ArchivedLogs:Three's a Crowd

Three's a Crowd
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Lucien, Shelby	2013-02-22 Lucien and Iolaus enjoy a show. And then a show.
Location <NYC> Carnegie Hall - Midtown East
One of the most famous and prestigious concert venues in New York -- and possibly the world -- Carnegie Hall plays host yearly to both classical and popular music performances. The acoustics here are incredible, the semi-circle seating allows for a good view from almost any seat. Of course, for those who want to visit the Hall from the /other/ side of the stage, there's only one way to get here -- practice! The evening at Carneige Hall is a well-dressed affair. Men in suits and tuxedoes step through the well-lit lobby of the venue. The show is sold-out, and it shows - ticket scalpers are outside, hawking tickets at five times the price, and the inside of the lobby is packed. Standing off to one side, watching people step through the doors, is Iolaus. He is once more in the same tuxedo he wore to his last date with Lucien, though this time his shirt has been replaced by a dark red version. His blue-grey eyes sweep the crowd, and he pulls out his cell phone to answer a vibrating message. His thumb sweeps over the screen for several moments before he places it back into his pocket. Lucien's tux is different than the grey one he had last; black, today, white shirt, black bow tie. He is just slipping his own phone back into his pocket, as he angles through the crowd towards Iolaus, greeting the other man with a warm smile. "Io." He leans in to peck Iolaus on the cheek, chaste, though it comes with a slight flush of warmth. "It looks like you were well lucky to get tickets, tonight." Iolaus smiles, leaning in to return the kiss to Lucien's opposite cheek. He beams at the other man, nodding once. "It was a lucky sale, indeed. Good seats, too. My friend's misfortune is my gain." he says, brightly. "Would you like anything from consessions before we go in? I don't think there is an intermission." he offers. "I would not mind a beer," Lucien admits, his smile widening at the kiss. "My gain, too. I have been looking forward to this night all week. Have you ever seen Yo Yo Ma before? I have not." He slips an arm through Iolaus's, angling towards the concessions counter. "Never. I've heard him, of course - his recordings. But never in person." Iolaus says, with a bright smile, as he steps confidently through the crowd. His native upbringing shows slightly with the carelessness that hepushes one person to the side with his shoulder as they slip through the crowd. He gets a dirty look, but seems to pay it no mind. "My friend bought the tickets a year ago, almost, and had to cancel at the last minute." Lucien slips along at Iolaus's side, angling more to slip through the crowd without shouldering anyone aside. His shoulder does, though, bump up against Iolaus's once they reach the line at the concession stand, settling there with a light touch of weight. "Thankful for us, then. How /has/ your week been?" There's maybe a little more weight to this question than just casual smalltalk, Lucien's bright green eyes shifting sideways to look Iolaus over carefully. "Blissfully quiet, all things considered." Iolaus says, opening his hands as if to say, 'Look, ma, no holes!' "It didn't get picked up by the press. We're running under the radar for a while, yet." he says, shrugging. "Though, with the medical permit, I doubt we will be so lucky. That one is much more clearly delinated about what we're doing and why." Lucien does, in fact, look slightly relieved at the lack of holes. He scrutinizes Iolaus's hand like he is /expecting/ some, his smile a bit easier when none can be found. "When will that all be, ah, public, then?" One corner of his mouth pulls upwards, smile decidedly skewed. "How much more time do I have to enjoy your company?" Iolaus' eyes twinkle. "Much longer than after we go public, Lucien. We've been beefing up security. I am... concerned, but not nearly as much as I was before." He squeezes the other man's arm a little bit, gently. "It is not that easy to get rid of me." Lucien laughs at this, though it's soft and brief. "That is good to hear," he says, light, "though I imagine the demands of starting a new business alone might be enough to eat up your time. I will have to enjoy it while I can -- even if I'm not attending your funeral, you'll be rather consumed with /work/ before too long." Though his tone is light, there's a slight dimming of his smile, with these words. He shakes it off as he steps up to the counter, ordering a dark stout and glancing to Iolaus for any