Logs:Challenges

Challenges
CN: controlled drug use, references to cancer and chaotic drug use
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt, Flèche
In Absentia	2021-06-04 "Do you think it a failing?"
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 cool evening, darker already than it ought to be at this hour, the sky overcast and the air thick with an impending storm. Lucien has poured himself into one of the garden chairs, post-work comfortable in jeans and a mint-green henley. He has a tall glass of lavender lemonade near to hand, one finger trailing lightly through the condensation it has sweated out; his bowl of pesto gnocchi is nearly untouched. His eyes have drifted away, tracking the erratic path of a firefly as it blinks through the roses. A while later, the kitchen door opens and Flèche trots outside, tail flagging high. She makes a beeline for Lucien and drops into a textbook sit at his feet, big brown eyes fixed on him with only quick darting glances at the food beside him. Matt is slower to follow, white t-shirt with a woodpecker in flight carrying a drill and gray cargo shorts all rumpled from an overlong afternoon nap. He deposits his own bowl, glass, and an old scuffed rosewood box adorned with pentagrams, suns, and moons on the table before sinking down in a chair beside his brother's. The box was designed for a tarot deck but has probably never actually held one; from its velvet-lined interior he takes a glass pipe shot through with serpentine ribbons of green, silver and black, raising both it and an eyebrow at Lucien. Lucien's eyes do not leave the blinking greenish glow flitting through the garden. He does drop a hand, forefinger and thumb slipping into his jeans pocket and emerging with a small dog treat that he offers to Flèche on a palm. "Mmm," he accedes with a slight upward twitch of lip, a slight downward tilt of head. "It seems a terrible design flaw that the longer I go without food the harder it is to consume it." Flèche stretches out her long snout and delicately plucks the treat from Lucien's hand, ears pressed back and eyes comically wide. Matt's expression mirrors his brother's briefly--a little softer, perhaps, a little more rueful. "It does." He pulls a small plastic tub from the box and taps some ground-up herb into the bowl of the pipe. The smell of marijuana blossoms in the air as he tamps it down casually with an index fingertip. "I might have a few complaints to add, if we're lobbying the gods about it." He offers the pipe and a plastic lighter (bright purple and festooned with little black bats) to Lucien. "{Granted, some of those are pretty solidly my own fault.}" "Lobbying sounds so formal. I was just going to shake a fist heavenwards and hope it sorted itself out." Lucien stretches an arm out, taking pipe and lighter both. He leans forward away from the pup as he lights it, an eyebrow quirking upward. "{Has your self-flagellation extended to blaming yourself for the cancer, now? I think that cause was --}" His lips press thinner as he passes the pipe back. "{External.}" "That sort of thing always goes better with a few candles, no? Good lighting adds to the drama." Here Matt draws himself up, indignant. "{If that's a challenge, I could go the 'if I'd only been better at the one damn thing I'm good for' route. In truth I hadn't thought to and have no intention to start.}" He hits the pipe, holds, and blows a tight stream of smoke expertly skyward. "{I will admit some self-flagellation about the drugs. Not this one, mind,}" he adds, handing said drug back to his brother. "{But on the balance it's more floundering that flagellating. It's not as if I can just make all the...external things go away by declaring I'm going to 'do better'.}" Lucien takes the pipe and settles back this time, his expression blank as he looks back to Matt. "{What do you propose to do better at, exactly?}" His thumb flicks, steady and repetitive, against the striker on the lighter. "{It was only my first reflex.}" Matt spreads his hands in front of him. "{I don't actually think it's a good approach, but in theory? Self-control.}" His gaze flicks up, then back around to Luci. "{I did so well for so long, I never thought I needed support.}" He subsides back into the chair, reaching out to scratch absently behind the dog's silky soft ear. "Obviously, I was wrong. It's just--hard to let go of that." "Mmm." Lucien flicks an actual flame out of the lighter this time, his eyes closing as he takes a small puff from the pipe. He's slow to exhale, slow to pass it back. His jaw has tightened, his toes curling down into the grass. "I --" He breaks off. The tension in his jaw hasn't eased when his eyes open, tipped up towards the leaves above them. "Do you think it a failing? Needing support?" Matt does not answer at once. He rubs his thumb over the smooth curving surface of the pipe. "No." He frowns, his lips compressing. It's another beat before he allows, "I did, in a roundabout way. It's--" He gulps down a long swallow of lemonade. "{I've spent so much of my life just fighting to stay alive, and truly I don't blame myself for that. But gods, Luci, I've accomplished so little else.}" His eyes search the darkening shadows of the garden around them. "{So, I clung desperately to any challenge that I'd mastered. Thought I'd mastered.}" He flicks the lighter with a bit more force than entirely necessary and takes a deep drag. The slow breath Lucien lets out at this answer releases some of the tension coiled through his frame as well. "{I -- suppose this is not the time to litigate that assertion, but I would question the standard you are using to judge little else.}" He folds one hand in the other, fingers rubbing against the opposite knuckles. "{Do you need more to challenge you, in life?}" He does not quite suppress the fleeting grimace that crosses his expression. Matt's smile is slow and thin but warm all the same as he offers the pipe back to his brother. "{I suppose not. But trust me, the standard is quite high, and I've such a pathological need to feel superior that...}" He trails off, shaking his head. "{For me, it's clearly more than challenge enough accepting no one really accomplishes anything alone. That, and trying to be a good teacher, a good teammate, a good friend, a good brother--hell, a good person. } And, well, you know..." He turns up one hand, elegant if a little helpless. "...the whole 'being alive' thing." Lucien flaps one hand toward his bowl before taking the pipe, shooing away a fly that seemingly has designs on his neglected pasta. "{Alright. So.}" Hands full, he's only manages to tick the first of these points off on his fingers before busying himself with the pipe, but the sentiment is there all the same. "{Educating teenagers in the matters of French and witchcraft. Helping young mutants navigating unstable new abilities. Rescuing countless prisoners from a slow torturous death. Providing a stable home for your siblings and -- interdimensionally displaced refugees. Moonlighting as a ludicrously costumed vigilante.} And, well, the whole not being dead thing." He tips his hand back to Matt on this last, the pipe offered back. "{If you need to feel superior,}" he offers, solemn, "{we can play chess after this.}" Matt lifts both eyebrows, his whole carriage relaxing. "{You make my nonsense life sound so very compelling, though I happen to think the X-uniforms have a sort of sci-fi charm.}" But this doesn't really sound like a complaint. "{Granted, some of those are pretty solidly your credit.} His fingers sink gently into the fur and skin on Flèche's neck, scritching dutifully where the dog leans into his touch. With his other hand he accepts the pipe back, his smile skewing just slightly crooked. "Mmm. If I get stoned enough, you might even stand a chance."