ArchivedLogs:Escalation

Escalation
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Melinda, Shelby, Matt	2013-02-08 Melinda comes over for some lunch and snowpocavoidance. Shelby comes over for... well.
Location <NYC> 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. Early afternoon finds Lucien home. Sort of home. He's home-esque, trudging up from the basement to lock the door securely behind him. And then up further, to head upstairs. The shower runs. Mmm, hot water. Melinda texts first. 'Hey Lucien, we still on for today?' The text is answered promptly: '8pm?' It might be notable that this is a good seven hours after their arranged time. 'Wow. Did something come up? I'm kind of half way there.' Melinda is confused. This time the answer takes a couple minutes in coming. 'Oh oh SORRY I thought you were his work. Luci's in the shower. Come over!!' 'Oh good. Either of you want me to pick up something on the way? Give Lucien time to shower?' 'No we're good. Hurry it's gross out there!' Melinda arrives at the door some time later, decked out for a blizzard even though the snow is not so bad right now. She's got snow pants and a parka, hood up and face covered, all gore-tex and water resistent. She's even got ski goggles. Instead of a shopping bag, she's got a hiking backpack - just a small one so it looks less obtrusive in the city. Her boots are tied tight and boast excellent tread for tackling the worst the city has to offer. This winter warrior presses the door bell and waits. The doorbell is answered, not by Lucien but by another man, slightly shorter, much skinnier, a green knit cap tugged down over his head. He's eclecticaly dressed in a pinstriped button-down shirt but flannel plaid pajama pants. "Hi! Melinda?" He waves Melinda in, his smile quick and easy on his chapped lips. "'kai get your coat? Coats?" Melinda steps in and sheads the backpack first, setting it down at her feet. Then gloved hands help each other out before pulling off the face mask and slipping off the goggles and the hood. "Hello! Um, yes. Just as soon as I find myself in here. Is Lucien really working at eight? Doesn't he know that the world is ending in a snowy white smudge - at least on the East Coast?" She smiles warmly as she tries to un-winterize herself. Gloves are stuffed in her pockets, rows of snaps are opened before a zipper is pulled down. "He works a lot," Matt says, with a brief dimming of his smile for this. It returns brightly as he holds out a hand for Melinda's coat. "We're from Canada. New York snow can do its worst. I scoff at your snowpocalyps...es. Pocalypsi. Pocalypodes." Melinda hands over the coat and starts to work on her boots and then pants. Soon, she's sitting on the ground in the entrance unlacing. "Hi, I'm Melinda, by the way. I think I've seen you once before, but... I've not had the pleasure." She yanks one boot off with force and places it gently down where shoes go, before starting on the second. Matt hangs the coat up in the entry closet, and leans back against a table in the hall. "Matt," he offers easily. "I'm, uh. Luci's my brother. I've been kinda antisocial last times you were over, /sorry/. Can I get you a -- thing? Drink? Food? Tea? Luci and I made ice cream, I guess /most/ people don't think it's ice cream weather but whatever. It's delicious." "Oh, well, maybe icecream when I don't quite feel like the cone, eh?" Melinda finishes shucking her feet and strips off the snow pants with ease, folding them and hanging them from the same hanger as her coat. "It's nice to meet you, Matt." Underneath it all, Mel's wearing an oversized mustard colored sweater and jeans that look soft and loose. She pads with wool socked feet away from the entrance and heads toward the kitchen. "Tea is probably good to start. Can I help you make it?" Matt pushes himself upright, padding along towards the kitchen as well. His own socks are very fluffy. They have frogs on them. "I'm good. Teawise I mean. I think it's a chocolate-hazelnut kind of day, how do you feel about chocolate? And, uh, hazelnut. In tea form," he tacks on, with an awkward duck of his head and a slight blush. "Have you had lunch?" Ding dong! Shelby allows about three seconds to pass before she augments the doorbell's call with a bam bam bam on the front door. Bam bam bam! She lacks snow pants, so things are a little chilly out on the stoop; she's bundled up like the little brother from A Christmas Story and still looks like she's shivering under all of those layers. "I am a fan of both," Melinda smiles as she installs herself in the kitchen. She knows her way around by now. "Lunch would be good if you're hungry." She pauses at the doorbell, but stiffens when there is heavy knocking. "Here. I can start the water if you want to go see who that is." She reaches for the kettle and gets ready to fill it. The sudden banging puts a deep-creased frown on Matt's face, a flash of worry