ArchivedLogs:Small Indulgences
| Small Indulgences | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-03-31 A little sweet, a little savoury. |
| Location
<NYC> Emma's Apartment - East Village | |
Emma's apartment is a one bedroom apartment in the East Village, the walls left their pristine, off-white that makes apartments more easily marketable, with a white sofa and armchair. The apartment seems sparse and newly inhabited, more so than her spartan office. The kitchen is well stocked with a tendency to leave white and chrome appliances where they can be seen. Other than that, only doors adorn the walls now, with two on the right, beside the kitchen, leading to a small half bath and a small closet, while a coat closet is on the left, with a door leading to the bedroom. Emma is in the kitchen, trying to figure out which restaurants deliver on Sunday, finding each phone call she makes leads to nothing. She's a bit frustrated at this point and expecting company. She chooses instead to send a text to Lucien. 'There's only chinese delivering today and I can't stomach it. I'm sorry. Brunch is going to be canceled by the holiday and poor planning on my part.' The text comes back shortly: 'I can never stomach Chinese. How do you feel about crepes? I might be slightly delayed.' Emma straightens up her stack of menus and stuffs them back in a drawer, then grabs her tablet and closes the delivery service website. She finds her phone buzzing with information a moment later and unlocks it to see Lucien's message. She replies: 'Crepes sound delightful. I look forward to your arrival.' Lucien is, as promised, somewhat delayed. He shows up some while after expected, dressed in soft greys -- dove-grey slacks, pale grey dress shirt, darker-grey vest. He has a paper bag held in one hand, and his other is lifting to buzz at the door to Emma's building. Emma moves to the intercom posted on the wall near the door and presses the comm button. "Yes?" "{Good morning, Emma,}" Lucien's voice comes back, "{Delivery.}" "Oh, do come in." Emma presses the unlock button and throws the deadbolt on her door. She steps away into the kitchen to turn the fire on under a pot of water. She's dressed in a large wrap sweater in cream, with a white tank top underneath. Her leggings are lighter than her sweater, but darker than her shirt. For now, her feet are bare and her hair brushed and left to hang in waves around her face and shoulders. She's pulling out tea cups next and filling them with hot water from the tap. Around the right time for Lucien to have made his way upstairs, she's at the door to pull it open and check on him. Lucien greets Emma with a small small, a lean in to peck her lightly on the cheek, a soft wash of warm-soothing coming with the brief touch. "I was not sure whether you would prefer sweet or savoury, so I procured both." He lifts the bag indicatively. "You have done enough planning lately. Brunch should continue regardless." "Yes, I rather thought so myself and that's how I ended up, on easter morning, with no desire to face the world and no delivery person who would have me." Emma waves a hand to invite Lucien in, then waits for his entrance before closing and locking the door behind him. She takes the bag and heads towards the kitchen. "I'm afraid you'll find me a far less well planned individual here, than at work. I haven't purchased a table of any kind yet." She looks around as she starts to unpack the bag on the kitchen counter. "Then again, I'm rarely here. How has your day been?" The bag has four crepes -- one with basil, chicken, goat cheese, tomato, mushroom, artichokes; one with parmesan, avocado, asparagus, broccoli, spinach; one with lemon, sugar, blueberries; one with nutella and bananas. "Everyone needs their space to be off-duty." Lucien slips his shoes off at the door, following Emma into the apartment. "My day has been warm. Spring seems to have seen fit to finally arrive." There's a quiet reserve to his words, something rippling soft and tired across his smooth mental landscape. "Quieter, than the past couple days. Has it been a madhouse, for you?" Emma fetches some plates from the cupboard and sets them down beside the crepes and the pauses to turn off the kettle for a moment. "Lucien, be a dear and pick out some tea to go with this. I have a fair few loose leaves now, and I'd like to know how you go about choosing." She rubs at the bridge of her nose and pauses to look at him. "Are you okay? Has Nox recovered? I've been running around, dealing with insurance adjusters and demolition crews, just to get the place to not be a hazard for today's holiday festivities." Lucien glances back at the crepes on the counter, lips pursing slightly. There's a moment of consideration before he heads to the cabinets to look over the tea selection. "I am well," he answers, as he considers his options, "Nox recovers quickly. I feel that you might have the most tiring part of any of us, in the aftermath of --" His lips press together. He draws a black tea out of the cabinet, eventually, black with almond. "Brunch," he says, moving over to set the tea down, prise the top open. "I suppose it might be possible to turn this into an /opportunity/. Rebuild the ballroom even more magnificent than before." "Oh, yes. The opportunity is there and I'm attempting to wring everything I can out of it." Emma draws in a deep breath and leans against the counter, watching Lucien's decision making process from afar. She's really quiet on the mental front today, possibly - but not entirely - burned out. She eyes the crepes. "Do you have a preference for what you eat? You should speak up. I might eat them all." She then stirs and walks up behind Lucien, hugging him and resting her forehead against the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm dreadfully tired. I hope you don't mind. Just a little physical comfort goes a long way." Lucien accepts the touch with a slight shift of