(( 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

[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.]