ArchivedLogs:Straw to Gold

Straw to Gold
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien	2015-02-16 "Perhaps the storm takes inspiration from me." (Part of future past TP.)
Location <HFC> Athenaeum - Hellfire Clubhouse
For all the extravagance sprinkled throughout the Club, this room is in many ways its gem. Its collection is vast, stacks and stacks of volumes lining the meticulously tended library shelves. Its trove of first editions and rare books is kept carefully in climate-controlled cases under the watchful eye of the mansion's librarian. High-backed leather chairs and plush couches provide quiet reading spaces beneath soft lighting, and tall windows look out to the mansion's manicured gardens beyond. Emma has not been seen in the library for quite some time. It seems like the last few weeks, she has done her work as best as possible and headed home, looking a little tired around the eyes, more so than normal. With the weather having been difficult as of late as well, she simply did not have time to relax. She is here now, though, tucked away in a back corner, a thick bound book on her lap. Long, slender fingers on one hand flip the pages, while the other cradles a glass of white wine. She is dressed in a thick, white sweater, one that folds generously around her neck and cowls down across her chest. Her trousers are loose and soft, the faint impression of extra layers underneath. Her mind is quiet as well, resting. Lucien similarly has not been seen around the library for a time -- nor around the Club much at all, really. He hasn't been /entirely/ absent, every so often appearing with one or another of the Club's members. But never for long, and never that often. He slips through the door now, a leatherbound book tucked under one arm, dressed dark, slacks and dress shirt and vest and tie, a coat draped over his arm. The surface of his mind is as glossy-smooth as ever, a tranquil blank surface that does not reveal much as he slips across the room to go shelve his volume. His fingertips trace in caressing-light touch over the spines of the books as he drifts down the stack, pausing at the end of the row -- to flick a brief glance up, head tilting to glance over as if only now taking stock of Emma in her chair. "Emma." There's quiet warmth in his low voice. His eyes tick down, from white wine to white sweater to trousers, a very faint tug at the corners of his mouth. "Taking inspiration from the storms? Winter becomes you." "Alas, this is just when I shine the most. Perhaps the storm takes inspiration from me and I should start dressing in green?" Emma's lips pull into a slow smile, her gaze traveling up his body as she stirs from her reading. She lifts her glass in salute, before slipping a ribbon between the pages she is reading and closing the book. "Dearest Lucien. How I've missed you. What have you been up to?" Book slid to arm of the chair, she rises slowly, almost led by the wine glass in her hand. Lucien slips away from the shelves to approach Emma, leaning in for a peck to one cheek and then the other. "Oh, I imagine the whole of the Northeast would thank you for it. Just let me /know/ when you'll be summoning spring, mmm? I'll need time to prepare my garden." His gaze falls briefly to the book on the chair, glancing for a moment to its title before lifting back to Emma. "For the most part, work. It has been a transition, juggling my new responsibilities with my old. And you -- ?" His eyes linger on hers a moment. Emma's book is a compilation of the annuals of Hellfire membership over the years. She is somewhere within the lat fifty to one hundred years. Whispers of her telepathy brush against Lucien's mind almost absent-mindedly, reciprocating affection for the kisses he presses to her cheeks. "I will let you know. I feel, however, that you will look more radiant in spring green and think that you would be integral to the summoning of spring." She inhales deeply, raising eyebrow at the update he gives, her lips pressing together briefly before she parts them to explain. "I've been well enough. I am sorry to hear your transition has been causing you difficulties. I don't suppose I could help?" "Perhaps if you could add more hours to the day," Lucien answers lightly, moving over to take a seat in an armchair corner to Emma's. As ever there's a reflexive tightening in his mind, harder and glassier at the brush of telepathy. "I do often favour green. Though usually richer -- does that help with spring or will it drive us straight to summer." He drapes his coat over the arm of his chair, fingers dropping to rest atop it. His other hand tips outwards towards the book, eyebrows lifting. "A little light reading?" "We may need the power of summer to disrupt the hold this winter has on us." Emma settles back in her chair when Lucien sits down, turning in her seat to push her back into the corner of the armchair to view Lucien better. "It's a strong one this year. But enough of the weather, that's pleasantries for those we don't know well. Tell me instead, how is your show? I haven't had a chance to see it yet, but I can imagine how you'd look in costume." Eyes shift quickly back to the book and a quick shrug. "Didn't even bring my glasses." << I thought I read something... something that bothered me. Can't find it now. >> "Rather drab in costume, actually." There's a hint of amusement in Lucien's voice. "The show has no end of flashy costumes, but they're all reserved for the rest of the cast. Mine is fairly plain throughout. -- It's going..." He tips his hand up. "My reviews have been exemplary, I cannot complain. It's a doomed run, the show was scheduled to close