Logs:Unpalatable

Unpalatable
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia Kavalam, Fury	2023-07-05 "{But you mean something more, no?}" (the morning after kavalam's news, followed by refreshing fury's memory.)
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. There are remnants of a breakfast still on the table, but perhaps the Shire is encroaching on Greenwich Village because a second one is already underway. Lucien, dressed in soft black pajama pants and an Ace of Spades playing card motif shirt like he actually finally got some sleep last night and has Absolutely No Plans of making his matinee today, is on the latest of many teas, and is now beating a large bowl of eggs with increasingly rapid twists of the handle of an egg beater. Through Matt's borrowed augmentation his power is outstretched, keeping their other guest peacefully asleep while their stray teenager disappears back upstairs, hopefully to more rest. How much of last night did Lucien remember until Kavalam more thoroughly briefed them over his eggs and potatoes? It's hard to say. His mind is churning now, though. Shock, relief, horror, a carefully analytic kind of thoughtfulness, each one lifted up in its turn like he is examining it for utility before tucking these feelings carefully back onto a shelf. He doesn't say anything. He turns the crank a little harder. Matt's presumably called out of work as well, since he's still in his pajamas--his shirt fashioned after the Ace of Hearts--where he's slouched at the counter steadily planing smoked cheddar into a bowl. His mind is less organized than his brother's, but equally busy in the wake of Kavalam's revelations. Returning the cheese to the refrigerator, he comes back out with a bottle of orange juice, pouring a glass for himself and waggling it in offer of the same, though what he actually asks out loud at last is, "{How much do we tell him?}" He probably did not need to indicate who he meant by "him", but his power resonates along the intangible path of Lucien's biokinesis to the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. asleep in their study. "{Certainly that the children have been found. Where they are. I've no idea where to put -- her into this, let alone.}" Lucien's fingers tighten around the crank. His eyes stay fixed on the eggs -- thoroughly beaten, now. "{I want to believe he will help. Last night was -- a lot, but if I tell him in a way that is less.}" His lips compress. "{Unsettling.}" The corner of his mouth twitches, though does not quite make it into a proper smile. "{Hopefully some coffee and breakfast will make all this more palatable.}" "{Best leave her out of it,}" Matt replies darkly, glaring down into his orange juice, though his rage has been contained once more. "{I don't see that it would be relevant to him even if he did help, which...}" His expression relaxes into something more thoughtful. "{Well. I do think he takes his debt to Jax seriously. He also knows Jax can and will just walk out of his prison if he felt it was necessary to save Spence.}" His shoulders hitch once--hard to peg as a laugh or sob or something else, when it doesn't seem connected at all to muted, distant emotions beneath the surface of his mental landscape. "{He does so love to protest that his hands are tied by The Law and Circumstance, but if it's anywise possible to persuade him, I believe you can.}" "{He certainly owes Jackson quite a bit, and does not want trouble on that account.}" Lucien's agreement is flat. He stops cranking the egg beater -- at least with any kind of vim, hand just turning slow and absent at its wheel. "{Perhaps I might. I think he also --}" Here he stops altogether. Hand stilling, a careful flatness smoothing over his mind. "{Actually,}" now a frown is creasing at his brows, an uncertainty creasing his words along with it. "{I've no idea, really, how he feels about me.}" Matt raises both eyebrows, not at the truncated sentence but what comes after. His eyes track down to Lucien's hands, then up to his frown. "{If he isn't an utter fool--and I do not think he is--then he at minimum values your exceptional competence.}" His tone is even and matter-of-fact, but the pride behind it is plain enough to a familiar ear, and certainly to Lucien's senses. "{Without you as a consultant, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ill-prepared foray into mutant detention would be going even worse for them in the media than he so vociferously fears.}" He cocks his head. "{But you mean something more, no?}" For a time Lucien does not answer this, and maybe that is answer enough. He clicks the stove back on, butters his skillet, tosses in some garlic. Pours in the eggs. Sprinkles cheese, sprinkles fresh rosemary. Frowns, deeper, as he slowly pushes the eggs in the pan. The whole time there's a quiet and methodical contemplation clicking through his mind, but it resolves into nothing but further uncertainty. "{We have been --}" He shakes his head slowly. "{I do not know what we've been. Certainly,}" he's just faintly wry, "{more than just consulting. I'm afraid I might have developed a feeling.}" He delivers this information quite gravely, in much the same tone Many Doctors have informed Matt in the past that The Test Results Are In. Matt slouches back down into the breakfast nook and sets aside his orange juice in favor of the tea he was already working through. He does not respond at once to Lucien's somewhat dubious admission, his mind still working through the snarl of contradictory reactions that has surfaced in response--incredulity, disdain, betrayal, fear, amusement, anger, relief. It's a ferocious protectiveness that finally wins out, though the rest are not gone, just roiling beneath the surface. "{You're right, I don't much like him. I don't trust him. I don't think he deserves your feelings.}" He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "{But it's not my call whether you give those feelings space to metastasize. And if he reciprocates, that might be expedient right about now.}" He looks directly at his brother again, briefly. "{Not that I want this to be his reason, but I'd have an easier time tolerating him if he did help return the children.}" Lucien lowers his eyes to the eggs, still turning them in the pan until they're just a creamy sort of soft. He takes care in prepping a plate, and as he gets a tray laden with breakfast properly his power is shifting, reversing, coaxing a gentle and gradual wakefulness from the nearby room. "{You don't think anyone deserves my feelings.}" He isn't looking at Matt, but somewhere beneath his stress and exhaustion there's the faintest whisper of affection. Matt gives a single breathy "hah!", though there's not actually much derision beneath it. "{That may be, but there are levels of undeserving...}" He shakes his head, and the affection that overpowers his protectiveness now is achingly intense. "{Thank you, darling. I despaired of ever proving I could--would be decent about this. But I will be.}" For all that, his unerring glance in Fury's direction is sharp with suspicion. "{I pray he will be decent, also, regardless of how he feels about you. Unfortunately, I have more important concerns right now than being a petty bitch.}" The huff that Lucien exhales is small. He plucks up the tray to head towards his bedroom. "{Oh, I have every faith you will manage to be a superhero and a petty bitch, all at once.}"