ArchivedLogs:Successful Tutelage

Successful Tutelage
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Melinda
In Absentia	2012-12-13 New York pessimism. But pleasantly.
Location <NYC> Tick-Tock - Greenwich Village
The quiet sound of soft music and softly running water greets the entrants to this tea house, playing from speakers hidden and trickling waterfalls cascading down the rocky fountains by the entryway. The ambiance here is subdued, a quiet escape from the bustle and noise of th city, focused on only one thing: tea. Tea of very good quality. They serve it in over eighty varieties, black and white, green and oolong, rooibos and herbals and mate, flavored and straight up. The seating here comes on cushions or kneeling chairs around low tables, the decorations in earth tones, and the knowledgeable wait staff is always helpful with a recommendation or a snack suggestion to pair with your drink. It is a quiet morning, hovering between breakfast and lunch time, and inside the tea room the atmosphere is relaxed. Quiet. Near the front a trio of people is seated at one of the low tables by the large front windows -- two young men and a perhaps-teenaged girl, differing in build and size and hair colour but sharing brightly green eyes. Lucien, tall, blonde choppy-spikey hair, sits with jaw clenched hard and eyes narrowed; the slightly shorter of the two has a knit cap pulled down over his head and a tired expression of resignation. The girl, willowy with hair ringing her expressive face in soft chestnut waves, speaks quick and quiet in French to the other two. Whatever answer Lucien grits back is in a low reluctant undertone, dragging a folder towards himself and eying the papers inside before closing it with a snap. The others get up to leave, the teenager offering her elbow to the shorter man. There is a pot of tea on their table that, judging by the empty overturned teacups, none of them have yet touched. Lucien turns his cup over as the others leave, running a finger slowly around its rim and rubbing at the hollows of his eyes with his free hand. Melinda enters whistling something from Les Miserables. It's really only something from Les Mis, as distraction or poor memory leads her to switch songs from time to time, always returning to Castle on a Cloud. She enters and pauses her song to search for a place to sit when Lucien's table companions depart. She is able to see their faces as they choose to depart, but does not see or recognize Lucien until they have passed her and she has shifted her course to a table next to his. She removes a heavy knit jacket and sets it on the chair behind her before sitting, a sky blue, long sleeved shirt with white french cuffs and collar appearing underneath. It is untucked over a mid thigh white skirt with black leggings underneath. Hair is swept loosely over one shoulder and bound with a single tie. Mel eyes Lucien quietly and considers, her fingers running over the corners of the menu playfully. She looks away and utters a thoughtful, quiet sigh. Her eyes and fingers eventually make disinterested study of the letters on her menu. When asked, she tells her server she needs more time. Almost subconsciously, Lucien picks up the snatches of melody Melinda whistles, humming along quietly to Castle on a Cloud though he does not look up. His fingers rest on the folder in front of him, and eventually he pulls it to his lap, opening it to rifle through pages until Melinda seats herself. "Do you like oolong?" he asks, offhand. "Coconut." "Oh, that sounds delicious." Melinda admits, her attention drifting back to Lucien's table. "I do like oolong, but I haven't had coconut before." She closes her menu and shifts her weight and turns into her chair to ease conversation. "It is quite delicious, and I cannot possibly drink an entire pot." Lucien's softly accented baritone seems to be directed down to the folder in his lap, until he closes it gently and sets it aside to look up at Melinda. Sitting up a little straighter, he turns a second cup rightway-up on its saucer, picking up the pot to pour it full. Presumptuously. He fills his own afterwards, and returns the pot to its trivet. "-- Goodness, look. We are not even in a bar and you are successful. Perhaps I am just an easy mark." Melinda gathers up her coat and leaves her table behind to sit down at Lucien's, uninvited, but hesitant and hopeful. "Well, one could say that you were knowingly proving your tutelage successful, but if you were truly caught unaware, then it's a credit to you, again, in the end." She reaches across the table to take the cup of tea. "You were distracted. I didn't know if you were at all aware of the room, truth be known." She lifts the cup and inhales deeply. Lucien signals his acceptance of this change of seats not with words but with a nudge of the second teacup towards Melinda once she is seated. Coconut-fragrant steam curls up from the pale tea inside. "More aware than I would sometimes like," he says, with a small twitch of smile, soon to fade. "I have never quite perfected the art of tuning the world out. I like the sigh. It was a nice