ArchivedLogs:Necessary

Necessary
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Nox	2013-04-06 '
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-lined 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. Gardening! With spring arrived, Nox is discovering that so many of her friends and acquaintances have been struck with gardening fever. This is a /good/ thing, of course, and she is eager to learn more about the process. It does mean taking certain precautions, however. She has arrived at Lucien's house in an outfit that makes her look like a Bedouin from a distant desert, all dark draped fabric that covers her from neck to toes, with a black canvas gardening hat to top things off. Its brim droops around her head, providing the last bit of protection that she needs from the sun--and since it casts such an efficient barrier of shade, she's been able to forgo sunglasses! She did not arrive empty-handed, either. When she steps up to the front door, her hands cradle a tiny black plastic pot, in which an immature strawberry plant has been nestled in dark soil. It's held carefully while she leans on the doorbell. It takes a short while before Lucien answers the door. In preparation for playing in the dirt he looks rather aggressively casual, blue jeans faded pale with age and a black sleeveless undershirt. He greets Nox with a smile, though a small one that does not much shift the raccoon-eyed exhaustion from his features. "You brought me fruit." He sounds charmed by this, as he gestures her inside. "Why can't everyone be so thoughtful?" "It is only a little thing. Someone was selling them. In a parking lot." And so thoughtfulness is minimized by harsh reality. Nox's head lowers briefly--she is pleased too and intent on hiding it behind the hat's brim--before she steps inside. The black ballet slats she's wearing are slipped off and left in the entryway. Only then does her head lift so she can properly study the man whose home she has come to. "Do you have the day to rest?" she inquires quietly. "And the night as well?" She pauses for a beat, lips curving just a bit. "If not, I am tempted to tell you that you should have. That you should make it so." "A little thing. And yet. Better than some presents recently --" Lucien's head shakes, slightly. He closes and locks the door behind Nox. "I have the afternoon." His lips compress, eyes slipping away towards the locked basement door. "It should be enough to get the work done I need to do. How have you been?" He is looking Nox over critically, although with her current outfit this does not /help/ him much. Her head turns--unfortunately she caught sight of that glance and follows it. The import of the door isn't known but Nox studies it for a moment before turning her gaze back to his. Her smile fades, then is shored up as she offers over the small strawberry pot. "You deserve better presents," she murmurs. "I have been busy. And sorry, to have not been here more often this week. There was much to catch up on." What /can/ be seen of her seems healthy enough. The marks on her cheek and neck have faded to a faint grey, more freckles than scars, and she moves as if never hurt at all. Lucien reaches for the pot, taking it and holding it against his chest. "Busy," he echoes, shaking his head slightly at the apology. "You owe me no apology. Have you been well? And your people?" His lips twitch, slightly, just faintly up at the corners. He turns away to start towards the kitchen. "What I deserve is surely a matter of some debate. Thank you. For the strawberry." "It was not an apology," Nox whispers, with her head lowered again. She follows in his wake, slipping her hands into voluminous sleeves to hide them. As she goes, a last look is cast at the basement door. Then she looks ahead, at his back, fixing a proper smile back in place. "My people do well. The weather is warmer, they can come above more often. We will be starting gardens. Where we can. Mr. Holland has said he would help. He..." There's another hesitation, brief. "Did you like the mural? On the wall?" The whispered answer pauses Lucien, just briefly, steps slowing so he can glance back to Nox. "I am glad you have found the time," is all he says in answer to this, quiet. "Gardens. Where /can/ you? I have heard Jackson has an aptitude for --" Lucien's fingers flutter towards the back door to the garden. "Tending life. -- Mural?" Lucien turns to glance at Nox, puzzled. He looks towards the windows out to the garden, and then back to Nox. "What mural?" "Abandoned lots. It is called guerilla gardening. One plants where they can, and if they are not torn down, they harvest. There are so many places in the city that are abandoned, most people never realize they are there." Nox's pleasure at being able to share this dims when she realizes her misstep. Oops. One hand appears from the robes she wears and touches fingertips to her lips, her eyes cast towards the door. "Ah...there is...mmm. Your wall. On the other side. It has a...it was been...it is beautiful now. Painted. Would you like to