This Old House: Kevin and Kurt
Apr. 27th, 2020 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_changeling posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsKurt finds Kevin 'cleaning' in the mansion's long shuttered lounge room.
Spring cleaning. In a mansion. It wasn't that Kevin was adverse to housework. His years in the Army and then in the field had made him a bit of a stickler towards a clean environment. After all, he'd slept in enough rundown shanties and filthy forward positions to appreciate fresh sheets and clean floors. But most of the activity seemed to be a purge of personal suites from years of collected stuff or young adults flailing about the common rooms with vacuums and mops, neither of which were in his particular wheelhouse. Instead, he'd positioned himself in the downstairs lounge, a room that was criminally underused in his opinion.
The lounge was a throwback to the society years of the Xavier family, the dark inlaid wood walls still carrying a faint hint of cigars and pipe smoke. The deep leather couches were handmade before Kevin had been born and dominating the throwback ultra-masculine environment was the bar. And what a bar. The designer, Arnold Constable, had been poached from the Astor's shortly after the completion of the St. Regis hotel, and he brought the same kind of attention to designing the bar. Dark themes of chestnut and black walnut accented the core of oak that ran 25 feet through the lounge. Behind it were a dazzling array of bottles, although many of them long empty and largely ornamental since the room had been rarely used by the Professor following the death of his parents and often locked in the years that the school was centred in the mansion.
"Damn shame." Kevin muttered to himself as he carefully stirred a heavy, cold shaker full of martini. He'd polished off the bar tools and some of the glasses, taking a break part way to enjoy the fruits of his labour.
Kurt was passing by on his way back from the outside trash cans, when the movement in the room caught his eye. He popped his head through the door, glancing around the room. "I do not think I have ever been down here before."
"I'm guessing that the Professor didn't throw a lot of society parties." He reached for the strainer, setting it along the rim of the shaker before pouring out a high measure into the clean glass. He dropped in three large olives, speared together on a toothpick with a surgeon's attentiveness. Only then did he take a small sip. "Aah. Civilization at last."
"Certainly not since he started the school", Kurt agreed, "though there must have been once. Perhaps we should consider putting these rooms back to their old purpose, for very carefully selected guests."
"His family dates back almost to when the Dutch owned the city. Xavier is as old society in New York as Astor or Vanderbilt." Kevin had got a crash course in society history when he married his wide. "Shame to waste a place like this. Drink, Sefton?"
"I think I may have earned a break from cleaning." He grinned. "Yes, please."
He gave the shaker another quick stir before filling a second glass with the same actions as the first before sliding it over. "Skol!"
“Prost!” Kurt returned, taking a swallow from the glass with a pleasurable shiver and only afterward thinking to ask, “What is in this?”
"Plymouth gin, a waft of Noilly Prat vermouth, a splash of fresh lemon and three olives. I was in London in 1957, holed up in a hotel restaurant waiting on a contact for five straight days. Bartender finally suggested that my scotch and sodas could use some variety and served me my first proper martini." He brought his drink from around behind the bar and sat next to Kurt in one of the bar seats. "It properly equipped me for Manhattan for the next couple of decades."
“Was this the recipe he used?” Kurt asked, taking another appreciative sip. “Or your own favourite?”
"I've tweaked it a little. Plymouth wasn't that popular in the 60s and 70s, so I've utilized other gins." He settled in, as natural in the space as a lion on the savanna. "What about you? You're German. Did you grow up on steins of dubbelbocks and pilsners?"
"I grew up mainly in Bavaria", he said with a nod, "so largely once I started drinking, it was beer. Not many cocktails to be found."
"Makes sense. I've spent plenty of time in Germany. That is not a crowd that is looking for Cosmopolitans and Tom Collins in highball glasses. But, you're not a kid any more. What's your preference down at Harry's?"
“Often I do still drink beer”, he admitted. “Harry keeps some excellent ones in stock. But I do like a good whiskey or rum at other times.”
"Whiskey or rum? Are you the one that programmed all those pirate scenarios into that Danger Room thing downstairs?"
He looked a little shifty. “I may have been. Well, perhaps not *all* of them...”
"The Dread Captain Blue Tail was a bit of a giveaway in the scenario titles, Sefton." Kevin said with an arched eyebrow before finishing off his drink. He set it on the bar and went back around the end, already starting to build another. "I'm actually surprised more people don't use the Danger Room like that, whatever, Star Trek room. "I've been tempted to plug in some John Ford and Sergio Leone and see how well it can capture the Wild West myself."
Kurt was still savouring his, but it was more than two thirds finished. “You should! The Danger Room and its drones can recreate most things.”
"And people haven't swamped it with sex scenarios? What is wrong with you X-Men?"
“Mostly the awareness of our younger trainees”, he said with a grin. “Though I would not swear there is nothing like that there, heavily locked down.”
