Murder, They Tweeted #1
Nov. 30th, 2018 12:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsQuentin and Hank head upstate for Quentin's cousin's wedding. Quentin introduces Hank to the Quires, including his parents and his cousin the groom, who is not at all what Hank expects.
Early morning train ride from Penn Station to Westport. Rental car from Westport to Middle-of-Nowhere, New York to get to the resort. Several hours in transit, and Quentin had not stopped squirming the whole time. Even now, checked in and settled in the room he and Hank were sharing, he still had ants in his pants. He normally kept his interactions with his family minimal, which was the way everyone liked it. But the prospect of spending a whole weekend surrounded by the Quires unsettled him as much as losing his telepathy had. He could not be himself around them, because they all knew exactly how to make him feel guilty and insignificant. Uncanny how family, even if not blood, crawled under his skin like a burrowing parasite.
He needed to chill out before he self-combusted. And they were in a winery, so the course of action was obvious. To the tasting room they went.
"It's still odd to think we don't need fake IDs now," Hank commented, though he still looked as if he was afraid they might get 'caught' at any moment. Quentin had dragged him out for a legal drink the moment he had turned 21 but it still hadn't quite sunk in yet. Quentin's own 21st celebrations had been both more and less momentous, given the other young man's comfort with flouting the legal drinking age. "It makes everything taste different now. Or perhaps that's just my gustatory cells acclimating."
"Things just aren't as fun when you're actually allowed to do them," Quentin lamented. A few people milled around the tasting room, but it was mostly empty. And no one he recognized, either, which was for the better. He started to unclench. "Sometimes I think bringing back sodomy laws would be a net gain."
Hank made a choking noise as he struggled not to spray his merlot across the table. "I... that was a jest, I hope."
Quentin shrugged and gazed into the wine swirling in his glass. "You're a scientist, there's a way to test this hypothesis. Sleep with someone here then take a trip to Saudi Arabia and do it again. See which instance is better. And to ensure statistical significance, do it repeatedly."
"Can you have one conversation that does not degenerate into discussions of sodomy?" a tall man with perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair asked from behind Quentin. The young mutant turned around and immediately clenched up again, and downed his drink like it was a cheap well shot. Which, at this point, he craved.
"Father. What a pleasant surprise. You and Mother are here already. And you came together, no mistresses or anything. Must be a special occasion. Henry! Meet Quartus and Lucia."
"Sir, ma'am." Hank's midwest was showing just a bit as he greeted the two older Quires, though his reflexive politeness only earned him the barest of glances from them both before they turned their gazes back to their son.
"Quentin." Lucia Quire's pronunciation was crisp and clipped; not a single wasted syllable. "Surely there are more appropriate places for you to be. Have you even greeted your cousin and thanked him for his generous invitation yet?"
It was a simple-enough question, but still Quentin bristled. This was exactly what he feared a whole weekend of: the tone, the phrasing, the blatant implication that he was a no-good lout who survived on other people's generosity and did nothing of his own merit, and that he should be grateful anyone ever gave him a chance in the first place. He could have been left in an orphanage, after all, as an elderly relative used to like to tell him. Quentin could have raised an altar to the groom and it would not have satisfied anyone. He often wondered even bother trying to impress them. He should just sit down and order another glass, prove them right. He did not owe anyone anything.
"We were just on our way to find Raphael," Quentin said instead through clenched teeth, standing up from his seat and grabbing Hank's wrist. "What a coincidence. Look, there he is, over at the bar. Mother, Father, always a pleasure. Let's go, Henry."
Hank allowed himself to be drawn away from the table, though he couldn't help an apologetic backwards glance toward Quentin's parents. They had already looked away.
Quentin was greeted at the bar with a strong clap on the shoulder from his cousin Raphael, who had clearly been hitting the gym in overtime as the wedding approached. "Hey, cuz!" Raph, whose muscles were doing a nice job filling out his suit, grinned. "You made it! That's so great, man."
