Logs:But one is tempted by one’s own desire, being lured and enticed by it;

But one is tempted by one’s own desire, being lured and enticed by it;
Dramatis Personae Leo, Lucien, Matt	2023-02-20 "There are a startling number of people in my brothers' circles who could quite happily benefit from -- such a service."
Location <NYC> Washington Square Park - Greenwich Village
Behind a majestic white marble arch, a smaller cousin of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, this beautiful green space is a popular destination for the young, the hip, and the artistic. A huge circular wading fountain is the centerpiece, ringed by benches, playgrounds, dog runs, gaming tables, and lush green lawns. In fair weather, the park is almost always crowded with tourists, students, chess enthusiasts, and local families come to tire out their children and dogs. It's another balmy spring day in the Village, though proper spring is still a month out. The pigeons ruling the fountain have cornered a couple of unwary tourists, though they seem entirely obedient to the unhoused woman sitting on the next bench over, perching peaceably on her grocery cart, her knees, even her shoulders as she dutifully feeds them one sunflower seed at a time. There's a busker doing absolute wonders with his saxophone, a middle-aged man nearby dancing with a child to the jazzy tune, and slightly more than the usual share of teenagers out here skating and chilling and smoking. A fixture at the chess tables, Matt hasn't attracted an audience today, his latest game wrapping up leisurely and undramatic. "Next week, Tessier," his opponent is promising him as he returns the white chessmen to their places, his toppled king last. He puts his threadbare top hat on just to tip it. "I shall have you yet. Next week." "Any week, darling," Matt's smile is indulgent as he tidies up his side of the board. He's certainly dressed for spring, in a black tee with a blue outline of a house, a spiral staircase spiraling into the earth below, comfortable medium wash jeans, and black sandals. "I look forward to it." He rises and takes a sip of tea, passing the thermos somewhat reflexively to his brother after as he eyes the other tables around them for an interesting game to watch or an available opponent to trounce. Leo is just passing through this pleasant tableau, ducking out from an alley nearby the park and cutting through the bustle with hands tucked in the pockets of his slim-fit camel jacket (unzipped, currently, over a royal blue poplin band collar shirt with black accent thread and buttons and paired with black plain front trousers, black chelsea boots, and a blue newsboy cap.) Hes's been skirting along by the chess tables but stops a short ways out, eyes lighting on the Tessiers with a brief and uncertain hitch to his step. He bites down on his lip -- creases his brow -- and then, just a little more slowly than before, shoulders pulled just a touch more inward, keeps on going. Lucien is dressed just a little more warmly than his brother -- his shoes, at least, camel suede chukkas, are closed at their toes. In other respects he is also dressed as though it is spring -- neatly tailored dark blue jeans, a short short-sleeved grey henley. Flopped down at the end of a relaxed leather lead, Flèche has half-tucked herself under the bench he's sitting on, ears pricked and eyes darting hopefully from her humans to any nearby humans who might potentially be just on the verge of dropping her some food. Does anyone even have food around them? No matter, her hope is undimmed. Lucien takes the thermos casually from Matt, pops its lid -- and doesn't drink it, passing both thermos and leash back to his brother as he rises without a word. He strolls over to intercept Leo, head tipping in a nod and a pleased warmth in his eyes as he looks up and down over the other man. "Do you play chess?" He's indicating Matt's recently emptied table with an outward tip of his hand. "Matthieu is seeking fresh blood." Matt takes another sip of he tea when it returns to him, and accepts the leash just as automatically, complacent. He flashes Leo a bright smile and waves him over with somewhat more overt enthusiasm if no less warmth. Flèche has perked up, as well, emerging to shake herself off and wag hopefully in Leo's direction. There's a quiet relief that writes itself across Leo's face as Luci approaches -- though it near instantly gives way to a vague kind of apprehension that can't entirely be explained away by, "-- I enjoy chess but I am no good." He is trailing along with Lucien toward the table, though, dipping his head in a small nod to the Other Tessier although most of his attention falls quickly to the pup. He kneels to scritch her enthusiastically behind both ears, leaned sliiiightly away to keep attempted licks well clear of his face. "It is good to see you. Both. Ion," he informs Lucien earnestly, "has been raving about your hotel." Lucien reclaims the tea once he returns to his place. Reclaims the leash, too, after he has taken a sip. "That is quite alright, you needn't be good. I suspect Matthieu will rather enjoy your company all the same." There's a bright pleased flutter across the surface of his mind at the compliment, though he only dips his head in a quiet acknowledgment. "I have been well pleased to see people enjoying it so. Please know that you are welcome, if you ever find yourself in need of a quiet place to relax." "You, my dear, are wonderful company no matter your skill at this fine and venerable game. I'm clearly not the only one who