Logs:Denouement

Denouement
Dramatis Personae Damien, Elie, Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2025-01-05 "What a delightful turn of events."
Location <HFC> Bishop's Salon - Hfc Second Floor
One of half dozen such rooms at the club, this is an intimate parlor where one might take luncheon, tea, or brandy and cigars after supper. Each is sumptuously appointed in the theme of a chess piece--the Bishop in this case. For all that, the decor is fairly light on actual Christian symbolism. Aside from the Paradise Lost triptych over the mantle, an illuminated manuscript on its own pedestal in one corner, and an ornate gold monstrance (absent the host) mounted above the door, the paraphernalia on the shelves and walls mostly relate to general Medieval scholarship and scrivening. It's vanishingly rare for this door to be locked from the outside, and even rarer for the staff to ignore the summons of the guest behind it. Elie Tessier is resplendent in a long, glimmering white trumpet dress that, however flattering, was not suitable for either church or the luncheon with the clients she sought to win back, The whirlwind she reaped has caught up to her, but for the moment she is left in the eye of that storm with only a decanter of fine apple brandy for solace. She is availing herself of it now, a snifter cupped in her hand as she leafs through the beautifully illuminated Bible. There is no knock before the door opens, just the murmur of voices too quiet to be easily identifiable and then the turn of a key. It locks again behind Damien after he sweeps in. Are his clothes suitable for anywhere, that is an open question. He's flamboyant today as ever in a jaunty black velvet tailcoat over a faintly pearlescent white shirt with a cravat in shades of green improbably tesselated into leafy patterns, a gold-chained watch that ticks in the rhythm of a heartbeat tucked into the watch pocket of a matching waistcoat, and gold trousers tucked into tall riding boots. He has also brought with him (perched on his upturned fingertips as though he is the world's most ostentatious waiter) a small silver tray. Two cups of fresh tea, a small plate of some tiny delicate cakes. "You are having a bit of a day, aren't you." He's set the tray down on the table in front of Elie, draping himself into the chair across from her. Elie straightens stiffly in her chair when the door opens, and her beguiling expression falls at the sight of the man who enters. "Damien," she whispers. "{My love! Oh, tell me you've come to rescue me, I pray you.}" Her uncanny green eyes sparkle with tears. "Oh!" Damien's eyes go just a little wider, and his soft fluttering inhale sounds quite impregnated with emotion. There's a different hush in his voice -- a little breathless, a little overcome. "{That would be a splendid tale, wouldn't it? They've got you under quite a guard.}" "{Yes, and if I do not get free now, I'll spend another decade in a cage.}" Elie looks down at the tray and, setting aside her glass at a small delay, takes up the delicate teacup instead. "{I ought never to have gone back to him. He used us ill, so very sorely ill.}" She blinks back her tears. "{Please -- our story needn't end there.}" "{Is a decade such a very long time?}" Damien's head has tipped small and thoughtful as he gives some earnest contemplation to this question. "{It's been more than thrice that and here you are, still claiming me as your love. I admit there was a time I had thought to spend a fleeting lifetime with you, but --}" he sounds more than a touch wistful, here, and though he is not actually casting himself sidelong across the chair, hand pressed to his forehead, there is still a strong suggestion that at any moment he just might, "{I left those hopes up north when you sent me off.}" He rests his elbow on his armrest, sharp chin propped lightly against the back of his long fingers. "{The years since have not been so kind to you, have they?}" Elie sits back, cradling her tea delicately. Her eyes -- still bright with a sheen of unspilled tears -- focus on Damien long and intent through her slow sip. She brushes at them delicately with the back of one finger when she lowers her tea and trades it for one of the small cakes. "{The world is not always kind.}" Though this statement is imbued with an air of great suffering, her posture only grows more poised. "{I have weathered it all the same.}" The cake has not come from the Club's renowned chefs, but is exquisite all the same, airy and light and flavored with some unidentifiable warming spice and just a hint of the bittersweetness of thinking on fond memories long past. "{No,}" Damien's voice is soft, now, gentle and deeply sad. "{No, it really is not.