crossing his expression and a slightly pained flinch tightening his muscles with every successive bam. "Y--yeah, okay," he tells Melinda, his smile just a little /too/ quick now, "thanks." He shuffles hurriedly towards the front hall, stumbling a little at the threshhold between living room and entry hall and catching himself against the table. He rests his hand there for a moment, opening a drawer on the table to peek inside, and then closes it again, heading to the front door. He slides the security chain shut, flicks the lock open, and opens it to peer out. Shelby does her own shuffling to bring herself closer to the opening that appears. She's liberally show-dusted and the tip of her nose is red. "Hey assh--oh, Jesus. Um. Matt, right?" There is some awkward shifting of her weight. She'd look away, back over her shoulder, if the scarf and hood combo didn't make that movement impossible. "Hi, I was uh. Wondering if Lucien was home. I wanted to talk to him?" "You okay, Matt?" Melinda watches the younger Tessier with a furrowed brow, turning on the heat under the kettle and moving to the entrance of the kitchen to watch him. She frowns, but stays where she is, trying to keep out of the family's personal business. She can't quite hear Shelby. "Why am I an asshole?" For a moment, perplexed, this is all Matt manages, leaning against the doorframe and peering out of the cracked opening with a baffled expression. "-- Luci's home," he acknowledges reluctantly, and then turns aside, calling back over his shoulder, "I -- /think/ we're okay," though he amends this with turning back to ask Shelby, "You're not going to hit him, are you?" "You're not! Oh my god, seriously, I was thought he'd answer the door and, um. Y'know. /He's/ an asshole." Shelby at least sounds apologetic that she has to tell Lucien's brother this fact. She raises her mittened hands, either surrendering or assuring him of her lack of weapons. "Hitting people is totally not my style. Worse I'd do is stick something embarrassing on his face, honest. And I won't. If you tell me not to. Um." She tilts a little to the side, trying to get a peek through the opening in the door. Her forehead rumples. "Is that him...?" "Oh, Okay." Melinda still sounds concerned, but stays in the kitchen. She is SOooo not nosy. "No, that's a friend of his, he's just gettting -- cleaned up and -- he's not an asshole." Matt sounds surprisingly earnest about this, his brow furrowed. "I mean --" Here he closes the door, rattles the chain open, finally pulls it back open properly, but though he allows enough room for Shelby to get inside he stands almost /guard/y in the entryway to bar /further/ access to the house. For all his emaciated form and inability to hold himself up without Wall makes for good guarding, anyway. "-- he's got a lot of stress and did you seriously come over here to tell him he's an asshole because come on that's not cool." He's looking at Shelby kind of puzzled. Kind of tired. "-- Don't put things on people's faces." Shelby takes advantage of the narrow space she's allowed by squeezing into it. She stomps her sneakered feet and shakes a little to make the snow drift off but makes no move to proceed deeper into the house. She is content to drip on the pretty floor right there. "I wasn't gonna /tell/ him he's an asshole, I figured he already knew," she says with a nose-crinkling. "I wanted to talk to him about something else." She pauses then to give the Guardian of the Door a solid once over. The wrinkles in her forehead and nose deepen, bulldogesque. "You're looking kinda peaky, man. Shouldn't you be like, sitting down?" Melinda is busy perusing the tea stocks with admiration when she hears Shelby's voice. She stiffens up entirely as her hands grip the tea cabinet door. She moves to hide behind it, as if it offered her /any/ shelter. "Probably, yes," Matt answers with a crooked smile, "but someone was trying to bang my door down." Lucien is only now emerging from upstairs, trotting down the staircase two steps at a time. Dark jeans, short-sleeved grey button-down left currently unbuttoned, a towel draped over his shoulders as his fingers curl through his hair. "{Matt, did you steal my --}" he's starting in French, though he stops at the sight of the open door, "Ah, Mel, good -- no." Blink. /Frown/. "You are not Melinda. Is she disturbing you, Matt? You look tired." "I'm always tired," Matt answers, with a shrug of one shoulder and his smile not fading as he leans against the wall. "Yeah, um, sorry about that. I think I lost my toes half a block back, kinda makes me..." What it makes her is left to the imagination, for Shelby stops talking then. Lucien's arrival leaves her stiffening--and then still more, when Melinda's name is heard. She cranes her neck, trying to peer around Matt. "What, Mel's here too? /Shit/. Um. Hey, I wasn't disturbing him! I was just. Visiting. Y'know, like people