Logs:Find Your Place

Find Your Place
Dramatis Personae Damien, Matt, Ryan
In Absentia Lucien, Jax, Elie	2024-06-19 "I really thought you'd be older." (just after picking up a very strange stranger.)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence, Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and more books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues with a strong butterfly motif, has a lofted twin bed and an antique writing desk. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles. The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub. Matt only just manages to stop himself spraying vodka cranberry at Damien's "I think he is my son", but in so doing inhales some of it instead and sputters for a moment longer than Ryan. "Ostie de crisse de tabarnak--" dissolves into further coughing. "Pardon, I should not be so very shocked. This is all of a piece with how things go in our family." He coughs his arm yet again and grabs at the napkins beside Ryan and just out of his reach. "Only, I really thought you'd be older. Then again, Mother was only a girl, herself." He's blinked his eyes clear enough to study Damien's face. Then aside to Ryan again, "He does not look much like Mother, either, except for the..." He indicates his vivid green eyes with a carelessly graceful turn of one hand. "And the whiteness, obviously, which must have been dominant." Ryan has turned away, fumbling for his phone, but he stops before actually getting around to texting Lucien to study Damien again. Frowning deeper. "... how old are you," is his first actual question here, but then, angrier: "And where the fuck have you been? Do you have any idea the fucking shitty-ass life you left him to -- no offense," he adds aside to Matt, "but fuck." "You do have her eyes." Damien's voice is soft and wondering, and he's looking at Matt's face with a new interest in light of this information. His eyes lower -- to the picture still on Matt's phone. "No." Still just low, quiet, but Ryan can feel the complicated twist of grief there. "I have a small inkling only -- gleaned from searching him after I saw his name, and suspected -- but I'm sure I have no idea, really, what he has been through. I assure you, if I had known of his existence I would never have abandoned him, but -- things with his mother," he catches himself, inclining his head towards Matt, "your mother, and I, they ended -- precipitously, and --" His lips compress. He shakes his head, small. He's reaching for his own drink when his brow furrows, hand waving in an almost impatient dismissal. "-- I have yet to understand how this world measures its time, it makes vanishingly little sense to me. By your standards I must be ancient, but by the standards of my people I was --" Slipping into his voice now, a wry humor: "well. A foolish child myself, when I met Elie, and a good deal older after she broke my heart." Matt is frowning down at the photo now. "It was...it must've been exceedingly awful," he hazards, the words crowded with a heavy, confused, ungrounded foreboding. "Full offense warranted. I'm quite sure I used to..." He shakes his head. "We'd always thought all our fathers were shitbags, whether by observation or inference. What did Mother do to you? Other than neglect to inform you she was with child, which hardly surprises me. Most of her 'gentlemen' were not exactly--" He scrambles abruptly upright. "'This world'? Ben tarbarnak, are you an alien? Or from some universe where time works differently?" The sense of ungrounding intensifies, though at least now it's leavened with a delirious amusement. "That would explain the watch, and--my gods, is Luci an alien? Half...alien?" Ryan is snorting, leaning back against the pillows as he drains his wine. He reaches out to bap Matt lightly on the shoulder with the hand holding his empty glass. "Holy shit. Maybe the fucking Despot of Magnetism isn't gonna be the most grave-robbing you've ever done. -- Do you want me to text him? Have you told him -- shit, if you're fucking with us Matt will probably put you in a world of hurt." He glances over toward the pile of clothes, the quiet heartbeat still nestled within it, and then back to Damien. "You're not one of those Asgardians, are you? Is that why they kidnapped him? Just like Luci to get himself caught up in some interstellar dysfunctional family dispute." "I would not joke about something like this. I came quite a ways to find him, I --" Damien hesitates, and there's something that twists harder and more painful in him as he looks to Ryan's phone. "As you say, he's been through some trials. It seems arrogant to think he'd even want to meet me, so I -- have hesitated." He sets his drink aside and