see it?" "Guerilla gardening. That sounds very --" Lucien smiles, albeit thinly. "Jackson. He will be helping you with this venture? It will be good, no? For your people to have fresh produce." The smile, thin as it is, fades with Nox's words. "-- My wall." He does not frown, really, but his head bows, eyes tightening slightly at their corners. "Was something wrong with it before?" he wonders, quiet. He heads for the door, unlocking it to slip out barefoot into the garden beyond and head through for the heavy locked door granting access to the city outside. "He will, yes. It is very good. Especially for the children." Nox is fretting, however, and so the answer is a distracted one. Why did she say anything? There is a low, almost subliminal hum surrounding her as she follows after the man--proving that the sound is not /only/ for positive situations. "I am sure it was a very functional wall. But it is lovely. What was painted on it. Like...like a night garden. Flowers made of fireworks. I thought you would enjoy it," she says, very carefully choosing those words. "Do you have /many/ children? With you? I have met -- few who have manifested so young but, mmm. Many of the ones I have seen seem likely to need the most help." Lucien takes keys from his pocket, unlocks the door; it takes a hard push before it budges; clearly it is not often used to get in and out. Off of his carefully tended earth he is more cautious, as he steps out to the sidewalk, toes curling and his gaze turned downward to avoid glass shards and other barefoot traps. He turns, and stops, eying the wall and its fresh coating of paint. And then eying it some more. "-- Jackson did this?" It's quiet, blandly calm. The hazards of barefoot walking are something Nox has considered as well. Not for herself, but certainly for Lucien. She appears in the doorway, lingering there and watching the path he takes to get a decent vantage on the wall. Once certain that his soles are safe, she looks at his expression rather than the mural. Her expression is...neutral, rearranged to show no expression. "We have several. Some whose parents cannot live above. Some who were born as they are or manifested early," she murmurs, as calm as he. "Do you like it, Lucien?" Lucien's face is calm, schooled into blank consideration. He looks at the cactus. At the dragonfly. At the firework-flowers. His fingers tap slowly against the inner crook of his elbow. "How did he even find my house?" he says eventually, in lieu of answer, and, "how long has this been here?" He does blank far better than she. At least in this setting. Nox is only able to maintain bland for so long before she's compelled to leave the relative safety of the doorway to join him in outside territory. Then her hand creeps to tuck itself inside of his elbow and her head lifts, clearing the brim of her hat so she too can study the mural. She could lie. But she doesn't. "It was an accident," she tells him quietly, "he had no idea this was your home. I found him. He was...I think it was his way. Of finding a quiet space. Peace. It was...mm, three days? Perhaps four. I think it's beautiful." "You were here, three days ago," is the first thing Lucien takes away from this answer. The outward creep of his awareness when her hand finds his elbow is a reflexive thing, automatic, a silent scan of mood and feeling. "{Beautiful}," he echoes her opinion flatly, "{Matt would think so too, I imagine. It is very -- colourful.}" His fingers tap again, this time lightly against hers. Uncertainty. Worry. Guilt. Unpleasant emotions, for all that Nox's face remains serene. Her eyes close once in an unnecessary blink but she doesn't remove her hand. "{I wanted to see you.}" This, almost without sound--her lips do not move as she shares the reason. Then, after touching her tongue to her lips, she does move them to speak. "It would be better on the inside wall, I think. Perhaps I can ask Mr. Holland to remove it. It would not be difficult. For him. I suppose it would draw attention. That you would rather avoid." "{I have been so rarely home.}" It's not quite an apology, but it does carry a trace of regret in the words. Lucien is still eying the vivid mural on his wall. "It is very colourful," he says again, in English, this time, and in French once more, "{The boy is remarkably gifted.}" Though nominally a compliment, he doesn't quite sound like it /pleases/ him. "{His style is rather distinctive.}" He eyes it a moment longer, then turns with a press of lips to pick his way back towards his garden door. "Your people. What do you intend to grow?" "{You have responsibilities. It is what it is.}" But Nox too imbues those quiet words with a sense of regret. As she keeps her hand tucked safe in the hollow of his elbow, she's steered back with him--floating more than walking under the heavy shadow of her drapery--to the doorway. She hops inside first, like a woman hopping over a puddle instead of a threshold. This does require letting him go though, so there is no emotional feedback when she adds, "{It makes seeing you more a gift. Better than strawberries.