do? But fuck, you gonna be that way, I can go." With the revelation of Mel's presence, she might actually prefer that, but in spite of glancing back through the snowy doorway, she makes no move to go. Melinda sighs and rests her forehead against the cabinet door before closing it and moving closer to the kitchen entry way. She opens her mouth to speak, but then the water starts to whistle and she turns around to turn it off. "Don't," Lucien says brusquely, stepping around to curl an arm around Matt's waist, "give me that shit. Especially not after last night. Do you want to have a conversation like adults or do you want to come spew your petty teenage bullshit at me because I only have patience for one of those things." He doesn't wait for an answer. He hooks his arm upwards, towards Matt's shoulders, leading his brother off to the living room to settle him warm and snug in a nest of blankets in the armchair. "Shelby is here," he tells Melinda, a little clipped when he sees her, though the clipped dissolves readily enough into an apologetic smile. "An -- odd surprise, when I was expecting you. My apologies." Left in the entryway, Shelby lingers. Her face is working as if she just tasted something icky. But in the end, she uses her heel to hook the door shut and begins to quietly--politely even!--shed her snow-littered and damp clothing. That takes her down to holey sock, the gold leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt. There are still hearts and butterflies visible in places, like the back of her hands, and her throat, as she pads towards the living room. "Hey Mel," she says as she goes, striving for pleasant and mature. Melinda starts making herself busy in the kitchen as soon as she sees Matt being lead away by Lucien. She blinks at the clipped tone, but is appreciative of the smile after. "Well, I snuck in like a Sherpa, so it's understandable that others might do the same thing. Matt said it was a chocolate hazelnut kind of day, are you in that same mood?" She's found herself a tea pot for four and is heating it with faucet water. "Hi, Shelby," her tone is remarkably flat and tired. "Matt always knows these things. It's his superpower," Lucien says warmly, glancing back towards his brother. "Chocolate hazelnut tea seems like it would hit the spot. How would you feel about beef stew?" "Hey, /I/ was going to cook for /you/ today!" Matt protests. Not particularly convincingly, nestled in his blankets as he now is. "Mmmhmm. Tomorrow, maybe." Now that there is /company/, Lucien is buttoning up his shirt quickly, toweling off his hair. "Do you like tea, Shelby?" For Shelby, being here is not unlike walking through an active mine field. She's been served her warning and she traverses the area with spooked-cat nerves. An armchair is chosen--guaranteeing no one gets too close and she can watch everyone--and she settles into it cross-legged. "Hey," she repeats to Mel's lacklustre response. Brotherly interaction is observed in silence. "Um. I dunno. I haven't ever really had the fancy shit, just sweet tea. Chocolate's good though." "Beef stew sounds good." Melinda selects the tea in question and measures some into a basket for the pot, then starts the fire once more. "Don't worry, Shelby. It'll be sweet. We'll mix some honey and milk in yours and it'll be delicious." She purses her lips a little and starts tapping at the countertop with idle fingers. "All my teas are delicious," Lucien is saying, exactly as Matt says "All his teas are delicious." Lucien's lips twitch as he starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge. "I am glad you made it here. Unicicled," he says to Melinda. "Watching the news, you would think the world is ending. It snows every year here, you would think New Yorkers would be used to it by now. -- Shelby," for a moment he hesitates, pausing to wander to the kitchen doorway with an onion in hand. "-- Was there, ah, something that you needed?" "Sounds good, thanks Mel." Shelby can get on board with milk and honey. Maybe that'll help lubricate some of the awkward away. She's busily fidgeting, scratching at the curve of her jaw or fussing with the hem of the sweatshirt. "I tasted some once, it was just like dirty water," she admits of the whole tea experience. But look, see how she's willing to give it a try? Adult! Mature! And a total coward, because when Lucien directs his question at her, her eyes flick towards Matt, towards Mel in the kitchen, and then lower to the floor. "Nah, nothing important. I mean. Yeah. Just. About last night." Being a grown-up is /hard/. "Oh, you know, the magical convergence of two storms - and the weather channel's new trend in naming winter storms, it's definitely a snow-pocalypse," Melinda nods to Matt even though she doesn't have a direct line of sight. She starts getting out cups and prewarming them as well, quietly fidgety. "I'm actually a fan of cross country skiing, so