ArchivedLogs:Gratitude and Vengeance

Gratitude and Vengeance
Dramatis Personae Emma, Lucien	2014-03-05 Part of Prometheus TP.
Location <NYC> Tick-Tock - Greenwich Village
The quiet sound of soft music and softly running water greets the entrants to this tea house, playing from speakers hidden and trickling waterfalls cascading down the rocky fountains by the entryway. The ambiance here is subdued, a quiet escape from the bustle and noise of the city, focused on only one thing: tea. Tea of very good quality. They serve it in over eighty varieties, black and white, green and oolong, rooibos and herbals and mate, flavored and straight up. The seating here comes on cushions or kneeling chairs around low tables, the decorations in earth tones, and the knowledgeable wait staff is always helpful with a recommendation or a snack suggestion to pair with your drink. Behind the long counter along one side is an entire wall of bins of loose-leaf teas, available for purchase by weight. It's quiet, in the teahouse. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner, a peaceful sort of hour to just sit and -- perhaps enjoy the relative solitude. The quiet trickle of the bubbling fountains, the pleasant smell of steeping tea. In this tranquil environment Lucien does not, admittedly, /look/ very much at ease. He's dressed elegantly, impeccably tailored dove-grey suit shot through with very faintly pink pinstripes. He sits at a table near the front, a pot of strawberry sencha in front of him together with a scone on a plate; he's ignoring both of these in favour of frowning deeply at the tablet computer in his hands. Brows knitted, lips pressed thin together, posture tense. The surface of his mind is, as it generally is, a quiet glassy thing, still-water calm in contrast to the disquiet in his expression. Emma strides into Tick-Tock on a gust of cold air from the steel gray world outside. While it may be warmer outside, it still is no where near spring. Her pristine white wool coat and light cream scarf swaddle her in protection from the elements while black, ankle tall boots keep her feet free of the muck outside. She starts to unwind the scarf as she prepares to be inside for a while, folding it up in her hands once it is free of her hair. She approaches the counter, ordering a gift box of loose leaf teas for a club member's mother and letting her mind sift quietly through the stray, superficial thoughts of the occupants of tea shop. When she stumbles upon a familiar quiet, she turns her head, glancing over at Lucien as her mental presence brushes gently across his polished and organized mind. The brush of mental presence is met almost immediately with a reflexive /twinge/ of pain ghosting stinging-sharp across the surface of Lucien's nerves, a brief jolt that flickers across his mind and fades away even before he's had time to think about it. There's a mental tightening, mind a little crisper, a little more polished; it's only in the next moment that he even looks up, green eyes flicking around the room and settling on Emma with a slow exhale. The corner of his mouth twitches faintly. His posture relaxes, expression easing near instantly; his fingers swipe against his tablet and he sets it in his lap, reaching instead for his teacup to take a sip. He glances to the empty seat across from him, and shuts his tablet off. If Emma feels that shot of raw nerves, she doesn't show it, thanking the cashier for his service before taking her bag and turning to head deeper into the restaurant. As she approaches physically with a pleasant smile pulling at her lips, she pulls away mentally, hovering on the very fringe of his perception, possibly beyond where he can feel her. "Darling," she coos quietly, her smile brightening with proximity until she rests her purchase on the table and pulls out the chair, "I almost didn't see you when I came in, but I'm glad I did. How have you been?" "Emma." Lucien's voice is quiet, a small smile slowly curling upwards at his mouth. He tips his hand out towards the empty kneeling chair in invitation, eyes turning down to his cup once Emma pulls it out. "Oh. Staying busy, as ever. A lot of --" He exhales slowly, taking a small sip of tea and then lowering his cup to curl both hands around it. "Family business, lately. I hope you have been well?" Emma slides onto the kneeling chair and slides back in, resting her elbows on the table. "Nothing makes me scowl like you were faster than family business. I have a feeling you have an entirely different situation, though, as you actually like some of the members of your family." She reaches out a hand to rest on his forearm, gentle and quick, familiarity with the man warring with his state and their current location. "I have been well enough, keeping busy with club affairs and delightfully away from familial entanglements for the time being. I am glad to have run into you - I have missed you around." She reaches over and pulls the tea pot closer, lifting the lid and sniffing delicately at the liquid within. "If there is anything I can do for you and your situation, please let me know. It would be nice for a changeto flex my finesse for someone I care about." "Sencha," Lucien identifies the tea with a tip of fingers outwards towards the pot. He glances around for a server, lifting a hand to signal for a spare cup and saucer. "Please, help yourself." His hand curls back around his cup, and he exhales a quiet laugh. "My family is lovely. That is -- perhaps the problem. The world is often an ugly place." His expression is relaxed, now, eyes dropped downward half-lidded as he draws in a slow inhale of the steam rising off his cup. His fingers press tighter around the warm china. "You never did meet my brother," he muses half to himself. "Tell me, do your skills extend to resurrecting the dead?" "Aahh," Emma replies in reference to the tea, taking the cup in nimble fingers and setting it right, under the teapot's spout. She listens quietly as she pours, a peaceful smile on her mouth, her attention focused on what she is doing. "I'm afraid I did not meet your brother, and if you are asking me to raise him from the dead, I am doubly regretful that it is far beyond my means. And no, I don't know someone who knows someone who can." While composed and polite, there are notes of sorrow and concern in her eyes when she looks up, setting the pot back down. Still, she does not press, staying out of his mind. "Perhaps for the best." Lucien's lips twitch up into a faintly amused smile. "I don't believe you would have liked him." His finger taps against the side of his cup, and