The grin turned into more of a beam as he gave Quentin a once-over and his eyes went to Hank. "Oh, and this is the dude! God, kudos to you, man," he winked at Hank conspiratorially. "I mean, honestly, getting this guy to settle down." Raph looked back to Quentin. "Seriously, though, Q, I'm glad you're here. It's so good to talk to someone under 40. And I know it's a fucking journey — oh, shit, sorry," he rolled his eyes slightly. "I've been told I've got to keep my language down. Great Aunt Shirley heard me drop an f-bomb earlier, and all hell broke loose. Oh, bro, have you seen her, by the way?" He scanned the room, just to be careful. "Don't say anything about her chemical peel. You'll see what I mean. Like, dude, Diane and I couldn't look at each other when we saw her arrive. Had to keep from laughing."
His face brightened a bit as he realized he'd mentioned his fiancée. "God, where are my manners?" He tapped his wife, who was facing the bar, on the shoulder. "Di," he said as she turned to face them, "this is my cousin Quentin. He came from the city." There was the most minute pause before Raph handed his drink to Diane and wrapped Quentin in a kind of bear hug. "Seriously, man, it's so good to see you."
Quentin extricated himself from the embrace and stepped back to reclaim some personal space. His face burning red, and not from drink for once, he looked away, refusing to meet their gaze. "Raph. You, uh, look good. Congratulations, I guess, on this whole . . ." He waved his hand. "Uh, this is Henry. And he's not . . . never mind."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." Hank offered an oversized hand to Raph and then Diane, feeling more at ease with the friendlier, younger couple than he had with Quentin's parents. The fact that they weren't peering down their noses at them certainly helped. "And congratulations on your impending nuptials. The venue you've chosen is absolutely stunning."
"It's great to meet you too!" Diane smiled, giving Hank's hand a gentle squeeze, "And thank you! My aunt got married here when I was a little girl and I've had my heart set on getting married here ever since, but I never thought we'd actually be able to do it! I honestly don't even care what else happens, I'm getting married with the peacocks!" Well, they were on the other side of the gardens completely uninterested in what the people were doing, but they were there, "And of course, to Raph...who is so wonderful to put up with my love of the peacocks this weekend."
"Oh, sure," Raph waved a hand after a sip of whiskey. "I mean, I guess, peacocks are kind of a handful, but she had a vision of what she wanted, and I just wanted to marry her, so whatever." He shrugged. "I was happy to do it." He looked at Diane with that starry-eyed, young love look that so often seemed to fade the instant after rings were on fingers. "The wedding will be what it is. If she's happy, I'm happy. I'm just ready to get our new life off to a perfect start, you know?" Then, with a slight blush on his face, he turned his attention back to Quentin. "Anyway, Q, man, we haven't properly caught up in so long. Tell me what's going on with you."
God, Quentin could just see the wood blocks emblazoned with "Live, Laugh, Love" sitting on the counter of her faux-rustic kitchen. He was going to lose it if she revealed she has an Etsy store of cat decoupage. He shook his head to set aside such uncharitable thoughts about someone he had known for a total of 90 seconds. Eyes still down on his feet, he shrugged at his cousin's prying question. "Just, you know, same as ever. Working, surviving. You know."
"He works with an investigation firm which undertakes grassroots support and intelligence gathering." Hank's tone wasn't preening, per se, but he did try to make clear that he thought Quentin's work with X-Factor was worthy. It was odd seeing the other young man looking bashful, but it inspired a protective streak that caused Hank to reach out and clasp Quentin's hand reassuringly. "It's a fascinating field."
"I'm sure," Raph nodded. "Very private eye or whatever. I bet you've got some great stories." The ice cubes clinked as he swirled his glass before taking another sip from his whiskey. "Shit, you guys are empty-handed," he suddenly realized, looking at Hank and Quentin. "You should let Di and I order your drinks. The bartenders are like, dropping everything for us — bride and groom privilege. I think they're giving us healthier pours than everyone else too."
"Oh, that sounds fascinating," Diane gushed, impressed, "How did you get into that?" she asked, "Tell me once I get your drinks. We have two signature drinks for the weekend, The Raphie, which is a twist on an Old Fashioned, it has thyme. And the Diane, which is a blue sea breeze. It has blue curacao!"
Whiskey was just what the doctor ordered, but before Quentin could place his order, a raucous laugh cut through the room, and all heads turned to a young man about Raph's age. He loomed over a visibly frustrated shorter, stout, suited man, while another middle-aged man laughed along. The younger man was berating the short guy for something — Quentin could not make out exactly what he said — but the tone and volume of his voice made it clear he was not just upset, he was thrilled to let everyone know just how upset he was. Typical privileged behavior.
