Logs:Moments

Moments
Dramatis Personae Fury, Lucien	2021-06-28 "Did you make it through with your spirit intact, or have you had to rebuild one since?"
Location <DC> AKA White House - Downtown
Not to be confused with the other White House a few blocks away, this is a chic extended-stay hotel popular with those whose business keeps them in the nation's capital -- and keeps them in luxury. The entryway and lobby are not large, though elegant and comfortable with copious plush seating arranged to encourage dawdling and conversation.The lounge beyond is quite expansive, the decoration slick and modern with a gleaming horseshoe-shaped bar as a centerpiece. The suites above range from one-room affairs to sweeping penthouses, all tastefully appointed with plush furniture, state-of-the-art appliances, thoughtfully stocked kitchens and bathrooms, and private balconies. A capacious gym, theater, business center and rooftop terrace are also available, along with dining and other residential services for those without the time, ability, or inclination to manage their temporary homes. The dreadful heat of the day has begun to relent with the setting sun, but in the heart of DC's low-lying downtown the air still feels stifling. At least it does outside. In here it's pleasant and cool, and the young man staffing the desk perks up with a hint of genuine interest at the most recent arrival. "Good evening, Mr. Tessier," he chimes, his smile hidden by the black face mask that matches his AKA livery though the corners of his eyes crinkle. "A gentleman was asking for you." He produces a solid black business card, the stock heavy and the texture pleasingly matte -- though perhaps not a business card, after all, as the only text upon it is the name "Nicholas J. Fury" glossily debossed in a darker shade of black. "He's having a drink in the lounge, if you want to see him now." Lucien certainly looks like the heat has been getting to him, as he seeps into the lobby. His hair is considerably more tousled than usual, sticking to his forehead in places; there's still lingering sweat splotches on his shirt (a soft, breathable henley shirt in pale blue with darker blue stitching; it's paired with gray pants that look stylishly casual but have subtle shaping and gusseting for freedom of movement, and no-nonsense black sneakers.) The phone in his hand is evidently giving him some level of disquiet, but he carefully tucks the disgruntled expression away as he approaches the desk, slipping his phone back into his pocket and lowering the small duffel bag he's carrying. "Oh! Jair." His mouth is similarly obscured behind a grey facemask, but his voice is warm. "How is your father doing?" His eyes get a touch wider when he plucks the business card from the other man's hand; he's glancing it over while listening to the clerk's reply. The wilt in his shoulders eases, posture buoyed when he looks over the name on it. "Goodness, that's --" He breaks off when directed to the lounge, straightens for just a beat before he glances down at his hiking pants, his sweat-damp shirt, and though he doesn't return to his previous droop there is a noticeable deflating of his posture. "I appreciate it." He's still holding the card with an odd care between his fingers, thumb brushing lightly against the matte surface, as he makes his way into the lounge. His eyes (a striking pale blue, right now) scan the room thoughtfully. The mask only adds to the inscrutability of his expression as he strides over to one of the comfortable armchairs. "It is a surprise to see you here, this time. Tell me you didn't flee here to escape the current scandal back home." In the lounge there are a few other residents and their guests, chatting over drinks and snacks. Nick Fury has ensconced himself in a less-populated corner and is nursing a squat glass of some amber liquor. The man himself looks at once far more polished and more haggard than usual in a black Fresco suit, white broadcloth shirt, and silver tie. The black eyepatch is the same, though. His good eyebrow lifts. "I guess it shouldn't surprise me you went to rehearsal after -- and probably still during -- all of that. Got my own 'all of that' to handle here. Surprisingly unrelated, though." He tips his glass toward Lucien slightly. "I did want to buy you a drink, but it can wait for a day you ain't keeping that many ball in the air." "Yes, there's --" The shake of Lucien's head is small, dismissive. "Some sort of theatre aphorism about this kind of thing. I do hope your tempest is, at least, manageable." His eyes flick to Fury's tie -- his own damp athletic tee -- the squat glass. "If we waited for life to settle we might well be waiting a long while." His hand -- still holding the black card delicately -- tips out toward an