ArchivedLogs:Some Days

From X-Men: rEvolution
Some Days
Dramatis Personae

Ion, Lucien, Matt

2016-05-30


"{My thanks.} This is, indeed, ours."

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 not very late yet, but well past suppertime, and the heat of the long weekend has broken to a mild, balmy spring night. Matt's text messages have grown less and less coherent as the evening wore on, the most recent one (some twenty minutes old) read, in a dizzying mix of poorly spelled French and poorly spelled English, '{returning} icy mind in {little} drunk {sorry}'. There's some prolonged jangling of keys at the front door. When it finally opens, Matt spills inside--might have actually fallen without support--smelling of whiskey, beer, and a melange of cheap bar food. He's dressed more or less as he was when he left, though his moss-green short-sleeve shirt is almost half-unbuttoned, his khakis grease-stained, and one of his brown oxfords untied. "You are very kind, you have a kindness about your..." One of his hands waves fails in the general direction of his companions. "That. I know these things. Have I mentioned I like your face?"

Ion seems on the surface a good deal more stable -- at least, he's propping Matt /up/, ropy arm curled around the other man to keep Matt reasonably upright as they tumble in through the door. There are signs, though -- the smell of whiskey is strong with him, as well, his eyes and grin both far too bright, an unsteady fluctuation of the house's power that he brings with him. He's dressed in stompy tall boots, a pair of pale chinos, a red button-down shirt, his battered MMMC kutte thrown on over top. "/Psh/," is his answer to this. "/Psh/, only, {maybe, seventeen, thousand time,} you could stand to mention it again, hermano."

He nudges the door closed behind them with a booted heel, turning his wide-wide eyes, wide-wide grin on the house. "HEY-o," he's announcing this to the RESIDENCE at LARGE, "I found you this -- brought you this -- fuck. {What's this -- what are you.}" He gives Matt a small jostling shake with this question. "Anyway it's /yours/."

There is first a rush, a scampering-thudding of paws, an eager loping-bounding black-and-tan pup rushing down the hall to greet them -- though she backs off at the sight of Ion, stopping short with a tilt of her head and uncertain slooow tentative tail-wag.

Shortly behind her, Lucien emerges from the living room, in jeans and very faintly opalescent white button-down. He pauses, lips pressing together as his eyes lift towards the lighting. Then shift down to Ion. Then continues forward to curl his arm beneath Matt's shoulders instead, gently transferring his brother's weight from Ion to himself. "-- Ah." Quiet. "{My thanks.} This is, indeed, ours."

"I like your face," Matt reiterates dutifully. "{It's a very good --}" He suddenly claps a hand over his mouth. "{Ah, so sorry, that's French--wait, this is still French.}" His eyes, bleary and unfocused as they are, light up when the pup bounds into the room. "Oh! Easy, girl! Ion is a friend. See?" He nuzzles Ion's shoulder /hard/--really more of a headbutt. "Luci!" For some reason he's /whispering/ now as his brother takes hold of him. "Luci, I had some alcohols." His head lolls heavily, dropping to his brother's shoulder. "You are so kind. Have I told you--" To Ion again. "--that my brother is the best? He's the best."

"OH SHIT bro, {you got a dog?}" Ion's glee is bright and broad -- and it's a fairly good thing that Lucien is there to claim his brother, because Ion relinquishes him perfunctorily, dropping straightaway to his knees to throw his arms. Outstretched. Hopeful. Towards the pup. "Shiiit look at -- {you got some fucking ears on you damn.} Fuck your brother, yo, this little one she the most precious."

Though he is tilting his head up regardless, dropping one arm to his side to brace on the floor as he studies Lucien. "I heard," he confides in Lucien, "that you the best."

Lucien shifts his hand slightly, adjusting his grip a little more securely around Matt as Ion moves away. "Alcohol?" His brows lift, a very faint tug at the corners of his lips. His vivid green eyes skip from Matt to Ion. Back. "Did you, really. I wouldn't have guessed. I don't suppose either of you would care for some water?"

Fleche, meanwhile, is far more willing to approach now that Ion is down on her level, continuing her forward lope to nose at his outstretched hand. Then at the one planted on the floor. Then at his boots.

"{Did you hear that he said fuck you.}" Still whispering, Matt translates this message, as if for fear Lucien might not have understood in it its original English. There's a giddy edge to him, a flush of fond amusement that he fights down, just barely holding off a tide of uncontrollable laughter. "He /is/ the best, though I think--she wins in the pupping department. Look at her pupping so well!" He manages to wriggle out of both of his shoes without so much as bending down to touch them. "I would /not/ care for some water, but I shall drink some. But do you know what I would care for is..." He trails off for a moment, groaning softly. Then snaps back to it. "Tea."

"{Who's a good dog? Who the /best/ dog? What a good -- sweet --}" Unfortunately for Fleche there is a faint crackling of energy that comes with Ion's touch -- tiny-tiny, smallzaps, but persistent in very small jolt. Zzp. Zzp. Zzp. As he scritches behind her ears, under her chin. "You full of shit though I already /know/ the best pups we just -- just left them -- fuck where'd we leave them. /Somewhere/."

He is back on his feet a moment later in a sudden bound -- though when Matt removes his shoes he stops, frowns down at his own boots, pulls himself up onto the entry-hall table to sit there so he can begin the tedious process of unlacing them. "There's water /in/ tea, yeah? Hey, Matt-brother, you got any whiskey? I think we need -- that."

