Logs:Images

Images
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt	2019-02-02 "My audience can grow inured to certain patterns of punishment."
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. This hour of the night, and the Village has come to bright and lively life. Though the wind whips bitter and chill through the streets, many a bar or club provides refuge from the cold. Live music plays in many of the restaurants and people bundled up in snug layers hurry from their subways or taxis to the warmer shelters that wait. Inside this particular locale, it is more sedate. The background noise comes in the trickle of water over rocks from a fountain against the wall -- the low strains of violin music coming through the speakers. Nestled on some cushions tucked away in a back corner, Lucien looks like the soft pillows, soft music, soft pace is about his current speed. Dressed in a casual sort of elegance -- impeccably tailored grey trousers, a deep green slim-fit button down, he leans forward against the table, head cradled in one hand and his eyes drooping half-closed as he looks -- vaguely in the direction of the menu in front of him. Vaguely. His legs are curled half beneath him and to the side, his hair falling tousled over his forehead where his fingers lace into it. A slight shift of his palm covers his mouth just in time to stifle an incipient yawn. "Crème brûlée is very like a dinner, no?" he finally manages, only once his eyes have slipped fully shut. "Very like," Matt's agreement is likewise soft, though he looks considerably more alert and a bit less artfully rumpled than his brother. He wears a pale jade dress shirt, a gray vest with a subtle windowpane pattern, and charcoal slacks. "But not near enough, I think, for the evening you've had. Let's share this soup, some bread and cheese... Perhaps a slice of cherry pie, also. Oh, or..." He flips his menu over to peruse the dessert section for the third time since sitting down. He's saved from his indecision by the arrival of a server bearing a tea set--they'd had less trouble deciding on that--on a tray with a small plate of shortbread cookies. "Merci." Matt smiles up at the server as he sets down the tea, though he does not decant it. The scent of the Jin Xuan is delicate but distinctive. "I think we are ready, no?" "{What? My evening was --}" Lucien's mild protestation is cut off by their server's arrival. He straightens as the tea is set down, eyes opening in time with a warm smile. "Merci. Yes, I believe so." The order he gives is simply for what his brother has just listed -- soup, bread and cheese, cherry pie. As the waiter heads off, he wilts slowly back down, though at least this time his eyes stay open once his chin is propped back in one hand. "Hardly as demanding as yours, I should think. Surely after the first dozen times the show starts to lose its charm." "Oh, and the crème brûlée as well, if you please," Matt adds brightly. Their server presses back a small smile, bows again, and departs. "{We can take the pie home if it comes to that,}" this to Lucien, in French, unconcerned. He picks up the tea pot and fills both cups in one long, fluid motion. "Perish the thought! Your performances only grow in magic and wonder." His eyes glimmer as he lifts his cup, half-hiding a mischievous smile behind its brim. "I assure you, there is nothing lost in the repetition." "{Take it home? Please. Have some faith.}" Lucien reaches for the cup, curling his fingers around it but not yet lifting it. "I'm glad to hear the enchantment has not yet vanished." The corner of his mouth tugs upward. "Though perhaps it will be all the more alluring if you have an enforced break, for a time. I've promised all my comp tickets for the next two weeks already." As he raises his tea towards his lips, his brows draw slightly inward. His lips compress, the brief chuff he exhales stirring the steam from his cup into a rapid swirl. Swift and pre-emptive: "We aren't paying for tickets." "I have every faith in you, but I actually ate before the show." Matt takes a slow, cautious sip of his tea, eyes fluttering shut as he hums with appreciation. When his gaze returns to Lucien, it is keen with interest. "Goodness, two solid weeks? I certainly would not begrudge your new fans, however much I enjoy the performances myself. Will I get to meet any of them?" He brings the cup to his lips again and raises his eyebrows at his brother. "Oh, very well. I cannot say whether the break will make me fonder, but it may at least give me a chance to reset my themed wordplay." "Eating before the show really rather ruins the whole experience." The sip Lucien takes of his tea is tentative. He follows it with an equally small nibble of shortbread. "Reset? I thought it just