ArchivedLogs:Presumptions and Assumptions

Presumptions and Assumptions
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Lucien	2013-02-09 Iolaus tries to be nice. Lucien is arrogant.
Location <NYC> Russian Tea Time - Upper East Side
This chic and upscale restaurant serves surprisingly little tea for their name -- though it can be found, on their menu, and quite good quality at that. Elegant and understated, there is an old-world feel to this place. For those who make their dress code (and book reservations enough in advance), the food here is good, hearty Russian fare, although the main attraction here comes not from their extensive food menu but from their extensive bar. Their vodka comes three double-shots to a flight, for those with strong constitutions (and a safe ride home.) It is the middle of the afternoon, and Iolaus is sharply dressed in a black suit with faint gold pinstripes struck thinly throughout the fabric. He sits at another table across from a less fancily dressed man, conversing, but the conversation seems to be winding down, due to Iolaus' partner's increasing lack of sobriety. "I understand, Mister Rudolph. Come on, let's get you a cab home, hm?" he says, smile still on his face but frozen in a false look too surely unnoticeable by his companion. Even as he says so, he stands to help the other man hobble out of the restaurant to stuff him in a cab. There is, conveniently, a cab pulling up as Iolaus goes to look for one. Lucien is getting out of it, dressed sharp as well in ash-grey. Vest. Tie. He steps carefully over a snowdrift at the sidewalk as Iolaus's companion emerges, holding the cab door open. "Strong tea," he murmurs, quietly. Iolaus closes the door and gives a little wave as it winds away, then pinches his eyebrow. "I've found this tends to be a good place to introduce investors. They're comfortable, it's fancy..." he waves a hand and shrugs. "I've never had one get straight-up trashed at the table. I thought the maitre'd was going to shoot me." he sighs, gesturing towards back into the restaurant. "What brings you here?" he asks, looking over the other man and giving him a small smile. "Unwinding after work. Or that was the plan. Perhaps not quite that much unwinding." Lucien watches the cab pull off into the snowy-slushy streets, tugging his coat around himself but then just standing, frowning slightly at the building facade as Iolaus starts back. "I am not so sure I have the taste for it now, though. How are things with you, Iolaus?" "They go. Join me?" Iolaus says, a smile on his lips and in his voice even as he steps to the door and holds it open for the other man. "I promise, one drink will leave you no where near as sauced as my potential investor. It's the whiskey that did him in, not my company." he says, a twinkle in his eyes. Lucien hesitates, lingering with gloved hands clasping behind his back and a slight furrow in his brow. "Perhaps a drink," he allows, heading in as Iolaus holds the door. "Did you enjoy the show the other night?" He sounds a little /dry/ in this question. "It was..." Iolaus trails off, closing the door behind him and walking back to pull the other man's chair out, politely. "Well. It was unexpected. I mean, don't get me wrong - I enjoyed it, very much. But..." he trails off, circling around to sit down in his own seat. "Well. I am surprised that we didn't get lynched just for being in the audience. If I had known she would have done that, I think I might have brought Jane along for the ride." "I saw Melinda yesterday. She was quite upset. She put her neck on the line to give Shelby a chance, and Shelby nearly cost her her job as thanks." He slips his coat off, hanging it on the back of a chair opposite Iolaus. "When I mentioned enabling her in bad habits rather than helping her better herself, this is exactly the kind of thing I meant. She /uses/ people, and even if you aren't there to bear the brunt of it, others will." Iolaus is silent for several moments, considering, and then he shrugs his shoulders. "I wish I was more surprised." he sighs, looking down at the table. "She reacted... quite badly to my suggestion of her looking at the schools." He shakes his head. "Also, at the suggestion of getting a job." he looks back up at the other man. "Still. We'll see what happens when she actually goes out and looks at the school. I think it would be good for her..." he trails off, lips pursing. "If we could get her to go." "That does not surprise me at all. Bettering herself actually takes work. A thing she seems rather terrified of." Lucien's jaw is tight, his fingers resting against the edge of the table in a hard press. "You are aware that she is a fairly repulsive human being, right? She is a /con artist/. She came over yesterday to --" He frowns, here. "I am not, actually, sure what. Tell me I was an asshole, I suppose, for daring to suggest a job as a more stable life path. My five year old sister has more maturity. School would do her good." "I think they will admit her." Iolaus says, sighing and looking up towards the ceiling. "But even if I threw her out, I doubt she'd go unless she thought it would benefit her. I figure there's nothing really that'd make her do anything if she didn't want to do it." He turns his eyes back on Lucien. "I don't think she's a con artist. I think she's... just