Logs:Manifest

Manifest
Dramatis Personae Gaétan, Lucien, Matt	2020-09-27 "{What is more reassuring than a rainbow mohawk.}"
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. The sun is just setting and it's cooling down outside when the door whumps open. Flèche is first back inside, panting and thumping down onto the floor even before Gaétan has worked her harness back off over her head. Even then it isn't until after the boy has shed his shoes and tucked them away into the hall close that the dog struggles back to her feet, dragging herself to the kitchen for a long drink and immediately melting back down onto the cooler tile floor. Gaétan is far less exhausted, sauntering casually in after her in jeans, socked feet, a yellow-banded blue tee, to open the fridge and stare inside it for a long time before ultimately taking nothing out. Just getting himself a glass of water, instead. Matt had been napping in the living room for the better part of the day, but is now sitting at the counter, awake and upright if not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, his cheeks still deathly pale and deeply sunken. He's wearing a moss green t-shirt with a paler green serpent, its coils spelling out "dangerous" where it gazes upon an unaware songbird, and ancient blue jeans worn through at the cuffs. He looks up when Gaétan enters, his expression opaque. The slow, inexorable flex of his power is not sensible to anyone but Lucien, its jangling attention far more alert than he looks. "{I will of course ask myself, also, but...}" His speech is slow, thoughtful. "{How's Spencer handling everything, so far?}" Lucien is at the kitchen table, laptop out and a half-finished bowl of tomato soup beside him, together with a bottle of elderflower pressé. He does not immediately look up; not until Matt speaks. He stops typing, then, half-turning in his seat to watch Gaétan with a small tilt of his head. The curiosity is reflected far more acutely inwardly than out, his own senses awakening, unfurling with a keen attention as well. Gaétan slouches against a counter, gulping down half his water in one go. There is nothing there immediately sensible to Matt; for Lucien, a usual messy riot of tangled and hyperactive neural activity that does not make itself all that known in his outward languid slump. Slow flick of gaze from one brother to the other. Lift of one eyebrow. "{It's cancer,}" he says finally, "{it sucks.}" "{I had gathered that much,}" Matt replies gently, unharried. The weight of his power on Lucien's is palpable, using its sense of Gaétan's mind to try zeroing in on it. At the same time, he's cautiously blanket-augmenting any and all powers within range. "{I have a mind to offer sitting through treatment with him, on days when I'm able, but I know not whether that'd be more reassuring or less, looking the way I look.}" He inclines his head at his youngest brother. "{I suppose I hoped to glean some clues how he's feeling, before I ask him.}" Lucien picks up his bottle, sipping slowly at the pressé. Quiet, methodical, he starts to pluck -- very, very delicately -- at one process and then another and then another -- -- there are so very many -- flitting quickly on past ones he readily identifies, lingering longer when he is Not Quite Sure what something is doing and veeeery carefully teasing it into clearer definition for observation before moving on. "{You could wear one of your better wigs,}" he suggests, mildly, as he starts this slow process. "{What is more reassuring than a rainbow mohawk.}" Gaétan starts to huff, lips twisting into a fleeting moue. It vanishes just as quick, his eyes turning up toward the ceiling. "{... Spence,}" he admits reluctantly, "{would be very into a rainbow mohawk.}" He stares down into his glass. Takes another sip. "{It's stressful. How did you feel when you first got it?}" Somewhere along the way, Lucien's prodding -- probably wouldn't, actually, divulge much to him, all to itself; it's hard to tell independently what plucking at that particular strand did. Maintaining some kind of homeostatic process along with so many other similar ones -- but it does come, for as long as Luci tugs at it, with a faint stirring against Matt's senses, now. "{There is objectively nothing more reassuring,}" Matt agrees, his smile delighted. "{We can even get him one of his own.}" His power focuses in on that faint stir of something in Gaétan, gingerly attempting to take hold even as he draws Lucien's attention to it. He seems unperturbed, "{I was frightened, for the most part. Eventually tired, irritated, all sorts of things, but at first? Just frightened.}" Lucien lowers his bottle back to its coaster. His hand presses flat against the table, fingers tracing against its wood grain as he plucks again, a little more firmly. A little longer, this time, closely watching what happens next. "{Objectively,}" Gaétan's eyes narrow down at his water, briefly, "{I feel like ringing that bell is more reassuring.