Logs:Digitalis
| Digitalis | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-12-26 "Iiii'm trying to steer clear of the horror." |
| Location
<NYC> Le Carrefour, Le Bonne Entente - Astoria, Queens | |
Above the bustle of the clerestory restaurant, tucked at the base of the bell tower, this indoor garden and library is out of the way and easily overlooked, sure to become a favored "hidden gem" of travel guides. Low bookshelves full of mythology, fairy tales, and folklore ring the central elevator shaft and the stairway spiraling around it like an easily navigable labyrinth. Beyond these are plants in a variety of tastefully whimsical containers, each with its own engraved plaque giving the common name, the scientific name, and their significance to various traditional stories and practices. The walls have been done away with so that the room extends beyond the doric columns into a surreal rooftop garden enclosed with glass stretching between the tower's massive buttresses. The arrangement of plantlife becomes less formal as one moves out into the four arms of the conservatory, visible containers giving way to beds and terraces and eventually landscapes carefully cultivated to look wild. There is plentiful seating scattered along the paths and just off of them, from proper benches to picturesque logs to surprisingly comfortable boulders. By day, myriad butterflies dance amongst the enchanted vegetation, and likewise moths by night. A shallow stream weaves throughout, feeding ponds that host plants of their own alongside fish, frogs, and turtles. Wandering the outer edges of the conservatory, one could almost feel lost in a mystical forest but for the stunning views of the cityscape beyond the glass. It's hard to say if Lucien's day has run extraordinarily late or if he's up extraordinarily early. Either might be just as possible -- at any rate, it's well before dawn and he is tucked away in the conservatory, neat and comfortable in jeans, a cream button down, a soft hunter green sweater. There's a plate on a nearby table that suggests he came here to eat -- there is an omelette still warm (though probably not for long) beside his tea, but he has at the moment abandoned these. He's crouched down not far from his table, giving intense scrutiny to a stand of foxgloves growing there. To a casual observer there is not much unusual about the flowers, though their colors are strikingly intense. He has been fixated on them a good while, though, eventually gently lifting a finger to tip one of the bell-like blossoms up towards himself. Gaétan, at least, is still in the same sweater-and-corduroys combo he'd been in all through volunteering at Evolve yesterday. A little sluggish, a little rumpled, a little fell-asleep-on-the-Hollands'-couch, he's trailing Flèche through the conservatory towards his brother. His hands are shoved in his pockets, steps slow and trudgey. He plops himself down at Lucien's table. Takes a bite of the food, chases it with a gulp of tea. Cuts off a tiny corner of omelette to give to Flèche, too. Lucien doesn't pull his gaze away from the flowers until Gaétan starts eating his breakfast. He's looking up then, eyes narrowing in a sharper critique. "Someone's gotta enjoy it. You were letting it get cold," Gaétan replies defensively. "{What?}" Lucien's voice isn't sharp, exactly, but in a rare unguarded moment of confusion his immediate puzzled reply comes out fast enough to seem a bit snappish. He pulls his shoulders just a little bit inward, and shakes his head. His tone has gentled when he speaks again. "{-- Do you really think I would grudge you the food?}" Clearly Gaétan doesn't think it, because he's shoving another, bigger bite into his mouth. "S'is delicious, you should actually eat," he's saying from behind a cupped hand. And after he has swallowed: "{You were glaring. Maybe that's just your} ass-o-clock-in-the-morning {face}." Lucien turns his glaring back to the plants, looking away long enough to marshal his expression back into its typical studied neutrality. "{Is this your doing?}" It doesn't sound accusatory -- he is gesturing toward the too-vivid foxgloves. "{It is subtler than growing them fur, I will grant you.}" He pushes himself to his feet and returns to his table. He seems content enough to cede the omelette to Gaétan, but he is taking his tea back. "Oh." Understanding is creeping slowly through Gaétan's underslept haze, but his eyes widen here, a pleased crinkle briefly at the corners of his eyes. His mouth twitches, then pulls back flat as he hitches up one shoulder in a shrug. "{Fur'd get the wrong attention. I'm just trying to see which mutants you can spot.}" "{-- There are more of these?}" Lucien lowers his tea, his eyes sweeping their immediate environs as though he might just right now spy whatever unusually altered plants Gaétan has hidden around his conservatory. There's a soft intrigue in his tone, his brows lifting as he settles himself down in -- not his chair, Gaé took that, he'll take the next one over. "{You've come quite a long ways, then.}" "{Yeah. It's amazing the education you get in mad science torture jail.}" Gaétan has plowed his way through a good half of Lucien's omelette before, perhaps, just a smidge of guilt sets in. Just a smidge -- he's taking one last bite and then shoving the plate towards his brother. He slouches back in his chair, dropping a hand to rub at the dog's head. "{Anyone does notice, your gardener can just end up with some award for the wild new hybrids she's invented here.}" Lucien takes a slow pull of his tea. He's still looking around at the nearer flowers and shrubs. "{Can you at least tell me how many strange specimens are on this delightful scavenger hunt?}" He sets his tea down and pulls his plate closer. "{I cannot say I will be thanking Prometheus any time soon, but that is rather impressive work.}" "Nah," Gaétan answers straightaway. "{I will tell you if you manage to find them all, though.}" Now that Lucien is eating the omelette, he swipes the mug. He's turning to look at the bright foxgloves, and then returning his gaze -- there's just a hint of green now starting to glimmer in the dark brown of his eyes -- to Luci. "{Anyway, you think that's impressive you should see what I can do with people.}" One of Lucien's brows hitches. Ha makes no attempt to reclaim his tea. "{I don't even know which direction I ought to begin speculating in. Most paths I start to go down there end in horror.}" "Iiii'm trying to steer clear of the horror." The tightness that clenches Gaétan's jaw is hard. Noticeable. But fleeting, easing up after only a moment. "{The direction they want to take those Sentinels, hiding is gonna get a hell of a lot harder for you. Maybe not immediately, but it's going to happen. I could --}" He looks down at his hands, clenched tight around Lucien's mug. "I dunno. {Help steer you clear of it, too.}" Lucien tightens his grip on his fork. His eyes have fixed at some indeterminate spot on the table, and stay there for one breath and then another. He flicks a quick look towards Gaétan's hands, and then slices off a small mouthful of his omelette to chew it primly. "{It really is a shame most mutants are so poor. I imagine that service would be in high demand, if your theatre career never takes off.}" "Psh. {Don't be ridiculous.}" Gaétan lifts his mug to Lucien, his tone very dry. "{I'm gonna have you in my corner. It's going to take off.}" | |