entirely wrapped up in herself." "You don't think she's a con artist because she is conning you," Lucien says, tired and bland. "If she refuses to go to school and refuses to get a job and refuses to take any steps to improve her life are you just going to keep supporting her while she keeps using everyone around her?" "No. If she refuses to go to school, she will pay rent. If she doesn't want to pay rent, she will leave." Iolaus says, voice firm. "I'm generous - maybe stupid - but not that stupid." he says, softly. He looks up at the other man, frowning. "I don't think that will really help, in the long run." "It would not buy her much of a future, in the long run," Lucien acknowledges. "Though I think she just wore out my last shreds of caring what sort of future she has. Melinda is a good person. She cares about Shelby. Shelby does not give a shit about anyone but Shelby. If she seemed even /slightly/ concerned with -- anything at all, there are so many people lined up to help her. And all she does is have whiny entitled tantrums. It os not endearing. I wanted to help. Now I just want her not to ruin my friends' lives." Iolaus' lips purse slightly. "Melinda..." he trails off, pursing his lips. "I don't know. She certainly doesn't seem to fit the characteristics of a sociopath. Teenager, definitely. Sociopath? No." he makes a gesture, beaconing over a waiter to get a menu for Lucien. "But, perhaps. How old is she? Teenager? It's certainly the right time-frame." "Is there a difference?" Lucien says, wryly. "Sociopaths don't all go around murdering people, despite what Dexter would have you think. -- I'll have whatever today's flight is," he says, waving away the menu. "And the stereotypical teenager is remarkably concerned only with themselves. Though I do have to say, most of the /actual/ teenagers I know don't fit the mold." Iolaus chuckles and leans back in his chair, picking up his own glass and turning it briefly in the light, watching the liquid swirl in the glass. "Well, clearly, you cultivate good company." he says, with a small, almost wry smile. "There is one defining difference between teenagers and sociopaths, though." he says. "Teenagers grow out of it." He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. "Only if they choose to," Lucien counters with a shake of his head. "Have you met half the adults in this city? Without a push to be better people, many -- never will be." "There is a line between cutthroat and completely uncaring, but I agree, it is a fine one." Iolaus concedes, with the same nod of his head he had previously when tipping over his king. He sighs and shakes his head. "Let's speak no more of it, now. It will be what it will be, and we have to see what has been set in motion before we plan another path." He pauses, looking down at the table. "How is your brother?" "I will keep my fingers crossed, then, that she chooses properly." Lucien sounds tired, but actually sincere on this count. The question about his brother just pulls his expression still more drawn. "He has his good days," he says, quiet, his brow creasing. He looks grateful when his triple-glasses of vodka arrive. He knocks the first one back without bothering to pause, and thanks the waiter. Iolaus watches the other man hammer back the first vodka for a moment, lips pursing. He nods, once. "That's... good to hear." He looks off into the distance, eyes unfocusing for a moment, then sharpening back on the other man. "We should play, again, sometime soon." he says, suddenly. "Next time, I bet I will win. I have been rehearsing my midgames." Lucien doesn't answer this, immediately. He looks down at the remaining two glasses, and his fingers curl around one of them. He doesn't lift it, though. He just stares into a long moment. "-- Hm?" he says, then, and then, a trifle distracted, "Yes, perhaps. We shall see. I get a lot of practice in. Matt is better than I by far." "Perhaps I will come and play with him sometime, then." Iolaus says, a smile spreading on his lips. "Though if he is better than you, I am not sure I will make much of a challenging game for him. I was barely a match for you, yourself." he says, taking another sip of his drink. He is silent for several moments before he asks, softly. "How are you doing, Lucien?" "It was close, at times," Lucien demurs, still looking down at his drink. When he looks back up he has a slight smile on his lips. "Doing? Well enough. Work is busy. Looking forward to a warm night at home out of this blizzard." Iolaus' eyes search the other man, and he murmurs something under his breath in Greek. "Work being busy can be a good thing or a bad thing. Is it enjoyable, or no? Does it cause you to seek out places like this to decompress, or is that life itself?" he presses, voice gentle. Lucien laughs, quiet, lifting his glass, now; this one he sips slower, actually savouring the taste contemplatively. "Work is work. Am I your patient now, doctor? I think you have the more stressful of our occupations. Nobody leaves meetings with me wanting me dead." "I am no psychologist. Before my work with the clinic, my specialty was consulting on people's genetics. Their happiness or sadness is of no consequence to their genetic makeup, though the reverse may not be true." Iolaus says, smiling slightly but with the same focused look in his eyes. "Nor