}" The more intense prodding does deliver results -- what results, it's not immediately apparent. Some minute internal shifting; a reflexive outward coiling that flexes towards Matt and Lucien both, twisting there as well, albeit to no immediately palpable end. "{I'm pretty sure he's frightened, too. There's a lot else going on that would be terrifying even without that. And then --}" A small shrug. "{He always wants to pretend life is cool, but -- cancer is really not cool.}" "{Possibly my objectivity is questionable,}" Matt concedes easily enough. He makes a clumsy attempt to seize that flex of Gaétan's power, fighting both his own fearful amazement and the slippery nature of his subject. His startled sidelong glance at Lucien is very brief. "{Mm,}" the noise is thoughtful and noncommittal, but probably by now Gaétan can detect the strain in his voice, too. "{I suppose I also have some small experience facing down cancer when there's other, bigger stresses about.}" He cocks his head at the teenager, bright green eyes looking somehow even sharper for the shadows around them. "{It's understandable to want that--but I suspect it will be difficult to keep up, during the treatment process.}" Softer, "{I imagine that will be very difficult, in itself.}" Lucien doesn't meet Matt's gaze. His fingers press harder against the table, a similarly startled disruption clattering looser at the normally careful ordering of his own mind. His jaw has tightened, his eyes dropping to the table, and though he does not loose his mental hold on that twisting-flexing something he does, finally, speak up. Quiet. "This may be unwise." That twisting continues -- still without effect that either of the other can sense past Matt's ability letting him know it is there, digging into the others and writhing. Gaétan is taking another sip of his water, eyes shifting from Matt to Lucien with a growing frown. "You need to go sit back down?" he asks, first, and second, "What." Matt only nods, his focus too intense for a moment to accommodate speech. But now his power clamps down hard, bent only now at shutting down whatever Gaétan's power is doing. His breath comes slightly quicker than usual, the most visible outwardly sign of his immense inner turmoil--an ugly churn of shock and horror and rage, deep below the surface of his mind. "I'd rather we could come to you with more, but..." He braces his elbows against the countertop and slumps against it, struggling to calm himself. "...that might lie beyond our skill right now. Gae..." His lips compress into a thin line. "{It seems you are also a mutant, after all.}" Lucien's breath lets out sharp when Matt shuts the churning down. His hand relaxes, his eyes fixed steadily on the table. His focus turns elsewhere, gently easing the edges of Matt's strain. "{You are, at least, well poised to find assistance on this front. But -- I think we ought to seek it sooner rather than later.}" Gaétan drops his hand, the glass clattering loud against the counter. "What," comes again, much flatter, this time. There's a stretch of pause. Jaw tightening, brows creasing, nostrils flaring; these things smoothing out as his eyes narrow on Matt. "How long have you known?" Matt raises his eyes to meet Gaétan's. He clenches his teeth and leans hard into Lucien's ministrations. "I did not know until just now. It's..." His brows furrow. "...subtle. Somehow, it can disguise itself, from me and perhaps even from gene sequencing." He draws a long breath. "We've suspected since Spence was diagnosed." Lucien's smoothing grows a little more focused, a little more intense, meeting Matt's leaning with a more careful calm. "If we had known earlier, we would have told you earlier. Given the circumstances -- it was not an illation we wished to burden you with until we were more certain." His lips press thinly, his eyes flicking to Matt and then back down to the table, where one finger traces a line of woodgrain over and over. "What," is just turning into something of a refrain, by now. Gaétan's eyes have gone much wider as they skip from Matt to Luci. Back to Matt, fixing there as the color drains from his face. "Since -- oh. Oh. You -- oh." His hand jerks up towards his face. There's an ensuing crash, the glass knocked off the counter and cracking into pieces on the floor. His shoulders twitch -- he starts to turn for the door, starts just as quick to turn back, dropping to collect the pieces of broken glass into the mostly-solid base, dropping the collection of shards into the trash as he heads for the front door. Matt nods, the motion jerky though he's gradually relaxing. "Gae--" he calls when the boy heads for the door, but his voice is feeble, and he does not seem to have any notion how to follow it up. It's only after the door shuts again that he shakily releases the breath he had taken to speak. All that he does manage, finally, is a mild and tired, "Marde."