rolls himself out of bed, slipping over to fish his watch out and check its time once more -- it's back to a slow and steady heartbeat tick. "I am not Asgardian. He is not Asgardian. Your kind have had a good many names for my realm and my people, mostly spoken in fascination or fear but rarely worship." Matt breathes out slowly as he subsides back down to prop his chin on the pillow. "I'd offer to talk to him about it except, as you know, we are not on speaking terms. Talking terms about which is how we got..." He cocks his head when Damien opens his watch, the ticking clearer now to non-audiokinetic ears. His brows raise up and he swats Ryan back, also lightly. "That's why you keep looking at it." He raises one eyebrow at Damien's sort-of non-answer, then scooches up onto his elbows, eyes keen with curiosity, though Ryan can hear the caution beneath it. "No judgment, but are you a--" He scrubs his face with both hands. "I was going to say 'demon', but that can mean about a thousand different things. A demon in the Abrahamic traditions. A fallen angel." His brows furrow, deeply and there's a distant embarrassment in his admission, "...maybe that's a bit rude." "Goddamn Telltale Heart over there!" Ryan flings his arm out in an incredulous gesture at the watch. "Got me feeling like that's what happens when you sell your soul, what on earth is it measu... oh-h-h woah is it measuring something not on Earth?" Matt's suggestion of demon widens his eyes. "... oh shit did he Lucifer mojo you? We gotta be less hobags," he groans to Matt, and to Damien, "I didn't even get your name." "No, this was someone's heart," Damien says oddly casually, "and it measures the span of my day, of course, what do your watches usually measure?" His voice sounds entirely guileless here, easy though it is for Ryan to feel the bright amusement singing beneath. "People have called us demons but I think that is largely Christianity's influence on how your kind perceive magic. And you cannot," he sounds a touch apologetic, "have my name, but you may call me Damien." "I thought I was just playing along," Matt replies, serene if somewhat unmoored, still. "Maybe I was playing along, but the one about Luci? I swear on my life I did not know. Now I can't fathom how the fuck I could have not known. 'Watch was someone's heart' frankly makes more sense to me, and I'm not even drunk." In fairness he does sound a little drunk. He slowly levers himself up again, both brows raising high. "Christianity did muck up quite a lot once the Romans got hold of it, I teach a whole class about that. Alright then..." He starts ticking off points, starting from his thumb. "Makes deals." Index finger. "Not a demon." Middle finger. "Won't give your name." The rest of the fingers unfold smoothly into a gesture at Damien. "Fairy?" There's curiosity here, sharp and detached and altogether normal for him. "Is the alias meant to be ironic?" Ryan has been shifting closer to the edge of the bed to examine the watch, but jerks back at the elaboration on its provenance. "Now I know you gotta be fucking with us," he's grumbling as he refreshes his wine -- but he looks unnerved enough to not be as skeptical as this claim implies. "Though, damn, you think taking a real fairy home during Pride month'll be enough for Rolling Stone to stop calling me a strong ally to the community?" He's flopping back again, nestling against Matt's side as well as his nest of pillows, and taking a slow sip of his drink. "Fuck," he's breathed this out quietly, but it shivers with a confused mix of fear and desire. "... why did you come talk to me? In the bar?" At this guess, Damien sweeps a bow that seems oddly no less courtly for his current state of undress. "I've a feeling your music publication would not quite believe you, but regardless I would appreciate it if you kept this within your family. I have gotten quite familiar with the lore your people still tell about mine, and an unfortunate number revolve around ways to murder or enslave us. I would very much mislike to be the reason your military invades the Foul Courts seeking to weaponize magic." He has just started shaking out his underclothes to begin dressing again, but does not actually put his clothing back on. His brows crease in puzzlement. "I should think the course of this evening made my desires fairly clear. But of all the many -- many pleasures of your realm, your own particular brands of creative arts are magic all to themselves. I wanted to see if the rest of you was as enchanting as your music and I was not disappointed." Matt cradles Ryan closer, his teeth grinding in a determinedly quiet flash of ferocious, possessive rage. "We have some experience of with being forcibly weaponized by our military." The anger hasn't gone, but it's waning under his deliberate lean into affection, which is shortly rewarded with an easier, more organic desire. "{There you go, darling.