thinks so." Matt's smile softens, indulgent, as he watches Leo greet their dog. That smile skews a little sharper when he darts a sidelong glance at his brother. "Goodness, do you even need a marketing team, with Ion out there singing L'Entente's admittedly well-deserved praise?" He waits for Leo to seat himself, then gestures at the board between them. "Have you a preference for color? Or we can let fate choose, if you prefer." He braces one elbow on the table and props his chin on the heel of his hand. "And how have you been doing?" It's a little bit longer before Leo leaves off delivering scritches to the pup and sets himself into the seat opposite Matt, perched stiffly upright on the edge of the stone. "Fate has -- not usually been on my side. I can be white?" Despite already sitting in front of the white pieces, he sounds uncertain about this decision, but then, he sounds uncertain about a Lot. he smile that twitches across his face is warm, but brief. "I often need that, but I -- would not like to ruin the -- disturb your -- it sounds like such a nice place." He studies the board in front of them for way longer than is necessary for a first move before moving a pawn forward. "Congratulations, by the way. The strike was also. A big victory." His hands drop to his lap, then lift to the edge of the table, then drop to his lap again; inside him the busy churn of his power is writhing more restless than usual. "How have things been. With you all." "Mmm." This, too, sounds pleased. Lucien lifts the thermos for a slow sip of tea before passing it back to Matt. "It was a hard battle, but the results were satisfying." He is far more relaxed in his seat, leaning forward to prop an elbow on his knee so that he can better see the game and better reach the pup who is drifting away from his bench to rest her chin happily on Leo's knee. He doesn't answer the question any further -- just glances to Matt with an idle curiosity. "You most certainly can." Matt sounds utterly sincere. "One of the things I love about chess is, once you have got the black-or-white part out of the way? Fate steps aside." His answering move is quick and decisive. "Oh, we are doing well enough, though it has alas been a dreadful winter for hockey." His bright green eyes search Leo's face. "Now, I heard you recently swept a certain teammate of mine off her feet with the most romantic date. Pray don't be cross with Kitty for spilling. I can be a nosy bitch, and she can be kind of--" His smile curves just a touch wider. "--transparent. But really, I'm glad that seems to be going well." "All the people we know, do we know anyone who can make you a backyard hockey rink? There has to be someone up in Freaktown who could freeze a street." Leo's brows have scrunched as he considers this possibility. He's just reaching for his next pawn when Matt mentions Kitty. His cheeks flood deep crimson, hand twitching with the speed at which he has gone tense; the pawn is knocked over, instead, toppling into one of its mates. Leo does not right it, only stares down at the board with wide eyes. "It was Valentine's Day," he replies with a touch of sheepishness as if Romancing His Girlfriend needs an explanation. "And I love -- I want -- she deserves --" His brows crease, shoulders hunching slightly inward. "More sweeping than I can give." "Matthieu has rather perfected the art of the icy glare, but I think he will need something else to work with if we want to actually skate on the results." Lucien sounds very longsuffering about this, but not half so much as he does with the following: "Thankfully I have not wanted to think about hockey lately so if the weather wants to remain balmy perhaps I can forget that the Habs even exist." He looks to the toppled pawns, a touch of amusement in his eyes that does not make it all the way to his lips. "You hardly need to apologize for showing your partner a good time." "Oh, there are people who can make instant ice rinks, but it is as he says--our home team's woes weigh heavily on our frozen hearts." Matt props his other elbow on the table, too, leaning forward intently. "That was a compliment, darling. And I would not fault you for wanting to be careful with your sweeping. Nor she with hers, for that matter." He tilts his head, tapping his cheek with one fingertip. "Now, you're familiar with my power to the extent that I make others stronger, more focused, and what have you, but..." He lifts his eyebrows. "I can also do the opposite, quite easily, and I don't actually need to be sitting beside you sipping tea to pull it off." Though here he is taking a sip of his tea before passing the thermos back to his brother. Leo has totally been just about to right his pawns when something in the Tessiers' words sinks in. It's not really possible for him to blush any harder, but his hand freezes, eyes going deer-in-headlights wide. "You can --" Several calculations are quite clearly happening in Leo's mind. He is looking curiously at Matt -- and then, thinking better of this, drops his eyes quickly back to the board. "Is that a thing you -- have you -- how far can --" None of these questions manage to quite make it out. "... I'm sorry about your team," is far too distracted to really be an awkward effort at changing the subject, more as if he only just remembered there had even been another subject and is trying desperately to maintain some semblance of politesse about this conversation. Lucien has rested his chin in his palm and now his fingers shift to splay in a loose cup over his mouth that still does not quite