ArchivedLogs:Springtime
| Springtime | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-04-06 "Yes, because you are normally so very reserved." |
| Location
<NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village | |
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. There's no trace of winter left /today/ in the air. Lucien's garden is brilliant, colourful, the flower beds blooming. /He/ is less so. Jeans, grey tank. Bare feet. Discarded gardening gloves; he's not working the soil just at the /moment/. He's lying on his back in the grass, hands folded behind his head, a copy of /The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle/ open on his chest. Jax looks springlike, himself. Nails done up like Easter eggs in swirls and zigzags and spots and stripes, shaggy hair and neat-trimmed goatee coloured in pastel green and purple and blue with an iridescent pearly flash that hair dye really shouldn't be able to achieve. Light blue cargo capris, white tank top dotted with myriad embroidered wildflowers. He's barefoot, entering from the house so presumably he's left his shoes behind in there. Big sunglasses on his eyes, a plastic Tupperware in his hands. "Luci-honey?" He sounds tentative. "I know I didn't call or nothin', I was jus' on my way by an' -- you busy? I can jus' leave this if it's not a good time." Lucien's eye cracks open. His head tips towards the door, lips pressing together thinly in a briefly displeased expression. His eyes slip past Jax, for a moment, looking over his shoulder -- then back up to his face. "Ah -- a good time for --?" His brows lift, just slightly. "What is the matter?" Jax shakes his head, nose crinkling up. "Matter? Ain't nothin' the /matter/, honey-honey." He takes a few steps in, toes curling down into the grass. "I brung you cookies. I jus' wanted t'stop by an' see how's you doin'. /An'/ give cookies. They're strawberry-citrusy. S'good an' springtimey." Lucien sits up slowly, sliding his book down to tuck a bookmark (shaped like a blade of grass) between its pages and set the book aside. The look he gives Jax is long and considering; there's a very faint widening to his eyes before he gestures the other man nearer, indicates the grass near him that Jax might sit. "Just came to bring cookies?" A faint warmth lights his eyes. "My apologies. I was not expecting that." "I know. I didn't call ahead or nothin', I'm hopeless. But my next appointment at the studio ain't for a bit an' I jus' wanted --" Jax shrugs a shoulder, bounding in further and dropping to sit on the grass beside Lucien. "Oh /gosh/, it's lovely in here. I never stop bein' impressed with how y'tend it." He sets the tupperware down near to Lucien's hand, lifts his own arm. "'kai give you a hug? I think this weather's /infectin'/ me. Spring in /all/ my bones." This draws a chuckle from Lucien, though he leans in to the hug. His arm lifts, returning it one-armed and brief, though his cheek touches to Jax with a faint flutter-wash of warmth spilling over. "Yes, because you are normally so very reserved. Wintry. Stand-offish. That is how I always describe you. Though if you feel you have an /excess/ of springtime to share, I might impose upon you further --" This is a little musing, as he leans back to pluck open the container and inspect its contents. "If you are taking commissions, that is." "That's what /everyone/ says about me. Dark an' distant an' downright frosty." Jax's tattoos are starting to glow brighter as he says this. He flops backwards into the grass, face tipping back up towards the sun. "For you, sugar? Sure. I got /so/ much warm I could share." | |