posture, bolstering up into a steady-strong post for Emma's leaning. He ccentuates physical comfort with another soft flush, warm, refreshing if not actually energizing. Just quiet soothing, as he busies himself measuring out tea leaves to steep the tea. "Eat them all," he says with a quiet laugh, "I think you have more than earned yourself some indulgence." There's a quiet moment, preparing the teapot, adding the hot water, before he just leans with hands braced against the counter, continuing to seep soft traces of feeling into Emma. "It /is/ a rather heavy dose of weight to fall on your shoulders all at once. If there is anything I could do to remove a portion of it --" The offer trails off into quiet mental suggestion; whispering in the right ears, buttering up the right people, to make this transition process smoother. Emma smiles as she holds him and inhales deeply before pulling away, kissing his clothed shoulder lightly. "Thank you. I think I'll opt for half of each to start." She pulls away and starts to cut and dish out the crepes, half of each on each plate, making sure that the plates look nice with their garnishes and all. She then turns to watch Lucien as he preps the tea. "I appreciate the offer of help, too." She draws in a deep breath and considers. "I have an architect that I am looking at bringing, for his other talents as well as his architectural skills. But the poor guy has himself embroiled in immigration issues." "Immigration issues. Tedious." Lucien glances up, not moving from his vigil over the teapot. "Is he a good architect? There are many paths through immigration, with the right --" A beat of hesitation, a quiet note of curiosity in his mind. "-- other talents?" It is not really a /finish/ to his previous thought but a new surfacing question. << Yes, despite not being there physically, Friday, he was the one who actually stopped all that horrific mess it it's place. >> Emma frowns as she crosses her arms across her chest. << He's the reason I can likely never be alone in the same room with Norman Osborn again -- but at the same time, a good source of information on what exactly Osborn could do. >> "The buildings he's shown me have really inspired confidence, but obviously, I haven't worked with him before." She wets her lips, thoughts running through her head too quickly to vocalize. "If he doesn't pan out, I guess it's okay, but if he does, he could be a huge asset in -- Well, everything. You don't know how many members would be thrilled to have a club recommended architect - And not one who is already a member and charges way too much." << I never did get a chance to ask you, Lucien. What on earth did you think about Osborn's announcement? It's sad I can't feel safe to talk in my own apartment. >> << Stopped it. Despite not being there physically. >> The quiet undertones of Lucien's voice are definitely /intrigued/ by this statement. << How does that work, exactly? >> He busies himself removing the basket from the teapot, letting tea trickle down from the basket into the pot so it does not drip anywhere else. "I imagine it is quite useful to have all /kinds/ of skilled contacts. Now," he says, with a quiet trace of wry amusement, "more than ever." << Sad, but probably prudent. I feel the man could be terrifying. But there are likely a whole host of people with a stake in making sure Osborn does not amass his own personal mutant army, and that will slow his plans, most likely. >> There's a range of mental suggestions as to /who/ he thinks has these stakes: the /government/, most notably; Jackson and his people (there is some mental colour here that implies a connection to Jackson that would be heavily invested in the idea of a mutant school, though it is too vague as to suggest /why/); Emma and others like her. 'Anyone with their heads on straight' rounds out this list. << He's a sort of infectious telepath - who was able to be inside certain party goers and then extend his influence from there. He locked down the three once their shielding collapsed, and was working on the girl when Osborn took her out. >> In case Lucien didn't actually know the lay of the land. << The others were just able to slow them down while he worked. I suppose he is one of their group, in the end. >> with this, Emma projects an image of Jackson to Lucien rather than saying his name. << doesn't mean I can't use him. >> Emma clears out of Lucien's way while he's making tea and fetches a fork and a knife for each of them, using hers to start to dig into her savory crepes. "Oh, Please don't forget to eat, darling. Crepes get cold so fast." She smiles as she pops a bit with chicken in her mouth, chewing with full appreciation for what is dancing across her tongue. She lets out a soft mmmm and cuts herself another bite, hungry. "Anyway, I've talked to the club about bringing in this individual, but they say the holiday is slowing things down. People went home from the party and just decided to take days off - not that I can blame them." Lucien pours two cups of the tea, setting one down by Emma's plate. "Mmm. I can see how the holiday would interfere. Just trying to get brunch was an ordeal." He slips around into place beside Emma, sipping at his own tea before cutting into the chicken crepe to take a bite. << It could perhaps be all the more reason /to/ use him. They are young, >> as though Lucien is not Jackson's age /himself/, << but they seem to know quite a lot that has been going on behind the scenes. And they are -- strong. >> This comes with a thoughtful sort of remembering of the gala events, replaying in his mind all that went down before the chaos ended. << And getting stronger in more ways than just their abilities, if Mr. Holland's recent press coverage is any indication. -- Infectious telepathy. That could be quite useful. >> "You know, I am sure there is a person or two out there who could be convinced to at least look some paperwork over, holiday or