Logs:Interested Parties

Interested Parties
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Lucien, Tony Stark
In Absentia	2019-03-01 "It's fine, we outsource the competence here."
Location <HFC> Bishop's Salon - Hellfire Clubhouse
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. The remains of the mid-afternoon meal--heavier than can properly termed /tea/--have been cleared away and dessert laid out, though the diners are perhaps too full as yet to do much more than admire. There is, admittedly, much to admire: a spread of miniature pastries arranged on long white rectangular plates decorated with artful swirls of sauces. Bruce is, at least, starting in on his espresso, served in a delicate white china cup. He's wearing a royal purple dress shirt with the top button undone, charcoal slacks, and black oxford shoes--all of it neat and of good quality, though he manages to look just a touch disheveled all the same. "So...this is about the only way you can take dinner in relative peace, huh?" Tony's jacket is slung casually over the back of his chair, his shirt collar open, matching dark vest and slacks, no tie. He is leaning back in his chair, one arm slung over the back of it, turning a thoughtful regard to the plate of dessert without actually taking any. He does already holds a spoon in one hand, though; it waggles by turns lazily and expansively as he talks. "What, you think that's what this is about? No -- no appreciation for the finer things in life. Sophie's merveilleux here is to die for." The last punctuated with a decisive /swipe/ that nabs some speculoos cream off of the edge of one of the delicate cakes. "Well sure, but you could probably have things just as fine in the comfort of your own...lab. Private chefs, catering, what-have-you?" Bruce picks up his own spoon and samples a corner of the tiny tiramisu. His eyes go slightly wider behind thick-framed glasses. "Oh my god, that is literally the best vegan tiramisu I have ever had." His brows scrunch up in thought. "Well. It might also be the /only/ vegan tiramisu I've ever had." Tony scoops off a larger bite of his airy pastry, head shaking as he pops it into his mouth. "/Clearly/ we need to get you out more. They'll get you -- just about anything, here. Really. I've seen the concierge here get people into Rao's without notice, they can definitely find you a vegan -- oh! There." Fingersnap. /Point/. This, presumably, is prompted by the door quietly opening. The concierge in question is slipping into the room, dressed neatly but unflashily -- by this locale's standards -- in a simple grey suit of understated lines and impeccable tailoring. Lucien has, in fact, been in and out of here a couple times through the course of the meal but this time stops, brows lifting at the pointing. "Sir?" His steps do not redirect, really; he had already been heading towards Tony's table when he paused. Resumes heading there, hands folding behind his back. "Vegan clafoutis. Vegan croquembouche!" Tony gestures towards Bruce. "C'mon, what is it he can get to fulfill your -- this man," he's telling Lucien, "has not known real culinary joy in nearly a decade." "I--I mean that's not really strictly speaking /necessary/." Bruce hunches slightly, running a hand through his wavy dark hair. "The dessert is /fantastic/," this is directed at Lucien now, slightly apologetic, "I'm sure I couldn't possibly eat more -- though I haven't had clafoutis since undergrad." His apologetic expression has gone slightly dreamy. "Anyway, he's only /technically/ correct. The lack of culinary joy was more a matter of poverty and...I don't know, incompetent bachelorhood? Not veganism per se. You do not," he clarifies for Lucien's benefit, "need to conjure vegan clafoutis." "It's fine, we outsource the competence here. There are people to worry about what's /necessary/." Tony scoffs, setting his spoon back down. "But. My friend is choosing the ascetic path." Though the sweep of his hand toward Bruce also -- kind of /incidentally/ -- encompasses the laden table of decadent desserts. Just ignore those, perhaps. "Is that even allowed in here? You all do have to keep some standards, right?" "I'll relay your compliments to the chef. She does take a fair bit of pride in her ability to satisfy a range of dietary needs." Lucien's head tilts slightly, eyes shifting from Tony to Bruce thoughtfully. Then back to Tony. "And we do not, to my knowledge, expel people for a deficiency of extravagance." His fingers curl a little tighter where they are joined together. "I am certainly more than happy to provide when it comes to desserts, but if that will not be necessary --" His hands unlace; he turns one upward, the other falling to his side. "Perhaps you'll permit me an indulgence, but I had come in here to seek a moment of your time." "It's can't be about self-denial," Bruce's protest is remarkably mild--perhaps even comfortable in its familiarity, "if there is no /self./" He picks his coffee back up and cocks his head at Lucien, studying the other man quizzically. "Um, sure, I don't mind if Tony doesn't. We've indulged plenty, after all. What's your name again, S..ir?" "He's the concierge," Tony explains plainly, as if this is answer to Bruce's question. "Indeed I am." There is the barest hint of a tug at the corner of Lucien's mouth at this. To Bruce, a small tilt of head. "Lucien, sir. Lucien