ArchivedLogs:Risks and Relaxation

Risks and Relaxation
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Nox	2013-03-17 '
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. It's dark, by the time Lucien gets home. He looks a little harried, a little tired, his pale pink dress shirt starting to /rumple/ beneath his trim black peacoat. He has a backpack on his back, though it looks flat and empty; he is already unslinging it as he unlocks his door to head in, turn off the alarm, lock his door again. Once inside, he beelines straight for the kitchen bar. And a large bottle of whisky. The best thing about not wearing clothes? No rumpling. Nox has been outside for...some time. She might never admit to /how/ long, but would probably have wrinkled her clothes had she been wearing them. She has been perched on a wall-ledge across the street, become one with the shadows, observing the townhouse. Lucien's arrival is noted and then the countdown begins, to allow lights to go on, to allow the man time to settle in. When enough time has been judged to pass, she slips off of the wall and slides across the street, up to his door. The bell is pressed and then Nox arranges herself, standing neatly on the mat. Her shadows are adjusted, leaving her hazy but with the outline of a woman clothed--a knee length skirt, a jacket. It takes a few minutes. A trip to the bathroom (/after/ that first gulp of whisky. /Priorities/.), a a rummage through the fridge for leftovers (chicken parmesan; he turns the oven on to reheat it), a /slump/ at his kitchen table with his drink. But then the door chimes and he's up again to answer its call, fixing a small polite smile to his face, checking who is outside before opening it. "Nox. Hello." He gestures her in. "It is -- good to see you." This sounds genuine. Warm. If a little reserved. "Have you been well?" "Lucien," she murmurs in turn, dipping her head to him. "Thank you for allowing me to come over. It is good. To see you, yes." She slides by him, a ruffle of cool and dark that pauses once she's gone a few steps into the hall. Her head turns and lifts towards the stairs, then back to him. "I thought I might see how Desi is doing. And." And. Just that, apparently, because a moment is spent simply studying him while indistinct brows draw together. "You are tired. I could come back at another time. A better time. Are...are you well?" "Desi is wonderful. Her break is starting soon, which means more time --" Lucien's fingers unfold to indicate his house. "Here. Though she may be transferring schools, soon. That would be good, as well." He closes the door, looks her back over. "Have you been well?" He's repeating it, with just the slightest twitch of smile at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, good. I was worried she might...she was shaken, by what happened. But with you and Matt to help her..." Nox tilts her head down and a little away from Lucien, giving him a classic sidelong look. Her own faint smile is slow to appear. "You asked first, mm? I suppose I should answer. I am...well. In many ways. A lawyer has...volunteered to speak to the police on my behalf. She seems to feel that if I go in, they will...find reasons to charge me with something. Which is less well but she seems confident she can handle it." Her hand turns up to indicate him. "And you?" "She was shaken. But she is resilient." Though as Lucien says this it presses his lips together in something not-quite-pleased. It does not last long, his smile returning, small, as he heads back towards the kitchen. "A lawyer. Oh, good," comes with genuine relief. "Perhaps she will be able to work all this out. Regrettable as it is, she is likely right. I have seen how the police treat our --" But he stops, apologetic, to amend with a glance at Nox: "Your kind." In the kitchen, he flicks off one light, leaving another on in the hall just outside its open doorway. "Are you confident she can handle it?" He picks up his whisky again, to take a long pull. "I -- it has been a long day," he admits quietly. "Long, but not terrible." The shift in expression is noted and responded to with a soft, "Someone so young should not need resiliency." When Lucien moves, so too does Nox, trailing in his wake to occupy the kitchen. His consideration with the lights earns a soft hum, though why she should express amusement...or maybe that was just pleasure, and too similar in pitch to her version of laughter. Whatever it was, it leads her to a more solid state, features drawn into something like concern. "Mm...I think she will do well. She seems to take delight in tweaking the noses of those who are...less than kind to us." Slight stress on the us. One dark hand lifts, hesitates over his shoulder and then settles on it light as feathers. "Is there anything I can do?" "If you can cure cancer," Lucien says with, admittedly, quiet /amusement/; Matt's illness has been longstanding enough the brothers are well into the joking-about-it phase. "He is back in the hospital, through the week at least. It -- is always somewhat draining, to him." His shoulder has been drooping, /just/ slightly to put the faintest messy edge to his usually sharp posture. But it straightens again under Nox's touch, like leaning up into it. "I rather hope she does. I would -- selfishly be well pleased if you were at greater liberty to roam the world. Do you know when she is going to speak with them?" "If we had a healer, I would have brought them here as soon as I knew Matt's condition." Where he is amused, Nox is solemn. She