Logs:Right Partner

Right Partner
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Steve
In Absentia Jax, Matt	2023-03-20 "I've been asking myself for hours how the hell I thought I could do this to begin with."
Location <PRV> The Belfry - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria
It's very late by most standards when a series of messages ping Lucien's phone is unusually rapid succession (Steve --> Luci): Hey (Steve --> Luci): I thought I would be fine but my session with Topher is tomorrow and I am not fine (Steve --> Luci): I'm not sure I can do this Late though it may be, Lucien's reply comes soon enough. (Luci --> Steve): Can't do what? Dance? Topher is aware, that is what he is paid for. (Steve --> Luci): I mean 'm losing my nerve (Steve --> Luci): not sure I can go through with it (Luci --> Steve): If it is too much, you needn't do it. (Luci --> Steve): This ought to be fun, not a journey through old traumas. (Luci --> Steve): Though, admittedly, in theatre those have a remarkable amount of overlap. (Steve --> Luci): "A fun journey through old traumas" isn't how I would describe watching Capsical but it sure isn't wrong (Steve --> Luci): I should man up, I hate to ditch you and I want to do this (Steve --> Luci): Just figured the dancing wouldn't be so upsetting if I were learning it for a role and not the right goddamn partner (Luci --> Steve): You could swing by Jackson's cell, he never sleeps and is quite an excellent ballroom dancer. (Luci --> Steve): Or you could swing by here. I have been told I am occasionally a good person to have Feelings at. Likely because I come stocked with copious booze. This time it's a few minutes before Steve replies, again in a rapid burst. (Steve --> Luci): I thought so much about asking Jax, but that will hurt, and it's not fair to either of us (Steve --> Luci): I'd love to see you, but this is supposed to be fun, not more work, and God knows you have enough of that (Steve --> Luci): You're a good person to have feelings at because you work to make it easy (Steve --> Luci): Though the booze probably doesn't hurt Lucien's response this time is a photograph -- a neat and well-stocked bar, clearly a home setup although it is not the well-familiar one in the Tessiers' kitchen. A bottle of Steve's favorite whiskey has been taken out and set beside an elegant crystal tumbler. (Steve --> Luci): You're a very persuasive man (Steve --> Luci): L'Entente? Or have you done something else with your basement again? (Luci --> Steve): L'Entente. I can meet you in the conservatory. (Steve --> Luci): I'm on my way --- <NYC> Conservatory - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria - Queens Above the bustle of the clerestory restaurant, tucked at the base of the bell tower, this indoor garden and library is out of the way and easily overlooked, sure to become a favored "hidden gem" of travel guides. Low bookshelves full of mythology, fairy tales, and folklore ring the central elevator shaft and the stairway spiraling around it like an easily navigable labyrinth. Beyond these are plants in a variety of tastefully whimsical containers, each with its own engraved plaque giving the common name, the scientific name, and their significance to various traditional stories and practices. The walls have been done away with so that the room extends beyond the doric columns into a surreal rooftop garden enclosed with glass stretching between the tower's massive buttresses. The arrangement of plantlife becomes less formal as one moves out into the four arms of the conservatory, visible containers giving way to beds and terraces and eventually landscapes carefully cultivated to look wild. There is plentiful seating scattered along the paths and just off of them, from proper benches to picturesque logs to surprisingly comfortable boulders. By day, myriad butterflies dance amongst the enchanted vegetation, and likewise moths by night. A shallow stream weaves throughout, feeding ponds that host plants of their own alongside fish, frogs, and turtles. Wandering the outer edges of the conservatory, one could almost feel lost in a mystical forest but for the stunning views of the cityscape beyond the glass. Steve steps out of the elevator and into the heart of the Conservatory's magical labyrinth. It's not the first time he's been here, but he still turns a slow circle through his first few steps in clear admiration of the environs. He's wearing a bright yellow t-shirt at least one side too tight with a skeletal T. rex dancing above the word "FOSSIL" spelled out in cartoonish bones, soft comfortable blue jeans, scuffed-up combat boots, with his shield slung casually over one shoulder. It isn't long before Lucien joins him, appearing from some tucked-away corner. He is looking fairly casual tonight -- well-tailored jeans, a soft blue henley, and has not bothered with shoes at the moment. He pauses when he comes into sight, for