}" He plucks up his own tea, and settles back with it. "{Would that I could tell you I came here to effect a rescue. I think my part is in another story altogether, for now.}" Elie's eyes have fluttered half-closed; her soft and delighted inhale at the first bite of the cake is entirely unaffected. Her eyes are dry when she opens them, though they've gone just slightly tighter with a regret that carries through to her voice. "{You always told me that our stories are ours to create. You could rewrite this, still. We could rewrite this together.}" When the door opens this time it's Matt who slips inside, smart -- if a touch rakish, with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder in the crook of one finger -- in a plum windowpane vest over a seafoam shirt paired with a green paisley tie, charcoal trousers, and sleek black dress boots. His surprise -- if it's that -- at the sight of the person sitting across from his mother registers only as a miniscule lift of brows. "I feel almost as though I ought've guessed it was you just by the timbre of 'gentleman' Frederick used to describe you." He drifts further into the room and fetches up beside Damien, slouching over to prop one elbow on the back of his chair. "{Have you come to carry her away?}" His eyes fix steady on Elie. "{If not, the Marshals are waiting downstairs to do the honors.}" Lucien is slipping in after his brother, somewhat complementary today in a light gray three-piece suit, a jet black dress shirt cinched with a Tyrian purple tie in intricate geometric patterns, labradorite cabochon cufflinks with an uncommonly strong green flash, and black monk shoes. He doesn't enter the room very far, stopping in the still-open doorway with his hands clasped prim behind his back. "I am sorry to cut this reunion short," he murmurs, no apology at all in his mild voice, "but it is very nearly time." Damien is drinking deep from the tea as Elie speaks. He doesn't look up when the other men enter, but there is something fiercer, brighter, glinting like an echo of firelight in his eyes. "So you two are working together again. What a delightful turn of events." He does not sound at all surprised, really. He rises fluidly, and there is something of pity in his voice now as his head inclines to Elie. "{I believe you are correct, my dear. If your son holds to his deals better than you, we very much still could.}" There's relief in Elie's expression when Matt arrives. Her hand touches lightly to her heart as she rises fluidly from her seat. "{Oh, thank goodness, my sweet boy, tell me that --}" But then Lucien arrives, and her expression pales. Tightens. Her eyes skip between her sons -- and then fall to Damien, an uncertain confusion setting in. "{Deals? We haven't made any -- you are going to get me out of here, no?}" "{Mother. What shall I tell you?}" Matt's eyes track Damien for a moment, then snap back to Elie with an indefinable sharpness. "{You may never understand how wicked you've been. More's the pity -- you would swan about ever so dramatically over your epiphany if you but knew.}" He tilts his head minutely at Damien, though the perplexity in the gesture doesn't quite make it into the unnervingly intent blankness of his expression. "{Ah, yes! I did make a deal, no?} I bargained Mother away," he informs Lucien casually, "in exchange for you. The house and my fortune, also -- admittedly, neither went to Damien." His eyes slide back to Damien, glimmering with gleeful curiosity. "{Take her if you like, though I must warn you she's far more dangerous than she even knows.} I can't fathom what on Earth you'd do with her, but I don't much care so long as she's far away." "Deals?" Lucien's eyes widen fractionally. "{You can't have been here but five minutes, have you already managed to sucker her into your nonsense.}" This sounds just faintly disappointed, like for all his vitriol he expected more canniness of her. He does not have the same disappointment at Matt's revelation, though he does shake his head, small. "{You all are remarkably profligate with your promises.}" "Goodness, no. {This particular deal was struck quite some time ago. She told me if she brought our child into the world she'd give him a home where he never wanted for love. From the sound of it, the world has been collecting on that broken promise some time now.}" Damien is plucking his watch from his pocket -- the ticking in it is slowing, falling off-rhythm, and then, abruptly, stopping. Damien straightens with a small clap of hands, a brightening in his tone as he takes Elie's hand in his own. "{Come, then. We've a very long ways to go.}"