"This is a strange place." He finished building his drink and a second for Sefton, pushed across with a grin. "So, let's talk about making it better."
Spring cleaning. In a mansion. It wasn't that Kevin was adverse to housework. His years in the Army and then in the field had made him a bit of a stickler towards a clean environment. After all, he'd slept in enough rundown shanties and filthy forward positions to appreciate fresh sheets and clean floors. But most of the activity seemed to be a purge of personal suites from years of collected stuff or young adults flailing about the common rooms with vacuums and mops, neither of which were in his particular wheelhouse. Instead, he'd positioned himself in the downstairs lounge, a room that was criminally underused in his opinion.
The lounge was a throwback to the society years of the Xavier family, the dark inlaid wood walls still carrying a faint hint of cigars and pipe smoke. The deep leather couches were handmade before Kevin had been born and dominating the throwback ultra-masculine environment was the bar. And what a bar. The designer, Arnold Constable, had been poached from the Astor's shortly after the completion of the St. Regis hotel, and he brought the same kind of attention to designing the bar. Dark themes of chestnut and black walnut accented the core of oak that ran 25 feet through the lounge. Behind it were a dazzling array of bottles, although many of them long empty and largely ornamental since the room had been rarely used by the Professor following the death of his parents and often locked in the years that the school was centred in the mansion.
"Damn shame." Kevin muttered to himself as he carefully stirred a heavy, cold shaker full of martini. He'd polished off the bar tools and some of the glasses, taking a break part way to enjoy the fruits of his labour.
Kurt was passing by on his way back from the outside trash cans, when the movement in the room caught his eye. He popped his head through the door, glancing around the room. "I do not think I have ever been down here before."
"I'm guessing that the Professor didn't throw a lot of society parties." He reached for the strainer, setting it along the rim of the shaker before pouring out a high measure into the clean glass. He dropped in three large olives, speared together on a toothpick with a surgeon's attentiveness. Only then did he take a small sip. "Aah. Civilization at last."
"Certainly not since he started the school", Kurt agreed, "though there must have been once. Perhaps we should consider putting these rooms back to their old purpose, for very carefully selected guests."
"His family dates back almost to when the Dutch owned the city. Xavier is as old society in New York as Astor or Vanderbilt." Kevin had got a crash course in society history when he married his wide. "Shame to waste a place like this. Drink, Sefton?"
"I think I may have earned a break from cleaning." He grinned. "Yes, please."
He gave the shaker another quick stir before filling a second glass with the same actions as the first before sliding it over. "Skol!"
“Prost!” Kurt returned, taking a swallow from the glass with a pleasurable shiver and only afterward thinking to ask, “What is in this?”
"Plymouth gin, a waft of Noilly Prat vermouth, a splash of fresh lemon and three olives. I was in London in 1957, holed up in a hotel restaurant waiting on a contact for five straight days. Bartender finally suggested that my scotch and sodas could use some variety and served me my first proper martini." He brought his drink from around behind the bar and sat next to Kurt in one of the bar seats. "It properly equipped me for Manhattan for the next couple of decades."
“Was this the recipe he used?” Kurt asked, taking another appreciative sip. “Or your own favourite?”
"I've tweaked it a little. Plymouth wasn't that popular in the 60s and 70s, so I've utilized other gins." He settled in, as natural in the space as a lion on the savanna. "What about you? You're German. Did you grow up on steins of dubbelbocks and pilsners?"
"I grew up mainly in Bavaria", he said with a nod, "so largely once I started drinking, it was beer. Not many cocktails to be found."
"Makes sense. I've spent plenty of time in Germany. That is not a crowd that is looking for Cosmopolitans and Tom Collins in highball glasses. But, you're not a kid any more. What's your preference down at Harry's?"
“Often I do still drink beer”, he admitted. “Harry keeps some excellent ones in stock. But I do like a good whiskey or rum at other times.”
"Whiskey or rum? Are you the one that programmed all those pirate scenarios into that Danger Room thing downstairs?"
He looked a little shifty. “I may have been. Well, perhaps not *all* of them...”
"The Dread Captain Blue Tail was a bit of a giveaway in the scenario titles, Sefton." Kevin said with an arched eyebrow before finishing off his drink. He set it on the bar and went back around the end, already starting to build another. "I'm actually surprised more people don't use the Danger Room like that, whatever, Star Trek room. "I've been tempted to plug in some John Ford and Sergio Leone and see how well it can capture the Wild West myself."
Kurt was still savouring his, but it was more than two thirds finished. “You should! The Danger Room and its drones can recreate most things.”
"And people haven't swamped it with sex scenarios? What is wrong with you X-Men?"
“Mostly the awareness of our younger trainees”, he said with a grin. “Though I would not swear there is nothing like that there, heavily locked down.”
"This is a strange place." He finished building his drink and a second for Sefton, pushed across with a grin. "So, let's talk about making it better."
