ArchivedLogs:No
| No | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-11-05 "{Is it working? They said the pain means it's working.}" (Part of the Flu Season TP.) |
| Location
<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 an unseasonably warm November day outside. Nature seems to have forgotten about the oncoming winter at least for the moment. Birds flit from branch to branch amongst the last of the brightly colored foliage, and below them squirrels frolick in piles of sere, fallen leaves. Matt is not enjoying the beautiful autumn day. He does not even look much like he is enjoying the couch, either. He tosses and turns fitfully in his sleep, squirming out of the twisted blanket. He wears a white t-shirt with a red filigree heart in the center of the chest, bracketed by ornate capital A's in Ace of Hearts fashion, and black sweatpants. Whimpering, he starts awake at last, face flushed and sweat plastering his short brown hair to his head. His hands feel around on the couch and his eyes widen briefly in panic before he finds what he had lost: an old but well-maintained hardback copy of "The Complete Stories" by Flannery O'Connor. Lucien has settled, curled up in his armchair. His jaw is set uncomfortably against the whimpering, his eyes fixes steadily down into his lap on a newly-purchased copy of /Between the World and Me/. The mug of tea on the table in front of him has long since cooled. He is in dark jeans, a plain green button-down. His eyes snap up the moment Matt starts awake, breath catching and taking a moment to release. His gaze lingers -- on his brother's face, a moment. Considerably longer on the book. He leans out of his chair, reaching over to rest fingertips against Matt's forehead, his senses reaching out to gauge his current state. Matt rolls onto his side, curling around the book with a soft, miserable groan. His skin feels quite warm and clammy with sweat, but the muscles of his forehead ease at the touch of Lucien's fingers. His eyes slide shut. "{Is it working? They said the pain means it's working.}" Lucien trails his fingers lightly against Matt's forehead. His lips press together, tightly. The nausea and ache from the medication begins to ease off, a wash of soothing comfort slipping out from Lucien's gentle touch. There is a rather long delay before Lucien's eyes close. Very softly: "{No.}" | |