"Who the fuck is that guy?" he asked, sneering, and considering the ways he could telekinetically make his life hellish for the weekend.
"Oh," Raph laughed, waving one hand. "You don't know Trevor? He's, like, one of my best bros. Good dude. Fun at a party, but he can be a handful. You know how people can get, but like he'll calm down." He was about to continue when a fairly loud guffaw interrupted him. "And I guess you wouldn't have met Uncle Felix," he said, looking slightly less amused. "Not from the Quire side — he's my mom's brother. A Madison." He watched as Trevor started wildly gesticulating.
"Raph!" Diane hissed, not as subtly as she might have preferred, "Trevor needs to stop now."
It was clear that he would not without Raph's intervention. Trevor wore a gleeful expression that became all the more elated with every insult he flung at his target, as if he was fueled on such torment. With the right mark, Quentin could maybe sympathize. But tearing down the beleaguered winery manager for some perceived injustice was just embarrassing.
"Or consider a lobotomy," Quentin offered and then turned to Hank. "You can probably do that, right? I bet there's a big enough cleaver in the kitchen."
"I, er... for all that it seems as if he could do with a lesson in etiquette I'm not sure brain surgery is the answer," Hank replied, blushing in sympathetic embarrassment to the staff's predicament.
Another laugh rang through the room, followed by what sounded like words of encouragement. It had gone from a diversion to a scene, and as Raph looked at Diane, his smile faded slightly. "Right," he said, letting out a sigh that was very audible. This was his bride, and he was determined to keep her happy.
"Don't go away," he said, handing Quentin his half-empty drink, fully aware his cousin would probably finish it. "You too," he added, making direct eye contact with Hank. "I'll just be a minute, and then we can actually meet." Then he strode away, excusing himself as he cut through groups of party guests to make his way toward the confrontation.
Not one to disappoint, Quentin did just as Raph thought he would. He had earned it. He put the empty glass down, and then grabbing Hank's wrist, he said to Diane: "You know, I think we're going to go make our way around literally anywhere else. See you at the rehearsal." Then without so much as waiting for a response, the pair were gone.
Early morning train ride from Penn Station to Westport. Rental car from Westport to Middle-of-Nowhere, New York to get to the resort. Several hours in transit, and Quentin had not stopped squirming the whole time. Even now, checked in and settled in the room he and Hank were sharing, he still had ants in his pants. He normally kept his interactions with his family minimal, which was the way everyone liked it. But the prospect of spending a whole weekend surrounded by the Quires unsettled him as much as losing his telepathy had. He could not be himself around them, because they all knew exactly how to make him feel guilty and insignificant. Uncanny how family, even if not blood, crawled under his skin like a burrowing parasite.
He needed to chill out before he self-combusted. And they were in a winery, so the course of action was obvious. To the tasting room they went.
"It's still odd to think we don't need fake IDs now," Hank commented, though he still looked as if he was afraid they might get 'caught' at any moment. Quentin had dragged him out for a legal drink the moment he had turned 21 but it still hadn't quite sunk in yet. Quentin's own 21st celebrations had been both more and less momentous, given the other young man's comfort with flouting the legal drinking age. "It makes everything taste different now. Or perhaps that's just my gustatory cells acclimating."
"Things just aren't as fun when you're actually allowed to do them," Quentin lamented. A few people milled around the tasting room, but it was mostly empty. And no one he recognized, either, which was for the better. He started to unclench. "Sometimes I think bringing back sodomy laws would be a net gain."
Hank made a choking noise as he struggled not to spray his merlot across the table. "I... that was a jest, I hope."
Quentin shrugged and gazed into the wine swirling in his glass. "You're a scientist, there's a way to test this hypothesis. Sleep with someone here then take a trip to Saudi Arabia and do it again. See which instance is better. And to ensure statistical significance, do it repeatedly."
"Can you have one conversation that does not degenerate into discussions of sodomy?" a tall man with perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair asked from behind Quentin. The young mutant turned around and immediately clenched up again, and downed his drink like it was a cheap well shot. Which, at this point, he craved.