"{I did catch that.}" Lucien steers Matt slowly towards the living room to settle him in an armchair. His hand lifts, palm rubbing slowly down against his face. "We -- do. Ah. I -- will get you water /and/ tea. You can examine my whiskey selection at your leisure." He isn't getting them anything just yet, admittedly, just staying crouched by the armchair after depositing Matt in it. "... where /did/ you leave the pups? Are they also -- they do not require a ride home, do they?"

"Tea is water, but /better./ It is the best water. Whiskey is also a water. We have /so/ much water." Matt lets go of Lucien only reluctantly, grumbling as he settles into the armchair. "Oh gods, /did/ we leave them somewhere?" He scrubs his face. "I thought Joshua took them...home?"

"Huh, what? They got bikes, they. Got bikes. Fly themselves home right?" Ion has wrangled his boots off, scrambling his way off the table and into the living room where he flop-leans half over the back of the couch. "/You/ ride?" He's bouncing, slightly, more eager-excited with this question as he looks down at Lucien. "Bet you look good in leather, huh? Yo, hermano, your best-of-brothers, he ride?"

"They are not -- /flying/ home /after/ all the drinking, are they?" A deeper frown pulls in at Lucien's brows. Followed quite soon thereafter by his thumb and forefinger pinching at the bridge of his nose. He's slipping his phone out of his pocket, rising slowly -- one hand dropping to Matt's shoulder in a gentle squeeze as the other sends a text. "I have gotten few complaints on the occasions I have donned leather. Will Baihao oolong serve adequately?"

"{Oh no!}" Matt claps a hand over his mouth and might well have tried to get up without Lucien's hand on his shoulder. "I hope they are alright. Drinking and hoverbiking is bad..." He paws at his brother's hand. "Luci can you--oh, you're already...doing it." He tilts his head up and beams a brilliant smile at Ion. "See I said he was the best, and he looks /so/ great in leather." Suddenly tugging at Lucien's hand again, "You should ride."

"You come, you ride, you ride with /us/, yeah? Fly with us. Ride with us. I mean maybe -- maybe we put some more ink on you --" Ion scrutinizes Lucien somewhat appraisingly, before following up with a tone of reassurance: "But that it's not a /requirement/." He tumbles over the couch, hops over the coffee table, wanders across the room to peer into one of the fish tanks. "{/Damn/, boy, you got some fancy-ass...} shit there a fucking dragon in here? {Sea-horse?} What's that?"

Lucien presses his fingertips to his lips, only giving his head a very small shake. "Tea. I said I was getting tea." He squeezes back at Matt's hand, a faint trickle of soothing warmth with his touch before he lets go. "Mistral is a sea-horse with aspirations of becoming a sea dragon. One day, perhaps. If he grows a little more fierce." He's still glancing down at his phone as he slips off to the kitchen.

"Get yourself a hoverbike. Find your corner of the sky." Matt leans gratefully into Lucien's touch until he leaves for the kitchen, his power stretching out to maintain contact with him, though he wisely does not attempt to actually /do/ anything with it. "Oh, and baihao would be lovely. Fantastic. /Perfect./" He slowly rolls enough over to watch Ion and the aquarium, chin propped on one palm, head slumped against the back of the chair. "Some believe any body of living water has a dragon guardian, whether you can see it or not..."

"Do /you/ believe that? The little horse, he protect your water? Fish. Neat." Ion's fingers are pressing up against the glass, his eyes wide. "/You/, too, hermano." Though he's still talking towards the fish tank, one hand is flapping -- vaguely in Matt's direction. "When we going to get /you/ into a cut. We can put some -- chess piece. Where the crossbone -- shit, did you hear from the pup?" Eyes wide, he's looking towards the kitchen now --

-- though he doesn't actually /wait/ long enough to hear the answer. Just blips from where he leans against the fish tank to vanish from view.

Lucien reappears in the kitchen doorway soon after this. Leans against the doorframe, arms loosely folded across his chest. He just looks at Matt, brows lifting.

"Not Mistral perhaps, but I think our aquarium has a guardian, yeah..." Matt's brows furrow in thought, but at length he just shakes his head. "/I/ don't look so great in leather. The X-jacket looks ridiculous on me--Ion wait--" But the other man is already gone by the time the 'wait' is half way out. He sighs and curls his legs under himself, resettling more comfortably into the armchair. "{This,}" he indicates his head kind of loosely with one open hand, "{this is why I shouldn't drink hard liquor.}"

Lucien vanishes -- if only briefly, reappearing shortly with a glass of water that he brings over to the armchair."{I happen to think you look excellent, in the /right/ leather.}" His lips twitch -- slightly upward. "The X-jackets look ridiculous on all of you." He kneels in front of the armchair, offering the glass up to his brother. "{Some days call for it.}"

"{If you're up to the challenge of working out a Bad Boy look for me, I'm not opposed. Note, however, my skeptical eyebrow.}" Matt /points/ at his left brow, slightly and elegantly arched. "Jax looks fabulous in his--but it is not leather, and he looks fabulous in just about everything. {Thank you.}" He accepts the water and downs most of it in one breath. One of his hands flops onto Lucien's shoulder. "{Some days. Right now I just want to be drunk forever.}" A small, rueful smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "I'll get over it."

"Duly noted. I feel quite equal to a challenge, though." Lucien turns his head, at the early beginning humming of the teakettle as it starts to work its way up to a full-blown whistle. He lifts his hand, squeezing at Matt's as he rises. "{Some tea will help on your path to recovery, no doubt.}"