empty seat. "I am not so much dressed for company, but I could certainly use the drink all the same." "Getting the sense your rehearsal is more like boot camp than -- whatever the hell I was imagining." Fury looks genuinely, if only mildly, impressed. "Taking what moments I can's how I've kept sane all these years, but I apologize. Hadn't intended to loiter, but God knows I needed a drink..." Then admits, just a touch grudgingly, "...and, despite the card, I was kind of hoping you'd show up. I ain't gonna think less if you'd rather change first, but it don't bother me none. Otherwise." He tips his head towards the empty seat. "I still got to clean up after my storm, or I'd be outta this costume, too." It's hard to say whether his tug on the knot of his tie is conscious or not, but he looks very much like he'd rather take it off than just loosen it ever so slightly. "Yours is I hope dying down, at least?" "I am not overly familiar with the minutiae of boot camp but I will be henceforth imagining it with abundant jazz hands strewn in between the pushups." Lucien's brow furrows, brief. "-- actually, there have been quite a few pushups involved on my end as well." He sets his bag down beside the chair, a soft relieved breath escaping him when he takes the seat catercorner to Fury. It takes very little time once he is seated for a server to materialize beside them, and only once they're away with new orders (for Lucien a Scotch, on the rocks) does he peel the mask off his face, tucking it into a side pocket of his bag. "They are out of prison and no longer trending on Twitter, I will call that a win -- until after a drink, at least. Will you be in town long? I don't know whether I ought to hope so. On the one hand, it would be nice to have some company for supper some time but on the other, it hardly seems polite wishing extra chaos on you solely for the sake of a pleasant evening." "They really going in for that realism if they think you ain't swole enough already." Fury gives a small puff of a not-quite-laugh. "Weren't a lot of jazz hands at boot camp in my day, but I wouldn't put it past today's drill instructors. Had to get more inventive about crushing spirits since literally torturing recruits is frowned upon these days, or so I hear." He orders himself another of the same cognac he's just polished off and indicates Lucien's drink should go on his tab. "Guessing there's been -- or will be -- a surge of accusations Mr. Black's corrupting America's golden boy again, like he hasn't been doing this shit since the goddamnned 1930s." Though at further consideration he adds, "Well, not the -- queer liberation, far as I'm aware." This is light and perhaps surprisingly noncommital. His tone at the question is harder to read. "I'm here til Friday, at least, kissing Congressional asses and intimidating federal LEOs. Might be longer, or another trip down next month after recess." His posture and expression are just a little too fixed into mild aggravation. "So yeah, let's grab supper one of these nights. Kind of refreshing to do that for the sake of a pleasant evening. Anyway, the chaos comes with the territory." He leans toward Lucien just enough to look conspiratorial when he adds, lower if not actually in a whisper, "If it makes you feel any better I actually love DC, no matter how much I hate the song-and-dance that usually bring me down this way." "Did you make it through with your spirit intact, or have you had to rebuild one since?" Lucien settles back in his seat, elbow propped on the chair's arm and his palm cupping half his face. "Oh, Ryan's corrosive influence has been spreading far and wide, to hear the internet tell it. I'm sure long before the week is out there will be a jucier scandal for the Twitterati to occupy themselves with." His fingers curl downward, half obscuring the slight smile that tugs at his mouth. "It does, actually. This city has so much charm, it would be a shame if all you got to experience was the Hill --" The sideways twitch of his lips is very brief, his tone warming with amusement, "-- song and dance." "Hah!" Fury's bemusement is immediate and seems just a touched outsized. "My spirit? Can't say as the Army did it a lot of favors. That motherfucker a whole Ship of Theseus by now." He settles back into the plush upholstery of his seat. "You'd think the kind of world we living in, people got better things to worry about than Ryan Black's social life. God knows I do." His eye strays to the city darkening outside the window, his gaze thoughtful and distant. "Lived here a few years, way back, but my recent visits been so rushed." He looks back at Lucien, still not smiling, though the tightness in his expression has melted away. "Guess there's a silver lining to this storm cloud, after all."