw you out." “Oh, no, I didn't imagine y'would. We just like t'come t'your openin' nights when we can. I'm /certain/ we'll get 'im t'another showin' sometime, though.” Micah's brows dip slightly as he clearly catches Lucien's meaning on emergencies. “Spence's...actually been pretty good the past week or so.” He doesn't elucidate further, lips pressing up to answer Lucien's smile. “I can't say the thought doesn't cross m'mind whenever I'm in places like this. An' t'be honest it's /happened/ before. Though that's usually got more t'do with people knowin' m'family than anythin' else.” Finally giving up on any pretense with the wine menu, he lets it fall closed and sets it off to the side of the table. “Alright. You're gonna hafta pick out any fancy drinks for us,” he admits, smile taking on a self-deprecating lopsided-tug that pairs well with a hint of rose rising in his cheeks. “I'll just sit an' be proper impressed by everythin'.” "Really, though, the wine depends on what you eat. More or less. Do you /prefer/ white or red -- I rarely ever see you actually drink. I think you had a cider once or twice." Lucien's eyes skim down over the menu and then he closes it, glancing up again to answer Micah's smile with a wider one. Admittedly slightly crooked. "... I think they might actually kick your husband out of here if he came alone," he admits unabashedly. "He raises a good deal of hackles. Though sometimes I wonder if that isn't just all the more sign he is doing something right." “Ohgosh, the few I think I've kind of liked are usually...on the sweet end. Red more than white. I really...the dry whites are not m'favourite of things.” That's probably the extent of the knowledge Micah has on the matter, too. “I don't drink a lot. Cider's usually okay. Really dark rum...mixed into things.” He shrugs, a little lost on the topic, to be honest. Though he chuckles at the talk of Jax. “Doubt he'd ever /be/ here alone. Though I think he's got a bit more appreciation for the fancy than I do, if not familiarity. Artist thing, I guess.” A bobbing nod indicates agreement with the last statement. “Usually if you're doin' anythin' worth doin', /somebody's/ gonna their shorts in a bunch over it eventually.” "Mmm." Lucien considers Micah's opinion for a moment before leaning back in his seat; he's been here enough, evidently, not to bother looking at the /real/ menu. "Oh, he continues on the path he is on, I imagine he might find himself in places like this more often. I know neither of you have /much/ taste for politics, really, but --" He picks up his water, taking a small sip. "Really, though, it is rather refreshing. Not, ah, your family being denied service anywhere. Just -- things. In general. Seem to be getting better, lately." Micah /does/ need to look at the menu. Rather closely, since he needs the descriptions on many of the items, as well. “Y'meanin' more politicians're gonna wanna talk to 'im or he's gonna end up one? It gives 'im real deep-down funny feelin's thinkin' 'bout /workin'/ on the government end of things. Anarchist an' all.” A tip of his head at this last accompanies an amused slip of a smile. “Some things,” he agrees simply. “Some things seem t'be gettin' better over time. Arc of the moral universe an' all that.” "I -- imagine the former," Lucien answers with a sudden amused breath of laughter. "Oh. It shouldn't be such an entertaining concept, there /have/ been those calling for him to run -- but, goodness. The anarchist thing -- I have a hard time picturing him a /proper/ politician, I admit. The public may not quite be ready for that level of glitter. Now, if /you/ had a mind for politics, on the other hand..." He trails off with laughter glimmering bright in his eyes. "My universe," he adds, a little more subdued, "for a long while only trended toward chaos. The change is -- welcome, to say the least." “Hm, yeah, he does get that often enough, don't he?” A pure peal of laughter answers Lucien's second suggestion, perhaps too loud for the given setting. Micah sinks a little lower in his chair, shoulders rolling in. “Oh, gracious, yes. Me. Queer, disabled, red-headed Jew with the hick accent an' the lack of social graces an’ the mutant...everythin' /but/ me. That's gonna go over well with the voters. Do we /really/ want people takin' a magnifyin' glass t'the folks I associate with?” His brows jump upward at /that/ thought. “Oh, look. They've got crimini an' portobello mezzaluna in a marsala romano sauce with spinach /and/ roasted red peppers. That sounds delicious.” Not to mention being something he can pronounce. Someone was still paying attention to the menu, after all. “You forgot the polyamory,” Lucien adds lightly on top of Micah’s reply, laughter glimmering in his own eyes, still. “I’m sure the public would