"Father. What a pleasant surprise. You and Mother are here already. And you came together, no mistresses or anything. Must be a special occasion. Henry! Meet Quartus and Lucia."
"Sir, ma'am." Hank's midwest was showing just a bit as he greeted the two older Quires, though his reflexive politeness only earned him the barest of glances from them both before they turned their gazes back to their son.
"Quentin." Lucia Quire's pronunciation was crisp and clipped; not a single wasted syllable. "Surely there are more appropriate places for you to be. Have you even greeted your cousin and thanked him for his generous invitation yet?"
It was a simple-enough question, but still Quentin bristled. This was exactly what he feared a whole weekend of: the tone, the phrasing, the blatant implication that he was a no-good lout who survived on other people's generosity and did nothing of his own merit, and that he should be grateful anyone ever gave him a chance in the first place. He could have been left in an orphanage, after all, as an elderly relative used to like to tell him. Quentin could have raised an altar to the groom and it would not have satisfied anyone. He often wondered even bother trying to impress them. He should just sit down and order another glass, prove them right. He did not owe anyone anything.
"We were just on our way to find Raphael," Quentin said instead through clenched teeth, standing up from his seat and grabbing Hank's wrist. "What a coincidence. Look, there he is, over at the bar. Mother, Father, always a pleasure. Let's go, Henry."
Hank allowed himself to be drawn away from the table, though he couldn't help an apologetic backwards glance toward Quentin's parents. They had already looked away.
Quentin was greeted at the bar with a strong clap on the shoulder from his cousin Raphael, who had clearly been hitting the gym in overtime as the wedding approached. "Hey, cuz!" Raph, whose muscles were doing a nice job filling out his suit, grinned. "You made it! That's so great, man."
The grin turned into more of a beam as he gave Quentin a once-over and his eyes went to Hank. "Oh, and this is the dude! God, kudos to you, man," he winked at Hank conspiratorially. "I mean, honestly, getting this guy to settle down." Raph looked back to Quentin. "Seriously, though, Q, I'm glad you're here. It's so good to talk to someone under 40. And I know it's a fucking journey — oh, shit, sorry," he rolled his eyes slightly. "I've been told I've got to keep my language down. Great Aunt Shirley heard me drop an f-bomb earlier, and all hell broke loose. Oh, bro, have you seen her, by the way?" He scanned the room, just to be careful. "Don't say anything about her chemical peel. You'll see what I mean. Like, dude, Diane and I couldn't look at each other when we saw her arrive. Had to keep from laughing."
His face brightened a bit as he realized he'd mentioned his fiancée. "God, where are my manners?" He tapped his wife, who was facing the bar, on the shoulder. "Di," he said as she turned to face them, "this is my cousin Quentin. He came from the city." There was the most minute pause before Raph handed his drink to Diane and wrapped Quentin in a kind of bear hug. "Seriously, man, it's so good to see you."
Quentin extricated himself from the embrace and stepped back to reclaim some personal space. His face burning red, and not from drink for once, he looked away, refusing to meet their gaze. "Raph. You, uh, look good. Congratulations, I guess, on this whole . . ." He waved his hand. "Uh, this is Henry. And he's not . . . never mind."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." Hank offered an oversized hand to Raph and then Diane, feeling more at ease with the friendlier, younger couple than he had with Quentin's parents. The fact that they weren't peering down their noses at them certainly helped. "And congratulations on your impending nuptials. The venue you've chosen is absolutely stunning."
"It's great to meet you too!" Diane smiled, giving Hank's hand a gentle squeeze, "And thank you! My aunt got married here when I was a little girl and I've had my heart set on getting married here ever since, but I never thought we'd actually be able to do it! I honestly don't even care what else happens, I'm getting married with the peacocks!" Well, they were on the other side of the gardens completely uninterested in what the people were doing, but they were there, "And of course, to Raph...who is so wonderful to put up with my love of the peacocks this weekend."
"Oh, sure," Raph waved a hand after a sip of whiskey. "I mean, I guess, peacocks are kind of a handful, but she had a vision of what she wanted, and I just wanted to marry her, so whatever." He shrugged. "I was happy to do it." He looked at Diane with that starry-eyed, young love look that so often seemed to fade the instant after rings were on fingers. "The wedding will be what it is. If she's happy, I'm happy. I'm just ready to get our new life off to a perfect start, you know?" Then, with a slight blush on his face, he turned his attention back to Quentin. "Anyway, Q, man, we haven't properly caught up in so long. Tell me what's going on with you."
