ArchivedLogs:Fight Club

Fight Club
Dramatis Personae Jax, Lucien, Matt, Steve	2017-02-27 "I'll go easy on you."
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. The kitchen is filled with warm fruity smells -- tangy lemon and sweeter strawberries. Throughout, small fairy-like creatures with jewel-bright dragonfly wings and various monstrous features are flitting around the kitchen's various surfaces -- peeking into the pots on the stove, playing about the light fixtures to rattle them, dusting the windowpanes with sprinklings of powdered-sugar snow in anachronistic counterpoint to the unseasonably springlike warmth outside. Their tiny bursts of mischief come in time with the tune of Muse's "Undisclosed Desires", currently piping through the Tessiers' sound system and also hummed, lightly, by Jax as he scoops strawberry compote into the hollowed out centers of a rack of lemon cupcakes. "Matt can't you make him sit down? Two minutes outta the hospital an' -- don't even think about touchin' that soup," he's /eying/ a pot on the stove with /firm/ censure. "Steve, if he touches it you whoop him. Go drink your tea." Glossy celadon teapot in hand, Matt has just finished filling four matching celadon teacups with a light bai hao oolong. He's wearing a pale blue t-shirt with a group of people dressed in Victorian fashion sipping tea in the basket suspended from a flying mechanical whale and black corduroy pants. "Sit down, Luci," he says brightly, pressing a cup of tea into his brother's hands--his power already deeply enmeshed, subtly adjusting as needed. "Drink your tea." Steve closes the refrigerator and glances over his shoulder, first at Jax, then at Lucien, then at the soup. Then Lucien again, narrowing his eyes slightly, appraising. "Or.../I/ can tend to the soup," he suggests, already shuffling toward the stove pre-emptively, snagging a cup of tea for himself as he goes. He picks up a wooden spoon, removes the lid from the pot, and stirs the harira. The rich scent of spices rises from the soup. "/Probably,/ though, stirring a pot of soup is more compatible with being on the mend than getting whooped." Lucien is standing by the stove, reaching already for the spoon to stir at the half-done pot of soup when, instead, a teacup finds its way into his hand. "I was helping." He looks only very faintly injured -- though the tea mollifies this somewhat. He takes it around to settle in a windowseat, watching a sharp-clawed scorpion-tailed fairycreature wrestle with a larger reptilian one on the table in front of him. "I am probably one of the few friends you have left who hasn't thrown down with you. In truth, I am beginning to feel left out." "Gosh, an' wouldn't that be something. /Honestly/ you should just," Jax sounds more amused than anything else now, "sit an' eat your tea -- drink your -- whatever. Sit an' /relax/ for two seconds /before/ you go planning on ways to get yourself in the hospital all /over/ again. Not," he assures Steve, "that I don't trust you to pull your punches when you gotta or nothin' but still don't you think at least /one/ day of restin' before you go into a whole week of dancing on stilts? An' oh /gosh/ I'm looking forward to seeing it actually live for once I been watching B's pirated feed for ever an' that's magical /enough/." Matt sets one of the remaining teacups within Jax's reach and keeps the other. He grabs a spoon from the drying rack and scoops out some strawberry compote for himself. "Mmm, delicious." He offers the rest of the to Lucien and leans back against the counter, keeping himself out of the way. "I'm sure that you could throw down with Steve at any time, if you but /asked./" From behind the rim of his cup, he smiles a slow, warm smile. "It is /most/ magical, and you will love seeing it live. But as for convincing the star of the show to take more time off for recover--trust me, only faintly incredulous pinched looks that way lie." Steve looks up from the soup. Blinks at Lucien innocently. "I didn't think you would be interested in -- throwing down with me. But you're not alone! Not counting training, I haven't even fought Jax." He blushes quite aburptly, and turns back toward the pot he's stirring. "If you do want to, though, I am always game for it." There is absolutely no hint of sacrasm or condescension in his voice or expression. "It might or might not be more compatible with being on the mend than a whole week of dancing on stilts." Lucien's expression is /already/ starting to draw into Faintly Pinched -- though it smooths back out into calm rather neatly at Matt's statement. He takes a small sip of tea, instead, shaking his head. "You'll have a while longer to wait, Jackson. You cannot come to the show just yet." He starts to set the tea back down -- hesitates, sets it carefully beside the fairies on the table. "And I feel quite relaxed already, merci. With all the delicious cooking I've been inundated with, how could I not." The strained and tangled mire of his neurochemistry, coiled tight within Matt's careful grip, perhaps gives lie to this statement even past his general pallor. "Had you /planned/ to spar with Jackson? That would be quite a spectacle." "I can't?" Jax looks up from where he's been carefully assembling his cupcakes, placing little cones of cake atop the compote filling, piping icing on top of the cones. "I won't attract no attention or nothin' I won't look nothin' like myself, promise. I jus' -- it's been