did I compare your stresses with mine - merely inquired after them." "You may be no psychologist, but I imagine any good doctor has to learn /some/ skill at teasing out problems." Lucien rolls his wrist, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Perhaps I enjoy the taste of vodka. The quality here is excellent." "Perhaps you do. In fact, I imagine that such is true." Iolaus admits, softly, taking another sip of his drink. "And yet... I think both can be true. I think you could very well enjoy the taste of vodka... and also be under some not insignificant amount of stress and, perhaps, unhappiness." "I could very well," Lucien accedes with a tip of his head, sipping again at his drink. "Who in this city is not?" "Deflection, again. Well, I can take the hint as well as anyone else, and I will leave it alone." Iolaus says, smile cracking yet wider. He nods his head, once, respectfully. "I will be around if you change your mind." "Why?" Lucien asks, bland and direct. "You barely know me." "Because you are interesting." Iolaus says, eyes sparking with interest. "Because I am interested in hearing what you have to say." he replies, openly. "And knowing more about you." In answer to this, Lucien pulls out his wallet, slipping a card from inside it. Plain and black, embossed in green with his name and a phone number and nothing else. "If you are interested in knowing more about me," he says, passing the card across to Iolaus. "I take appointments most days." Iolaus takes the card without looking at it and puts it in his pocket. "And there you miss my interest," he says, softly, shaking his head once back and forth. "If I was interested only in knowing you /biblically/, I would certainly call. But that is..." he shakes his head again, a smile on his face. "I will settle for chess, only, if that is what you prefer." He frowns. "And Shelby." "You are interested in knowing Shelby biblically?" Lucien's eyebrows raise. "Funnily, a good many of my clients have never seen me with my clothes off. It is my time I charge for," he says with a slice of a smile, "Nothing more. One even simply enjoys a good few rounds of Go." Iolaus winces and pulls a face. "/God/ no. If she is this self-interested with her clothes /on/, I have no desire to create the black hole of self-concentration that would certainly occur if someone took them /off/." he says, shuddering once. "And, perhaps, I misspoke. I am interested in knowing you, good and bad. Somehow, I suspect even those clients who have never seen you naked have equally not known you in the fashion that I describe. After all, you are concentrating on their needs, not your own." Lucien drains his second glass, and turns his hand up in a shrug. "That stems, perhaps, from a common misapprehension about the type of work I do. For sure, there are some clients who come to see to their own needs and nothing more. There are a good many more who come because they genuinely enjoy my company. A transaction being business does not have to mean it is wholly selfish, on either end. Your patients pay you. Do you not genuinely care about any of them?" "I did not say that you didn't care for your clients." Iolaus points out. "Nor that you didn't get anything out of the relationship that you have. I certainly care for many of my patients, and I am certainly more than happy to discuss with them all manners of things and tell them how I am doing." He looks the other man in the eye, taking another sip and setting his glass back down on the table. "Yet I am equally bound in what parts of myself I /can/ share. I am required to maintain a professional distance with myself, so that I can continue to help them. I imagine it is the same with you. You can share yourself... but only in a particular context." "Hardly," Lucien shakes his head, picking up the third glass to sniff at thoughtfully before taking a sip. "I take no oaths. I have no ethics boards reviewing my conduct. Believe me, my job is nothing like yours save, I suppose, that ideally we both make people feel better." "So, you feel as free to share the parts of yourself with your clients as you would a friend?" Iolaus asks, curiously. "Their presence lifts you up, makes you feel happy and contented, and when your time with them is up you wish for more?" "You make a lot of assumptions about what I share with my friends," Lucien says, with a thin twist of smile, "or how they make me feel." "Perhaps I do. But in that, at least, I would simply call them poor friends." Iolaus says, settling back in his chair. "I admit, much of my knowledge on the matter is theoretical, but the few that I have had have left me much the richer for the experience." "Perhaps," Lucien says, dryly, "you value friends much higher than I do. Or escorts much lower." He drains the glass, quickly, and slips out a couple bills from his wallet, enough to cover his flight with a hefty tip. "You have my number. Good day, Iolaus." "Clients much lower, in how they affect their escorts." Iolaus says, seated, looking at the other man from the chair. He then stands politely to his feet, nodding his head, once. "Good day, Lucien." "I tire of stereotypes about them near as easily as I do stereotypes about us." Lucien's expression is a little -- well, tired. He tips his head in a nod, plucking his coat up to shrug it back on, and head out.