Logs:Heartbreaker

Heartbreaker
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Steve, Flèche	2022-01-15 "You two used to be closer."
Location <NYC> Central Park North
Central Park North is slightly quieter than its southern counterpart, being further uptown and slightly out of the bustle of the City - insofar as one can escape the bustle of the City even here, in the acres of green and blue that make up Central Park. The reservoir is in the northern half, providing miles of jogging and biking trails along the clear water, as well as benches for people to sit and rest. Twilight has been rushed along in its departure today by a thick blanketing of clouds, pushing the grey afternoon out in favor of a dark evening full of thickly swirling snowflakes. They've only just started collecting in appreciable amount on the ground, crunchy in the grass but slick and dangerous along the pavement. Bundled in a green and black checked jacket whose hood has squished down her long pointy ears, Flèche seems unbothered by the cold and delighted by the falling snow; she's racing eagerly back and forth in the grass at the end of her long leash, snout poking out from under her hood to snap at some of the thicker flakes. At the other end of the leash, Lucien is a steady counterpoint to the eagerly bounding dog. He stands at the edge of the grass, warm as well in charcoal peacoat, soft gray cashmere scarf, one hand tucked in his pocket and the dog intermittently jerking at his elbow where the leash wraps around it. His other hand holds a thermos, which he is eying with a degree of calculation in between the yanks at his arm. He's paying less attention to his own dog than to her companion, today. "Has she been settling in well?" He's popped open the lid of his thermos, but hasn't quite chanced actually taking a sip. The dog frolicking alongside Flèche is easily twice her size -- and, given her musculature, probably even more than that in weight -- a massive brindled pit bull in a red plaid coat of her own. Zenobia is at the moment rolling exuberantly in the fresh dusting of snow, giant paws flopping around as her legs kick gracelessly in the air. At the other end of her long line (briefly not tangled with Flèche's), Steve is standing beside Lucien and watching the dogs play. He's in a thigh-length camel coat and heavyweight blue jeans with his near-ubiquitous black combat boots, his toque and scarf knitted from the same plush roving yarn in vibrant blue with white snowflakes. His shield, returned to its classical star-in-concentric stripes, hangs across his back, and he has a thermos of his own tucked beneath one arm. "Not having a yard has been a bit of an adjustment, and she misses Obie, I think. But she's making herself at home." He frowns. "Maybe a little too at home. I might need to invest in a more enticing dog bed if we ever want to fit more than one person on our sofa again." Lucien's brows dip skeptically at this. "You are large. Surely she can --" There is a brief lull in Flèche's tumbling; he risks a small sip from his thermos right when she decides to get up again and pounce at Zenobia. His faint sigh at the ensuing slosh of tea over his coat has a tinge of resignation to it. "-- stack." His fingertips brush down against his coat, quick and sharp though the material is dark enough there's no actual stain there. "I am glad that it worked out, at any rate. Sometimes -- that man has -- difficult ideas." Despite her bulk, Zenobia topples right over when tackled, rolling to her feet again and throwing herself back at Flèche at once. Steve, at least, has forewarning and shuffles a step closer to keep the leash slack. "It's not a dire problem, but we do get guests who might not like a 90-pound lapdog, and she might like a fluffy new bed." This doesn't sound like a complaint, and a faint smile plays on his lips as he watches the dogs tussle and kick up little puffs of snow. "Me too. It was a really sweet gesture, even if the follow-through ended up -- difficult, like you said." His lips compress. "But we figured it out, and I have an amazing dog, and maybe going forward we won't tiptoe around each other so much. Ryan and I," he clarifies, deadpan. "I don't think Zen believes in tiptoeing." As if on cue, the dog overshoots while darting at her much smaller companion and faceplants in the snow -- then recovers as if she didn't even notice. "Mmm." Lucien's expression has relaxed into a quiet ease as he watches the dogs at play, but something briefly tighter crosses it, his lips compressing. "Between the two of you I've no doubt you'll find more than the usual measure of awkwardness all the same." He clicks his tongue quietly, calling Flèche back to his side before her enthusiastic wrassling can tangle their leashes again. "Has she had any chance to see Obie since leaving? I know things have been -- a bit chaotic for Jackson." "Oh gosh, I'm sure we will. Awkward I can live with, I just don't want to hurt him, and I've got to find better ways to go about that than acting like he's made of glass." Steve's gaze lifts up over the field and to the snowflakes swirling down through the fading light. Drops back down to the dogs as Flèche answers her recall and Zenobia mistakes this for Continued Chasing time. "Zen! Here, girl!" The pit bull changes course and barrels straight toward -- then past Steve, only to circle back for another challenge. "You'd think she didn't run with me every morning, to judge by how much energy she has." Steve glances back at his friend, then the dogs. "Oh, no. I keep thinking to, but..." His brows gather beneath the brim of his cap and he considers his words more deliberately before resuming. "Like you said, he's got a lot going on. Haven't wanted to bother him." "Mmm." This time, a little quieter. Lucien digs a treat out of his pocket as his dog drops into a sit at his heel. His eyebrows lift, questioning: "You two used to be closer." Zenobia promptly loses interest in chasing Flèche, possibly because she is no longer moving but more likely because Treats have entered the equation. She, too, sits down in front of Lucien, tail lashing wildly and brown eyes huge with entreaty. "She's very loyal," Steve comments, though he seems complacent enough until he considers the question. "I thought that we were, and frankly I'm not sure what happened. It's not been an easy year for him, and maybe I haven't tried hard enough to be there for him." Lucien's lips press thin, and he gives the second dog a long and serious contemplation before slowly retrieving a second treat from his pocket. "Do not think," he tells her sternly as he delivers the treat to Zenobia's wide muzzle, "that you have earned this. This is solely because I cannot resist those eyes." He drops his hand to Flèche's head after, scratching slowly. "Did you really accost him last Valentine's Day to ask him advice on navigating dating again post-Ryan?" He's looked up from the dogs, now, clear blue eyes lighting on Steve with a mild curiosity. Zenobia's eyes get impossibly wider as she snags the treat, as if she were somehow surprised that her begging panned out. This done, she wanders off to snuffling in the snow. Steve blinks at Lucien, brows furrowing. "I ah -- yes? Gosh, that was...not how I'd meant for that to go." He's still frowning. "But I didn't think he seemed exceptionally upset." There's a slight wavering lift to his intentional at the end. "The man is an illusionist, Steve. He rarely does." Lucien takes a small sip from his thermos, safer this time with his dog quiet by his side. "He's also an extraordinarily overworked high school teacher who has been a single father since he was barely an adult himself and was in a --" He hesitates, brief, his lips compressing before he decides carefully, "-- difficult place, emotionally. I think he might be forgiven for hoping for a touch of magic that day, of all days." His gaze drifts away to watch Zenobia's aimless snuffling. "Or at the very least, someone looking to him for something more than a ready source of emotional labor." Steve bows his head, and it looks like a nod, even if truncated. "No, I should not have done that. I guess I realized it half-way through -- I had meant to ask him out." His next exhale is a little heavier. "Worried it would set Ryan off. But I shouldn't have done it like that." Lucien's eyes flutter open wider, his gaze skipping abruptly back to Steve. "You had --" he starts, then closes his mouth tight. One gloved hand lifts, knuckles pressing lightly to the hollow of his eyes. There's a lingering bemusement etched into his expression when he moves his hand from his face, claps it to Steve's shoulder instead. "We are going to get a drink," he declares, "and, perhaps, discuss the string of broken hearts with which you are littering the city."