orders. "Perhaps. I make time for things that matter, though. At odd hours, perhaps, but..." Iolaus gives a little shrug and he nudges Lucien with an elbow, gently, squeezing the other man's arm once more. "Can I get a brown ale, please?" he asks the waiter, with a warm smile. "I suppose it is good I keep odd hours, then." Lucien claims his drink with a smile and a murmur of thanks, taking a step back to allow more people up to the counter while he waits for Iolaus to get his drink. And pay, presumably. Lucien certainly doesn't. "It has been a while since I have been here. The last time I came was to see the Vienna Philharmonic." Iolaus pulls out and pays with a credit card, signing the receipt with a flourish. Even as he pockets it and picks up his drink, he heads back towards Lucien to place his hand on the other man's back, a hairsbredth below the centerpoint on his spine. "I've been here once since I moved to New York, in a rather disasterous performance of an opera. Half the cast was out, ill, and the understudies did their best." "Goodness, that does sound rather disastrous." There's a brief moment when Lucien's weight shifts, just slightly, back into that touch, his expression warming. He starts towards the door afterwards, making his way carefully through the crowded lobby towards the entrance to the hall. "I imagine this performance will go far better. Although even if it doesn't," he adds, slanting a sidelong glance to Iolaus along with a faint smile, "I hope to ensure your night ends well all the /same/." Twin peaks of color form on Iolaus' cheeks, and he ducks his head slightly, smile spreading wider on his lips. The fingers spread out to five different points, holding the other man even as they step through the crowd. "And I, yours, too, Lucien. Please don't forget that." he says, voice gentle, but lightly critiquing. Lucien just smiles at this, a little wider, a little warmer. "Did I give the impression I had forgotten?" His voice is light, a hint of amusement in it. He gestures Iolaus to go first when they get to the doors. Because, tickets. Iolaus withdraws the tickets from his pocket and hands it to the usher. The usher gives them both a program, and then points them down the aisle. They are four rows from the front, center of the stage. Not bad seats at all. "No, but I think it's worth reiterating." he replies, easily, once they are past the usher. "Again, and again, and again..." he trails off, smile widening as he politely slips through the line of seats to take his. Lucien just answers this with a smile. A light peck on the cheek, before he eases down into his seat. He shifts his beer to his far hand, so that he can rest his near one over Iolaus's, settling in comfortably for the show. Iolaus twines his fingers with Lucien's, and he falls silent. The show is, according to the very nice people at the gray lady, a masterpiece. There is, indeed, no intermission, just seventy minutes of cello and orchestra. When the musicians bow, most of the theatre - Iolaus included - are on their feet, clapping. When the curtain falls, Iolaus turns to Lucien, smiling warmly. "Well. That was delightful. What did you think?" he asks, as they join the swarm of people departing the theatre. Lucien joins Iolaus, standing for the applause. His arm slips through Io's as they head out. "I think I'm rather delighted you brought me here. Thank you. This was --" His smile is small, but warm. "A wonderful end to the week." He buttons his coat as they head out into the cold, glancing to the crowd waiting for cabs. "Ah -- shall we?" "Yes, please." Iolaus says, smiling. He hails them a cab and holds the door open for Lucien. The ride is quick, once they get past the traffic created by all of the patrons of Carnegie Hall departing. It takes them only twenty-five minutes for them to reach Iolaus' apartment. He opens the door and gestures for Lucien to enter, smiling. "I was thinking of cooking some fish for dinner." he says, brightly. "If that sounds good." <NYC> Iolaus's Apartment - East Harlem Down a hallway and overlooking a open air market in El Barrio, Iolaus' apartment is not particularly a large one. It is three rooms - the main room shaped like an L with kitchen at one end, a small bedroom large enough for a full bed and a dresser, and a bathroom barely large enough to fit the bath inside it. The walls are a light yellow in the main room, with a large bookcase sitting against one wall and occupying much of the space, stuffed with books as it is. Two couches sit across from it, pressed up against the corner of the L shaped room. The kitchen is separated only by the transition from wood floor to