sprung. Endless. From some infernal reservoir you keep --" He pokes his shortbread cookie toward Matt's chest. "Deep." "Only if you mean to spend the duration dancing," Matt counters. "Vigorously. On stilts." As if to demonstrate the virtues of the three hours he didn't spend in physical exertion, he pops an entire shortbread into his mouth. When the cookie is gone and washed down, he gestures to his own chest. "Oh, you misunderstand. I've no fear of running out, but my audience can grow inured to certain patterns of punishment." The pained squeeze of Lucien's eyes, the heave of his chest, are both a touch exaggerated. He buries his clear and present suffering in a long pull of his tea. Matt sighs in evident pleasure and settles his chin on the heel of his hand. "I suppose I haven't entirely lost my touch." He bobs his eyebrows, though his gaze softens after. "It truly was a splendid performance tonight, though." The feigned affront melts easily from Lucien's expression in time with a quiet breath of laughter. Though his features have mostly relaxed into calm, there's a warmer crinkle around his eyes. "Lost it? You only hone your craft more sharply with time." His tone slips just a touch more dry with the addition: "{-- I am just occasionally thankful that you have classrooms full of students to hone it on.}" "I help my students learn coping skills that will be valuable when they're groan." Matt grins wide. "And no one should teach who is not ready to keep learning." This last evidently sincere. He takes a long pull of his tea. "They teach me a lot more than just which words play well." Lucien's eyes press closed again for a long few beats, but he doesn't bother to hide the upward twitch of his lips. He sets his barely-touched cookie back down, delicately brushing his fingertips clean against his napkin. "What have you been learning from them lately, then?" "Other than which memes are dankest--which, mind you, is vital for communicating with teenagers--I realized I'd underestimated my students' inclination to engage current events." Matt sets his cup down, wrapping both hands around it. "The other day, when I was covering the Third Reich's use of Teutonic myth, they started asking about the symbols they'd seen neonazis use, online and off. They were scared, but...they wanted to know more." He lifts his cup, considers it for a moment. "I plan to add a lesson on white supremacy in modern heathenry to my Norse paganism unit." Lucien raises one dark eyebrow. "Underestimating the complexity of teenagers' interests? You are turning into a teacher." His fingers curl loosely inward, thumb brushing in repetitive quick sweeps against the side of his forefinger. The edge of his jaw tenses, then eases off again. "Regrettably, more than a few of them likely have vested interest in knowing to recognize these things." Matt snickers, ducking slightly behind his cup. "I'm used to having to look for ways of making history relevant and interesting--for most of my students, anyway. It's wonderful when they take the initiative on that, but this..." He shakes his head. "I wish they didn't need to it as context for present-day fascism, though I'll do my best to provide it." "It's good that you do." Lucien's voice is mild. The rapid swipe of his thumb has grown sharper, more staccato in its flick against his finger. "I imagine many of their teachers shy away from such things. You wouldn't want to bring such --" Briefly, his lips purse. "Divisive issues into the classroom." Matt inclines his head slightly. "The students rarely complain, but about once a term Xavier has a very sober talk with me on neutrality. He's sympathetic to my position, of course, but there's our image to consider, and so..." He peels one hand away from the cup and makes a sort of rolling gesture in the air, his smile returning, faint. "Not sure why he bothers--the man ought to know my mind by now, one way or another." "Your image." Briefly, Lucien's eyes tip up toward the ceiling. "Somehow, that does not surprise me. For a man so intimately privy to others' feelings, he has so little --" The quicksilver slice of smile that crosses his face bares only a sliver of teeth. His hand relaxes, deliberately, pressing down flat on the table's surface. The next smile he summons is brighter -- wider, warmer, tilted upward as their server returns with their food. "Oh! Splendid. Thank you ever so much." He's quick to draw the crème brûlée to himself. "{I'm at least ready to do my share, here.}" Matt's smile doesn't really mirror his brother's--just a touch crooked, just a touch fey. "--empathy?" But when their food arrives it's all warmth and eagerness, too, though he lets Lucien speak for them. He just picks up a chunk of fresh bread and dunks it into the soup. "{And I mine.}"