Logs:Of Family and Forgetting (Or, Thanksgiving Weekend)

Of Family and Forgetting (Or, Thanksgiving Weekend)
Dramatis Personae Kavalam, Matt, Flèche
In Absentia	2021-11-27 "And no one, no one should have to manage alone."
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. It's a bright, brisk November day outside, flame-hued leaves riding every gust, stark against the clear blue sky. This hasn't, apparently, informed Matt's wardrobe choice, for he is returning with Flèche in just a seafoam green button-down and dark gray slacks, his cheeks and ears red from the biting wind. Loosing the dog to bound exuberantly off into the house before stooping to remove his shoes, he drifts into the kitchen. Though there's still a generous spread of breakfast on the counter--mini quiches, bacon, home fries, assorted muffins and sliced fruit--he automatically puts the kettle on first and starts gathering the tea things. The breakfast nook is occupied, though not very -- certainly its current lone occupant doesn't matter himself very obtrusive. He's been a remarkably unobtrusive houseguest all the past days, in fact. Occasionally some food disappears, occasionally some dishes seemingly do themselves -- probably, in between, he's actually socializing. Probably. At this exact moment though, Kavalam is tucked into the windowseat slipping a crust of quiche to the newly arrived dog. Though he's been inside he's more bundled up than Matt, in a mustard yellow cardigan over a brown button-down; he's idly plucking a stray dog fur off of his thick-waled corduroys as he brings himself more thoroughly into Matt's attention. "The white people food at school is never like this." He's nibbling contemplatively on the rest of a quiche. Flèche takes the crust daintily from Kavalam's hand, then not-so-daintily wolfs it down. She's still licking crumbs from her chops when she looks up at him again with a sad hopeful moue. Matt does not startle when he notices Kavalam, only blinks a couple of times even as he lapses into an easy smile. "Luci has nurtured his white people cooking skills from bare necessity to art, but in any case, that isn't really Savita's forté." The smile skews ever so slightly. "Though, given that it is also not most white people's forté, I suspect at least some students find her efforts to that end comforting, in their own way." His powers have, meanwhile, wrapped loosely around Kavalam's, quietly easing the boy's work without taking it over. "Would you like some tea?" "I find her puttu and kadala to be very comforting and the white kids think that's very strange so I suppose I will allow them their unseasoned cheese casseroles." Kavalam looks over to the tea, his brows furrowing suspiciously. "What sort?" It's only after he returns to deliberating between the dog's Starving Expression and the rest of his quiche that he adds, flicking a gaze around the opulent kitchen with a hint of curiosity: "-- bare necessity?" Matt had just picked up a tin of tea, but sets down, now. "I was going to make our bog standard everyday Assam, but if you'd like something else I am happy to oblige." His eyes narrow at the tea cabinet. "It's probably faster for you to look yourself if you're interested. We've got quite a wide range from black to white and coarse to fancy." He leans turns and leans back against the counter, the heels of his hand braced on its edge. "Our mother wasn't really keen on cooking, among other things, but also, food allergies. We were out on our own pretty early, anyway." He studies Kavalam speculatively. "So are you." "Do you have any Nilgiri?" Kavalam finishes off the mini quiche, getting up to get himself a muffin afterward. He sets it down on his plate, curling himself back cross-legged on the bench. "My mother loved to cook," he says softly, "though she had little time for it." He blinks, pushes his glasses further up his nose. "What happened to yours?" "We have got two Nilgiris." Matt shuffles some tins around. "A really fancy one from Glendale estate, and a less fancy but stronger flavored one from Korakundah." He pulls both from the cabinet and delivers them for Kavalam's inspection, catching the kettle just as it starts to whistle and turning off the fire. "Our mother didn't take great care of us," he says, delicately. "Sometimes it was because she...couldn't. Other times..." He shakes his head, studies Kavalam for a moment. "I'm sorry if I've asked this before, or if you've told me and I have forgotten, but--what happened to yours?" "Korakundah," comes as perhaps both answer and absent pronunciation-correction; Kavalam is pointing to the less-fancy tea as his choice, anyway. "I'm sorry about your mother." He studies Matt right back, head tipping slightly to one side. "Hopefully nothing." "Korakunda," Matt repeats as he takes both tins back, his pronunciation significantly improved, if still not quite correct. He preps the celadon teapot and fills it with steaming water. "Me, too," he agrees, "but. We survived." Only now does he start to assemble himself a plate, though he stops short at Kavalam's reply. "Oh. I...feel as though this should have occurred to me. Or maybe did--at some point, if you didn't tell me outright. They don't remember you?" Kavalam's head wobbles from side to side. "I hope not. They moved, at some point during the pandemic. It was already getting dicey before that. If they remembered me