so long and this is such a great part for you an' --" His brows pull together. "I mean, if you don't think it's a good idea, I -- I don't want t'make no trouble or anything." His teeth press against his lower lip as he looks back to the cupcakes. With a quicker smile, bright: "Steve don't never /plan/ on sparring anyone. He just breaks out in fighting spontaneous. Can't help himself, usually. I imagine it'll happen with us sooner or later. It's how he show he cares." "Here I was thinking myself your friend." Matt levels a wounded pout at Steve. "And you haven't even /tried/ to punch me once!" His powers shift quietly in an attempt to ease the strain on Lucien's nervous system, like a cat's cradle but infinitely more complex. The concentration does not tell on his face, though, at least not without close study and extreme familiarity. As it is he just sips his tea. "All in good time, I'm sure," he says softly, and it's hard to discern what he's responding to, exactly. Steve sets the spoon aside and replaces the lid on the pot. "Not /planned/ exactly, but I think I'd /like/ to." He pauses, considering. "It might well be a spectacle, but if so probably a very destructive one! The shield /does/ deflect lasers..." He take a long drink of his tea and studies Matt. "You want to take this outside? Right now?" This with a tone of incipient excitement, a gleam of boyish mischief in his pale blue eyes. "No." Lucien is firm. "I have confidence in your discretion." There's a faint tightness at his jaw, that eases with his next sip of tea. "Ask me again next week. Perhaps," his voice is slightly heavier, "perhaps next week will be better." His eyes lift -- the twitch at the corner of his mouth is very small. One hand lifts, scuffing the backs of his knuckles lightly against his cheeks. His head tilts slightly to one side, a brow quirking upward as he looks to his brother. "I should warn you," though still looking at Matt, his mild words are clearly directed at Steve, "he has /long/ years of practice being an elder sibling. You may not come off the better, for this." Jax's frown deepens, but he doesn't argue with Lucien further on this point. "Next week, then." He plucks one of the newly frosted cupcakes off the rack, placing it on a folded-in-half paper towel and bringing it over to set it down in front of Lucien. His fingers lift, touching lightly to his lips. "Oh. Oh /gosh/. Matt, you wasn't serious?" There's a hint of laughter in his voice. Matt's eyes light up with glee. "Aw, you /do/ like me, after all!" He drains his tea and straightens up. "Why wouldn't I be serious? It'll be fun!" He starts for the door to the garden, but backpedals so he can steal a spoonful of leftover icing. "Not to worry, Steve." So saying, he claps a hand on Steve's muscular shoulder, highlighting how much smaller he is himself. His grin is /just/ a touch crooked. "I'll go easy on you." "I may have been an only child, but the vast majority of my fighting experiences, pre- /and/ post-serum, have involved people mopping the floor with me." Steve dips his head, smiling almost shyly. "What I mean is, I'm not assuming I'll come out on top here. So..." He meets Matt's gaze full-on. "You don't need to go easy on me, so long as we're on the same page about not inflicting serious lasting harm to each other. C'mon." He opens the door and pads out into the back yard, shaking his limbs loose and settling into a more relaxed stance. "Take the first shot, {if you please}." Lucien dips his head, a faint smile half-hidden behind his teacup. The sip of tea he takes is small. He brings his cup -- and his cupcake -- with him as he slowly rises. Trails, at a delay, into the backyard as well, settling down onto the back steps. His first nibble of cupcake is small. He only makes a thoughtful hum at Steve's opening. Jax picks up his cup too. He follows after Lucien, leaning in the kitchen doorway. "Oh /gosh/." He doesn't hide his widening eye, his slightly choked half-gasp. "Steve jus' /hit/ him my goodness don't they teach you nothin' at fancy agent school? Don't /I/ teach you nothin' /gosh/." Emerging last, having refilled his tea and filched more icing, Matt actually /giggles/. "I'm sure he knows better," he assures Jax brightly, handing him the spoon after he'd licked off the icing, "he's just being a /gentleman./" He maneuvers around his brother, and is in the fight before his trailing foot leaves the bottom step. Lucien and Jax--and through Steve, however distantly, Hive--can feel the tendrils of Matt's powers spreading out and taking root. He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. Despite his invitation earlier, Steve takes a step forward, winds his right arm back, and, somewhat awkwardly, punches himself in the jaw. Then does it again. "What --" he blurts, but stops talking just in time to avoid biting his tongue as he hits himself a third time, hard enough to knock himself off-balance. Matt opens his eyes and lets out the breath. He takes a leisurely sip of his tea and watches. Once Steve begins to teeter, he closes the distance between them and gives his opponent a solid shove in the direction he was already tilting. And down Steve goes. He breaks the fall easily enough, but doesn't get back up. "Oh, gosh." There's a decided twinkle in Lucien's eye, though his expression is otherwise impassive. He just rises again, slowly. Sips at his tea, longer this time. Mildly: "I am Jack's complete lack of surprise."