Logs:Ungrounded

Ungrounded
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt	2020-05-06 "{Nothing like the wisdom and temperance we display now.}" (Processing the cause of new student power mishap)
Location <PRV> 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 a damp, chilly evening despite the warm promise of spring so recently come and gone, and there's a roaring fire in the Tessier hearth. The dog is sprawled luxuriously before this on a rug, rotating occasionally as one side grows too warm; presently she's on her back, lips dangling ridiculously open and all four paws in the air, variously arranged by gravity. Though it is not yet all that late, Matt is already in his pajamas, collapsed bonelessly into his armchair. He holds a heavy tumbler of scotch and water in one hand, having already downed half of its contents. "{...I'd have to work with them both when they're not exhausted and freaked out to know more, but for now it's certainly not safe for them to room together. Which, mind you, the young women tried to tell the administration yesterday, but...}" He shrugs one shoulder, taking another gulp of his whisky. "{How could they have known, without me there?}" "{Well. Teenagers. How could they possibly know the first thing about their *own* experiences without adults there to contextualize for them.}" Beside Flèche on the rug, Lucien is sprawled, just as luxuriant. He's rolled *just* enough onto his side that he might prop an elbow up, rest his chin on a palm, a curled splay of fingers cupping his cheek; his other hand is *quite* occupied delivering lazy rubs to the pup's upturned belly. He hasn't divested himself of the day's clothing quite yet, linen trousers and a soft grey-green henley. "{Regrettable, though. Not quite the impression you want to make, this early in your career at a new school. If only there were *some* way this might have been avoided. Alas. Utterly unpredictable.}" "{Alas,}" Matt agrees lightly. "{Xavier intimated that it was unfortunate I was not on hand to brief them when they first arrived. Which would be a profoundly useless thing to say even if it were true, but I doubt they would have been in any state to work with me then, either.}" He does not look or sound particularly contrite. "{I suppose if he wants to persuade my entire care team to see me after hours or on weekends, we might have something to discuss.}" His free hand strays to his base of his neck, gently and absently palpating the soft tissue under the collar of his t-shirt. "{Regardless, I'll likely need to rearrange my schedule somewhat going forward to make time for them.}" He manages to sip the scotch this time, closing his eyes. "{Might be a lot of long days for the rest of the term, though hopefully not this long. Gods, but I am tired.}" "{If he thought he could squeeze more hours of you, he just might try his hand at --}" Lucien's lips compress, slight and quirked just faintly down. "{Persuasion. Best not to think of it too much.}" He rolls himself over further, leaving off his ministrations toward the pup that he might reach to his own squat glass of Scotch sitting on the tea table. "And if you *had* been there, yesterday? {Does he imagine in the course of an hour or three you might have solved all their issues with unwanted surges?} One wonders why they have a school at all. Just ship you around the country to every troubled youth." "Why, Monsieur Tessier," Matt affects a stilted Received Pronunciation, touching the splayed fingers of his left hand to his chest as if terribly affronted, "that would be most inappropriate." He tugs the soft sage blanket in his lap up higher. "{I suppose I might have offered them some reassurance, at least? Likely not much.} The best thing I could have done was make sure they had separate rooms, which Xavier himself might have done also, if he'd bothered listening to them." His teeth grind together, brief and quiet. "{Perhaps he only wants me around more so someone can beat him at chess. Or so he might keep an eye on me.}" "{Please. Half your chess club might best him, were he not quite so inclined towards peering ahead at their strategems.}" Lucien sits himself upright, looking into the fire as he swirls his Scotch in its glass. "I shudder to think were we might have ended up, if the school had found us while we were young and --" One corner of his mouth pulls. Just a twitch. "Ungrounded." "{Oh, naturally. Chess club aside, any number of faculty members could, if I kept him out of their heads.}" Matt's speech is only now growing sluggish as he shifts, settling more comfortably into the pillowy upholstery. He stares down into the remnants of his drink. "{My gods, the horror! Do you suppose we might have looked up to him, then? The father we never had.} We might not have ever got away." He drains his glass. "I doubt very many people would agree that we had it better as we were." "A distinct possibility. {Neither of us had terribly sound judgment, back then.}" Lucien drains his glass; only barely hesitates before reaching for the bottle to refill it. Then shifts forward, leaning up against the side of Matt's armchair so that he can top off Matthieu's drink as well. A wry curl of amusement pulls at his lips. "{Nothing like the wisdom and temperance we display now.}"