God, Quentin could just see the wood blocks emblazoned with "Live, Laugh, Love" sitting on the counter of her faux-rustic kitchen. He was going to lose it if she revealed she has an Etsy store of cat decoupage. He shook his head to set aside such uncharitable thoughts about someone he had known for a total of 90 seconds. Eyes still down on his feet, he shrugged at his cousin's prying question. "Just, you know, same as ever. Working, surviving. You know."
"He works with an investigation firm which undertakes grassroots support and intelligence gathering." Hank's tone wasn't preening, per se, but he did try to make clear that he thought Quentin's work with X-Factor was worthy. It was odd seeing the other young man looking bashful, but it inspired a protective streak that caused Hank to reach out and clasp Quentin's hand reassuringly. "It's a fascinating field."
"I'm sure," Raph nodded. "Very private eye or whatever. I bet you've got some great stories." The ice cubes clinked as he swirled his glass before taking another sip from his whiskey. "Shit, you guys are empty-handed," he suddenly realized, looking at Hank and Quentin. "You should let Di and I order your drinks. The bartenders are like, dropping everything for us — bride and groom privilege. I think they're giving us healthier pours than everyone else too."
"Oh, that sounds fascinating," Diane gushed, impressed, "How did you get into that?" she asked, "Tell me once I get your drinks. We have two signature drinks for the weekend, The Raphie, which is a twist on an Old Fashioned, it has thyme. And the Diane, which is a blue sea breeze. It has blue curacao!"
Whiskey was just what the doctor ordered, but before Quentin could place his order, a raucous laugh cut through the room, and all heads turned to a young man about Raph's age. He loomed over a visibly frustrated shorter, stout, suited man, while another middle-aged man laughed along. The younger man was berating the short guy for something — Quentin could not make out exactly what he said — but the tone and volume of his voice made it clear he was not just upset, he was thrilled to let everyone know just how upset he was. Typical privileged behavior.
"Who the fuck is that guy?" he asked, sneering, and considering the ways he could telekinetically make his life hellish for the weekend.
"Oh," Raph laughed, waving one hand. "You don't know Trevor? He's, like, one of my best bros. Good dude. Fun at a party, but he can be a handful. You know how people can get, but like he'll calm down." He was about to continue when a fairly loud guffaw interrupted him. "And I guess you wouldn't have met Uncle Felix," he said, looking slightly less amused. "Not from the Quire side — he's my mom's brother. A Madison." He watched as Trevor started wildly gesticulating.
"Raph!" Diane hissed, not as subtly as she might have preferred, "Trevor needs to stop now."
It was clear that he would not without Raph's intervention. Trevor wore a gleeful expression that became all the more elated with every insult he flung at his target, as if he was fueled on such torment. With the right mark, Quentin could maybe sympathize. But tearing down the beleaguered winery manager for some perceived injustice was just embarrassing.
"Or consider a lobotomy," Quentin offered and then turned to Hank. "You can probably do that, right? I bet there's a big enough cleaver in the kitchen."
"I, er... for all that it seems as if he could do with a lesson in etiquette I'm not sure brain surgery is the answer," Hank replied, blushing in sympathetic embarrassment to the staff's predicament.
Another laugh rang through the room, followed by what sounded like words of encouragement. It had gone from a diversion to a scene, and as Raph looked at Diane, his smile faded slightly. "Right," he said, letting out a sigh that was very audible. This was his bride, and he was determined to keep her happy.
"Don't go away," he said, handing Quentin his half-empty drink, fully aware his cousin would probably finish it. "You too," he added, making direct eye contact with Hank. "I'll just be a minute, and then we can actually meet." Then he strode away, excusing himself as he cut through groups of party guests to make his way toward the confrontation.
Not one to disappoint, Quentin did just as Raph thought he would. He had earned it. He put the empty glass down, and then grabbing Hank's wrist, he said to Diane: "You know, I think we're going to go make our way around literally anywhere else. See you at the rehearsal." Then without so much as waiting for a response, the pair were gone.
