ArchivedLogs:Ought

Ought
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2017-09-16 "Then will /you/ help him tell the freaks what's best for us?"
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. The /Dear Evan Hansen/ soundtrack is playing quietly through the downstairs, and the smells of breakfast -- spinach and tomato and goat cheese pesto omelettes, garlicky-rosemary-tomato scones, onion and green pepper hash, Earl Grey tea -- mingle pleasantly with the music. In the kitchen breakfast nook Lucien has gotten most of the way through his breakfast, plate nearly empty and his tea as well, though the glass of orange juice beside is still largely full. He's distracted from his eating at the moment by his phone, quickly swiping out the latest of several text messages before setting the phone back down again with a somewhat bemused shake of head. Sitting catty-corner from his brother, Matt has made less headway in the tackling of his breakfast, though he is chipping away at it all the same, nursing his tea between small, appreciative bites. He's managed to get himself dressed--blue t-shirt with a cartoon figure reading beneath an arch of books, bracketed by the words 'Best Time Machine EVER!' and black cargo shorts--but looks only marginally recovered from his week, complexion pale and dull, head propped up in the palm of his hand as if his neck just isn't quite up to supporting it alone. He lifts his eyebrows at Lucien. "What news?" "That Fegenbush man," Lucien has picked up his fork again but sets it back down, "called Steve this morning to talk about --" A very faint, puzzled pause. "-- Retweeting that X-Press piece. He was of the opinion it made it difficult for him to help," the mildest of emphasis on this word, "the mutant community." Matt's eyebrows raise just a touch higher, and he shifts the hand supporting his head such that his fingers loosely cover his lips--if not quite the incipient smile spreading across them. "Did he." It's not a question. "That's an...interesting choice. I don't suppose Steve is going to ah, help him help us poor benighted freaks?" "Steve," now Lucien sinks slightly back in his seat, fingertips pressing lightly to his chest in time with a heavy /sigh/, "recommended my services to him." "Oh?" The forward shift of Matt's posture is subtle, but the gleam of interest in his green eyes is not. "Then will /you/ help him tell the freaks what's best for us? Or..." He eyes go wide with affected shock. "Do you suppose the man actually wants to /understand/ the plebeians stubbornly refusing to accept his magnanimity?" "That is a lot to hope. Steve suspects he may simply want to convince people of his own rightness. And while I have some small skill in the field of public opinion --" Lucien shakes his head, picks up his tea for another slow sip. His eyes close, slowly, as he pulls the swallow down. "Well. It would be a tall order." All sarcasm fled, Matt's smile is suddenly warm and guileless. "You are more than /competent/ enough to accomplish either goal. Whether you /ought/ is a different question altogether." He sips his tea and gives a soft, pleased hum. "You should agree to a consultation, at least to find out what he's after." "The question of what I /ought/ do could occupy us quite some time." Lucien sets his cup back down. His fingers curl around his phone again; slow to pick it up, slow to write out another text. "But a consultation might be interesting. Let us know where he stands." His lips compress, faintly. He trades phone for orange juice, setting the former carefully down to take a long pull of his drink. "{Or where he ought to stand.}" Matt nods, finally picking up his fork again, though he doesn't resume eating at once. "Certainly he has has plenty of recourse for other PR consultants if you find his stance untenable." He delicately parts a piece of omelette from the whole with the edge of his fork. "{But then, if you find his stance untenable, we wouldn't really want his venture to succeed.}" From behind the rim of his glass, Lucien's lips are only half-visible as they quirk into a faint smile.