ArchivedLogs:La Petite Mort

From X-Men: rEvolution
La Petite Mort
Dramatis Personae

Lucien, Matt




<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 quiet, in the house. Windy, outside, a rattle of windowpanes occasionally, an intermittent passing car, though it's late enough these are infrequent. In here, though, quiet, except for the restless pacing of Lucien's footsteps between his study and the living room, the living room and the kitchen, the kitchen to the upstairs hall --

-- he passes by the closed door to Sera's room with only a small hitch in his steps, heads back down, continues his pacing. His phone is held in one clenched hand against his ear, just one of -- there are calls. There are many calls. A list to go down, things to be arranged --

-- likely some can wait. Likely most can wait. But instead, shoulders tensed, fingers clenched, he -- paces. Back up the stairs. His voice is steady. The fingers that trace against Sera's door as he passes it are -- not, quite. A small tremor, brief and shivering in faint contrast to his otherwise put-together appearance, neat-pressed slacks, neat-pressed dress shirt.

Back down the stairs. Hang up the phone. Stare at it a moment, thumb hovering over its screen as if to dial, again.

Matt is slumped at the breakfast nook, head propped up in one hand. His eyes are still red, but his cheeks have dried, and he's just staring. His hair is a mess, as are his clothes: soft moss-green button-down shirt and gray slacks, all quite rumpled and coming untucked.

A cup sits on the table in front of him, the glaze gaudy and busy and mismatched. The tea in it has stopped steaming. He doesn't drink.

His eyes slip sideways to follow Lucien as he comes into view. Watches him for a moment. Then gets up, moving slowly, as if underwater. He closes his hand over his brother's and pushes it and the phone steadily back down to his side. Though hurting fiercely, he's rather calm. His hand squeezes Lucien's, then pulls the phone gently from his grasp.

Lucien's eyes drop to the phone. He offers no resistance when Matt takes it, though his brows furrow, lips pressing together thinly. His hand curls back against Matt's, squeezing back tight. There's no feeling with the contact except the simple warmth of his hand in his brother's; his own mental plane is very level, a tightly controlled blankness clamped down hard over anything that might otherwise surface. He starts to reach for the phone, after a moment, but drops his hand back to his side after a moment. Moving aside, he settles into the seat Matt just vacated, picking up the tea and -- curling his hands around it. Lifting it. Not actually drinking.

Matt sits down on the other side of the table and sets the phone between them. The blank surface of Lucien's calm flutters, then settles. "{I can handle the remaining arrangements. You should rest.}"

Lucien swallows, his breath catching and hands tightening around the mug at that flutter in his composure. His eyes widen, lifting to look across at Matt; his expression has calmed again by the time his gaze actually /settles/ on his brother, though. "{I am fine,}" he answers softly. "{I have handled this before. You should --}" He lowers the mug to the table, eyes dropping to lock on the phone. "... we should."

"{You...}" Matt closes his eyes and combs through his hair with both hands, mussing it even worse. His breath comes out slow and shaky. "{You're better at this, true.}" The flutter in Lucien's calm is gentler this time. "{But...I couldn't sleep, anyway.}"

Lucien closes his eyes tightly, his hands pressing down against the table. His mind fights back against that flutter, struggling to smooth back down the knifetwist of pain that starts to curl up through it, reflexively pushing it back into a calm and even nothingness. He exhales quietly, opening his eyes to look back up at Matt. Standing, he extends a hand to his brother. "{Come.}" The soft quaver in his voice is more pleading than commanding. "{Sleep, I can help with.}"