Logs:Undone
| Undone | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2020-09-17 "He was tested." |
| Location
video chat and <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village | |
video chat It's quiet on Ryan's end of the screen; a hotel wall with some Extremely Generic Art visible behind him where he sits in an armchair, sweatshirt and pajama pants and a blanket draped around his shoulders. It's been quiet for a while, the silence stretching between them as he rubs at his face. "I could --" "Don't come home." Jax cuts this off before it finishes. He's cradling a mug of something, tucked into a corner of Ryan's couch in bright green tee decorated with a print of a small girl hugging a cow in an open pasture, both straps of his overalls undone to leave the flap hanging loose. "I mean, come home, but -- not -- you shouldn't drop everything and --" His shoulders hunch, eye scrunching shut. "Lord knows we'll probably need the money." Ryan's fingers tent against his forehead, his thumb rubbing at his temple. "Fuck." It's very quiet, almost under his breath. "Yeah." Another stretch of silence. "'least you'll have Luci and Matt there. They're like -- goddamn experts at this shit by now." "They have had a lot of practice," Jax acknowledges, head bowing. "... same kind, too." "Huh." Ryan slumps back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping at his keyboard. "Didn't think it was that common in kids." "I don't know. Think cancer's just getting more common overall. There's another kid in..." This trails off. Jax's knuckles are pressing hard at his lips. "I gotta go, honey-honey. I'll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, yeah?" "I could say yes," Ryan answers wryly, "but you know that's a damn lie." "Try to only stay up half the night readin' up on it, then." Jax's answering smile is small and wan. "Love you," comes through just before he ends the call. '<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 house is quiet, lights down low and curtains drawn against the glare of streetlamps and passing cars outside. Lucien is dressed casually -- jeans, a very soft green henley; as he emerges from the kitchen the dog tags at his heel, looking up hopefully at the tray of mugs he's carrying. "{This is only poison,}" he chides Flèche mildly, stooping to set one of the mugs of cocoa down near his brother's armchair and deliver a second to their guest. The last he keeps, fingers wrapping tight around it as he settles onto the rug, sitting cross-legged opposite the couch. Matt is ensconced in his plush armchair, a soft sage green blanket tucked around him, though what's visible of him is already in sleep clothes--the upper 'A' and half of the heart on his Ace of Hearts t-shirt peeking out from the covers. Though he's still worryingly thin and pale, this has been one of his better days lately, his eyes not quite so sunken and his posture not nearly so slack. The fluttering touch of his power on his brother's is light, just enough in his weariness to give Lucien the reach he does not have on his own. He murmurs a quiet "Thank you" as he takes up his mug, though he only hugs it close for warmth. "You can take your time, darling," he's telling Jax, "but I admit I'm worried." The roil of Jax's powers is not, exactly, visible; whatever they're doing still somewhere beyond easy notice -- save to Matt, who can feel the jittery repetitive twisting, a restless background loop in Jax's mind. He's been mostly staring at some fixed point in front of him but looks up, quick, when Lucien arrives. He takes his mug with a nod, and does actually sip it. "Spence has cancer." So much for taking his time. "I guess -- maybe you already -- knew? Guessed? I don't know. Thank you for telling us to -- to --" His brows knit. "It's still early." Lucien's expression does not change. The surface of his mind does; Matt can feel the harder tightening, a firm clamp as he draws in a slow -- long -- breath. He starts to lift his mug. Lowers it back to his knee untouched. "I have some practice at navigating the chaos of appointments on the horizon," he offers, finally. Something quivers taut and fragile where he's carefully rearranged his mental processing. Settles back into quiet. "If you would like assistance there." Matt's mind remains placid but for a mild, distant ripple of dismay. Beneath this, other processes are churning, but muddled even to Lucien. "I'd hoped we were mistaken," he says softly. "But it's good they caught it early. I can talk to him--if you don't think it'd make matters worse--about how it was for me, when I was his age." His lips compress. "What kind is it? I'd guessed at some sort of blood cancer, but obviously my knowledge skews heavily in that direction." Jax's initial answer may have come quickly but now he hesitates. He takes another sip of cocoa, fidgets in his seat, looks away to watch the fish drift and dart in their aquariums. "NHL," he finally answers. His teeth wiggle at a lip ring. "Jon Holbrook didn't come back this term, neither, on account of -- he's also getting treated for it." Another unsteady quiver. Lucien sets his mug aside on a coaster, reaching instead to scrunch fingers into the dog's fur where Flèche has settled at his side. It's only now that he looks up at Matt, brows drawing together. There's no immediate outwardly response from Matt, though to Lucien's senses the sequence of reactions is dramatic--perplexity, intense focus, then a cold, cold wash of fear. "Gae's roommate?" he asks, but the question is clearly rhetorical. "It is--that is not common to begin with, in young people." He meets his brother's gaze, his eyes very keen and very wide. "But Gaétan--surely we would have known if--" His jaw sets hard. "He was tested." Even this protest sounds weak, now. "I don't got no idea how you wouldn't know, but just --" Jax shakes his head, looking up at Matt. "If you can't tell, if no tests can't tell, I don't know if -- maybe I'm off base, but. Two people's a coincidence. Three's a pattern. I don't even know how you'd tell somethin' like that, but --" He swallows, a smaller flutter of sickly yellow-green light shivering around him and then fading. "But if it is -- somethin' he done. Maybe it's something can be undone, too." | |