no. After all, an asset to the club is an asset to all its members." And, unspoken: << And I can be quite convincing. >> "Please do, at your leisure," Emma requests, watching him eat for a moment before turning her eyes to her plate. She decides to try the other one. "I'll email you the information after brunch and then you do what you can with it." << Being away from home does not seem to agree with him. >> She begins to savor the vegetable crepe immensely, eating half of her portion quickly before remembering that her tea is there. "My dear, you have delightful taste in food. I feel a little ashamed to have been a college student so long in the city and to have missed out on the tastier restaurants." << Mr. Holland may be starting to play the game, but he seems too much a novice and too good of a person to really be of use to me. At least he knows me as a woman of my word. I told him I would need help defending my guests, and lo and behold, I did. >> << He seems like a good person. >> Lucien says this a little wearily and not much like a compliment. "I have help," he admits, with a spot of amusement, "the course of my work takes me to many of my clients' favourite spots, and they tend to have good taste in food." He is working his way steadily through the chicken crepe, somewhat too lost in thought to be properly savouring the meal. "I have my afternoon free, anyway," he says, lightly, "I'm sure I could make a call or two." Probably not the telephone type. The flickering mental image involved in this suggestion is short on clothes. "Then, I should probably release you as soon as we're done eating. Wouldn't want to tax you too much if you afternoon is shaping up to be busy." Emma moves back to the chicken and nibbles more on it. "I could take a bath. I did manage to get myself a place with a glorious bath tub." She's now thinking about what scented oils and bathsalts she could use instead of the feel of skin pressed against skin. She might be projecting a little. Lucien's lips quirk upwards. "You /have/," he echoes his earlier sentiment, "earned yourself a spot of indulgence." "Baths are, indeed, an indulgence. It's almost a luxury in just the amount of time it takes to have one. An hour ticks away without the ability for anyone to meet with me or reach me by electronic means." Emma smiles, bringing her tea cup to her lips and inhaling the aroma of almonds. "Steam is excellent for one's complexion and hot water eases muscle tension." She reaches a hand up to her neck and rubs. "I have been so tense." Lucien finishes one of the crepe slices, following it up with a long drink of tea. "Hot water," he says, eyes focusing down on his tea, "always goes a long way towards relaxing me, too." He is /enjoying/ his tea. He finishes the cup and sets it down, though, slipping over behind Emma. His hands are warmed by the teacup as he reaches for her shoulders, practiced fingers kneading into her muscles. It comes, as it often does, with a soft wash of warmth, relaxation. "You have plenty of reason to be. But, too, you have those who can ease the load." Emma rubs her cheek against Lucien's hand, sliding her sweater down around her elbows so it does not encumber the massage. "Oh Lucien. I hope you never feel like I am neglecting you or what you have to offer." She looks over her shoulder at him and smiles a little more. "I suppose I might be underestimating you -- and should leave it to you to tell me when I've over taxed you. You have yet to show me the extent of your stamina." "How much time, exactly, /do/ you have free today for indulgence?" Lucien's fingers continue working at Emma's muscles, kneading slow and firm at her shoulders, her neck. At a slight lean inward, his words come close to her ear. "I mean, this afternoon's work can wait a while longer. If you want to try my stamina." "I have all day," Emma smiles bright and giddy for the first time all day. "You're the one with plans." "Interestingly enough," Lucien murmurs this, this time, with a brush of lips to the side of Emma's neck, "my plans have just changed." "Amazing," Emma replies, in a sultry amused tone. "Are you a telepath, Lucien, or a technopath? Able to send messages to your later appointments and postpone or cancel them while your hands are busy with me?" She turns around, dipping a finger in the nutella in one of her sweet crepes and transferring the nutty chocolate to her mouth. "Do you have hidden mutant powers you have not told me about?" "It helps," Lucien says, with a hint of amusement himself, "that I had yet to /make/ my later appointments." Since Emma had not yet even emailed him the pertinent information! "So notifying them that I will be late is an easy enough task." His hands do not stop, when Emma turns, though their touch gets briefly lighter to let her shift beneath them. The quiet flush of warmth strengthens, as he watches her finger slip between her lips. "There is much I have not told you about," also sounds quietly amused, if quietly warm as well. "But you will have plenty of time to learn." Emma finishes licking clean her finger before leaning forward and kissing Lucien's lips lightly. "We should finish our deserts first. Dessert is my favorite part of the meal and I shan't ignore them for personal pleasure." She leans back against his hands for a moment feeling the way they move against her muscles, looking Lucien up and down. "I look forward to learning more about you over time, but now, we eat." She no longer feels pressed to use utensils, instead rolling up her remaining savory crepe in her fingers and popping it in her mouth to chew, all the while, rolling up the lemon blueberry one. Lucien takes his place beside her again, humming a quiet acknowledgment. "Now," he agrees lightly, "we eat." --- from: Lucien Tessier <ltessier@hfc.org> to: Emma Frost <efrost@hfc.org> date: Sun, Mar 31, 2013 at 5:21 PM subject: The Club's new ballroom.
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