}" He kisses Ryan's head. "Fuck People Magazine. This random worldly...otherworldly gentleman thinks you're hot and wanted you for pleasure, which you delivered skillfully and prolifically. You can't accuse him of being traumatized into liking you or whatever you're telling yourself this week." He looks up and studies Damien hard. "Thank you. I'm Matt--" He stills, then relaxes. "I don't imagine you want to risk running into Mother, but you can stay if you'd like." Ryan can faintly discern something making ripples far beneath the otherwise flat surface of his words. "She might not get back before you go, but if so I will handle her." He loosens by degrees against Ryan. "You are a guest, I'll see to it your needs are met." His grin is a little fey, though not like before."Your desires, also." "Man's sitting here saying he's a whole-ass fairy," Ryan protests, without heat, "I think there's a lot I could reasonably accuse him of. -- Sorry," he's adding, quick but uncertain. "It's just --" He rolls his wrist, gesturing in Damien's general direction. "sounds really crazy, you know? Our lives been lousy with crazy but this is next-level. What part of all that -- everything is true? Like your real names or the iron or whisking people away in mushroom circles or -- is any of that real or do y'all like. Laugh at these dumbass humans with their ignorant stereotypes. Sorry," he's adding again right after this litany of curiosity. "Feel like I'm doing mostly the same thing people do to me when I'm away from New York and the first mutant they've ever met." Damien's head tilts to the side, and he is otherwise eerily still as he considers Ryan's questions for a good while longer than seems necessary or comfortable. Still, there's neither sound nor feel of anything like anger or offense in his tone when he replies -- just a careful caution that was not there before. "I do understand that this is a lot, after a lifetime of being told these things are crazy. Given that an ancient Norse God just instigated an invasion by a hivemind of ravening alien bugs. Perhaps we can expand your definitions of plausibility, just slightly." He melts fluidly back into movement, shifting to sit himself down on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hands over the silky fabric he is holding. "I do not normally get into such details with your kind -- for reasons I'm sure with your particular histories, you can well imagine. If you are to be my kin I am glad to answer some questions, to the extent I feel it prudent, but only if you give me your words that you will not share any of it beyond what loved ones you deeply trust. People write off an astounding amount of magic oddity as mere eccentricity, but I love my home and my kind quite fiercely and would go a long way to protect them." "It does sound crazy," Matt agrees readily, Ryan can hear him doggedly pushing back against his indifference with a curiosity that probably isn't entirely manufactured. "We thought Steve was crazy, too, at first. I am quite mad by the standards of our society, and that madness actually helps at times like this." He gives something like a shrug with a succinct upturn of one hand which he then tips in Damien's direction. "Also, what he said. The return of the Asgardians has implications far beyond making Norse pagans even more insufferably smug, but please don't let me get started on that." He pulls in a deep breath and lets it out, his body relaxing against Ryan's as he subsides against his pillows. "I'm a witch." Aside to Damien, "Luci, too, by the by. That's not just an aesthetic--though I do love the aesthetic--it's not just a set of beliefs, it's a way of looking at the world." A spark of spontaneous delight is blooming out of his apathy. "There's magic everywhere, but especially in the edges between fact and fiction. So." He looks at Damien considerably. "I give you my word. Whether I believe them or not, I will keep your secrets." His words are heavy with something that's hard to pin down empathically. "We've got a lot of practice doing that for our own people." The twitch of his smile is bleak but not without humor. "If you think it's prudent, though...I kind of need to know how literal your deals are." Ryan settles more comfortably, tucking his head against Matt's shoulder. His eyes are fixed on the movement of Damien's hands against the fabric, and he has to swallow hard against a sudden and unexpected lump in his throat before he replies. "... yeah. I'm good at secrets. I mean, I tell