Logs:Deal

Deal
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia Elie, Damien	2025-01-05 "{-- I will believe you.}"
Location <HFC> Sanctum - Hfc Basement
This luxurious basement lounge is circular, largely taken up by a conversation pit lined with plush bench seating all upholstered in gold velvet. An octagonal table occupies the center, its surface crafted from gleaming black glass. There are four gaps in the circle of couches, two admitting stairs that descend into the pit. The other two postmodern gas fireplaces, each in a shallow brass bowl, one sitting on a black marble plinth, the other white, one topped with a white organically curved flue, the other black. Ringing the conversation pit is a raised gallery containing two recessed, U-shaped booths that can be screened off for a modicum of privacy, two exquisite tropical fish tanks--one salt water, one fresh--two restrooms, neither marked for any particular gender, and a bar opposite the entrance. Between these, the walls are decorated with artwork from all around the world, paintings and sculptures and pottery and masks. The police are gone. The press is gone. Upstairs, the light buzz of conversation among the Club's posh clientele is turning towards a not-actually-all-that-fluttery, not-actually-all-that-scandalized dissection of the evening's drama. Down here, it is quiet, near-empty -- perhaps both Courts are taking a breather in this tumultuous time. Lucien is currently alone in a booth down here, suit jacket removed and neatly draped over the back of his seat. He is taking it slow with the generous measure of Scotch beside him, possibly because he has already turned back to work, busily occupied on his tablet. Arguably, Matt has also been hard at work, picking up the schmoozing where his mother left off -- and she certainly left him with plenty of attention. He's filtered back downstairs now and, fortified with a glass of his own, joined Lucien at his table. "{Do you have any notion where he's taken her?}" He sets his Scotch down and shrugs out of his jacket before dropping wearily into a seat across from his brother. "{My best guess is Madripoor, but I genuinely cannot tell with that man. I quite thought he was joking about carrying her off.}" Lucien sits up a touch straighter -- his expression hasn't changed, but there's a shift somewhere muddled and just out of reach of Matt's proper sensing. He is still fixed on his work, though he's shifted his posture and grip on the tablet just so to keep the screen (which, anyway, has a privacy protector on it) that much more angled away from Matt as his brother approaches. This eases, slightly, once the other man has seated himself. "{He does have a sense of humor, but I don't believe it to encompass that manner of jest.}" He glances up, a brief flick and then back down to his tablet. "{Very far off, I expect. He seemed --}" His nostrils flare as he inhales slow. "{None too pleased with her.}" Matt studies Lucien over the brim of his glass as he sips. "{Neither am I. If she had gone to prison, I feared we'd have to deal with her again in only a few years.}" His lips press thin. "{I hope he has the resources to keep her away for good, and if not...}" He turns one hand up, the gesture understated in its fatalism. Maybe it's not altogether a non-sequitur when he admits, "{I rather thought he was going to kill me at one point. Perhaps that was overdramatic.}" "{He is quite resourceful.}" Lucien reaches for his glass, staring down at the golden liquid. He huffs, quicksharp, and gives a small shake of his head before he takes a slug. "{What reason would he have for that?}" "{That is reassuring.}" Matt nods readily enough, but his tone is detached in a way that suggests he isn't altogether sure. "{Resources aside, I worried he might not regard her as the same kind of threat that --}" His teeth grind quietly. "{-- that you've known she was all along. He knew what I did to you, but when he saw us together today...}" He gives a very nearly identical non-shrug as before. "I believe 'delightful turn of events' was the phrasing he used?" "{You made some deal with him, I gather. He enjoys winning. You ought to understand that.}" Lucien's voice is very evenly measured, his fingers quite tight around his glass. He swallows a slow mouthful. His breath is shaky when he exhales. "{-- some deal with her, too. Much longer ago.}" Matt mouths "ah" silently. "{I suppose I do. Perhaps the joy of winning is also why he didn't kill me the second time. I entertained him enough avoid being carried off to -- Madripoor, or whither he's spirited Mother.}" He drinks slow, too, his brows furrowing. "{Or maybe breaking her promise was worse to him than anything I'd done.}" There's an almost infinitesimal hesitation here. "{How literal would you say he is about such things?}" Lucien chuffs, softly. "{The man makes me look practically allistic.}" Matt slumps forward and props his chin up in one hand. "{Mm. I suppose that's on brand.}" He sounds just the slightest bit put out. "{...and I suppose I'd best try harder answer, next time.}" He rotates the glass evenly in one hand, and looks past it at his brother again. "{Is he your father?}" "{We've not gotten a DNA test.}" Lucien lowers his glass. He sets the tablet down, too, switching its screen off as he sets it back on the table. "{Answer what?}" "{I don't mean whether he sired you. I'm fair sure he cares about you, but I've no notion what he is to you.}" Matt straightens up, only to drape himself back against the bench seating. "{His summons -- if he ever works out how to send one I'm capable of answering.}" He sucks in a deep breath and sighs even deeper. "{I owe him my life, also. So much of my foolishness last year was mediated by Mother's influence, but that one's on me.}" It is a good thing Lucien isn't drinking, because the quick amused gasp he pulls in would probably have been very unpleasant with the burning of the Scotch. "{Apologies, you -- owe him your life? How did -- why did --}" He is collecting himself with a small clearing of his throat and a small shake of his head. "{Then, yes. I suppose you ought to get better at asking} how high?" Matt's expression cycles too quickly to track, but at last he just rubs his temple and subsides back against the bench. "{Mm, I lost to him at a splendid game of chess, in a thunderstorm.}" The wry crook of his smile is deeply, indelibly familiar, however long it's been for Lucien. "{I don't regret it -- there's really just the one thing I regret.}" He tips his head to one side and allows, "I may change that tune the next time he sends me a series of incomprehensible texts and I wake up in some Foul Court prison. The last time he just broke in and made soup." Lucien is rubbing one hand slowly against his cheek, his palm dragging across his mouth to hide much of his expression. It's very composed when he drops his hand, but there's a distinct amusement threading through his tone. "Good soup, I trust?" He shakes his head and picks his tablet back up, though he doesn't turn it on. "{What is it you regret?}" "He said the kitchen was lonely." Matt says this without a trace of mockery or incredulity. "The soup was quite good, but not as good as yours. He does remind me of you, though." He studies the bottom of his glass through the whisky, his expression placid. "And some weird inversion of Mother. Maybe that's why she liked him." He looks up, lowering the glass to the table without drinking. "{I regret not believing you.}" Lucien's eyes lower, fluttering slowly half-closed. He's lowered the tablet once more, resting between his lap at the edge of the table. His breaths have gone slower, very measured, until he reaches to pluck up the Scotch and down the rest of it. "{Perhaps next time --}" even for him, his voice has gone quieter than its usual softness, and he swallows down the end of this sentence with a very quiet hitch of breath. "{-- I will believe you.}" Matt's voice has also gone quiet, and there's no suggestion of argument when he adds, "{I believed you before, but I didn't really see you. I was so afraid of Mother's shadow I didn't realize I'd been walking in it all along, and you were there with me.}" His hand tightens around his glass. "{Her shadow will still be here, even if she never comes back, but I see it now, and I see you. And if she does come back -- from Madripoor or Tír na nóg or the depths of Hell -- we will deal with her together.}" He tosses back the rest of his drink and traces an X on his chest. "Cross my heart."