(( LOG : hymne à l'amour ))

[downplaying]

[Characters:] Vincent & Claude
[Date:] 04.03.2009
[Summary:] Neither of them is particularly objective in their judgement of the other.
__________

[Lunch break.

It's been a long couple of hours to get through, what with the course participants consisting mainly of women under the age of 30, but Claude's group has worked surprisingly efficiently, getting a head start on the subject of objectivity in the press - under much discussion. He has left the three girls to their free time gossiping now, retreating to his seat further back in the room. To his vacuum jug of coffee and his daily edition of Le Monde.

Luc, the other Luxembourg Daily journalist present, will just have to seek him out if he needs him.]

Comments

[downplaying]

Advocacy journalism is more easily avoided if you know what it consists of.

[In return for his unamused one, Vincent gets a quite genuine smile, Claude finding the man's own choice of words even more amusing than the girl he's referring to. The vocabulary of an overgrown teenager, that. Although he is, to the best of his judgement, around Claude's own age. Maybe a few years younger, but nowhere near the stage of his life where fuck is usually the jargon.]

And please don't tell me that you heard one of the mademoiselles back there say the same thing, it would wound my pride.

[justcrywolf]

Who's talking about avoiding it?

[He can certainly see where objectivity in journalism is useful - as a postulate, first and foremost, to keep people safely unaware of the hidden agendas behind it. But it's always a lie. True, objective journalism can't possibly exist, after all. Basic logic. His smirk grows into a smile, though, as he turns around fully towards the other man. Seats himself backwards on the chair, front against the back rest.]

I heard them talking about illusions, Monsieur. Journalism can never be anything but non-objective.

[downplaying]

There's a difference between writing on the basis of your topic's subjectivity and your own. Journalism is the art form of promoting the subjectivity of your topic, not your personal one.

[As a part time biographer, Claude knows what difficulties come with writing a story not your own. Telling someone else's story and telling it true to its core, objectively on his own behalf, but subjectively on theirs. It's a difference which is tricky to touch upon and he hasn't taken the discussion with his group - due to a distinction in age rather than gender. It's becoming obvious the more the other man opens his mouth that he possesses the same extensive experience that Claude does. Which makes for a much more interesting debate.]

[justcrywolf]

[His brow furrows very lightly as he listens, for once during this course in perfect concentration. He likes where the other man seems to be going with this, even if he thinks it's a tiresome distinction.]

So long as we live in a free world, I'm convinced that everything you choose to write is an expression of subjectivity in iself. You can strive to be objective all that you want but... [Shrug.] If you choose to write about it, you're telling the world that it's important.

[downplaying]

No, the story -- [He falters. Comes to a halt. Halfway surprised at the logic that the other man is presenting him with, a logic that makes perfect sense to him, even if all his theories from university tell him differently. Straightening up, Claude manages a smile and a frown at the same time.] -- You're right, that one choice in itself lends subjectivity to a story.

[justcrywolf]

[He smiles and nods. Leans in, holding out a hand for the other man.]

What's your name, Monsieur? I'm Vincent Fortesque - you're the first, intelligent person I've met all day.

[downplaying]

Claude Bérubé. I'm the French correspondent with Luxembourg Daily.

[He smiles and leans forward again. Takes Vincent's hand and shakes it. He isn't usually one to succumb to any immediate attraction to men whose sexuality isn't confirmed, but there's definitely something in the air here that it would be plain stupidity to ignore. And Jean-Baptiste is long past at this point, as is.]

[justcrywolf]

[Vincent is completely used to distinguishing between 'spare time encounters' and professional liaisons - so his handshake doesn't linger any longer than it ought to, even though his smile grows a tiny bit warmer than by his usual standards. If he'd met this man in a different context... such as a bar... at night... oh yes.]

I'm publicity manager with Peeters - I'm sure you haven't heard of them, as they never listen to anything I tell them.

[downplaying]

I'm sure that must count as their loss.

[It's said with something like a laugh. He withdraws his hand and reaches for his coffee, pouring a mug for himself before glancing at Vincent, raising an eyebrow. Half an hour can pass quickly and their lunch break will be over even more quickly in what is debatable as pleasant company.]

Coffee?

[justcrywolf]

[Whether Claude is being sarcastic or not - and Vincent has a sneaking suspicion the other man may even find him somewhat amusing - the smell of coffee is enough to keep him pleasantly inclined. Besides, Claude definitely seems... very pleasant himself. Looks pleasant too, if he's being honest.]

Sure. Don't have a cup though, so unless you've got one hidden in your pocket...

