ArchivedLogs:Solicitation

Solicitation
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Steve	2016-01-06 "{A hero's only useful as long as he toes the line.}"
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Sunroom - Lower East Side
Bright and warm, this room is set up to enjoy a little bit of the outdoors even year-round. Tall glass panes make up most of its wall in between wood supports, providing a wide three-sided view of the garden and yard outside. As well as the inner doors leading back into the kitchens and dining room, an outer door leads out to the outdoor gardens, as well. Inside, the room is airy and green -- a plethora of potted herbs and plants hang from the ceiling, as well as ring the room in a series of narrow wooden raised-beds that provide growing space for a selection of herbs year-round. Outside of the herb beds that ring the room, this place is designed simply to come and relax; quiet and simple, with clean stone floors and neutral-toned wicker furniture adorned with comfortable cushioning. Some of the chairs ring stone-and-glass tables for eating or conversing; a few more solitary seats come in the form of rocking chairs or netted hammock-chairs hanging from the ceiling. Outside, a cold wind whistles through the darkened city. The evening commute has died down to a trickle, and the nightlife is slow to resume so early in the week. Inside, the Commonhaus still smells of garlicky stirfry, though dinner is over and the residents who have their own residences have mostly wandered home. Steve sits alone in a wicker chair, with only a single lamp to light his sketching. Steam rises, slow and hypnotic, from a mug of cocoa on the table before him. The figure taking shape beneath the point of his pencil has large, bat-like wings, a long, tapered tail, and spiraling goat-like horns. He stops frequently to consider his next stroke, but never erases. There's a firm knock -- from outside, not from within. Lucien doesn't wait for it to be answered, pulling the door open to come in from the cold. He may not have been out in the cold very /long/ -- his peacoat isn't even buttoned closed, and despite the biting wind he lacks scarf or hat or gloves. Crisp green button-down, grey slacks, his hair more tousled than usual with the windy night. "{Good evening.}" His hands rub briskly together once he has shut the door behind him, though only for a moment before he quits his jacket, draping it over one arm. "{Might I interrupt?}" He's looking down at the sketch, then at Steve, brows lifting in questioning. Steve looks up at the knock, has only half-risen -- shedding the green fleece blanket he had wrapped around himself -- to answer the door when Lucien lets himself in. He's wearing a long-sleeve thermal shirt in a vivid blue-green ombre, and brown corduroy pants, both of which fit him and neither of which looks in the least torn, chewed, or mended. His shield lies against the chair in which he had been sitting. "{Good evening.}" He has kind of subsided back into his chair, setting his sketchbook on the table, and gestures at the spread of empty seating. "{Please, I do not mind. Would you like something to drink?}" "{Thank you, no.}" Lucien settles down into a rocking chair, draping his coat over its back. "{How are you holding up? The news reports,}" he says with a very faint twitch of smile, "{make it sound like you've had quite a trying time. I can't quite tell if you've been busy terrorizing the city or saving it from our -- /very/ menacing friend. Either way, exhausting, I'm sure.}" Steve shakes out the blanket and rearranges it over his lap. "{I am fine. The terrorizing-or-saving itself didn't take much out of me,}" he says, broad shoulders hitching up in a small shrug. "{The sleepover after was a bit exhausting, but I recover fast. How is the new year treating you and yours?}" "{Mmm. Jackson is -- still recovering.}" This is said quieter, a faint tightness creeping in to the corners of Lucien's eyes; for a moment his gaze shifts to the doors, flicking out the way he had come as his breath pulls in. "{You would think as often as they host him they would learn a little better hospitality but --}" His tongue clicks lightly against his teeth, eyes returning to Steve. "{I am glad you are well. I admit, I did not entirely stop by out of solicitousness. I gather you have seen the news coverage, by now?}" Steve nods, his brows gathering just a touch closer -- not quite a frown. He looks Lucien directly in the eyes. There's no hostility in his gaze, though it is searching. "{I've seen...a /range/ of news coverage. Why?