I'm well prepared for some of this weather. I didn't actually bring my skis, but yeah. I could hike the wilds of Manhattan." She lets Shelby have her moment with Lucien, mostly. "Unfortunately, most terrible teabag teas do. We don't have many rules in our house," Lucien is drifting away, now, peeling the onion into a small trashcan. "No shoes, no teabags." "There's more rules than that," Matt confides quietly. "But those are the most /important/ ones." "What about the downhill kind? Would you like to go skiing some time? Before the winter is through. There are some nice spots --" Lucien muses this absently, glancing over Melinda, but then looks back towards the living room. "Last night. Ah." That is all. It's kind of an /expectant/ pause, though. Talk of weather leaves Shelby to comment, "I'll just stay for the tea though, don't wanna get stuck here with y'all." She's considerate like that. And uncomfortable to boot. Her fingers stray to the big toe visible through the hole in her sock. She tugs at the fabric to try to cover it. "What're some of the other rules?" she asides to Matt, voice lowered so that the question is strictly Between Them--or so she'd like to think. That spark of curiosity is quickly quashed though due to expectant silence. She clears her throat. Raises her voice. "So, like, yeah. Sorry for being a bitch last night." "I like downhill, too," Melinda replies, a little more energy in her voice. "A ski weekend would be a wonderful thing, once the roads up north are cleared - and perhaps not during the weekend, as Tuesdays and Wednesdays are usually better for me." She quiets down when Shelby raises her voice, lips pursing and expression downcast. She turns off the stove when the kettle starts whistling again and exchanges water in the pot to start brewing. "My weekends tend to be pretty busy, as well," Lucien says with a wry twitch of lips. "Soon, then. We shall ski." His stew preparation seems to largely consist of dumping things into a foodprocessor. And then a crockpot. It's quickstew. "Thank you," he adds, to Shelby. "I'm not actually certain what it was I did to upset you. Was suggesting you get a job that harsh?" "No dipping into Luci's wine cellar without permission," Matt says, "actually no going into the cellar at all without it. Um. Don't touch the books in the study. Don't call Luci an asshole," might be one he's just made up on the spot, "unless you're me." "No," Shelby says flatly, "it was you getting all up in my business." She pauses for a beat. "But I shouldn'tve bitched you out in front of anyone anyway." What she's saying is that a private venue would have been more appropriate. But as this is hardly private either, she folds her arms and resumes being the petty, awkward blight in the living room. Thank god for Matt and Melinda, who provide other conversational distractions for the parties involved. "The doc's got the same rule. About books, I mean. He doesn't have a wine cellar. Or wine. I don't like wine anyway, the hangovers are worse than anything." Melinda is watching the time so that she doesn't over brew. That is likely one of the rules of the house too. She glances over at Lucien and studies his expression as he works. "I didn't know you have a wine cellar, too. I definitely took you for someone with decorative decanters of the good stuff though." "Shelby, you /made/ your business my business when you hit me up to support your --" Lucien waves a hand vaguely. "Whatever. If you want me out of your business, you shouldn't come to me expecting a handout." "You don't drink it to get /drunk/, you drink it because it tastes good. And goes well with food," Matt says, his smile easy as he drops his head to rest against one arm, pillowed on the arm of his armchair. "Though I think beer's better with stew." "Plenty of beer /in/ the stew," Lucien says, with something approaching cheer, now. "I have many wines in my cellar. Only one decorative decanter, though. But I only need to decant one at a time, generally." "Shit that gets you drunk isn't /supposed/ to taste good. It's like medicine. You drink it for what it's gonna do," Shelby says, the full weight of wisdom and experience behind her words. She /knows/, man. And she is trying desperately to cling to standard conversational tactics. Small talk saves. Arguing will get her thrown out. The problem makes the girl twitch, a flock of hearts sweeping over her forehead like glittery shooting stars. To her credit, she doesn't snap at Lucien. She does, however, stand up and stomp over to her shed outer clothing to re-dress. "What, no hard liquors? Or is it no longer called a decanter when you change the bottle on a rye or a scotch?" Melinda is curious now, looking to the stew that Lucien is making now. "Is there beer in this?" Melinda looks up and sees Shelby leaving and pulls the tea out of the water. "Shelby, wait. You need to warm up more first." She leaves the used