touch." "Theater training." Melinda shrugs, her smile widening at the scent of the tea. "It's all about having a dialog in one's head and committing to it." She closes her eyes and takes a first sip after blowing lightly on the surface. The flavor warms her expression. "So what about today makes it a coconut oolong morning?" "You, too?" Lucien's smile does not return, but his expression warms, tone lightening with interest. He curls his fingers around his cup, lifting it for a slow sip and holding it near his lips even afterwards, drawing in a deep breath of its steam. "Sweet, and simple," he says, after a moment of thought. "Some days do not need extra complication." "It's New York City. Isn't half the town absolutely obsessed with acting?" Melinda chuckles and takes another sip and sets the cup down, her fingers remaining wrapped around the cup. "I kind of gave up the dream, but I still appreciate the time I spent absolutely surrounded by musicals." She wets her lips, gaze drifting. "I could have probably used a degree in social work, but it also seems like I'm getting by okay without it for the time being. I guess I could always go back. How about you?" "I am degree-less," Lucien answers mildly, lowering his cup to his lap to rest lightly against the folder that sits there. "Would you prefer doing social work? It is, I suppose, more worthwhile an occupation by many metrics." The quirk of his lips is small, his eyes drifting away to the window, absently watching pedestrians pass by on the busy Greenwich street. "All the world is obsessed with acting. Most people just do not acknowledge its place in their daily lives." "I was utterly convinced that there was no way I could get a job that was worth while without a degree when I was a teenager. I think that was before the economic crisis and the job market crisis and whatever other crises there are. Now it seems that experience is all that matters, whether you got that in school or out." Melinda frowns and bows her head when Lucien's gaze wanders. "Or, rather, /acting/ like you have experience and pulling it off. It definitely has its place in the day to day world." "I was utterly convinced there was no way I would get to college, as a teenager," Lucien murmurs, quietly amused. "I suppose I proved myself right. In the education part. Not in the grinding poverty." At least, his neat and elegantly-tailored clothes certainly do not imply any sort of poverty. "Mmm, yes, we are back to acting again. Convincing other people of your own merits is one of the most useful skills there is. More useful in many cases," his smile quirks wider here, though soon hidden behind another sip of tea, "than actual competence." "Actual competence could be construed as acting stamina and endurance, with commitment to the role definitely affecting things. Most people neglect the research aspect. They end up trying to sell themselves instead of going through the actual motions and..." Melinda gets a little wrapped up in her example and blushes. "At least, that's how the business world seems to run. You should see my manager at work. She takes credit for everything I do and the owner has just now begun to notice. At least she notices." She takes another drink and frowns. "Sorry, sour grapes. Can't let that ruin our tea, now can I?" "Method acting?" Lucien quirks an eyebrow upwards, amusement buried in his tone. "It has its place, certainly." He drains his cup, setting it down on the table and resting his fingers lightly on the table's edge. "I thought that was what management was for. It is a cycle, though. Continue your good performance and eventually you may be promoted to reap the benefits of other people's hard work. I do not think tea this quality can easily be ruined. Carry on." "Shhh, you're going to destroy my optimistic bubble. I'm going to be the world's best caffeine serving manager. All of my subordinates will both love and respect me and what I am attempting to do and will be utterly willing to work the hours I assign them at all times. I will work along side of them because there isn't secret paperwork that other employees don't think about that will take up my time." Melinda speaks with a serious to her tone, expression confident and eyes locked resolutely on Lucien's. After a moment of silence to let the gravity of her statements sink in, she lifts her cup and sips, victoriously. Her solemness fades as the tea drains down her throat and she shrugs and smiles. "It is what I do, unfortunately," Lucien answers Melinda, quiet and serious. "Crush hopes. Destroy dreams. The tea is just a consolation for your loss of innocence." He leans forward, lifting the put to refill, first Melinda's cup and then his own. "Is that your life aspiration, then? To be a productive manager? Caffeinate people while you lead?" "Life aspirations?" Melinda blinks. "Wow, you really are trying to steal away my youthful soul." She nods her head appreciatively at the refill and leans a little more on the table. "I hate to tell you, but you're already a bit too late." She looks up at him with mournfully wide eyes. "I've already lost my dream and am just