a moment only watching Steve with a pleased crinkle of his eyes. He beckons Steve to follow him, slipping away back toward the elevator without a word. This time he taps his keycard to unlock it -- sending it up instead of back down. Steve's wide-eyed delight slips smoothly into a fond smile when he spots Lucien, and he falls into step with easy relieved familiarity. When the elevator moves up, his eyebrows tick up, too. "Are we going to see the bells?" There's a small but unabashed touch of wonder in his voice. "Would you like to see the bells?" Lucien glances sidelong to Steve. "We are going to get you some whiskey." He tips his hand outward when the elevator stops, indicating for Steve to exit first. <PRV> The Belfry - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria Nestled just below the belfry and above the gardeners' workshop and storage rooms, this penthouse apartment is accessible only at the proprietor sufferance via a special panel in the elevator and a locked utility stairway. The whole of it is psi-shielded, and equipped with a largely unused power suppression grid as well. Spanning one and a half levels, this space could be mistaken for an extension of the conservatory below, with plentiful bookshelves and greenery spilling from every nook, but even a cursory examination will reveal the personal touches that went into its design, softening the neoclassical aesthetic of the building at large with paradoxically fastidious whimsy. The elevator shaft bridging the full level and the loft is, save for the doors, encased in the (probably artificial) coral reef of an immense cylindrical aquarium that houses a thriving tropical community. The sitting room immediately adjoining this is bright and airy, open to the empty half of the story above, with a plush circular sectional couch, a low tea table, a sideboard and a bar, its walls covered with lush trellises where not taken up with recessed bookshelves. Opposite the oceanic entryway on the western wall, tall french doors lead to a crescent balcony with views of the waterfront and city beyond as well as the restaurant terrace and garden far below. To either side of the doors, floor to ceiling waterfall windows feed twin pools connected under a thick glass floor panel, an indoor pond lined with smooth river stones and stocked with hardy freshwater fish. On the other end of the apartment, tucked under the loft and behind the elevator shaft, is a large kitchen bracketed by a pantry on one end and a breakfast nook on the other, its culinary conveniences--even the the refrigerator and ovens--hidden behind opaque glass panels that light up at a touch with lists of their contents. An elegant floating stairway spirals up around the elevator cum aquarium, its balusters and those of the loft's railing above twined with well-trained philodendrons. The long wall of the loft showcases a variety of bows from historical and modern, humble to ornate. A no-nonsense workshop at one end of this gallery stores the less picturesque archery paraphernalia as well as a wide range of tools, striking a quaint contrast with the cozier if no less utilitarian study at the other end. Open offset doorways at either end lead to a capacious bedroom with a king sized bed, its walls graced with myriad orchids and other epiphytes in Greek sconces. The generously sized bathroom is tiled with mosaic scenes from classical mythology and has an entire corner dedicated to the antique clawfoot tub. The walk-in closet is similarly generous, with specialized storage for every imaginable accessory, and a hidden staircase leading to the belfry above and the exit below. Would Steve like to see the bells? Maybe he had an answer, but if so he probably forgot about it when the doors opened. He drifts out of the elevator as though physically drawn forward, staring around him in astonishment. He makes it into the middle of the room and doubles back to marvel at the coral reef column he'd just exited. "I'm going to stop telling you 'you've outdone yourself', in case you take it as a personal challenge. This is amazing!" "I've no intention of building a second hotel, if that is a worry." Lucien is slipping past Steve to head for the bar, pouring a generous measure of the whiskey that has been standing ready. "-- probably," he amends, after some brief and amused consideration of Steve's gaping. He offers the whiskey out, his eyes shifting away to track the languid path of a small dragonet picking at the coral. "But this --" His hand sweeps out to indicate the apartment, "-- is not for the hotel. Just my own small personal indulgence." Steve's eyes take in the furnishings now, and he stops to remove his boots and tuck them under the spiral stair. "Thank you." He accepts the whiskey but waits to see if Lucien joins him. "Building second and third and fourth hotels is a common enough ambition for men who build hotels. To be fair, you're not a common sort