Logs:Almost

Almost
Dramatis Personae Daiki, Lucien, Not?Jax?	2021-12-13 "Intriguing."
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. It's a mild and sunny day, the temperatures once again ricocheting back up to something that feels more like fall than December after a freezing and icy weekend. Out in the garden all the signs of the weekend's flurries have nearly vanished; there are still a few lingering traces of frost stubbornly clinging to some of the brilliantly blooming roses in some of the shadier corners of the garden. Lucien -- certainly not dressed for December, enjoying the mild spell in a vertical striped button-down in wedgwood and white, top button undone to show a small triangle of black undershirt, and plainfront grey slacks -- has set tea and an assortment of hand pies out on the table but has now drifted aside to examine the flowers, his brow furrowed in thought as one forefinger traces against a frost-rimed leaf. He's studying the roses a short while before he returns his attention to his guest. "-- My apologies. Mirror rather likes to do things on their own time. On -- both an emotional and a career level, though, I had a thought that perhaps you might not want to tackle the project I had in mind for you alone." Daiki is allowing himself some small flair today -- an allowance he seems more and more willing to give, lately, even in mixed company -- in a black mandarin collar dress shirt with a blue seigaiha brocade vest and slim black slacks. He's remained seated with his hands curled around his tea while his host makes a circuit of the garden. He looks up at Lucien, blinking behind his glasses, startled from some reverie or another. "I appreciate you looking out for me -- as always, even now that I've grown brazen and overweening." His head dips, his smile demure. "The rest of my day is clear, though, and if I have to wait a while I could do worse than waiting in such company with such refreshments." His dark eyes flick over the other man thoughtfully. "I hope it is not too much of a hardship for you." "Brazen is a good look on you." Lucien's fingertip draws slowly down a stem of a rose, stopping just lightly against the first thorn he encounters. "You ought to enjoy the refreshments. I'm terribly afraid all I'm going to do is ruin them, in short order. I've very little that's pleasant to discuss." The kitchen door opens, dispensing -- well, it certainly looks like Matthieu, dresses like Matt returning from work in gray twill dress shirt, green-and-black floral brocade vest and matching tie, black slacks. "Oh!" His eyes light, smile easy as he sees Daiki. "You didn't mention we had company. I hope I'm not intruding?" Regardless he's breezing over to the table to avail himself of a pie, nodding to Daiki as he drapes against the back of a chair, idly waggling the pie on its way to his mouth. "I'm often such a bother to him but I am trying to turnover a new leaf." Daiki arches both eyebrows, but does not question the advice, selecting a pie and nibbling daintily on its crimped edge. The tensing of his shoulders as the door opens is very brief, and he relaxes into an answering smile when he sees Matt. "I'm afraid it's not a social call, but certainly you aren't troubling me. It does not," he hedges, glancing at Lucien thoughtfully, "sound like it might make the most pleasant of conversations topics, though we've not waded into it yet." Lucien's finger slips against the stem of the rose, its thorn pricking small but sharp into his fingertip. His quietly hissed curse is, perhaps, just a bit more venomous than necessary for the tiny droplet of blood that wells up. The Not!Matt pulls himself slightly straighter against the chair at Lucien's curse, glancing over toward his presumptive brother. "How do you keep those blooming so late into the season? I'm always surprised at their tenacity. Or," he muses, "yours." He takes a small bite of the pie, settles back down against the chair. Quirks an eyebrow at Daiki, curious. "So the pies are a spoonful-of-sugar sort of deal?" Daiki's eyes skip between the two(?) Tessiers(?), his expression opaque. "I'd call it that, except the snacks are equally delicious regardless the purpose for my visit. I am admittedly not eager to expand the range of the unhapppy business to prove or disprove any theories. And, if Mirror never shows, well..." He takes a more substantial bite of his pie. Lucien is abandoning the roses, now, heading right back for the table. One hand clamps down hard on Mirror's wrist -- the faint flutter of feeling that shivers out is not exactly painful but certainly not comfortable, a warning jolt that seizes at their muscles, clamping them tight as, briefly, Lucien commandeers control. "Get," his voice is quiet, but firm. "out." He is slow to take a seat, after this. Settling himself careful and upright in the chair !Matt has been leaning against and pouring his tea. Calmly, to Daiki: "We want you to write a story about Prometheus." Mirror freezes, at Lucien's touch -- what else could they do? A fey smile plays on their borrowed lips, and as Lucien settles himself they lean forward to set their half-finished pie down on Luci's saucer, lean down to add, closer to his ear. "Such a dirty business, I just wanted a shape you'd be comfortable with." Their face is warping, melting like wax somewhere in the middle of this. Hair growing