be quite taken with trying to detangle your relationships. Especially given that at least one of your past paramours --” He trails off here with a small dip of his eyes down to the menu in Micah’s hands, tipping his head in assent. “It is delicious. -- We have a one-legged Mayor who swears like a sailor. Perhaps people could be convinced some of your faults are charms. You would have to wear a /lot/ of suits though.” It is only this /last/ point that he says more solemnly, as though /this/ and none of the other points has convinced him that perhaps politics is not the line of work for Micah. “What, y'mean everybody don't do that?” Micah replies with well-feigned shock at the forgotten demerit. This dissolves into additional laughter. “I can't quite decide which one with which 'issue' y'was just 'bout t'bring up. Also, she /is/ a sailor, no 'like' about it. See, an' I don't curse at all. Ain't nobody gonna want me.” He sighs down at his menu, shoulders gone exaggeratedly hangdog as he casts his eyes down. “Mmn. Too many suits. Nevermind then. Gettin' the mezzaluna.” "Local office in New York, you /would/ have to step up your game with the profanity. No one will accept a truly polite New Yorker, you need just that much rough to you." Lucien's tongue clicks lightly against his teeth in mock disapproval. "Ah -- really I was considering the not /insignificant/ number of your past acquaintances on the FBI's watchlist. I do not imagine consorting with terrorists plays well in the media. I am quite adept in the PR field but some things..." Lucien's quick smile comes with a quick huff of a laugh. "You do look quite fetching in them, you know. -- I think I shall go with the orecchiette." “See, now, that just wouldn't work. Break m'poor momma's heart, get on the TV talkin' trash.” So sad, the shake of Micah's head that comes with this conclusion. “Past...current. Remember that one time Jax was in prison for months bein' called a terrorist? Still /married/ t'that one.” His lips twitch back into a grin at Lucien's adeptness. “Best part of suits's still gettin' /out/ of 'em.” The fact that he doesn't put the menu aside for several ticks after Lucien announces his choice of entrees likely means that he had to look up what it /was/. "Your mother has survived you marrying a terrorist, and one little 'shit' would kill her?" Lucien's lips twitch faintly at this prospect, his smile only spreading into an easier one as their server arrives in tandem with a sommelier; though he declines the assistance of the latter, ordering his pasta together with a bottle of sweet red wine. He sits back in his seat once Micah has had a chance to order, a small tightness around his eyes despite his lingering smile. "Things have come a ways for the both of you since those accusations, though. Nobody would truly still think --" He shakes his head, eyes dropping to his water glass. He picks it up, not drinking, just clinking the ice in it absently. “You kiddin'? She loves Jax. He bakes an' likes musicals an' came /pre-installed/ with grandchildren. Ain't /no/ reason for ugly talk in public, though.” This last comes with a slight change in tone and accent, implying recitation. Micah falls silent again when not one but /two/ people arrive at their table, letting Lucien do all the talking with the exception of ordering his meal. Which he does in a minimum number of words. Once the pair exit, he drinks from his glass and still waits a few beats before speaking again. “There's folks as thought it 'fore he was arrested an' folks as never stopped thinkin' it once he was let out.” "Mmm. Yes. I suppose there are always some --" Lucien pauses, eyes still fixed down on his water. Clink, clink. "Does it scare you? There are days that I --" But here he stops again, shaking his head quickly as he reaches instead to pull his phone out from where it has been vibrating inside his jacket. A small smile crosses his expression as he glances over his text, tucking the phone away after. "Matt says initial reactions online at least are looking quite good. Right. Tonight I am /celebrating/." He says this as though trying to remind himself. “Does what scare me? People thinkin' Jax is a terrorist? I been scared /for/ him since the day we met.” Micah's expression becomes more somber, his finger tracing idly through the condensation on his glass. “Don't think that's likely t'change ever, neither. S'just one of those things, y'know?” He sits quietly while Lucien fusses with his phone. “Reactions in the crowd looked pretty positive, too. Either /way/ t'night's for celebratin'.” Finally, his eyes drag back up to Lucien's face. His smile has returned, sincere though with a hint of sadness. "All of it. Not just what people /think/, maybe. All the choices that have led to --" Lucien