grey tile and is sparsely filled with food and cookware both, and the bathroom is equally sparse of accouterments. In fact, were it not for the full bookcase and the clothing hanging in the closet, it would look almost as if the occupant had moved out and left some few things behind in a hurry. "And I was thinking we could start with dessert." Lucien does enter, but he does so slipping his hand into Iolaus's -- it comes with a rather /strong/ flush of pleasure, as Lucien pulls the other man back into the doorway for a kiss. They're both rather well dressed -- tuxedos, tonight, visible as Lucien tugs Iolaus's coat off. "But," he murmurs, breaking off, "fish sounds delightful for after." The first sign that something is amiss, there is a guitar case thrown on the couch. The second, there is a line of clothing like breadcrumbs down the hallway leading to that chamber's door: ratty sneakers, curled socks, an Electric Mayhem t-shirt, jeans with more holes than denim. The pice de rsistance is the pair of pink cotton panties dangling from the doorknob, signaling that someone is inside. And not two seconds after the front door opens, those panties drop to the floor as the doorknob is turned and Shelby steps out of the bathroom, clad in one towel with another turbaned around her head. She balances the turban with one hand, secures the modesty towel with the other and starts towards the living room--only to freeze, gaping, at what she sees there. Iolaus lets out a little moan of pleasure as he's pressed against the door, eyes widening. They widen much further when the door to the bathroom swings open and Iolaus turns to see who is standing there. He lets out a little choked sound and turns quite red. "S-Shelby!" he says, in a very strangled voice. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as his body desperately tries to force out words that his mind has not yet composed. There is an apologetic look. It may be directed at Lucien, or Shelby, or his own poor, poor ego. Lucien ratchets up the pleasure a notch, at that moan, letting his own coat fall to the floor as he leans in, lips pressing this time to Iolaus's neck. At least until the door swings open behind them, and then he turns to actually take /in/ the scene in the living room, gaze skipping from guitar to clothing to -- "Shelby." It is less strangled. Bland and flat, as he straightens to brush his tuxedo jacket down into place. "Perhaps," he murmurs to Iolaus, "the bedroom would be more appropriate to continue." The shower must have been a hot one--Shelby's face is blood-red beneath her freckles. In mere seconds, that stain creeps down her throat and covers much of her chest as well. She is not elegant in her shock and rage. It emerges in a choked squawk of sound that proves she is sharing Iolaus' problem--the mind is spinning but its wheels aren't catching, to throw any words at the pair. But she /can/ throw something else. When Lucien speaks quietly to Iolaus, she doesn't hear /all/ of the words, but bedroom stands out. The towel is dragged off of her head--snagging briefly on her wet hair--and lobbed at them. "/Douche/cannon!" she finally spits out before hastening back into the bathroom. The door slams. Silence reigns. Iolaus bats the towel down to the ground. He takes a deep breath, two fingers coming to briefly rub at his forehead. "You know, I think you might be right." he says, pained. Disentangling himself from the other man except for one hand, he pulls him towards the bedroom. "The horse is out of the barn, and I'd rather chase it later." he says, a little bit hesitant, as he looks over Lucien and leads him across the room. The bathroom door does get a glance before he disappears into his own room. His head pokes back out of the door frame, as he looks towards the bathroom. "I was... thinking of cooking dinner. Not now, I mean. Later. More... dinner-time. Salmon with a lemon creme sauce." he says, giving Lucien a glance. "Maybe," Lucien suggests, mildly, "she does not care for fish." He doesn't follow, immediately. He stays in the entryway, picking up their discarded coats to hang them, neatly. He picks his way across the living room, carefully stepping over Shelby's trail of clothes, to lean against Iolaus's doorframe, slipping a hand around the other man's waist. "Perhaps we should start with dinner." This is low, a little thoughtful. "She, ah, seems displeased." The bathroom door is cracked open. Just enough for one poisonous eye to be seen. "I can fucking /hear/ you! If you're gonna stand there instead of /fucking/ could someone /please/ hand me my /bag/ behind the fucking /couch/?" Iolaus gives Lucien a somewhat