and did that --" His shrug is small. "I know I can be trying but that would be a little extreme. Nobody answers my emails, texts, nothing, so --" His voice is even, casual, but the pull of his mutation has abruptly inverted itself, riveting attention now sharply on him. "I hope they're well." Matt puts his plate down, covering his mouth with one hand, eyes wide though he does not immediately speak. When he does, finally, he sounds calm enough. "I'm sorry. That is--that must be awful." He glances at the clock, then back at Kavalam. "They'd known you for so long before you manifested--but...the lockdown." He leans back against the counter again, quiet for a moment. "I could find out where they've gone, and maybe--I do not know whether it is too late now for them to recall you once in your presence again, it must be worth the attempt, no?" His brows knit. "I may forget you when you when we are apart, but once I see you again I know who you are." "How would you get them into my presence?" Kavalam's eyebrows raise, curious. "Hello, I am Some Strange Gora, you don't know me but I promise you have a son you also don't remember having, come with me to a strange place and meet him." He plucks a crumb off his muffin. "Supposing they have returned home? It would be a long way to go on a stranger's word." Matt scrunches one eye and nods, conceding. "I am fairly persuasive, but you're right, that does sound like a stretch." He fetches milk from the refrigerator and sets it down beside the teapot. "If I found out where they moved to, I could just bring you to them." He frowns abstractly. "We could probably get you to them even without finding out where they live, but that might be both more tricky and more awkward." Kavalam pops the crumb of muffin into his mouth, and the grip of his power eases in time with a small quirk of smile. "Now this starts to sound like a riddle. How do you get to people if you don't know where they are? A neat trick, I'd think." His eyes lower to the table, finger tracing the edge of his plate. "Any ways, I am -- managing." He looks back at Matt, abrupt. "How did you? When you were on your own?" Matt tilts his head, his answering half-smile fey. "I do love a good riddle, but in this case it's probably more of a power combo sudoku." He pulls two mugs down from another cabinet and leans against the counter, fingers tracing the inside of the teapot's handle. "I was busy dying of cancer at the time, so--poorly. But I was never really on my own. My brother took care of me, though I like to think I made a useful prop from time to time." He looks down at the countertop. "I'm glad you are managing, but I hate that you or any young person should ever have to. And no one, no one should have to manage alone." He swallows and looks back up at Kavalam. "You are welcome to stay with us, you know. At least for a while. You don't have to figure everything out right now, and you don't have to figure it out alone." "Oh, the cancer while --" Kavalam raises his eyebrows. "Your life has kind of sucked, no?" His eyes open wide, startled, at Matt's offer. "What, just like that? For how long? I don't even know what I am figuring." His brows scrunch, and though his glasses are settled properly, he pushes at them with a forefinger anyway. "The school is there. It is not like I am on the streets." Matt chuckles quietly. "A bit! I was thinking for the break at least, but I'll talk to my siblings. Though..." He frowns. "...they won't remember you, so you'd have to choose between just staying invisible or startling them and then having to explain every time you walked into a room, which seems unfortunate. Possibly more awkward than school, even." He shakes his head. "But if I don't see you until winter term, I will forget you again." One of his hand turns gracefully palm-up. "That is, I may remember who you are, once I see you, but certainly not that I mean to find your family and help you reunite with them if at all possible." "I appreciate that's likely complicated, and I don't want to rush you. I just cannot in good conscience send you off where no one will know you, or even notice you. My gods, what if you were injured, or fell ill?" He looks thoughtful as he decants the tea. "Alright, here's a plan: if my family is comfortable with being kind of haunted until I wrangle your powers a bit better, then you can stay with us a while and we'll start looking for your family. If not, I can go back to school with you and do the same there." He transfers the tea things on a tray to the breakfast nook. "I'm sure there are other ways to go about this, but my grasp of your powers is still shaky. Or...again? Regardless, you almost certainly know its workings far better." He folds his hands together on the table in front of him. "So. What do you think?" "I suppose I might die. I think about that a lot." Kavalam takes his tea when Matt brings it over, folding his hands around one cup and pulling it close. "Gaétan knows me." There's something thoughtful in these words. "The rest of them --" A small shrug. He's quiet for a moment after Matt's offer, fingers tightening around the cup of tea. Then releases it all at once, scooting down across the bench and flinging skinny arms around Matt in a quick tight hug. There's a flush in his cheeks as he returns to his tea, eyes pulled abruptly down to the mug. Quiet: "... that would be okay, I think."