shaggier and brighter, one eye sinking in, skin lightening near alabaster; by the time they drape themselves down on the bench beside Luci it's with a bright-chirruped drawl: "Figured s'about time we took this fight to a different front an' you're perfect to fight it there, honey-honey." Daiki's eyes go wide, his powers fluttering -- more noticeable to Mirror, at least while they are still Matt, but sensible all the same as he suddenly seems inexplicably compelling throughout this exchange. His poker face still has a way to go. "For just a minute there," he admits quietly to Lucien, "I thought you were them." He takes a slow sip of his tea before looking up at Mirror!Jax. "Prometheus doesn't officially exist, not to anyone without a ludicrous security clearance. Even with all the intel the team's gathered over the years -- well, it'll take some doing." He does not, in fact, sound all that put off by this. "But it seems to me the bigger concern how to do it without leaving the Pentagon an opening to legitimize the project and continue it in the open." There's a small twitch at the corner of Lucien's mouth, at this admission. He says nothing, just takes a sip of his tea. "We've a fear they'll have that opening soon enough, regardless of what we do. It's yet to hit the news, but -- Registration is soon to become a reality. Early next year, if my sources are accurate. Of course, it's no guarantee, but they know what you all do and it's a small step from cataloguing mutants to --" He turns a hand upward, outward. "His sources are usually real accurate, he's solid that way." Mirror!Jax is plucking his pie back up off Lucien's plate with just a hint of grimace. "An' let's be real here, someone's gonna be craftin' a narrative 'bout us some day, an' if an' when that happens, gosh but wouldn't you rather it not be them? Can't you jus' see those headlines? No, you can't, cuz we'll all be in a dark, dark cell somewhere. Well --" Their hand flutters in the air, their smile skewing lopsided, their tone still the same easy-bright: "You all, anyway. Lucky for you, we've gotten real good at making news." Daiki's fingers tighten around his mug, but he just takes another sip, slow and deliberate. It's another long moment before he nods. "Alright. So we have to..." He ticks the points starting with his thumb. "...out Prometheus, ideally not get anyone executed for treason in the process, keep the media narrative and public dialogue sympathetic to -- us, the team and Prometheans in general." He lowers his hand to the table, but does not pick up the half-finished pie he'd left on his plate. His powers flutter again, the attention he commands suddenly sharper. "Oh, and presumably try to get it shut down while we're at it? Is that a stretch goal?" Lucien folds his hand back around his teacup, head inclining slightly at the points Daiki lists. A warmth lights his blue eyes at this last point, his gaze riveting on Daiki. "Mmm. Getting it shut down would, obviously, be a crowning accomplishment, if we manage that." His eyes cut sidelong toward the person on the bench beside him. "Mirror can ensure that the story is seen where it needs to be. I realize this is -- quite a lot to be asking, particularly given your experiences." Mirror!Jax bursts into a laugh at Daiki's last listed goal. He sits up in his chair, one hand clapping to Lucien's shoulder. "You sure you want this one? S'gonna be coming for your position 'fore you know it." He polishes off his pie, shakes his head as he licks his fingers clean. "Naw, s'perfect. All the work we put in to get where we are? Be a whole entire shame if we run this without one'a them been harrying Prometheus from the jump. This is just desserts." Though they're looking at Daiki with a briefly softer gaze all the same. "-- will be a lot, though. An' dangerous on top. Whole different kind than chargin' into a lab." "Your role is safe from me until the public is ready for an Asian Captain America, but if the Club is ever looking for a new concierge, well..." The tilt of Daiki's head is minute, but there's somehow the faintest suggestion of a smirk in it all the same. "If we do not shut them down, raids may become far more perilous after Prometheus is common knowledge. But if the team is going to be in more danger no matter what, it is better to court that danger on our terms." He lifts his tea and sips again. "I've spent too many years watching my friends throw themselves into the breach again and again, to be injured and captured and killed, yes, but also just -- worn down." His gaze is steady and level when he raises it to Lucien. "I'll write it." "I cannot say I would endorse the position to you, but if you wanted it when I decide to step down they would get my glowing recommendation for you, to be sure." Lucien lowers his cup to his knee, meeting Daiki's gaze with a small tilt of his head. When he glances to Mirror it's with the faintest glimmer of amusement warming his eyes. "Do you suppose these are decisions I make lightly? Choose someone for his wit, or his sartorial excellence? -- You ought to know," he's adding, to Daiki, "We do far more at the Club than simply pamper the one percent, and I do far more for the Club than just concierge service. I'd rather like you to join us in our efforts there, as well." "You didn't pick me for my wit? I'm devastated." Not!Jax turns his hands up -- a tall