disappointed look, but nods. "You're right." He nods, once, taking a long breath in, and then out. He then steps forward to retrieve the bag and bring it over to Shelby, averting his eyes politely as he extends it to the crack in the door. Once it has been taken from him, he turns to the kitchen to begin preparing. "Are there anything you like or don't like, Lucien?" he asks, as he pulls out paper-wrapped fish and places it on the countertop, and begins setting out his other ingredients. "Would you rather we be fucking?" Lucien's tone is still mild. He has started to move away from the doorway for Shelby's bag, but stops, leaning back against it again when Iolaus retrieves it. "I should think dinner is preferable." He straightens again at Iolaus's questions, sauntering towards the kitchen to overlook the preparations. "I am sure whatever you prepare will be delightful," he says, hand slipping down into his pocket for a moment. "Just, ah, no sesame, alright? Is there anything I can help with? I'm fairly adroit in the kitchen." Shelby mumbles a thank you when Iolaus retrieves the bag but she is back to yelling again a moment later. Just a simple, "/No/," at Lucien before the door slams. Again. Silence, blessed silence. But she dresses quickly. All too soon, the bathroom door is yanked open and Shelby emerges again, bag in tow. She's changed into baggy khakis and a little strappy shirt, lacking a sleeve and liberally dusted with sequins. Her hair is still wet but she ignores this as she goes through the apartment stuffing her clothes back into the bag. Dinner preparations get to harmonize with a low and steady stream of muttering that is (thankfully) indecipherable. Once packed, she lobs the bag beside the guitar case and rummages through the closet for her coat. "...I can't /believe/ this." "No sesame? Alright." Iolaus says, giving Lucien a look. "Don't like sesame, or are you allergic to it?" he asks. "I may have used sesame in the cast iron, but I can use a different one if you're allergic." He says, looking through his cabinets with a vague frown on his face. "I think I have another one in here, somewhere." He smiles at Lucien. "Ah. Here we go!" he says, coming out with a stainless steel pan. "If you can prepare the sauce while I descale the fish?" he asks, pointing to the ingredients lined up on the counter. "The entire lemon, and toss in 4:1 cream to stock." He glances at Shelby as she passes by, muttering. "There will be enough for all of us, if you want to stay, Shelby." he says, brightly. "Ah -- yes. The steel, please," Lucien answers, with maybe the slightest bit of paling as Iolaus mentions sesame int he cast iron. "Certainly." He sheds his tuxedo jacket, his bow tie, too, carefully draping these against the arm of the couch. He heads into the kitchen, glancing over the ingredients and rolling up his sleeves before he starts preparing. "It looks like it will be quite delicious," he adds. Light. Almost cheerful. ... almost. Shelby also appears in the doorway of the kitchen. She is, as is to be expected, scowling. She is also pointing one bony pale finger at Lucien. "If you aren't giving him a fucking /huge/ discount for this bullshit, I swear to /God/..." Something. Something scary? Threatening? /Something/. She can't find something suitable to finish the sentence with, so she looks at Iolaus instead, huffy with indignation and bruised feelings. "...no. I'm not hungry. Have fun." Curt, clipped, and also designed as a good-bye, she goes to grab bag and guitar to exit the building. Iolaus frowns slightly. "Shelby." he says, voice sharpening slightly as he puts the pan in his sink. He turns the water all the way to hot and pours soap on the pan, scrubbing it down carefully. "Alright. Be safe. See you later." he says, watching her dart around the corner. He gives Lucien an apologetic look, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head once. Scrub, scrub, scrub, carefully cleaning every inch of it, handle, rivets, underside and all. He rinses it down with steaming hot water, and then places it on the gas stove to dry. Then the same treatment gets done to a sharp knife, though this one is dried by a cloth. "Oh, I assure you we will," Lucien answers, and this time it /is/ cheerful. He's even humming, quietly, as he slices the lemon, a few measures from one of the pieces they heard that night. He seems very engrossed by the cooking, as Shelby heads out. Iolaus smiles as he picks up the fish. "At least our dinner is sure to be quieter," he says, and there is a wry tone to his voice. A smile lilts on his face and he leans in to give Lucien a kiss on the cheek and a bright smile.