leaves in an empty tea cup and moves across the room. "Relax, hun. Did you need some of that medicine now?" "/Medicine/." For some reason this actually makes Lucien tense, casting the last of the ingredients into his pot with a bit more harshness than necessary. "I am not getting her drunk for the sake of getting drunk," Lucien answers, putting the lid on the crock pot and setting it to -- crock. Pottery. He pours a few cups of the tea, liberal honey and milk in Matt's, nothing in his, honey and milk in Shelby's, too. Though it's only Matt's that he carries out to the living room to tuck directly into Matt's hand. "And if she wants to stomp out of here in another hissyfit, goodness, Melinda, let her. Go /with/ her, if you want to /indulge/ her tantrums." He's pressing his fingertip to the hollows of his eyes, his face pinched, suddenly. "Long night?" Matt asks, quieter, tucking the cup into the crook of his arm so that he can reach for Lucien's hand. Lucien just exhales, heavily. "Stew is -- stewing." Shelby hops around as she pulls one sneaker one. It's left unlaced while she goes for the other. "I'm plenty warm," she mutters, and indeed, her face is flushed. Her complexion hides /nothing/. "S'not my scene, anyway. All this...tea shit and fingers in the air and oh no the weather /sucks/ and..." She snaps up to full upright and wheels around to glare at Lucien. Her mouth opens. Matt murmurs something and takes his brother's hand. Shelby closes her mouth. She turns around and snatches up her jacket. "Anyway, I'm gonna jet before I get stuck here. Think I'd rather hole up around people who /aren't/ assholes," she says with a look over her shoulder. Is that breaking the rules? Skirting the rule? Before she can be called on it, she goes for the door. Stomp stomp stomp. Melinda shakes her head. "Fine." She draws in a deep breath, attempting to hide the verbal slap in the face. She straightens up and turns away, walking toward the kitchen again. "I wasn't going to get her drunk," she offers to the Tessiers, deflated, "Just thought maybe a little something to take the edge off. Definitely not if anyone's going out into the snow. Sorry." Lucien drops Matt's hand, at this. The distance between living room and entry hall is not long; he crosses it swiftly, his jaw tight as he plants a hand against the front door as Shelby tries to exit it, shoving it shut again with a heavy thud. "I take people's shit every fucking day," he says, low and almost calm if the words were not gritted out through his teeth, "to keep food on the table and look after my family. I get that actually giving a shit about anyone not yourself is probably outside of your sphere of comprehension but you do not. Come into my house and try /giving me shit/ too. Do you spit in the face of /everyone/ who tries to help you? I don't care what you think of me. Does Melinda deserve that? Grow the fuck /up/, Shelby, this isn't /cute/." Matt winces, lifting his tea to take a sip. "Long night," he affirms, maybe to himself. Maybe to Melinda. Maybe to the room at large. Well, that was unexpected. Shelby actually gives a shrill little cry when the door slams, backing into the corner between door and wall. Her hands go up to ward off the slap she expects, rather than the words that come--but those words have more of an effect than a blow could have. Her face blanches, her eyes go round. Bullseye! Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes aggression to cover for it and it doesn't take her long to get spitting mad in defense of herself. "What the fuck do you want from me, dude? I said sorry! I apologized to her /and/ you, I tried to follow your /shitty/ rules, and I just got /more/ shit for it! You can keep your stupid /table/ and /family/. You don't know /shit/ about me." After this repetitive counter-response, she scrabbles for the handle again, trying to yank the door open in spite of the weight against it. "Now let /go/!" Melinda remains quiet and hidden in the kitchen. She starts drinking the tea prepared for Shelby. "You're fucking unbelievable." Lucien doesn't move from the door, weight leaned against it heavily. "Apologies don't mean shit unless your behavior changes to match. Apologize like you fucking /mean/ it and not like you're just trying to /get/ something from someone." "I'm fucking /sorry/, okay? I'm sorry I let you have it in front of everyone and I'm sorry I fucking put Mel in a bad spot and I'm /sorry/ I'm not as fucking /amazing/ and /perfect/ as you are, you shitwit!" Now this, /this/ is a proper hissy fit and tantrum. Shelby rattles the door, half-turned from him--safer that way, since she kicks at it too and better the door receive that treatment than Lucien. "Fuck fuck /fuck/! /LET ME OUT/!" "Hey, guys..." Melinda starts, shyly from the kitchen. "Maybe we should, um, take a deep breath and... just... try to talk about this a little more calmly?" She glances over