trying to get my feet under me. I keep busy to shut out the loneliness. That's about it." She glances down and lets her tone go quiet. "I think I'd like to own a place - a cafe or a restaurant that I'd feel comfortable eating in that didn't drain me dry and leave me destitute." "This is New York." Lucien's small twitch of smile warms his brilliant green eyes but is not, for all that, likely a very /pleasant/ one. "If you still have a youthful soul, you have not been here very long. Eating establishments have some of the highest rate of failure in their early years," he adds, lightly, and in the next breath. "But you were in theatre, you should be used to failure. What kind of restaurant would you open?" Melinda looks up at him, taking in the expression as well as his posture. "Now, I'm used to being questioned this long when there's alcohol involved, but we're talking over tea and you haven't bothered to ask my name." She then considers the question and looks toward the heart of the restaurant as she shrugs the opposite shoulder. "I don't know. I'm still waiting for a culinary genius to walk into my life and flesh out that side of my prospective future. For now, I learn restaurant operations and focus on that. How about you? Have you any aspirations?" "What is your name?" Lucien asks in immediate reply, his eyebrows quirking upwards. "I am quite an excellent cook, myself," he adds, thoughtfully, "though I usually flex those muscles for my family and few others. I am not sure /culinary genius/ would be applicable, unfortunately." The question about his own aspirations dims the warmth in his eyes, though his small smile remains. "Me? None whatsoever." "Melinda," Mel introduces herself as she lifts her cup, drinking down about half of the cooled liquid. "I could see you being good at cooking, but not really being interested in mass producing what you make." Her lips purse at the lose of warmth in his face, one side of her mouth quirking sideways in dismay. "Ah, you've been here a while then. It's probably for the best anyway. The world is changing so quickly. Who knows what any of us will be doing in five or ten years. Forget aspirations. What is it that you really enjoy?" "Lucien," Lucien offers, lifting his cup in return. "I have been here long enough to know that plans rarely work out how you plan them. I am not sure if it counts as an aspiration if I aim for a relative sense of contentment in this moment. Aspiration sounds so future-minded." To the question, he curls his fingers tighter around his teacup, taking a slow sip. "Good tea. There. There are few, in this city or out of it, who could lay claim to fulfilling all their life's desires." "There's a problem with desires," Melinda admits, sipping at the rest of her tea. "Once you get what you want, you have to focus on keeping or getting that thing again. Contentment is an excellent goal." She smiles distantly at the tea and takes another sip. "What was it that you said earlier? Something about simple with out complication? The tea really is good." "Thankfully, tea is easily acquired. I suspect by the time this pot is through, though, my desires will have moved elsewhere. Contentment is always fleeting. I take it where I can get it." Lucien sets his cup down on the table, fingertip tracing a slow circle around its rim. "Sometimes, life has complication enough." His green eyes lift to Melinda, fixing thoughtfully on her face. "What contents you?" "It varies by day." Mel admits with a little bit of a shrug. "I like a good conversation because I'm an extrovert. I feel content when I get that raw feeling in my throat from singing, even though I'm not that good and I only sing to the bottles in my shower these days." She turns her cup in her fingers, careful to keep it from making sound as the base rubs against the table. "I feel content when I've brightened someone's day." Again, she shrugs. "It's difficult to put my finger on it. I'm content as a barista and a volunteer. I'm content running around the city and finding new things to do. I'm enjoying this life before I get too jaded or too poor to go on. Luckily, I've met you and have learned some skills that'll help stave off poverty for a while." Lucien's lips twitch, slightly up at the corners. "Luckily," he echoes, quietly amused. "Perhaps I am a volunteer too, then. Spreading the gospel of cheating fate for one more day. I think you had the skills already, though. You act." "Just because I hold a weapon in my hand doesn't mean I know how to use it." A single brow rises on Melinda's forehead. "So, how did you like it, volunteering? Imparting your wisdom to another unfortunate soul?" Her brows relax and she finishes off her tea. "We're all just cheating fate with knowledge these days. It's all I do, really, if you think about it. I dole out caffeine in the morning to cheat the consequences of not getting enough sleep and blankets at night to keep the unfortunate from freezing to death. Granted, I'm being loose with my definition of knowledge in the latter case. There is knowledge imparted, but only to those that stick around. Some just want blankets." "Not