[downplaying]

[Is that a cup in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? It's the first sentence that pops into his head and it inevitably makes him laugh. He shakes his head, reaching for the top of the vacuum jug. When he holds it out for Vincent to take, he decides to take the chance - keeping it innocent enough that a straight man wouldn't take offense. Though, probably find him weird.

He can live with that.]

It's not exactly cups I keep in my pockets.

[justcrywolf]

[... Vincent's smile widens. As he takes the cup from Claude, he purposefully brushes his fingers very, very lightly across the other man's hand. He's never been particularly afraid of taking a chance and in Luxembourg, he's got very little to lose presently.]

Figures. Needs to be room for more important things, right?

[He holds the cup between them, waiting.]

[downplaying]

[He doesn't need to respond to that, he can sense - as Vincent's fingers brush over his hand. As far as flirting goes, it's subtle, but considering where they are, that's probably for the best. Although Claude is as out at his workplace as you can get in a conservative country like Luxembourg, there's no need to mix the two things up. So instead of saying anything in response, he just pours Vincent a cup of coffee. Casually.]

Where are you from? I'm sorry to say that your French betrays you.

[justcrywolf]

[The coffee is poured, the conversation moved along. Great. No punches to the face - generally a good sign. Though to be fair, the man might very well just be exceedingly polite. Vincent's met a lot of gay and bisexual men over the past two decades, however, and in this case, he's not all that doubtful.]

Lierneux. [He draws back, sipping his coffee.] I like to think of Europe as my place of birth, though. Sounds less constrictive.

[downplaying]

Then I won't bother asking where Lierneux is, because frankly - I have no idea.

[With a smile, he sips his coffee, looking at Vincent over the rim of his mug. It's a beautiful thought, almost poetic in its nature. It wasn't something he'd have expected of the other man, but he likes the element of surprise. It grants him promises of more along the same vein.

Of course he won't set himself up for disappointments by assuming anything yet, but their chemistry is good and what he does have in his pocket is a visiting card. With his phone number on it.]

[justcrywolf]

[This makes him laugh, the cup of coffee shaking slightly in his hand.]

No, who the fuck does?

[He doesn't actually have anything against his town of birth, nor his background all in all. Belgium is a great country to grow up in, for a man with Vincent's particular inclinations. He takes another sip.]

And you. France, naturally, but where?

[downplaying]

Paris. I grew up near the Luxembourg Gardens. I always found it ironic that I'd end up in Luxembourg, later.

[He shrugs. Indicating that the irony doesn't overly matter to him - he's not complaining. The coffee is growing lukewarm fast and he drinks it in large gulps now. A part of his brain is heavily fixated on the idea of fucking Vincent up a wall in the nearest bathroom, but the majority of his braincells are behaving. Small blessings.]

[justcrywolf]

[He shrugs. It's not a very interesting co-incidence, after all, and the other man doesn't seem very intent on pretending otherwise. Swallowing down the last of his coffee, he reaches back and puts the cup on his own table before favouring Claude with another smile slash smirk.]

If I keep this for the next hour, can I expect a refill?

[downplaying]

Darling, keep the cup until we can have some proper coffee at Bonn Café.

[Claude fills up his own cup again, meeting Vincent's eyes and managing to tamper down a smile somewhat. Reducing it to a quiver near the corner of his mouth. There is no real doubt left in his mind and the signs are telltale enough by themselves that he is willing to be daring. There's no one in their immediate vicinity anyway, to hear. It'll be their own dirty little secret.]

[justcrywolf]

Well, in that case...

[He loves a man who'll get bold when it counts. That's usually a good quality in other areas of life, too. Reaching for his wallet, Vincent grabs one of his visiting cards, the design somewhat boring and tasteless. As expected from his current employer, to be frank, but the contact details can't be faulted for a bad set-up.]

Give me a call and we'll see if you get it back.

[downplaying]

[He glances down at the visiting card as he takes it, eyes scanning the name, phone number, email. With a small smile, he pockets it, finding his own and holding it out for Vincent to take. An equal exchange. It wouldn't take much to convince him that their minds are in the same place, either. Sharing a common idea.]

Sure.

[justcrywolf]

[Their lecturer comes in at that exact moment, groups of chattering girls following along from taking their breaks outside the room. But he takes a bit longer than necessary anyway to accept the card and place it in his wallet. Getting a feel for it, so to speak, because in a moment, as soon as he moves on, things will progress to first stage - the usual sense of free fall. He likes that. It's how all relations start (and usually how they end, too).

With a quiet nod - intentionally mirroring his initial greeting - he turns away and returns his focus (at least partially) to the topic at hand.]