he lifts it to drain it fully, setting it down again so that he can take the pot and refill his tea. "Jackson Holland and his band of merry men may be resurrecting him for me. Or -- well. It seems Prometheus has done it already." There's a faint tension to the line of his jaw, at this. His eyes focus down on his tea. "Many months past." "Wouldn't have liked him?" Emma raises an eyebrow at this, sliding her cup over to rest in front of her, letting it cool for the time being. "Hmmmm." Her brows knit together when he mentions ressurection, her chin drawing back. It stays that way for a while, as she processes the information. "Months ago. I see." At a loss, she sits there, silent, fingers tracing the rim of the cup, defining it with her tactile senses. Finally, she speaks. "I am not sure if I should congratulate you or issue my condolences." "He and Jackson came from similar schools of idealism," Lucien answers lightly, drawing his scone closer and breaking off a corner to slip it into his mouth. His lips close around a fingertip, sucking it clean. His eyes slide closed, and he pushes out a slow breath. "I have not been quite certain of that, myself." He opens his eyes, giving his head a small shake. "I suppose neither, yet. It's a long road from knowing to having him actually out of those facilities. I am of a mind to see if perhaps this time my reporter contact might want to /accompany/ them. Watching them --" Slowly, his jaw tightens again, "-- execute innocent prisoners live on camera during a rescue might hurry these trials along some, mm?" "Well, that goes without saying. Graphic evidence of their misdeeds makes it a lot harder to ignore." Emma's brow relaxes as the conversation continues, but the muted nature of her expression shows her displeasure. "Mr. Holland's idealism is impractical. I would give some leeway to a sibling of yours, though, as I imagine he would have some of your plentiful common sense." She lifts the cup to blow on the surface of the tea, testing its heat with her lips in a tiny sip. "No." Lucien chuckles at this, lowering a hand to rest against the side of his cup. His forefinger runs in a slow line against its rim, tracing idly in a circle. "His head was always in the clouds. At least Jackson's idealism has several hundred lives saved to show for it. Some terrible part of me," he admits with wry amusement, "is tempted to endorse his supposed bid for mayor. The internet is quite enthused." He breaks off another piece of scone, slipping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. "I cannot say I look forward to the prospect of watching a potentially bloody raid." His voice is quiet, expression and tone both very neutral-calm. "But then. My brother /has/ been dead a long time, non? Perhaps from my point of view it should make no difference." "I do not believe it works to attempt to apply logic in order to talk yourself out of caring." Emma offers, her gaze slanting over in Lucien's direction, studying his eyes. "No, I'm afraid even if you did continue to view him as passed away, you'd likely have issue with someone desecrating his body." She takes another small sip and exhales quietly. "As for Holland for mayor, doesn't that go against his anarchist nature? It seems a stretch to think of him in office, going to meetings, reading over laws -- oh, my, and veto'ing everything. It really would be chaos." This strikes her as amusing as well, head shaking slowly from side to side. "It would be delightful, wouldn't it? It could not be any worse than Lovet, at the least. He could have standed to do with a little bit more vetoing." There's a small tightness at the corners of Lucien's eyes, his gaze focused down on his cup. His finger continues to describe a slow circle around its edge. "It's Holland's idealism I am rather relying on, now, to pull my brother out of that hell. Well." His smile flashes briefly, thin. "That and his team's copious firepower. It just seems an awfully thin thread to stake --" He pulls in a slow breath, finger briefly hitching in its repetitive motion. "On the other hand, being able to alert the media beforehand is a golden opportunity. I should be thankful." "Be... whatever you are, Lucien, dear. You've got plenty at stake here." Emma pulls the cup upward, lifting from the simple pressure of her fingers around the rim of the porcelain. She takes a sip, her other hand coming up from below to support the vessel as she tips it toward her lips. She gently places it on the table once more when she is done. "You can be grateful later. Now, you're in the heat of planning. No matter what happens, Prometheus must pay for what they have done and what they seem dead set on continuing." Lucien slides his hand down, fingers curling tight around his cup. He lifts it, pulling in a slow breath and then a slow sip, his eyes closing as he rolls a swallow of tea down over his tongue. "Vengeance first, gratitude later?" His lips twitch upwards, a small hint of amusement in his expression. "Sound enough priorities." "I was thinking 'act while the iron is hot and enjoy your work when it is finished.'" Emma amends just a hair, a small, proud smile set upon her lips. "But it does seem like the act in this case happens to be vengeance." She sips her tea and inhales the aroma before she swallows. "Again, my services are at your disposal, even if you just need some encouragement or distraction to relax with." "Merci." Lucien murmurs the thanks softly into his tea, taking another sip and setting the cup back down. "Of course, I could always enjoy my vengeance as well." He polishes off the last of his scone, dabbing his mouth with the corner of a napkin and folding it neatly beneath the plate. "I am sure when this is through I will take all the relaxation I can get." "Mmm. Definitely. Well, you know where to find me, plus, we still haven't taken that vacation we talk about from time to time." Emma finishes her tea and starts to rise, collecting her things. "I'm afraid I must go. I have many more errands to run before the end of the day." She leans over to brush her lips against Lucien's cheek, her hand resting on his shoulder for balance. "I look forward to seeing your handiwork, if not the content of it. Contact me any time." The brush of contact with Lucien comes with a soft flutter of soothing happy warmth. Lucien's hand lifts, resting briefly against Emma's. "Vacation. Goodness, yes. I feel like it is always -- permanently on the horizon for us, isn't it?" There's a small faintly amused twitch to his lips, here. He tips his head up t press a kiss back to Emma's cheek. "Take care, Emma."