at Matt. "It's not a good night to be wandering outside this upset." "That." Lucien's voice is lower now. Colder. "Certainly does not cut it." Matt stiffens in his seat, eyes widening abruptly at something in his brother's tone. He grits his teeth, leaning forward to set his cup aside, struggle to his feet. "Luci --" It's more worried than warning, but there's certainly a caution in his voice all the same. "I think everyone should listen to Mel." Shelby's eyes narrow and she rounds on Lucien again, though one hand remains on the doorknob. She stands there, tense and ready, glaring murder daggers up at the man. Mel's advise and Matt's caution appear to go unheard. "Okay," Melinda begins again, moving over to Shelby, looking up at Lucien. "Give me a second with her. You... you go talk to Matt. I think he's trying to get your attention." She implores Lucien with her facial expression more than her words, reaching out to gently touch Shelby's shoulder. For a moment Lucien seems to be ignoring Melinda entirely. At his side, his fingers flex. "{/Don't/,}" Matt says, sharp. Lucien exhales slow, through his teeth, his shoulders sagging slightly. He turns sideways to slip carefully past Shelby, collapsing down onto the couch to drop his head into his hands. Matt eyes the entry hall uncertainly. He retreats slowly to get Lucien his tea. Shelby's shoulder is trembling under Melinda's hand, palpable in spite of the many layers. She doesn't relax when Lucien leaves, tracking his progress and keeping the same dog-about-to-bite look she'd been wearing. "I don't. Wanna. Talk," she says low, through her teeth. "I wanna go." "Honey, you know as well as I that going out there like this right now is suicide. I get that you don't want to talk, hun, but I need to be sure you're not going to die." Melinda tries to pull the teen in for a hug when she feels the trembling, her lips pursed. "All I want is you to be clear headed and calm. You just got a big break last night. You can't turn that into post-mortem celebrity yet." "Get out," Lucien says, from the living room. It's not loud but it's calm and clear all the same. "She can shit all over you if you like, but not in my fucking house. I'm not on the clock and this is more bullshit than I care to stomach. Get. /Out/." "I got enough for the subway," Shelby says, stiff in both speech and in her reception to that hug. Surprise at being pulled into it leads to an awkward pat on the back for Melinda. It doesn't last long. When Lucien speaks again, the teen scrambles free, using Mel's less aggressive door-blocking to get the door open and flee. Slam! Melinda blinks when the door is slammed in her face and stares at it for a long while. At last, she sighs and shifts her weight awkwardly in the entry way, looking back over her shoulder at Matt. "Should I go?" "No," Matt is saying, even as Lucien says "Yes," tersely. Matt frowns, resting a hand on Lucien's back, which just causes Lucien to tense and pull upright with a hiss. "Why do you put up with her crap? You know she's just a con artist, right? She only likes you for what she can /use/ you for." "And she basically used up all of my good will last night," Melinda admits bluntly, her gaze lowering. "But I don't wish her dead and I don't want her to disappear into that white mess out there." She exhales as her shoulders sag. "Look, I'm sorry about all of this. You look exhausted. I don't want to make it worse." "What did she do last night?" Lucien asks, with an abrupt frown. His knuckles rub against his eyes. "I /am/ exhausted," he admits. "She makes it worse. You do not. Forgive me if I am not the most sparkling of company, though." "You should drink your tea," Matt says. "Both of you. I don't think she's going to die. She's got an entire stable of people to mooch off, she'll go hit up another of them." "Got her an open mic - something that wasn't a huge deal, but she went and gave herself a mutant powered special effects stage show to go a long with the act - the day after that nasty affair with the mayor's new law." Melinda's voice holds more hurt than she previously let show. "And when she was done, she was so high on herself she couldn't see that she almost lost me my job and the owner her cafe. We're just lucky the others were there to smooth stuff over." Melinda turns and heads into the kitchen to retrieve her tea. "Please don't think that I'm against mutants and their abilities; I'm hurt that she would just use me like that. Yes, she apologized, but pain doesn't just disappear." Lucien exhales heavily, leaning against the back of the couch, now, with his legs crossing loosely at the ankles. "She's a teenager," Matt says, "they don't think of --" "/Bullshit/," Lucien answers, curtly. "You were a teenager. I was a teenager. We still didn't have that luxury." Matt quiets at this, frowning with an expression that suggests he can't, actually, argue with this. "Some people