Jax fucking, everything, but he's trustworthy. I'm not about to go spilling your business to just anyone." His brows knit slowly. "... Does that mean there's just. Some. Wardrobe door or -- second star to the right or -- something somewhere that could take us to Fairyland." "There are many paths to Otherworld, some much more slippery than others. We've long had some amount of cultural exchange, though its nature has -- changed, over the years." Damien's fingers are still tracing absently at the fabric, slow and meditative. "There is," he acknowledges, warmer, "magic everywhere. No less in penning a song that helps someone make sense of their life or sharing pleasurable intimacies -- than in harnessing the particular sorts of energy we are attuned to." Though after this he's looking just a little quizzical, brow creasing and his hand turning up. "A deal is a deal. There is weight in everything we say, just as much as everything we do. The energy of the universe takes that fact a good deal more seriously than humans have yet learned to. Those unfaithful to their words are held to account." "Mmm." Matt's noncommittal hum seems to be a reply to "wardrobe door", but he does not verbalize the distant keen thoughtfulness in it. His eyes are also following the invisible figures Damien is tracing on his sheets. "I mean literal in the sense of..." He indicates the clothing that Damien has not yet resumed. "Someone, presumably a very steampunk sort of someone, gave you their heart, which is a literal physical object you now carry as a watch. What happens if a human offers you their heart as a symbolic pledge of devotion? To wit, does the energy of the universe operate on their intent, or yours, or..." Another one-handed shrug. He's been speaking somewhat blithely, genuinely if somewhat idly curious, but there's an unsettled worry growing in his voice as he continues. "Giving up my worldly fortune seems fairly straightforward, but would giving up the house mean I move out? Or sign the deed to you--once I find the relevant mountain of paperwork." And now he is well and truly afraid, little though it's showing on his face. "Probably most concerningly: Mother is a person, she doesn't belong to anyone but herself. Do I give her up by...disavowing our relationship? Or would you carry her off to the Foul Courts." It's honestly hard to tell which one frightens him more, and he's not entirely bluffing when he adds, "I doubt your people are ready for her." Foul Courts, Ryan is mouthing, his head shaking slowly. "Is there a Fair Courts because I cannot see your ma loving a place named like that." He drops his hand, squeezing absently at Matt's leg. "Can you even bargain away something that isn't yours?" "There is," Damien replies with a curl of his lip, "but I should rather not waste breath on those overweening Tartuffes. And you can bargain anything you like, of course. I could promise you the moon, but it would be on my head if I failed to deliver." He adjusts himself on the mattress, facing Matt more squarely, now. "I am afraid I do not have an answer to give you, on that account. Somewhere between your heart, and mine, and the universe's own, lies the just fulfillment of any particular obligation. Despite humanity's copious stereotypes of my people, we deal in truths, not treacheries. Sometimes I fear this world has so perverted the meaning of fairness that when it has been exacted from those who tried to dodge it, they have no other word for it than trickery." His hands spread upward in front of him, the focus of his eyes unsettlingly intense, now. "Is your brother worth to you a house you may not own? A mother you certainly do not? I cannot answer what shape such a loss may etch anymore than I can answer what their value is to you already. All I can do," the slow inward curl of his fingers just before he drops his hands back to his knees looks very much like beckoning, "is deliver on my promises." Matt kisses Ryan's head again. "Fair is foul, and foul is fair," he murmurs under his breath, at once giddy and terrified, "and Mother is nothing if not adaptable." His smile returns very abruptly, a smile that reaches his eyes but not his voice. "That was a fine answer, if not a very reassuring one. You've already shown me I do not know my own heart." He meets Damien's gaze steadily, and when he speaks again the fear has gone, leaving a desperate hope in its place. "But I know that what it answered you back at Mockingbird was true. I know Luci is worth all of that to me, and more. And I know you give a shit about him. That'll have to do." He pulls toward Damien as if drawn by the gesture, leaning in close to kiss him lightly on the lips and whisper, entranced, "Deal."