Logs:Words

Words
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt	2021-12-13 "This is just -- new to me."
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. Philip Glass's Hours is playing in the study, where Lucien (dressed today in a vertical striped button-down in wedgwood and white, top button undone to show a small triangle of black undershirt, and plainfront grey slacks) has tucked himself away behind his desk. There are far too many tabs open on his computer screen though he's currently looking at none of them, attention instead on the slim e-ink tablet in his hands. The notes he jots down are neat and precise, an echo of the crisp precise order rigidly regimenting his mind today, even more hyper-compartmentalized than it usually tends to be. A faint rattle of keys precedes Matt, who takes his shoes off with more than usual care. Even with the temperature creeping back down outside, he's carrying his suit jacket over one arm to bare a gray linen dress shirt, an emerald green vest with a subtle leaf pattern, a tie to match in a neat full Windsor knot, and black trousers. His slow steps take him into the kitchen, whence some minutes of quiet knocking about later he emerges with tea. He taps on his brother's door and visibly conquers the impulse to slouch against the door frame. Lucien's eyes flick up from his tablet. He taps at its corner, shutting the document he was working on, closing its leather cover a moment later. He looks first to the tea -- then to Matt's tie -- then up to his face. "There are turnovers in the kitchen," he offers quietly, "if you are hungry. Curried eggplant and -- there may be some squash and chèvre left, as well." "Thank you. Maybe in a bit." Matt offers one celadon mug. "It's the new Jinxuan." He's quiet for the space of an in-drawn breath held. "And I'd like a word, when it is convenient. Possibly even a few words." Lucien takes the tea with a small nod of thanks. Perhaps he only has a few words to spare, because he doesn't offer any in reply to this -- only a quirk of brow, a hand tipped out to his futon in invitation to sit. Matt sits where bade, though he holds onto his mug. "Jax told me," he begins, seems for a moment to consider a different tack, but then just continues, "about registration, and exposing Prometheus." His expression is unreadable and his voice even. He does not drink his tea. "I realize I'm not entitled to your confidence, and never was." His thumbs press into the smooth glaze of the ceramic between his hands. "{But I want to earn it, and earn it for the right reasons. I'm damned sure I won't get there just by--giving you space, or doing chores from time to time, or not actively aggrieving you.}" He evinces a contrite expression with some apparent difficulty. "Pretty sure I won't get there without talking to you, either. Really talking to you, not just...the bare necessities." Lucien is not entirely impassive, reading this; there's a brightly startled spark in his mind that he does not quite manage to tuck away before it widens his eyes faintly, ticks his eyebrows slightly up. He does sip his tea, fingertips tracing slow circles against the smooth ceramic, the motion sending calming ripples out through his tightly-wound neurochemistry. He blinks, sips his tea again before he musters up a reply. "What do we talk about, then?" "I thought I had a start, even if only--'tea's ready' or 'break a leg' or 'when did Flèche go out last'. I didn't really know where to go from there and still don't, but maybe..." Matt rotates the mug between his hands. "How've you been doing? And I know I need to ask it differently--not just what you've been up to, although I don't know as much about that as that as I thought, either." His hands squeeze the mug harder, though his face remains inscrutable. "What you want of me. What you need of me, even if I'm not the only--or, frankly, the best--person to supply it." His lips compress, and the next words come quieter, "{How I can be involved in your life, consciously, for the better, and without trying to run it.}" Suddenly sheepish, "That might take more than a few words." The careful organization of Lucien's mind is tightening up further. His fingers curl, slow and hard, against the side of his mug. The look he levels at Matt is long and scrutinizing, and he ultimately swivels his chair back to his desk, setting the tea on a coaster there. "I have been fine." It's mild. "What I need from you is -- quite a lot of paperwork. It seems unwise to have your documentation still in question after Registration goes into effect -- I have begun making the necessary arrangements to get that sorted. It is long overdue, at any rate." Matt does not move. His breathing is slow and deliberate. At length, just quiet and preternaturally steady, "Alright." His head gives a minute tilt, though he's looking at his tea and not Lucien. "Just that?" Lucien's lips have thinned. He plucks up his stylus. Sets it back down. Picks it up again, spinning it nimbly between his fingers. Sets it down again. Picks it up once more, this time opening his tablet again. Though his mouth works, slow, for a moment, no sound comes out. The stylus spins between his fingers, faster. Matt waits, no indication of impatience in his body language, still and poised, for a stretch. He watches Lucien carefully when he speaks again. "{This--shouldn't be about me, but I miss talking to you. I miss you, and--}" His powers snake out, the touch tentative. He does not pluck at his brother's mental organization, but does give his powers reach. "I'm terrified of hurting you again, but maybe I'm being cautious about this in all the wrong directions." Then he bows his head, suddenly hesitant, some emotion creeping into his voice now, though it is as yet hard to say what. "Would you rather I just talk to you?" "I do not know what I would rather." There's a quiet strain in Lucien's voice. He returns to gripping his stylus steadily, restless tic transferred down to the tablet now as he traces idle curlicues against the blank page. "This is just -- new to me. I am very set in my habits and to go from --" He clamps his mouth shut, a hard tension in his jaw. "{I know you are trying. Perhaps I am being unfair. I still brace, when you come and tell me you had to hear news of my business from someone else. And then you want only to be solicitous and talk about -- my life and my needs and I feel I am half crazy for having worried in the first place. And feel that I am wronging you when I have wanted you to talk to me for months and now I've no idea what I ought to say.}" There's another brief delay before Matt speaks. "{I don't think it's unfair.}" He starts to peel one hand away from his tea, but truncates the gesture and at last takes a sip. "I'm being solicitous because I'd been thoughtless before and I wanted to make a clean break of it. I'm sorry that hurt you in itself." He slumps back and tucks the mug against his chest. "{I thought we were talking, but it's unfair of me to make it your problem when--}" He breaks off and closes his eyes, head tipping back to thump quietly against the futon. "{In the interests of not driving you half crazy, I'll drop the How To Be Emotionally Supportive...act. But if you haven't got the words now, I can damned well wait.}" His tone is neutral, still. "If that lets you--be angry, you are well within your rights and I--" Stops again. "You are well within your rights. I won't retaliate and I won't want to make amends any less." He squints his eyes open to peer at his brother. "Promise." Lucien exhales, soft and shaky, a slow tension releasing from his shoulders with the breath. His mind starts to ease back into its regular rhythms, his repetitive curlicues flowing into actual lettering. "I have been quite stressed," he says, at last, his eyes fixed on the screen, "and I have missed you. Perhaps we can start from there."