}" "{Have you given much thought, yet, to how you will respond?}" Lucien's vivid green eyes meet Steve's steadily, his hands folded together in his lap. "{I suppose I was not altogether precise in my statement. I did not entirely stop by out of solicitousness -- over /you/. You may have gathered that Jackson is in a somewhat precarious position at the moment. He was already /on/ probation for rather specious charges when this happened -- and while it is not politically tenable for the government to go after him for his activities regarding Prometheus they are /more/ than happy to throw the book at him over whatever other legalistic nonsense they can find.}" In his lap, his fingers are curling in tighter against each other. "{/You/, though, are in a different position entirely. America's hero,}" there's a small pause, here, his hands relaxing to press flat against his knees. "{-- And /you/ are not a mutant.}" "{I -- gathered.}" Steve's reply is clipped. For a moment, it seems possible that is all he intends to say on the subject. But then, "{At the very least, I should declare that I am human, without implying that it makes me /better/ than a mutant.}" He runs a hand through his blond hair, which has grown shaggy about the ears for lack of a trim. "{If I'm to use that sordid publicity, though, I want to do it in a way that exposes the madness of this law, and every law like it.}" Softer, as he leans back into his chair, "{I'd give a lot more than just speeches to keep him out of prison and with his family. I just don't know how.}" His eyes snap back to Lucien. "{But /you/ do.}" "{I do.}" Lucien's head inclines slightly. "{You say 'madness', but that hardly encompasses --}" His jaw has tightened, his eyes lifting to the ceiling. His head gives a very quick shake before he looks back to Steve. "{You'll likely have to give more than speeches. But if you are willing, yes. Jackson is already quite determined to fight these charges, gods bless him. I fully intend to provide him a much firmer ground from which to do it. If it came down to it,}" he wonders, fingers tapping against his knee, "{would you be willing to get tested? Someone, certainly, will ask.}" "{Tested for...}" Steve's brows knit tightly, but then unknit themselves before he has finished asking the question. "{For the...X-gene, is it? Absolutely. But to what end? I doubt the fact that I got my abilities from an experiment rather than an accident of genetics will prove the law unjust.}" He finally picks up his cocoa and sucks down half of it without much apparent enjoyment. "{Either they will throw out /my/ charges but not Jax's, or they will amend the law to include non-mutants with extraordinary abilities.}" "{For the X-Gene, yes.}" Lucien's head tips in a nod. "{And I am guessing they are very likely to do the former. I'm rather hoping for it, actually. You're a rather unique case. As far as I'm aware, the first --}" Lucien hesitates, drumming his fingers against his knee again. "/metahuman/ {to be charged under this murderous piece of legislation. It's rather a happy accident that you happen to be so well-loved. They have not before had to attempt the legal gymnastics it will take to explain how they will justify discriminating against one set of people with enhanced abilities and not another. Either they convict you or --}" His hands turn up, fingers spreading. "{Things will get very tricky. And do you really believe they will convict you?}" Steve mouths the word 'metahuman' with slightly upraised brows. "{I see. I have little faith in the government's attachment to being consistent, but you know this era's social politics better.}" He smoothes the blanket on his lap, eyes defocusing for a moment. "{I...don't know. A hero's only useful as long as he toes the line. If I become enough of a political liability, they can tear me down as easily as they built me up.}" "{Does that worry you?}" A faint crease furrows Lucien's brows, his eyes searching Steve's face. Steve gives Lucien an odd look, but doesn't answer immediately. Doesn't hesitate all /that/ long, either. "{No. I never wanted to be a hero. Just wanted to do what's right.}" Lucien nods, lifting a hand to press forefinger and thumb at the bridge of his nose. The small frown slips away with the slow rub of his fingers. "Good. {I certainly cannot promise that we will win this.}" His hand drops back to his lap, a tired edge to his voice. His eyes have fallen to Steve's shield, a faintly heavier settling to his shoulders. "{But on this battleground, at least, I know how to fight.}"