(( LOG : liquor ))

[downplaying]

[Characters:] Claude & Jean Louis
[Date:] 31.12.2017 / 01.01.2018
[Summary:] Oh God, they are so drunk.
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[He's drunk. So drunk. He's not stupid, he feels it in his fingers, he feels it in his toes... Nevertheless, he abandons Vincent in Mireille's otherwise wholly engaging company, in order to cross the room to where Jean Louis has just poured himself another shot of their most expensive whiskey (a gift he's brought himself) and sit down next to the other man. Vincent's boss. Their once so highly profiled State Minister. Icarus fell, huh?]

You better have brought us something good.

[He gestures to the bottle of whiskey, half-empty already next to Jean Louis' full glass.]

Comments

[population_ctrl]

[... did he just waste all that precious whiskey? What a slob. The words themselves don't really matter to him - after all, Vincent's the one getting paid to care about his image. He doesn't expect anything from Claude, aside from maybe... an inch or two of personal space. He shifts backwards.]

Mireille's image is probably beyond saving. [He laughs. It's not a very pleasant sound but neither is it thoroughly mocking. After all, she's his wife. He doesn't want her to be unhappy. In general.] I could have told you, Claude. Next time, keep yourself better informed.

[downplaying]

[Those words do actually cause him to pause in his tracks. He hasn't worked with Mireille for the better part of 18 months in order to finish that damn book without picking up on a thing or two. Making a few guesses. Speculating. Now, all those silent accusations hang in the air between them, Jean Louis and he, probably unnoticed by the other man, because he's stupid and drunk and stupidly drunk. Claude makes quick progress, leaning in that last inch to slip an arm around Jean Louis' (broad, oh my God) shoulders.]

You know. Mireille and I spent a lot of time talking about you. I think I'm decently well informed.

[population_ctrl]

[He doesn't know what to focus on - Claude's arm slipping around his shoulders (??) or the words which, in many ways, trigger his paranoia somewhat terribly. Decently well-informed? But Mireille wouldn't actually tell him anything of any importance, naturally, she wouldn't dare...]

Meaning what?

[Deciding that the verbal implications outweigh the physical ones (he's not sure what to think about that in any case), he doesn't move, eyes narrowing to slits.]

[downplaying]

[He shrugs. Not a very communicative answer, but who cares. It might not have made it into the book and she might never have answered directly, but silence can be so very informative, too. He knows that Jean Louis has probably hit her at some point. Perhaps even more than once. That bastard. He deserves a little trauma of his own, doesn't he? And who better to provide it than the big bad gay man whom they obviously fear so much in his party?

So. Claude goes in for the kill. Reaching out his free hand and placing it, quite squarely, on Jean Louis' thigh. Far up. Faaaar up.]

[population_ctrl]

[That's not an answer. And neither is that... hand... on his...

Expression freezing into something caught between surprise and a ton of belated realisations (about this entire conversation, from start to finish), he stares at Claude with something close to actual horror. He's so drunk, however, that it takes him several additional seconds to react, setting the whiskey glass on the table with a dull thud, hand shaking only slightly, thank you.]

Excuse me.

[And that's him, pushing his chair out. And away. Far, far away, managing by some miracle not to topple it over in the process.]

[downplaying]

[He doesn't actually know whether he's bemused or amused when Jean Louis pushes his chair back, gets up and all but runs from him, like a scared little rabbit. Run, rabbit, run. Or is it Forrest? ... Never mind, it's funny as Hell and he smiles to himself while leaning back in his seat, eyes following the other man as he makes his way over to Mireille and Vincent, interrupting their conversation to have his masculinity reaffirmed.

The man's hot, but disgusting. Funny how a mix like that only works when you're too drunk to stand (and no, he's not going to make the attempt). He really hopes they lose the elections this year. Really, really hopes.

Sorry Vincent.]