Tessier. I do apologize for the intrusion, but there has recently come into my life --" His lips compress slightly. "Well. A rather unlikely bit of history with close ties to your family. You are aware of the efforts of Project Rebirth?" Bruce gives Tony a long side-eye before returning his attention to Lucien. "I feel like I'm going to fail this history test, but no, I have never heard of it." Tony sits up a little bit straighter. He turns to look squarely at Lucien for the first time, brows lifted and his eyes skating briefly down and back up the other man. "I'm sorry what exactly kind of concierging do you do?" Lucien's eyes hold Tony's steadily, his hands folding once more behind his back. "Around here? I get called on to do quite a lot." His tone is exceedingly mild. "But this was not actually work related. It's a bit of a complicated story but the person who was the focus of that research has -- ended up recently crossing my path. It seems like it was a rather successful project, after all." Bruce looks from Tony to Lucien, then back. "Oh! This got more serious than I expected." He does not sound excessively alarmed about that, but he studies Tony speculatively. "This is...someone you know?" Tony studies Lucien a moment longer, then turns back to the table. He picks up his mug, shaking his head as he lifts it. His fingers are tight around the handle; he takes a long quick gulp. "I don't know what you /think/ you know, but the only subject who came out of Project Rebirth died a long time ago." Lucien lifts a hand, palm out, a small crease forming between his brows. "I'm aware of what happened, Mr. Stark. The project was intended to augment certain physical capabilities, though, was it not? Recently the wreckage of a downed Valkyrie plane from 1945 was excavated from the arctic ocean. Its pilot had been presumed dead for seventy years, but once defrosted from the ice proved to have survived. He's quite alive, quite healthy, and could likely use some assistance." There's a faint tightening in his jaw. "Both in exploring the scope of what the experimentation actually did to him, and in reconnecting with any remnants of his past that do happen to still exist." Bruce's confusion seems all but forgotten at this revelation. He sits straighter and pushes his glasses up. "Spontaneous cryo-stasis? No temperature or pressure control? That's /remarkable/!" Suddenly he darts another glance at Tony. "This must be someone your father worked with, then." "So you're telling me one of the greatest feats of bioengineering ever achieved was just pulled out of the ocean and this --" Tony tips his cup in Lucien's direction. "The first I'm hearing of it is. Is the club concierge asking my opinion over coffee? This administration is really outdoing itself on the incompetence. Where have they been? Where is the news? Shouldn't he have an entire, ah, /army/ of help already?" He takes another swig of coffee, looking at Bruce over its rim. "... worked with." A little stiffly. "Long time ago." "They were there, and they offered some assistance. The strings it came attached with, though --" Lucien just lets this hang for a brief moment. "Captain Rogers has been through quite an ordeal, and has a lot to adjust to. I know the story is a lot at once, but if you would be at all willing to meet with him, I am quite sure he would appreciate whatever..." His eyes lower from Tony's face to settle instead on the spread of desserts before them. "Insights into his past history and current condition you might be able to provide." "Strings?" Bruce frowns, scrubbing at his five o'clock shadow. "Ah, hm. If this man has survived 75 years frozen because of classified human experimentation, the government surely has a vested interest in following up on their studies." The restless tap of his fingers at the side of his jaw suggests /he/ has some interest, himself. "/Several/ vested interests, probably." Tony is studying Bruce, now, rather than Lucien. He taps a forefinger against the side of his cup, takes another swallow, sets it back down. "If this is true, if this man really just walked straight back out of seventy years in a watery grave, I think kind of a lot of people might have a vested interest." He looks away from Bruce, now. Back to the desserts as well. "Vested or not, I can't say this isn't interesting. We'll set something up. No promises," he adds as he turns back to skewer a tiny eclair onto the small plate in front of him, "Palaeontology isn't generally my field." "It is greatly appreciated, sir." There's a slight easing to the set of Lucien's shoulders. "I'll get in touch with your assistant, then, to arrange the meeting. I won't take any more of your time -- please, gentlemen, enjoy your meal." His smile is small and quick as he inclines his head and turns to slip away. The two men are left to finish their dessert in peace. By the time they're readying to leave, however, their server returns -- this time to deliver to Bruce a small black paper box tied with a pearlescent white ribbon. There's a card tucked under the neat bow, simple heavyweight stock with, simply, 'Lucien Tessier' embossed on one side. On the back, penned in an elegant script: 'One last indulgence, with my compliments. -L.T.' Within, tart with black cherries and decadently creamy, a lightly sugar-dusted clafoutis, just the right size to share.