of man. I'm glad you indulged, though." He's wandering towards the door to the balcony, but gets sidetracked by the water cascading down the glass to flow under the floor. His head shakes in slow amazement. "Don't think you do that enough." "Tch," comes lightly dismissive from Lucien, "have you seen my wine cellar, I have spent years making an art of indulgence." He is going back to pour his own glass, leaning up against the bar as he takes a small sip. "But it is nice," he admits, softer, "to have a space that is -- just my own. I hardly know what to do with it, I have never..." This trails off, his fingers tightening around his glass. When he looks back to Steve his eyes are just slightly wider, a faint anxious note plucking fretfully at his words when he asks apologetically, "Please do not mention this to Matthieu." "Don't think you do that enough," Steve repeats doggedly, only changing the emphasis, though he hastily clarifies, "indulging in general. Boozing you do plenty." He tips his glass slightly in Lucien's direction and takes an appreciative sip. "I know from boozing, and you drink like a man who doesn't have enough in the way of other solaces. Like a space of his own." He controls his expression, but makes his way back over in a way that's less casual than he probably means to look. "I won't." Now he lets the concern show on his face after all, but leaves off studying Lucien's and just leaning against the bar next to him. "Is he -- I don't know what. I can talk to him. Not about this, but if he wouldn't let you have your space if he knew? Seems like a problem." Lucien's lips twitch in amusement at Steve's quick clarification. "I was going to say, now, that sounds like a challenge." His eyes lower, grip still tight on his glass. "It isn't like that," comes just a little too quick, a little too defensive. "He's -- trying. He's been trying. I just -- mislike to upset him. I worry he would be hurt if he thought..." He shakes his head, takes a longer swallow of whiskey. "...if he thought he'd failed?" Steve ventures, eyebrows slightly raised. "Not sure what 'trying' would even mean here, if he isn't willing to deal with being a bit upset in service of what you need." He takes another sip and tips his head back to admire the plants climbing the trellises. "I don't think you owe him the benefit of that doubt, but I do worry it might be stressful for you to keep this from him." He chances a sidelong glance at Lucien. "Is it?" Lucien looks at Steve with a blank un-comprehension. "He's my brother," might be a gentle reminder to either Steve or himself, it's hard to say. "I owe him -- quite a lot." He rolls his wrist slowly, eyes fixing down now on the whiskey in his glass. "For near all our lives, I had no secrets from him. I think change is always a source of stress, for me." There is a very faint crease starting to form between his brows and then smoothed back, either by deliberate effort or well-ingrained habit. His brow quirks slightly upward when he flicks a brief glance back to Steve. "-- some old pains will always be a touch stressful to try and work through, non?" Steve breathes out slow. Shakes his head quick. "May be different ways, but I think change can be stressful for just about anyone." His brows scrunch thoughtfully. "Going from no secrets to secret tower keep is a pretty big change, but you don't tend to do things by halves. It is a very nice keep, though." He takes a longer pull of his whiskey and manages a thin, rueful smile at the question. "Yeah. Guess I don't generally do things by halves, either, or I might have just taken dance lessons like a reasonable person." "Please. I did have a few other secrets in between." Lucien's wry jest is perhaps not quite as light as he might otherwise be, and he drains half his glass in one long swallow after. "I am not half the teacher Topher is," is light, this time, "but there is yet time to learn." Steve huffs a breath that's also not quite as off-handed as all that. "I've got every faith in your ability to keep secrets, but if you ever need or want..." He scruffs a hand through his hair. "...someone to have feelings at? I know your favorite labels, too." He waggles his own glass by way of emphasis. "I've been asking myself for hours how the hell I thought I could do this to begin with. The number, I mean. The dance." Downs a long draught. Studies the top of the aquarium while he blinks his eyes clear. "I think," he says slowly, "it's because I imagined doing it with you." Lucien lets out a slow breath, eyes settling thoughtful on Steve's face as he sets his glass down. He reaches to squeeze Steve's arm, light, a brief flutter of something at once aching and soft that accompanies his touch. He steps away from the bar, turning his hand up and out in offer to Steve. "It is," there is an excessive solemnity in his voice that does not match the warmth in his eyes, "quite alright, if you step on my toes."