means it. "When you see him again, you will have to tell him I look forward to our next bout of chess. Or Scrabble. I /might/ be able to beat him at Scrabble." Leaning into a touch is an invitation of sorts and it leads to her stepping closer, to shift behind him and set both hands on his shoulders. She's...slightly taller with those closer steps, and slightly more solid, making it easier to work fingers down into the muscle beneath cloth. "I meet with her tomorrow evening. She wants to know everything," she admits quietly, "and as you know, everything is difficult for me to tell." A moment passes. Then, "I called her. Because...I don't want to hide below. Anymore." "You might," Lucien allows this with a smile. And then a relaxing, a soft breah slipping out of him as he bows his head slightly, welcoming those kneading fingers. "You are dangerous," he murmurs, but then more out loud: "Would you like company, for such a conversation, or would it be easier if you went alone?" There's a moment of quiet at her last words. His head turns, to look back over his shoulder towards her. "What prompted this change?" Nox's fingers pause in their movement, brief and still for half a second, before the gentle press and release of seeking out knots resumes. "Am I?" /Now/ she sounds amused. "I would enjoy...no," she stops herself, shaking her head and beginning again. "I would be grateful for company. For your company. I enjoy your company but this will not be a meeting for enjoyment." And with that look comes a lowering of her head, dodging a meeting of the eyes at first. Her hands flatten against his shoulders then and smooth his shirt--Nox's version of fidgeting--before she can lift her gaze. Her lips twitch, tempted by a smile. "Do I need to answer that?" "Then I will come," Lucien answers. "Just tell me when and where." Under the kneading he is relaxing further, at least until her fidgeting. His gaze meets hers when it lifts, sidelong at first but then he turns. A slow turn, not shaking off her touch but shifting underneath it to look at her head-on. "No. But I think you just did." It comes with a small smile, a lift of his hand to brush his fingers against the back of her hand. The touch comes with a flutter of something cool, soothing, calm. "You -- make me relax." This is said like something of a /problem/. Dangerous. "Evolve, around this time..." In return for cool, soothing, calm, he's treated to the sensation of nerves fading, of amusement and curiosity mingling in a quiet but giddy brew. Nox had lifted her hands just enough to allow turning; they return to their place after. She looks away from his face to study the effect, slate grey against pale pink. "What is more dangerous," she muses, "the dark or the light that draws it out from hiding? Do you not want to relax, Lucien? Or have you only become used to it?" Lucien's fingers curl lightly against Nox's hand, wrapping around it gently. "To each other? They might be equivalent threats." He does not sound particularly threatened, though, and the soft-soothing feelings trickling from his touch do not particularly feel it, either. "Want to relax." He echoes this quiet, thoughtful, and his head shakes slightly afterwards. "We do not live in a world particularly conducive to relaxation. Letting your guard down is -- its own kind of hazard." "Ah." Nox's smile is every bit as soft as those sensations. It is with a deep pulse of regret that she lowers the hand he hasn't snared, letting it curl at her side. No effort is made to retrieve the other, though. Disappointment is, however, layered over with resolve that has nothing of velvet to it. "I understand. I...would not wish to. Make your life more difficult. As I have said, you deserve better. It seems...that you have a great deal. To cope with now." Lucien doesn't let go of the hand he has. His fingers curl tighter, and the half-step he takes brings him closer still to Nox. "I said it was a hazard," he says. "But life comes with many of those. And we are, thankfully, free to choose the ones that are well worth the risk." Even soothing can't reorder the flutter that goes through Nox when he pierces the bubble of personal space. Her head tilts back, her eyes grow wide. Quite literally--they grow larger in her face, probably making it that much easier to study his, black to green. But she doesn't move back, and her hand twists so she can brush fingertips to wrist. "Is it such a hazard? To let one person in?" she asks him quietly. "I...would have thought so too. Before. A complication, maybe, but...I would never be a hazard to you." "I have thought so a long time." Lucien's fingers are skimming, slowly, against Nox's grey skin. His other hand is slow to move, lifting to rest tentatively at the small of her back -- not pulling her closer but a very gentle pressure /encouraging/ it all the same. "But -- perhaps sometimes life needs a bit of complication. I think this is one time I would welcome it." "You are a very great complication, in mine." A hint of amusement clings to these words, and breathlessness that makes her voice that much more inaudible. Nox is easily urged close, taking the last half-step to bridge the distance between them. As she ends tucked to him, her head turns and finds a place on his shoulder, her free hand a place on his chest, as if they were dancing. Her hair, which had begun shorter, drifts longer and curls over his shoulder as well, cool tendrils brushing his neck. They feel the way the air does after rain in the night. This close, when she speaks he