white Bishop's mitre appears on Lucien's head as around the garden, the bushes carve themselves topiary-style into different shapes -- a knight here, a Queen there. A white pawn has appeared on the table just in front of Daiki. "The real-real important question, though, if this is gonna work out," his single eye is wide and earnest, though the twitch of his mouth suggests he's just struggling to contain a laugh, "how do you feel about chess?" "You didn't pick me for my sartorial excellence?" Daiki sounds sincere, and sincerely hurt, by this revelation. "I think it is taken as read you do more than anyone has reason to expect of a concierge -- in several directions and to several ends. But..." His brows furrow behind his glasses. "This is not just you, then?" He looks from Lucien to Mirror to the chess allusions cropping up all around, his gaze resting for just a moment on the piece in front of him before returning to Lucien, keen and calculating. "I prefer go, but I'm adaptable." Lucien huffs out a very soft laugh, his eyes lowering to the tea on his lap. "I am truly flattered by your estimation of both my competence and my reach. But no." He looks just slightly pained as he glances back up at the illusory chess piece in front of Daiki. "Behind the Club is another organization, older and -- somehow, yet more pretentious. Still, if you can stomach the heavy-handed chess motif in the hierarchy and the aspirations toward being a shadowy cabal that pulls the world's strings --" He turns his hand up, out, toward Daiki. "We get things done. I like to think they are things worth doing, in a climate where that isn't always easy, through other means." "He thinks you might could help us," Mirror!Jax adds on, cheerfully. "He thinks we might could help you. I think it goes without saying this is strictly an invite-only hush-hush kinda group of aspiring world dominators. If it makes you feel any better," he's waving a hand, dismissing the chess-theme that's sprung up around them -- all save the pawn before Daiki -- "I been in zero creepy dungeon rituals since I joined. Mostly, I just get to spin the news." "Intriguing." Daiki leans forward ever so slightly. "This sounds all very tediously European, but your endorsement goes a long way. If the chess theme is functional and not merely aesthetic, though..." He gestures at the empty space above Lucien's head. "Who is the king?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "Or queen? More important, really, what are their aims? And to what extent are the rest expected to -- or compelled to -- help carry those out?" "Two Courts," Lucien replies, "despite the motif, not, strictly speaking, in opposition to each other. The Black King is Sebastian Shaw -- useful to know, but we don't answer to him." There's a bit of thank gods in his tone that does not get quite voiced. "Our court --" With a forefinger he is indicating himself and Mirror, "and, I hope, to be yours as well, is currently under the White Queen, Emma Frost, who rules with an eye towards peace rather than merely power. It's been under her we delayed Registration this long to begin with, and have gotten well-positioned enough to break this story with an impact." Mirror's eye widens, fingertips going briefly to their lips. "Gosh, that was her work? You was jus' twiddlin' your thumbs the whole while, then? -- Luci's a Bishop which, on paper, s'like a glorified administrative assistant." He leans in across the table to confide to Daiki, "-- really, you'll be reportin' to him for most things, don't be fooled none by the crowns an' the pomp, man with all the files got all the power." Daiki does not raise any number of eyebrows at Lucien and Mirror's explanations. He does not echo the Obviously Capitalized Nouns. He does not blink or narrow his eyes or in any other way signal his incredulity. "So, the White Queen Emma Frost is either wise enough to make good use of her Bishop, or foolish enough to let him run her Court without her leave." He nods abstractly. "I think I can work with that. Is there some sort of initiation, or hazing, or game of human chess I'm expected to go through?" Lucien offers no clarification as to which of these two might be the truth of the current situation. He does lift a hand kind of wearily to his face at the question of initiation, rubbing his palm against one cheek with a soft (and softly strangled): "Mmmnh." Mirror claps their hands together, a delighted expression lighting their borrowed features. "Oh! Oh, it's been a while since we got to break out the robes an' candles an' all of it." They're bouncing on the edge of their seat, reaching forward only now to claim a teacup for themselves. The little illusionary pawn on the table has grown an ornately embroidered white cowl; a little ring of fire flickers around it. "Is it preemptive to welcome you? We do got cookies. The pastry chef at the Club is top-notch." "If you're welcoming me with food, I'll accept that any time." Daiki waggles his pie, though he still does not take another bite. "I do like a more direct exchange of my skills for power, and I am glad for the guidance, too." He does smile again, slow. "This is what I studied journalism to do, even if I had no idea at the start I would take such a path toward it. It could almost make the prospect of writing this Prometheus exposé appealing." The smile goes sharp. "Almost."