as fulfilling as tea," Lucien deems his brief foray into the world of Good Samaritanism. "Would you want to stick around, in a New York winter when you lack proper warmth? It can be hard in those moments to think past the immediate." He lifts the pot, gauging its remaining tea, and raises questioning eyebrows to Melinda with a nod towards her empty cup. "True enough. You would have learned in time, though, I have faith. Most weapons are intuitive. An end to hold and an end to hurt. If you hurt yourself, switch your grip." Melinda snickers at his feelings on volunteering and passing her cup back over for a refill. "Yeah, I do not have problems with people just needing the basics." She rubs at her forehead a little, eyes closing briefly. "I think that I might have learned to use my weapon properly and intuitively on my own, but there's always the chance that I could have gotten killed running around trying as well. Don't discount your value as a teacher too much." Lucien tips the pot towards Melinda's cup; the remaining tea does not /quite/ fill the cup before it runs down to a trickle. "Oh, you will get yourself killed eventually, do not worry," he says, light and almost cheery as he sets the empty teapot back down. "It takes a lifetime of practice to hone any worthwhile skill, and most people will die with that honing unfinished. Perhaps, though, you will get some good use out of it in the meanwhile." "I have no illusions about living forever." Melinda admits readily. "I'm happy just to make it through each day." She accepts the cup quietly and pulls it back toward her chest. She eases back in her chair and studies Lucien for a moment, then glances down at the tea pot. "Thank you, once more for the tea. I hope I have provided suitable distraction in exchange?" Lucien's gaze drops, at this question, lingering for a moment on the forgotten -- or at least ignored -- folder in his lap. "I have appreciated the distraction," he allows, quiet and less glib than before. "I shall have to return to real life all too soon. It sneaks back in, no matter how long I linger over each cup of tea." He picks up his own cup, tipping it towards himself to examine the last few sips left inside. "I hope it isn't too bad of news." Mel offers compassionately, glancing toward the folder as well. "Real life is terrible like that. Always intrusive." She frowns instead at her mug of tea. "Want to see a show with me some time? I could have sworn I heard you humming earlier. Do you like musical theater? Opera?" "Bad, but not news," Lucien says, mild and unweighted with a slight upward tip of his hand. "It has been a long time coming. I enjoy attending both. I performed often in the latter. I was in Les Mis --" His lips curl upwards, briefly. "A long time ago." He drains the rest of his cup, setting it back down empty. Shifting his weight ont he seat, he reaches into his pocket to extract his wallet and open it. The slim business card he pulls out is black, its simple text embossed in green. Lucien Tessier, it says, and beneath that a number, and nothing else. He offers it to Melinda between two fingers. "Did you play Gavroche as a child? I'm jealous!" Melinda replies delightedly as she takes the card and looks it over, both sides. "Nice card." She smiles and pulls out a slim wallet from her coat pocket and tucks the card away safely inside. "One of the biggest benefits of being a theater major in New York is access to good cheap and free tickets. Did you want me to give you a call when I've secured a pair for something enjoyable?" Lucien's smile warms, slightly, his head tilting in affirmation. "I did. One of my earlier roles. That does sound like a delightful benefit. Perhaps I should attend college after all." He watches Melinda tuck his card away, and then extracts some cash from his wallet, lifting his saucer to tuck the money -- more than enough for the tea, and a generous tip -- underneath. He slips his wallet away and drapes the black leather jacket beside him over one arm. "I would enjoy that, yes. Call if you find something nice. Or if you are in the mood for tea. I do not live far from here." He is getting to his feet, offering a hand out to Melinda to shake. "And there, look, now you are offering me free goods. It is almost like a mutually beneficial exchange. It was good to run into you again, Melinda." Melinda reaches out to take Lucien's hand, smiling brightly at his final sentiments. "It was good running into you again too, Lucien. I hope the time between this content cup of tea and the next isn't too long." "We can hope." Lucien's handshake comes with a warm smile -- and, too, a wash of warm /feeling/, a trickle of happiness that washes subtly in in time with the contact. "Au revoir." He slips his jacket on, tucks his folder carefully under an arm, and with one last quick smile, slips out into the city. Melinda finds herself beaming by the time he releases her hand, her mood bouyed by his mutation. She nods her response to his farewell and watches him leave peacefully. The mood pervades; Melinda picking up her cup with the remaining tea and sips quietly, enjoying it.