exhales quietly, lifting a hand to scruff through his hair. "Sometimes I look back at the past few years and I am not quite sure if the roads that led us here were --" His fingers tighten hard against the stem of his water glass and he lifts it for a quick gulp. "Celebrating. Right." “Honey, you're gonna have t'finish a sentence if y'want me t'follow you. You're kinda not finishin' buildin' your bridges ‘fore I have t'drive on 'em.” Micah looks concerned between Lucien's tone and posture, even if he's not catching full meanings in the conversation. “Why am I less than convinced the way y'say that?” "Forgive me, Micah," Lucien answers with a faint wisp of smile ghosting across his face. "Lately I have just been feeling a little bit like -- perhaps a lot like I have made some rather severe missteps in life. It is rather too late to change any of them, though." He glances up as their food arrives, pausing as the wine is poured. Once the server leaves he trades water glass for wine glass, taking a long slow sip. Micah's mouth opens to speak, hangs there a moment, then snaps closed as the servers return. He watches the items move to the table, offering a quiet thanks as they head off again. “No, it's okay, hon. What's got y'gettin' all deep-thoughts? Usually somethin' sets all that off. I'd've thought... Y'just said things're gettin' better. An' you're finally doin' what y'wanted with your life, right? With the actin'? What're y'thinkin' you'd want dif'rent?” There may be a little monkey-see-monkey-do going on when Micah reaches for his own wine glass, observing the rich colour before sipping from it, as well. "Things /have/ been better. And it isn't the acting. There is work I have been doing on the side --" Lucien swirls the wine in its glass, looking down at it as he speaks. "... for Oscorp. I think I may be just a touch out of my..." Yet again this sentence trails off into nothing. "I really should have stuck to acting," he says with a soft-sharp breath. "I think I may have helped set some things in motion that --" His lips press thin together. "I may regret, soon." “Oh. I hate t'sound like I'm sayin' 'I told you so', but I trust Osborn 'bout as far as /Spence/ could throw 'im. Without usin' any abilities. He's always been incredibly creepy at best.” Micah's lips twitch over to one side, less than pleased for pretty much /anyone/ he cares about to be so much as associating loosely with Osborn. “What's comin'? Or what're you suspectin'? 'Least I can do is let our folks know.” "I have never trusted him either, why do you think I've /been/ working at his --" Lucien scrubs a hand across his cheek, a tired slump setting into his shoulders. "I don't know," he admits, then. "There have been some worrying discrepancies in the Sentinel program -- I'm doing what I can to find the root of them but I." He takes another swallow of wine, bigger this time. "-- hope it is nothing. Perhaps it is nothing." He doesn't /sound/ particularly hopeful. "And as I said, it is too late anyway to /un/make some choices so I may as well..." His lips twitch again, not entirely humored as he picks up his fork, sets down his wine. "Be merry." “Oh, y'mean he's makin' an evil robot army specifically equipped t'work against special abilities? 'Cause that's what I've been thinkin' since the first /Doombots/. Then again, I read too many comic books an' watch a non-insignificant amount of anime. Robots are the cause of an' solution to most of life's problems in anime.” Micah's tone suggests that his words are mostly teasing, but the sigh and sink of his shoulders betrays that he might truly hold suspicions. “Nothin' left but t'recruit middle schoolers t'be mech pilots. The kids're gonna hafta save the world.” One corner of his mouth tugs upwards, making a second attempt at levity. “Celebration, right? Good food an' good company.” He lifts his own fork, using its edge to cut into his pasta. “And an inside man, if nothin' else, perhaps.” "Where are cyborgs going to stand, during the robot uprising?" Lucien wonders quietly, though the levity creeping back into his own tone is minimal. He spears some of his mushroomy pasta, fingers just a little tight around his fork. "Mmm. Sera was convinced for a time that she would grow up to pilot a Jaeger." A hint of his smile is returning. "If anyone's hopes are rested on me, I fear for this city." “On the side of the /good/ robots, clearly. I, for one, welcome our new /benevolent/ robot overlords. Maybe they'll come from Stark,” Micah conjectures with a chuckle. “Oh... I'm sure she'd've been an /awesome/ mech pilot.” There's that sad smile again. “Hopes don't just rest on you. That's what the whole good guy /team/ is for. We got folks /lined up/ for the role of Hungry Protagonist. Speakin' of which, this is /delicious/.”