would feel the hum of her voice against him, through all of her. "Where does one start? With this." Lucien holds Nox close, his hand skimming slow and absent against her back. The touch of hair draws more of a smile from him, and his eyes close as he tips his head down to rest against the top of Nox's head. "Right here, I imagine," he answers quietly. Nox closes her eyes and for a time she's content to simply rest that way. A small shiver of pleasure runs through her, to hear a heartbeat beside her ear. It's a muted pleasure, like a secret. He might feel her cheek shift as she smiles for the quiet remark. "Yes." And silence. Then, softly, and without the question ever having been asked, she volunteers, "My name was Audrey." "Was," Lucien echoes this, soft against Nox's hair. "And now you are Nox." His hand stops, palm rested against Nox's back, fingers splayed between shoulderblades with a continued slow-gentle pressure. "And what of the people who gave you that name?" he asks, after a pause. "My name has been my own, but -- were it not for the siblings I share it with I would have left it behind long ago." "I am self-made, in more ways than one. It seemed appropriate." Other people might stir when they chuckle or laugh. Nox simply hums, buzzing with her amusement. There's no heartbeat to be felt under his palm, or the rise and fall of breathing. Just her, leaning into him. "I imagine they are still where I left them..." Her head slides against his shoulder, cheek remaining in contact but eyes lifting to his face. "Who would you have become, Lucien?" Lucien's eyes slip half-closed, but beneath his fringe of lashes his green eyes are watching Nox, too. "Someone perhaps not so different from who I am now," he admits, "but the day I leave traces of my mother behind for good will be a pleasant one. Where did you leave them?" He's quiet, still. His hand is back to moving, brushing down her back. Back up again. It's an idle touch, aimless and slow. Watching is met with a small smile and a study of what can be seen of his eyes, through those lashes. "I have found, with being self-made, that the making never ends." Nox falls back into silence after that, this one slightly less comfortable. She stirs against him, then settles and brushes the pad of her thumb against his arm. Back and forth, slowly timed to the touch of Lucien's hand. "Annapolis," she says finally, and quickly, before she can change her mind. As if it stings to say the word. "And you? Before New York." Lucien listens quietly, and matches silence with silence. His head turns, slighlty, lips pressing against Nox's hair; the contact lingers, somewhat too long to really be a kiss. Just a long pres of contact, as he draws in slow breaths. Steady. His eyes close the rest of the way, face buried against her hair before he lifts it to speak. "Montreal. But that was many years ago." That hair is not so content to remain still. It tickles his lips, his cheeks; it curls up around his ear. Nox closes her eyes, far more content with simply resting. "I have always wanted to see Montreal," she murmurs, a smile returning to her voice. Her hand slides from his arm, tentatively making its way around his ribs to press against his back and thereby complete the embrace. In spite of that, she adds, "I should let you go. You will want to see Matt." "I will be spending the night with him," Lucien acknowledges. But doesn't move, arms still curled around Nox. "It is a beautiful city. Perhaps, some day, I can show you." One slides upward, though, fingers tracing instead against her cheek, brushing down the line of her jaw. "I should go. In -- a minute." His fingers press lightly, nudging her chin upwards, towards him. This time, it's Lucien who has a nervous flutter, leaking through amidst the general soft-cool-happy that his mutation /has/ been transmitting. "Then you can tell him hello for me. I wish I could visit him but...but I can be here. When he's discharged." Nox is speaking rather more quickly than her norm, as her chin is lifted. She's fortunate to be under the effect of his abilities. It lingers and allows her to smile in response to the flutter felt from Lucien. It also allows her to answer the question in that nudge by tilting her head and dipping forward to fit her lips to his in a soft, almost-chaste kiss. Lucien returns the kiss. Soft. Almost chaste. The flutter grows, then quiets; the cool-soft happy grows, and does not quiet. There is a smile on his lips when he pulls back. "I will tell him," he assures Nox. "And when he is out, he -- we will be glad to have you here." The next kiss /is/ chaste, quick and light. Because Lucien really /does/ have elsewhere to be. But even so it takes a good long moment more before his embrace slackens. Nox lets her arms slip away but only after she's returned the second brush of lips with a touch of the tip of her nose to his. Her eyes are shining as they had when he'd sung for the pair, in the bedroom upstairs, and her smile is an echo of those feelings he's projecting. "I will see you tomorrow then. Lucien. Try to rest, as you can," she counsels, "and if...if you aren't able to come, I will understand." "I will come." Something in the firmness of Lucien's tone makes this a promise and not just a statement. His smile is small, but warm. "I will see you tomorrow. Be well, Nox." "And you." Nox reaches up and smooths her hand over his shoulder a last time--he /is/ somewhat rumpled still--before drifting back towards the hall. Within three steps, she's vanished, presumably departed.