} There, a hint of humor. And afterwards, drifting towards the vegetable beds, and a switch to English. "Food. Tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, lettuces, broccoli...whatever we can to improve our diet." "{Better than strawberries. Goodness. That is high praise.}" Lucien steps back into the garden with a visible release of tension, relaxing from tight-held muscles into something more at ease -- at least a little more at ease -- as he tugs the heavy door back closed again. And locks it. "Potatoes I have never tried. The rest, though. I have seeds for those and more." As she drifts towards the vegetable beds, he drifts towards the pond, crouching beside it to let his fingers trail down against the surface of the cold water. "{We all have responsibilities. Trying to balance them against the rest of life is --}" Lucien hesitates, a moment, looking down at the fish that rise up to wards the ripples he creates. "Well. Sometimes I find myself tempted to wonder if there /is/ a 'rest of life'." As with Lucien and the water, Nox has bent down to touch the naked soil, to test it between her fingers. It certainly looks the part of "aspiring gardener" but she wouldn't know how to tell good soil from bad if her life depended on it. Eventually the clump of earth is allowed to sift through her fingers and she straightens up to look at Lucien by the pond. Just that, looking--though rather more intently than is necessary. Her lips curl. And eventually, she even remembers to say something. "I think...I think finding the rest is...a great deal of work. To carve space out of what is already there." A pause. "We would be grateful for anything you would share." Lucien's fingers flick, skittering small droplets of water across the surface of the pond. He turns, settling down to perch on a rock, one leg curled in and the other stretched out into the grass. "It is not an easy task. There are days I am tempted to wonder if it is even a worthwhile one. But then --" His eyes skim along the borders of the garden, tracing over the white and purple flowers that have already started to bloom; eventually they shift towards the vegetable garden, and Nox. "There are some escapes it would be hard to life without. Still. Responsibilities have a way of encroaching. I have a fairly full library of seeds. Some will require sooner planting than others. How soon will your people be gettign to work?" "Soon. Immediately. I believe some of the others were...they were going out, today, to clear rubbish. To make the beds." Nox's hands slip back into her sleeves. She seems content to stand where she is, simply watching him--or, more accurately, drinking in the sight of man resting on rocks, the pool behind, the grass before. She wears the look of a schoolgirl committing a lesson to memory. "I should have gone with them, perhaps. I...plead being vulnerable. To the sun." Her head tilts back slightly, the sunlight in question falling briefly over the lower half of her face. Only /very/ briefly before she snatches her chin down to touch towards her shoulder. "And now here I am, in a garden after all. It is...worthwhile." "Gardening is a long-term venture. I am sure you will have no end of future opportunities to help out." Lucien just sits, for a long moment, toes curling down into the grass. Eventually he stands, though. By the door back into the house there is a bucket, filled with tools, and he takes it to set it down beside the vegetable garden. But does not reach for gloves or tools or any of it. Just watches Nox. "Worthwhile. Mmm. I suppose it is a question of priorities." He glances downward, towards the soil. "Have you planted, before?" Nox lifts her head again, eyes barely visible beneath the brim of her hat. But what can be seen of them shows that she's watching him in turn, expression serene, mouth set neutrally. Before the silence following his question has too long to stretch out, she nods and sinks to her knees in the grass to reach for the bucket. Time to explore the tools of the trade! "I think I have. But as a child. Nothing so important as this...flowers, mostly. A tree. I remember a tree. Is all of this necessary? A tool for every purpose?" "Necessary --" Lucien considers the bucket, thoughtful. He sinks down, resting a hand against the soil. Curling fingers into it, deep, his eyes slipping half-closed as his fingers sink into the earth. "No. Perhaps easier. Not necessary. This earth could be worked with nothing save --" His free hand, unsoiled, lifts, turning upwards. "There are tools for every purpose, yes. But sometimes the job can be done more simply." The tools are replaced in the bucket so that Nox can follow Lucien's example. Empty hands, fresh earth and only the will to work it as a tool. She seems content with this. "Then show me," she urges him, voice as soft as her smile. It is important to know these things--and as the afternoon that follows proves, restful as well to meditate with turned soil, dirty hands, and someone whose company is enjoyable.