this spring before I was ever even cast. I'm lining up auditions in between performances." Small shrug. "It was an excellent way to get back into the swing of life on stage, though." Underneath, through this. << Bothered you? About the Club? About a member? I know so many of them. >> The words ripple, tidy and crisp and clear, to the surface of his mind. "Yes, brown traveling clothes, or did your crew also go for the chain mail look?" Emma's smile does not abate. She nestles her shoulders in deeper as she brings her glass to her lips once more, taking only a small sip so she can speak again. "I don't know, there's still something amusing about the thought of you surrounded by more elaborate outfits. I could draw parallels between it and your situation here, but not every member goes all out every time they come in." She wets her lips as she turns her mind back to the book. << I was attempting to see if certain families have had relationships over the years, to see if correlations could be drawn from what we know and what we may still learn. >> "I can't wait to see what part you conquer next. You're probably a bit young for Jean Valjean yet." "There is brief chainmail. Largely, though, it's black pants and a grey shirt." Lucien's brows dip inward. "Or no shirt. Also brief." << Certain families? -- Ah. The dreams. Goodness. Near all the families here have had relations of some sort. There are no people quite as incestuous as the wealthy. >> "A bit young, yes. And besides, I've done Les Mis -- not," he admits, "on Broadway -- that was another lifetime ago. There are a couple entirely new shows due to open that look promising." His hand falls to his lap, head tipping back against the chair. "How /have/ things been here. I'm afraid I've been quite out of the loop." << That is the source of my headache. I keep thinking I have a notion to grasp at, but they all turn to straw. >> Emma runs her fingertips over the top of the book, stroking the leather cover. "Now I am more inspired to see your show." She looks up at him under thick lashes before tilting her chin upward to give her a better view of her companion. "Do you not repeat shows? A talent like you could work your way from Gavroche, to Enjolras, to Jean -- But that is only my list of favored males. I was never much a fan of Marius and his love affairs. I will confess a great difficulty in choosing between Javert and Valjean." She swirls the wine in her glass briefly, changing topic slowly. "Things have been well enough. A number of our members are snowbirds, more so with the difficult weather we've been having. I imagine that there are quiet gatherings of our beloved employers in St. Thomas. Or Turks & Caicos, I suppose. I have mostly been laying low as I have not necessarily been in the mood to entertain amorous attention prior to the holiday this last Saturday. Everyone is so desperate this time of year." << Give me some names, >> Lucien offers up lightly, << and perhaps I can play Rumplestiltskin. >> A faint hint of colour dusts his cheeks, a smile toying at his lips. "I have no policy against it, but there is such a variety of works to choose from --" His head tips slightly to one side, hand lifting to scuff knuckles lightly against the back of his cheek with a thoughtful hum. "With all the brilliance available I can't say a myopic reactionary holds the most appeal. I did play Gavroche once, though. Perhaps I'll revisit it again -- when I'm older. But." "Winter does make people rather stir-crazy. They want company, they want escapes. Anything for a change, I suppose." His fingers splay out against his cheek, eyes slipping half-lidded, lazily watching the wine move in Emma's glass. "What /have/ you been in the mood for?" "Warm blankets and a roaring fireplace, maybe some whiskey, not much else. Like you said earlier, I do seem to shine in winter. I've never been one much for baking in the sun, no matter how nice I look in a bikini." Emma shifts an arm to rest it on the back of the chair, leaning her cheek into her hand. << I've been trying to figure out Buckland's cohorts before he starts to approach me, hopefully find out his strengths and weaknesses before I gain his full attention. The names are starting to blur together out of sheer repetition and shifting alliances. >> "And yourself? What do you do with your fleeting moments between responsibilities? How do you wish to spend your winter months?" "I'm spending my winter exactly how I wish to spend it." For the briefest moment, the curl of Lucien's lips shifts into an actual smile, and then slips back away. "There isn't much more of it, regardless. It's soon enough time to start preparing my garden. Once there's any /thaw/ to the ground." << Buckland, right. I'll see what gold I can spin for you. >> "A good Scotch I'll take year-round. I don't suppose," his hand tips out towards the door, "you'd care to join me upstairs for one?" "I am glad you are achieving your desires. I need to see about getting a fireplace installed in my apartment." Emma tips her glass and finishes off the small portion of wine. She gets to her feet and slips her arm around the annual she was reading and pulls it to her chest. "Scotch sounds delightful at this point. I'd love to join you." << and thank you. There has been much stirring in the air about prophetic dreams and I wish to prepare myself. >> "I have seen some quite elegant ventless designs." Lucien rises from his seat, plucking his coat up to drape it over his arm. << Insofar as anyone can, >> his thoughts surface again placidly, << I am glad to help. >> His other hand moves to rest lightly at the small of Emma's back, as he starts for the door.