Logs:Lost & Found

Lost & Found
Dramatis Personae Elie, Matt, Steve
In Absentia Lucien, Flèche, Malthus, Fury	2024-04-30 "How could you figure such awful things about me?"
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. By the former standards of this house, it's an absolute disaster zone in here. There are a few dishes left in the sink, the recyclables are starting to get lined up on the counter because the bin is far too full, one exploratory ant has scouted its way up to investigate stray crumbs left on the kitchen table and, doubtless, eagerly inform his friends soon. That it's been last week at least since the floor was swept would probably be even more noticeable if the regular shedding of fur and eager darting of dirty paws was still ongoing, but there has been no sign of Flèche for some days now. Probably that's fine! There's been plenty else to worry about this week; meetings to have, press statements to write, an entire nonprofit that's already been heavily talked up but now... needs to get off the ground. It's to this end that Elie, dressed in a kelly green linen swing dress with a rather revealing Queen Ann neckline, cinched at the waist with a white bowknot belt, and white linen ankle strap heels to match, is just getting off the phone, tossing it emphatically to the couch cushion beside her and then pressing her manicured fingers lightly to her forehead as if even once her pitch is finished the Terrible Plight of the city's homeless mutants is still weighing quite heavily on her shoulders. There's no knock at the door before Steve lets himself in and gives a bright if slightly sheepish smile at the sight of the Tessier matriarch. "Oh! Good day, Mrs. -- Ms Tessier. Sorry to intrude." He slips inside and steps out of his running shoes, the rest of his outfit -- from too-tight blue t-shirt to black athletic shorts to...well, he pretty much always has the shield -- tell of his errand. "I'll get out of your hair in a jiffy, just here to grab Flèche for a run..." He's frowning now, probably at the conspicuous absence of excited scrambling paws at his arrival. "...is someone out with her already?" Matt comes down the stairs at a small delay, in faded blue jeans and a dark red shirt with a heart outlined in the coils of a black serpent. "I thought I heard your voice." He descends the rest of the way more quickly, his smile bright. "It's lovely to see you, darling. I'll put some tea on, and you can tell us all about how you saved the planet this time." "Oh! Captain Rogers, what a delight." In an instant Elie is looking quite together again. She is getting up, waving away Steve's offer with a flutter of fingers. "Oh, no, she hasn't been here," she's saying as though it's the most normal thing in the world that the dog simply has elsewhere to be. "All the fuss and noise every night, she was getting quite agitated. Perhaps once things quiet down she'll return." She doesn't sound overly concerned and, somehow, it doesn't feel overly concerning. "I'm sure Matthieu will still be delighted to see you, though -- are you back in town long?" Steve is still hovering uncertainly in the entryway looking, if possible, more poleaxed. His eyes dart between Elie and Matt, and there's a hint of a blush on his cheeks when he finally drifts more properly into the living room. "Gosh. Well, she's got a tag and a microchip and she's a smart girl. Still, do you want help putting up posters? I can spread the word on social media, too. Oh! You don't need to..." He starts to tell Matt before, presumably, remembering that asking a Tessier to not serve tea is as cruel as it is futile. "I'm ah...not really sure. Missions have been cropping up without much warning. For us, anyway. S.H.I.E.L.D. probably has more warning, but without Luci there to..." He frowns. "Guess technically he still works for them." Matt's eyebrows have lifted, presumably in readiness to tear apart any excuse (wisely aborted) Steve might give for refusing tea. “Oh, if it wouldn't be any trouble, a cross-platform ‘missing dog’ blast couldn't go amiss.” He wraps Steve in a tight hug before turning to draw him along into the kitchen, where tea might be brewed and spilled at once. But at this last addition he turns an unnervingly intense stare up at Steve, hand tightening on his arm. For all that, his tone is very mild when he demands, “I beg your pardon?” "Oh, I'm sure we don't need to trouble Captain Rogers about that," Elie is dismissing this thought with a small shake of her head as she flits after the others to the kitchen. "He's got the whole world to save, I'm sure the dog can --" She is trailing off with a hike of brows, a shift of vivid green eyes from Steve to Matt and then back. "Now, I know they deal with all kinds of odd situations over there, but you can't mean to tell me their employment contracts extend postmortem?" "Please, Ma -- Miss -- Ms Tessier." Steve blushes again. "Call me Steve. 'Captain Rogers' is my evil cousin. Second cousin, twice removed. And making a post really isn't any trouble." He looks down at Matt, blinking in...not confusion, exactly, but something like it. Elie's question snaps him out of it. "I really wouldn't be surprised, at this point. But Luci didn't quit, they didn't fire him, and he's alive. I don't know if he's actually doing any work for them right now, but if not I imagine it could be treated as a sort of...furlough?" Steve's dig at Malthus earns a soft puff of laughter from Matt. He lets off Steve's arm--it was probably more painful for him to squeeze down on the rock-hard muscle of the bigger man's forearm--and pulls away to fill the celadon teapot and set out mugs. "I'm sure Fury has any number of legally dead people on his payroll. Likely a few who never legally existed, period, and I am not talking about undocumented immigrants." But now it's his turn to blink nonplussed at Steve. "Is he, really?" Still quite mild, his expression unreadable. "{Well, that does track, I suppose. Wherever is he?}" Elie's fingertips press lightly to her lips. The small widening of her eyes, the small breath she draws in, these seem a lot like a sudden overwhelm of emotion. "{How --}" she breathes out, quiet against her hand before it drops. "And why would you not tell me?" Even as soon as she has asked the question she is shaking her head as if to put it behind them, switching instead to the only very mildly disappointed: "Thank you. For letting us know now. Have you been in touch with him?" "I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am." Steve bows his head, abashed. "I was just -- concerned for his safety. Figured since you and Matt killed him once, you might try again if you knew it didn't ah..." He waves one hand vaguely in the air in search of the right phrasing. "...take? But yeah, he's fine, just laying low in Paris for a spell." He grimaces, sucking in a breath. "Okay, 'fine' might be a bit much. It's been really tough for him to be away from his family and friends. I drop by to visit when I can sneak away during missions in Europe, but mostly we text." "Paris." Matt lifts a hand to not-quite stifle the not-quite hysterical laugh this information pulls from him, the other hand dropping to brace against the counter. "Lest I forget the gods have a sense of humor. But how could you figure such awful things about me? Or Mother! Of course he's not 'fine', he--" For a moment, he's--much more uncharacteristically--at a loss for words. "{He's out there all by himself! Why, he must be losing his mind.}" "Killed him?" Elie's fingers touch, light, to her chest. "{Is that what he's been telling you? I knew he'd been -- disturbed, but. I'd no idea --}" For a moment, she turns aside, knuckles pressing to her lips. "Tough for him?" Her eyes are wider, brighter, when she turns back to Steve, voice quavering just slightly. "All this time we've thought him dead, do you have any idea what that is like? {I know he is a very persuasive man, and I know you want to be a good friend to him, but -- goodness. Between that incident with you in the park, and then March -- you must know next time he won't be so lucky.} If you know where he is, please. Help us bring him home, get him the care he needs." Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "{He -- yes, he told me that. I found it a little difficult to believe, but then I think so did he...}" A slow frown is deepening between his brows. "Oh, gosh. I hadn't really considered that he might have been wrong. He must believe it's true, it isn't like him to..." His shoulder hunch. "But you're right, either way he's probably not well. How could I have been so negligent?" This sounds less like guilt and more like genuine bafflement. "I'm so sorry for letting you all down, but I'll do my level best to see him safely back where he belongs."