hide the amusement there. "Far enough to be in quite a separate room," he supplies helpfully, "-- albeit not quite far enough to be reliably out of earshot. I suppose it is not much use to suggest you need not be embarrassed over this? There are a startling number of people in my brothers' circles who could quite happily benefit from --" Now his brows are creasing thoughtfully. "-- such a service." "I have headphones." Somehow this is the part Matt sounds (mildly) defensive about. "If I'm just keeping it down and not trying to do anything fancy, I don't need feedback or even much in the way of concentration. I could watch hockey the entire time, if I were a masochist." If he is in any way displeased with the delay of their chess game, it's not obvious. "I've often provided power management in medical contexts, but it's..." Another twitch of smile. "...harder for most to even consider such assistance for sex, much less ask for it. This does not seem so very different in concept from, say, an OT helping a disabled client access intimacy, though in execution..." He is sitting up a little straighter, by his standards, anyway, and glances aside at his brother, speculative. "Could this be considered a kind of meta-sex work? Not participating, just facilitating?" Assistance for sex, meta-sex work, these things are really not helping Leo's attempts to reel back in his embarrassment and look any more casual. His gaze stays fixed steadily on the board, and when he moves his next pawn it seems as much for want of something to do with his hands than out of any careful consideration of his moves. "I -- I do not -- you do not have to be. A sex... work... er. For me." Though his lips are twisting to one side in thought, his brows scrunched deep. "... it really is not difficult, for you?" "No," Lucien's answer, though casual, is quite prompt. "Sex work is sexual labor. You are like the OT, not like the tryst they're prepping their client for." His lips purse in a fleeting judgment at Leo's move, but he's moving on quickly. "My brother has quite a bit of practice. He certainly knows his own boundaries quite well. If he says it is no trouble --" He turns a hand up in a small shrug. "Though," he allows -- only after watching Leo's awkward tension just a moment longer, "-- having an on-site intimacy mediator is not. The only option." "There you go, a professional opinion." Matt indicates Lucien with a flourish. "It's not sex work, it's mediation." He tilts his head at Leo's move. Though his expression does not much change, Lucien can feel the glee that gusts through him as he adjusts his strategy to exploit the blunder. He moves a knight, prelude to an assault. "I assure you, it is the easiest thing. I do tire in time, but if I'm otherwise resting, it's a rather long time!" His smile pulls a little crooked. A minute hiccup in his neurochemistry is the only indication when he conquers the urge to say something amusing to him and, presumably, mortifying to Leo. Instead he tilts his head slightly in Lucien's direction. "As he says." His tone softens, just a little. "You are familiar with suppression grids, which for these purposes are like me, only not near so clever or good-looking. They're not terribly common in civilian use--again often in medicine, like at Mendel. But not only." Here Lucien can discern the warmth of Matt's pride, admiration, even. "But some thoughtful individual recognized they have plenty of use beyond the nefarious and the necessary." "Not half so modest as he is, either." There's a clear fondness in Lucien's quiet amusement. "As it so happens, the honeymoon suite at L'Entente comes equipped with such a grid. I had a thought that perhaps someone might find it useful. If you give me advance notice I am happy to comp you the room. Surely every now and then you could use a quiet escape that doesn't involve blipping across the world?" In all the bustle of the unseasonably balmy park, it's hard to say who around them has been taking notice of Leo. Certainly the chess game in progress hasn't attracted any further spectators. But, now, an audience is proceeding in their direction not in the form of chess enthusiasts but a pair of uniformed NYPD officers -- caaarefully hanging back and letting the two skittering arachnid Sentinels that accompany them approach Leo first. Leo frowns as if suddenly noticing the predicament that he has left himself in, shifting one of his own knights to guard his king. "Your hotel... oh. Oh. I mean, I could pay for it properly, that's not -- but yes, I might -- we might..." His blush is slowly starting to recede, and it is only with his slowly easing mortification that he manages to pull his eyes back up from where they've been steadily fixed On The Game and not his companions. -- The lingering redness in his cheeks drains away sharply, then, leaving him far too pale. His mouth opens into a small o, his habitual wary vigilance snapping back considerably too late, now, to be of use. The roil inside him has gotten faster, fiercer. In contrast he is quite steady as he pushes himself to his feet, dipping his head regretfully to the Tessiers. "Patawarin niyo po ako," he murmurs -- to them, to himself, it's soft enough to make it hard to tell, although clearer is: "Please go." Matt smiles just that much brighter at Leo's reply--or at his move, or perhaps both. "I wasn't thinking to charge you, either, though I will come up with a pay scale for doing this more broadly. Luci is not wrong, it's a niche that could use filling, and..." He frowns when Leo blanches. His power