Logs:Overdue

Overdue
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Sam, Steve
In Absentia	2020-11-22 "This kinda sci-fi nonsense. Whose field is this in?"
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 chill and overcast evening; a storm looms on the horizon but hasn't yet broken. Even so, it's darker even earlier than usual, a heaviness pressing in against the windows and -- not, actually, managing to smother the warmth inside the Tessier house. The rich smells of stew and fresh bread mingle from the kitchen, a Ryan Black recording of Monti's Csárdás currently playing through the first floor. Lucien himself is just drawing a loaf of focaccia out of the oven to set it on the counter to cool. Frowning deeply at his stovetop before he removes his oven mitts but keeps the deep crease between his brows. Apart from the frown he wears a fine v-neck cashmere sweater in forest green over a gray oxford shirt with the collar undone, and tailored straight-leg blue jeans. His eyes flick between the oven clock and the phone sitting on the counter. Though it does not require tending, he stirs the stew on the stovetop again. Smooths at his sweater. Frowns a little deeper. Steve is dressed in a navy peacoat that is slight overkill for the weather, more a testament to the number of fall jackets he's ruined in fights lately than any actual need for warmth. Beneath this he's in a green and blue plaid flannel shirt, blue jeans, and black combat boots, his (Friend Bear!) shield slung on its harness across his back. "...frankly a little embarrassed I haven't introduced you before now," he's telling his plus-one as he comes to the door and knocks. "I guess it doesn't help he's so busy." Just beside Steve, Sam's tucked one hand into the pockets of his jeans; they're paired with a light button-up sweater, mostly yellow with vertical bands of white and tan and black. He holds a slender canvas bag in his other hand. His mouth twitches. "Yeah, your schedule's been wide open lately, yourself." By the time Lucien pulls the door open the frown has left his face. His expression is composed; a small dip of head, a very small curl of smile as he waves the others inside. "Ah, Sam. Delighted to finally meet you. Just in time, too, the bread only just came out of the oven." He gestures for Steve's coat with a lift of brows. Steve huffs a soft laugh that fades into a smile when the door opens. He steps inside and shrugs out of coat and shield, handing both to their host with a nod of thanks before kneeling to unlace his boots. "Gosh, but that smells amazing," he says earnestly as he straightens up. "This weekend is really making up for the endless bland carry-out I've been eating all week." "Heard so much about you." Sam's smile is warm. He steps inside, slips off his shoes by the door. "Fresh baked? Whoo, we getting spoiled. -- Here. Brought this for you." The slim bag with its wine bottle is offered to Lucien. He claps a hand to Steve's shoulder, waiting for their host to lead the way further in. "You right, this is long overdue." Lucien tucks both coat and shield neatly in the hallway closet. Takes the wine from Sam with a quiet thanks. ushering the others further in. "Please, sit -- can I get you anything to drink?" Regardless of answer, he's leaving them in the dining room at the neatly-set (elegantly-crafted) dining table, bustling off to the kitchen so that he can bring out food and their drinks. Still-steaming focaccia, crisped yellow squash blossoms and small cherry tomatoes dotted into its crust, and a ceramic tureen of curried sweet potato-chickpea-cauliflower-greens stew. "I am -- glad to provide some small break from the carry-out. I imagine --" Though here he breaks off with a small dip of his head. "To be honest, actually, I can't quite imagine. This is all a bit out of my normal bailiwick." The faint easing of Steve's shoulders at seeing his friends interact is the first indication that he had been tense at all. "I'll have a glass of wine if anyone would like to join me, but either way some water, please." He almost reflexively follows their host into the kitchen when he departs, but then blushes faintly and takes his seat beside Sam. His fingers trace the grain in the table -- then abruptly stop. He looks up gratefully when Luci returns with the distraction of food. "Thank you," he starts loading up his bowl and plate without hesitation. "I still don't feel like I have the imagination for it and I've been up to my nose in -- interdimensional shenanigans and..." Here a small shake of his head. "...well, you both know I'm in way over my head here." "This kinda sci-fi nonsense. Whose field is this in?" Sam holds up a finger in indication to add to the wine request. He takes a seat beside Steve, eying the food with a small bob of head. "Holland kid making any progress? Imagine it's -- hard going, alone." Lucien pours the wine while Steve serves himself, setting the others' glasses down beside their waters. He seats himself opposite, hand resting on the edge of the table. "As most would be, left so precipitously without their teams." One finger traces lightly against a grain of wood. "Do you imagine --" His eyes drop to the table, but only briefly. "Someone did cross over here, and return. That at least leaves someone who knows they are there, and could potentially offer some guidance to them in returning." "Not much." Steve can't quite keep the worry out of his voice. "But as you said, she's working alone -- and directly out of indefinite detention, at that. I have faith in her abilities, though." He receives his wineglass from Lucien with a quiet thanks. Stares down at the tabletop numbly. "Y--yeah. If they survived his...wife -- whoever that is -- I imagine he'll help, at least to some extent. But from what we know of that world that won't make getting back to the rift an easy matter by any means." He seems somewhat less eager for his food, now, waiting for his companions. "I hope they do, of course. But we need other people in the meantime." "Be a lot of risk for him, too." Sam picks up his wine, leaning back in his chair. His brows lift. "You had someone in mind? Gotta imagine the pool is pretty slim, how hush-hush are they tryna keep this thing?" "It's never stopped --" Steve cuts himself off, swallowing hard. "Well, it never stopped our Dawson, and they are cut from the same cloth -- to put it mildly." His brows furrow slightly at the question. "S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to keep this as hushed up as humanly possible, but I have leave to bring in consultants I trust because -- clearly -- they cannot supply all the expertise we need." He glances between the other men. "I was thinking of you two, actually." Lucien has risen half-out of his seat to serve Sam up a plate of food. Pauses halfway through dishing up his own. "I have," his voice is extremely mild, "very little experience with alternate dimensions." Steve chuckles mirthlessly. "Like Sam suggested -- nobody has much experience with this." He looks up at Luci. "B is the best start I can think of in terms of actually figuring out the rift, and between me and S.H.I.E.L.D. Ops we've some preparation for hostility that may come through it, but I need someone who can manage the media fallout if the hush-up fails..." His gaze shifts to Sam. "...and someone who can keep us all together." Sam's head bobs in small thanks to Lucien at the food but it's rote. Distracted. He takes a long swallow of his wine, eyeing Steve as he sets it back down. "Huh. Keep everyone together. Fixing a portal that might swallow the world." His smile comes quick, if -- a little crooked. "No pressure, right?"