Logs:Counterparts

Counterparts
Dramatis Personae DJ, Lucien, Matt	2020-12-15 "I thought I'd be ready to see you but I..."
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. The snowstorm outside is growing worse, and though with the ground so warm there's still only about an inch of actual accumulation there's certainly promise of plenty more by morning. It's rather late--certainly well past suppertime--but the house is redolent of the rich, savory meal reheated some time ago and still cooling on the kitchen counter. There is pot roast, mashed potatoes, mixed roasted tubers, and a mushroom gravy to tie it all together. There's a crackling flame in the fireplace that could use a bit of attention, though it still puts out plenty of warmth for the black-and-tan mutt dozing on the hearth. Matt is curled in his armchair wearing a white tee shirt with green text across the front that reads "Welcome! Everything is fine" and ancient, threadbare blue jeans worn through at the cuffs, no wig no on his head now to cover the short, soft fuzz of recently regrown hair. Though he looks rather unwell--his skin sickly pale, his eyes sunken, his movements slow and at times unsteady--he has been unflaggingly friendly and gently solicitous while visibly trying not to stare at his guest. "Would you care for another cocoa? Or more food?" This is, admittedly, perhaps motivated in part by his picking up his teacup to find it empty again. There's a quiet click of lock at the front door; Lucien is a bit sluggish as he comes inside, shedding his shoes and outerwear into the hallway closet before locking the door behind himself and continuing into the living room. There's just a speckling of damp on his camel twill trousers; they're paired with a quite dry hunter green angora v-neck sweater over a cream-colored button-down. There are several cloth shopping bags in one hand; he sets them down beside the armchair as he rests one hand up against its backrest. "Would a hotel do for the night," he's asking, without preamble, "or would company be preferable?" "I don't mean to be a bother," DJ demurs. His plate had been emptied in as much haste as he could manage switching back and forth one-handed between fork and knife, and now he cradles his empty mug against one knee. "This was all -- delicious. Kind of forgot to eat half the day." His eyes stray to the mantel, then back down to his lap. He looks up again only when Lucien enters -- his eyes lock on the other man. Freeze there, widening, his breath caught in a small hitch, and though his mouth opens slightly he does not answer the question. "You are not being a bother, and I'm glad you felt able to come to us," Matt insists, though he stops before he's quite worked himself up to climbing out of his chair, eyes flicking to the front door even before the telltale sound of his brother's return. His power stretches out languidly and settles around Lucien's, the touch of his own mind heavy with grief and worry, though neither unmanageable. He comes abruptly more alert at DJ's reaction, green eyes flicking between his brother and their guest with keen appraisal. "Fli--Daw--" He flinches minutely, correcting himself again. "--Mister Allred?" Lucien's own mind is a meticulously curated thing, currently, tightly controlled over some deeper exhaustion that he currently refuses to feel. Though sensible enough to Matt it has not yet carried through to his expression or his bearing; he regards DJ with only a neutral appraisal, one eyebrow ticking up minutely. "We do, also, have spare room," he allows, "I only imagined that might, perhaps, be complicated in itself. I am glad to make arrangements, if I have some direction." DJ doesn't stop staring until Lucien speaks again. He drops his eyes sharply, the cup starting to fall as he lifts his hand toward his face -- he drops his hand again, catches it halfway to the floor, sets it on a coaster on the table with an awkward duck of his head. "I'm so sorry. I knew you were coming, I should have -- you're so like him." Matt nods his agreement to Lucien's offer, supplementing it with a warm, encouraging smile. "Might help get your feet under you faster if you've some incentive for remembering to eat, but we won't fuss after you more than you want. Well..." His hand turns up to indicate the dog who has woken up to greet Lucien and has now padded to the couch where her soulful brown eyes keep alternating between DJ and his empty plate, her wag slow and hopeful. "She might fuss." He relaxes fractionally at DJ's explanation, his expression softening just a touch--little though it might have been obvious to anyone but Lucien he had been tense at all. "I am sure you have had many such moments but--forgive me, you have met, no?" "We've met," Lucien confirms with a small tip of his head. "I've had occasion to meet my counterpart as well. I am sorry to have startled -- I am not sure if you were -- close." DJ is staring steadily down at his hand, fingers clenching against his knee. "No, I -- sorry. We met. I knew you were coming, I just. We just buried him a couple days ago, and I thought I'd be ready to see you but I..." He draws in a slow breath, lifts his eyes back to Lucien. "I apologize. This is all an -- adjustment." There's a small pause; his brows crease deep. "... does Sera know?" he asks uncertainly, and then, almost immediately after, "Maybe telling her now would only be cruelty." Matt's immediate reaction is subtle, from the outside. His eyes widen slightly, fixed on DJ, his hand lifts to his mouth, fingers loosely curled, his breath stops, but only for an instant. To Lucien's senses there is nothing subtle at all about the abrupt swell of his horror, the desperate anguished grasp of his power, the keening lance of pain that catches him so off-guard he tries far too late to hold it back from his brother. "Buried him?" he echoes softly. His eyes flick toward the ceiling as he stretches his power to feel for Sera, little comforted by the assurance she is still in bed, then quickly back to DJ. "No--" His hand clenches into a fist that he presses tightly to his lips for a moment, stifling whatever he had meant to say. What he does say instead, not entirely evenly, is, "I'm--so sorry." Lucien's hand tightens against the back of the armchair at that surge of emotion from Matt; it tears through his own carefully regimented calm, a riot of suppressed worry and grief churning loose beneath it that he does not try to set back in order. Just, instead, busies himself with tidying the chaotic mess of Matt's mind, not quelling the horror but giving it a more manageable shape. "I -- had no idea, just last week we --" His head shakes. "My condolences. We -- have not told Sera, no. I do not know if --" The wilt of his shoulders makes his muscular frame look abruptly smaller. His other hand lifts, forefinger and thumb pressing to the hollows of his eyes. Soft and very even, "-- I'm going to make more cocoa." "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just. Drop -- I guess I thought you might have. Heard, you'd been working with --" DJ shakes his head, looking between the Tessiers and then back down to his lap. "I don't think there's really a guidebook for any of this." When he nods it's a little mechanical, but there's relief in his voice. "That -- would be nice."