is already threading deeper into his brother's, bolstering its reach and strength, before he sees the Sentinels. When he does, though, his phone is in his hand at once. If he's paler than he was before, it's hard to tell. "I can call for help," he says, low, but he's getting up all the same and stepping back from the table. Lucien's eyes flutter open wider at the sound of the clicking metal feet. He is on his feet swiftly, expression habitually neutral but his grip white-knuckled at Flèche's leash. The thermos is forgotten on the bench -- his other hand is reaching for Matt's wrist, tugging his brother -- just that much farther away from Leo and the Cops. The sentinels are coming up to flank Leo -- the police behind them, stopping a short distance away. One has hand on his taser, the other already drawn his gun. Some people have stopped to take notice at the drawn gun, but the panic doesn't set in until the officer begins in a voice trying far too hard to be Commanding, "Leonid Concepcion --" "-- Shoot me. Is that really what you want to do?" Leo has been pulling his jacket tighter around himself as he slips away from the table, but he stops short as the bots arrive, flicking his gaze from one -- to the other -- to the drawn gun, his eyes lifting after -- not to the officer he's interrupting but past, to the tourists who had been enjoying the busker, to the youth skating, to the people with their pups in the dog run. His voice is soft, hovering on the edge of diffident in a way that makes a sharp contrast with the way he doesn't wait to continue speaking, addresses the officers like he's sure they won't interrupt. "What exactly do you think happens next?" Matt is easily moved, so effortlessly there's a strange kind of grace to it even though his body is drawn taut with the alarm spreading through the park--and some extra alarm of his own. Nearly the full brunt of his power is leaning into Lucien's, but he spares just enough attention to feel for Leo's. His breathing is steady and deep, and to Lucien's senses he's at once exceptionally calm and utterly terrified. "I don't think anyone wants to find out, Officers," he suggests, voice sincere and solicitous and just fearful enough to waver a little when he adds, "there's a lot of innocent people here." The officers don't interrupt -- one actually flinches when Leo speaks, drawing out his taser and then immediately paling as Leo's words sink in. The officers exchange a Look, fearful and calculating in the way of two men who only seconds before had been filled with thoughts of the glory of bringing in Notorious Terrorist Leonid Concepcion and have just this minute remembered how he became Notorious Terrorist Leonid Concepcion to begin with. The Sentinels have no such reticence -- they both scamper eagerly forward, their spindly modular bodies disarmingly strong when they each clamp metal legs around Leo's ankles, their arms interlocking with each other to turn the two bots into one bigger one, now shackling his legs. The officer with his hand on his gun wavers, the gun, too, disconcertingly unsteady in his grip. The two men are murmuring to each other now, low but not quite low enough that stray snatches of conversation aren't audible: "... how far can..." "the dogs can..." "-- goddamn epidemic --" Lucien's power is licking out, bolstered and expanded as it is, threading delicately through the police officers -- simultaneously, now, encouraging a sense of calm, levelheadedness, while also retarding reflexes just enough to make any jittery Snap Decisions come far less snappily. In his mind, to Matt's perception, there is only a preternatural calm -- below that, the sick knot of dread that wanted to unfurl has been tucked tightly away. That doesn't keep the troubled pleading out of his expression, a concern etched there as he glances first to the hands holding the gun and then to the man's face. "Sir, I'm sure you -- want to get home to your family, we all do, I heard -- such terrible things about what he --" His words cut off in a hard swallow. Leo's power is currently an extremely bright, extremely noisy riot against Matt's senses. He's curled his grip, too, out into the officers, though at the moment it's doing little in them but observing. In him something has blossomed, thick and ugly and bubbling its way to the surface. Leo is getting just a little paler as it does -- his eyes a little more bloodshot, faint purplish-red speckles beginning to dot the back of his hands. Slower and more ponderous, he's latched into the Sentinels (Sentinel??), grabbing there and twisting in a hard and violent yank. The result is fairly muted -- the robot at his legs simply goes slack in its grip, legs unlatching and its eyes going dark. Leo is tense, head bowed, shoulders hunched. His rash-reddened hands slip into his pockets as he steps out of the defunct robot and starts to walk past the officers, and away. The officers are glancing to the Tessiers -- to all the crowds around -- it's hard to say whether they've quite made a decision when Leo simply steps out of the Sentinel that had had him bound. Their weapons swing back to train on him again, but as he walks closer there's an almost comical scramble as they make a lot wider space for him to pass through. The officer with the gun clears his throat almost sheepishly, and holsters the weapon. The officer with the taser is collecting himself as if he hadn't just nearly tripped over his own feet to get out of Leo's way, informing the staring crowd somewhat officiously, "-- everything's under control, now."