do think of others. She is not one of them. Do you know," Lucien says, mild in tone, now, "her pissiness at me yesterday was because I dared to suggest to Iolaus that helping her find a job might be more stable long-term than just mooching off people." "-- OK, yeah, she's kind of a giant brat," Matt agrees, but reluctantly. He picks up Lucien's tea, passing it up. "She really just like --" His fingers make little POOF motions, "-- at your cafe like that? Without clearing it with you or anything?" "You're not in trouble, are you?" Lucien asks. "No. There were other mutants at the cafe. Ones with... well, I'm pretty sure they don't like others to know specifics... just the ability to influence people to feel better about things." Melinda moves back into the same room with Lucien and Matt. "Time will tell how 'okay' the crowd was with it, but I think it'll be okay." She pauses and draws in a deep breath. "You're not... going to - fuck, how does a person ask this? You're not anti-mutant, are you? Not going to try and figure out who did what to help me?" Matt's lips twitch upwards at this, and he gives Lucien a look. "He's not anti-mutant," he assures Melinda promptly. This actually draws a smile out of Lucien, brief and tired. But a smile all the same. He sips at his tea, slowly. "I'm glad you had help. This city is going fucking crazy with --" His jaw tightens, head shaking slightly. "It was almost disappointing that man stopped the bullet." "As rewarding as his death might have been, it would have been worse for mutants. I wouldn't be surprised if someone set up the assassination just to make the mayor an anti-mutant martyr." Melinda finds a chair and curls up in it, tucking her feet underneath her and cradling her cup. "You guys want me to make a loaf of bread? It looks like you both could use some papering of the carbohydrate variety - and kneading loosens me up." "It would have made things worse for us," Lucien acknowledges, reluctantly. He moves back to settle on the couch. "Really? Fresh bread would go well with the stew." "You should nap," Matt advises. "Did you even sleep all night?" Lucien just shrugs. "Us." Melinda repeats quietly, looking Lucien over for a moment before draining her cup and getting to her feet. "You nap. I'll knead. Matt can keep me company. It'll be hours before anything is done anyway, so don't worry." She stretches a little now that she's on her feet and pulls an elastic from her pocket to tie back her hair. "I'm going to raid your fridge for other stuff - especially fresh herbs - that I can put with the bread." "Oh, there's like a /forest/ of fresh herbs in the windowboxes," Matt says cheerfully, "Like an entire herb /garden/, ignore the freakish monsterbasil it's /really/ tasty even if it looks like Bazilla." "Us," Lucien just affirms, settling down to stretch out on the couch. After a moment, though, he stretches a hand out to Melinda. Like an invitation. Matt's lips twitch. He stands, shuffling his way towards the kitchen to start cleaning off the counter. Melinda raises an eyebrow and sets her cup down on a side table, drained and dry, in no way a threat to the surface it rests on. She reaches out to take Lucien's hand, prepared to kneel on the ground as he has taken up the couch. Lucien's hand closes around Melinda's, gently. A moment later, there is a soft flush of warmth that spreads through her, buzzy-warm-pleasant with a muted wash of happiness buoying it up further. He holds it there a moment, then drops Melinda's hand, though the feelings are slower to subside. Melinda settles into a sitting position, letting Lucien hold her hand until he's done, letting the hand fall into her lap as she studies and enjoys the sensation. She sits there, physically humming for a few minutes, her lips spread in a smile. She lets her eyes close before drawing in a deep breath and tries to come back to reality. "That's a neat... thing. Trick. Ability. Talent?" She smiles at him easily and rests her hands in her lap. "I suppose it doesn't help you much." "It has its uses. In my line of work," Lucien says with a quick smile no less tired than the last, "It helps me immensely." His hand lifts, again, absently trailing fingers against her forehead, another soft flush of pleasure accompanying the touch. He drops his hand back to the couch after. Melinda closes her eyes as he touches her forehead, feeling the pleasure and slumping into it happily. She doesn't speak right away, letting most of the pleasantness run its course before slowly getting to her feet. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to go make you some bread. You... sleep." She leans in and kisses his forehead lightly. This time, Lucien's smile is a little warmer. He makes a soft hum of acquiescence, then pulls a cushion beneath his head, letting his eyes close. Melinda drags a blanket over Lucien and turns back to the kitchen. There's bread to be made!