downplaying | (( la foule ))

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(( la foule ))

You've reached Claude Bérubé.

I'm currently not available.
Please leave a message
and I'll call you back as soon as possible.

If you're contacting me
regarding any kind of journalistic work,
you can also reach me via email:
claudeberube at freepress dot com.

Thank you.

[This is the post for IC contact with Claude.
Text, audio and action - everything goes.]

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[It takes him three minutes to change into another shirt. Crisper. Cleaner.

When he emerges from his room, it's obvious that he's been by the bathroom to fix his hair. He... knows how Vincent prefers him not to look like a slob. After all.]

[Vincent turns to look at him. Doesn't know what to say, really, because everything would be weird in their present context ('You look good' probably being the worst thing he could possibly say now). So instead, he straightens up and nods towards the exit.]

After you.

[Claude heads for the exit, turning his back on Vincent in the process. He wants to ease the atmosphere, say something like don't go stare at my arse now, but it doesn't fit the context and fuck it. Just. Fuck it. Fuck you, Vincent, really.]

[He follows. Wow, this atmosphere is fucking fabulous, isn't it? He's about ready to just. Go back to his room. Go alone. Anything to escape the tension between them, as potent here (if not more so) than back in Luxembourg City.]

Think the Saloon's this way.

[At which point, he just. Starts walking. In silence. They've already had their Talk (with a capital T) and everything he can say will make. Things. Worse.]

You heard about how a lot of the Settlers have just been sleeping for five days straight?

[Neutral ground. Neutral subject. Claude is grasping for straws, isn't he, falling into step next to Vincent - and if nothing else, they both know a good story when it slaps them in the face. Not to mention, that if it's representative of the place they're finding themselves now, it's something they need to discuss anyway. Safety reasons.]

Of course.

[He takes the offered hand - or finger if we're being honest - and runs with it. It's better than nothing. Possibly. He's had nothing and really, it felt better than this. Much better.]

Don't know what to make of the current explanation. This place is fucking weird.

[As they draw nearer to the Saloon, the sound of other people and the smell of food and alcohol hanging in the air growing more pronounced for each step, Claude's initiative seems increasingly less like a good idea. Although all his journalistic instincts tells him to keep the conversation going, the more personal issues involved are making it seem so much more appealing to do the opposite. Nevertheless. He started. He owes it to the both of them to finish. And finish strong.]

If it's really those sort of powers they're fighting, it makes sense that they don't prioritise actual investigations. Because, honestly, how far would it get them?

You know there's a town council here?

[For a moment, he forgets that they're currently... less than dating, actually, and certainly not married in anything other than the legal sense. Because this kind of talk is what they're both good at; it flows, even if the air between them is almost too cold to bear.]

I'm curious about what they're going to do in response to this.

Edited 2014-04-18 19:56 (UTC)

Your guess is as good as mine. We've both been introduced to Allison.

[They're walking a meter or so apart. Stopping in front of the entrance to the Saloon, Claude enters first, if only to be consistent and give Vincent another chance to not stare at his arse. The tension between them could be sliced with a knife and buttered, really. It's that thick.]

[He'd be staring if he wasn't so damned turned off by this entire thing. As it is, he just watches Claude's back as he moves away some more. Yeah. What a joy.]

Let's grab that... [He doesn't finish, nodding instead in the direction of a free table. Heads over there, crossing his fingers that Claude's actually... looked his way. If not, he can get lost. Whatever.]

[Claude did see, however. And he does follow Vincent, sitting down at the table he'd indicated. No one had been kidding when they told Vincent, it seems, that the Saloon is the place to go. It's packed.]

[Sitting down opposite Claude, he considers ordering something to drink, then decides against it. For some reason, he'd rather just. Get this miserable excuse for a date out of the way.]

Talked to Kieri, by the way. About doing chores for money.

I saw.

[At the mention of Kieri, Claude actually genuinely smiles. He likes the boy a lot. He's pleasant and he awakens... feelings that Claude supposes must be parental in nature. The need to protect.]

He's a great kid.

[Vincent notes that smile. Of course he does. For a moment, he's getting almost wistful about it - then, he pushes the feeling aside. Roughly. What's the fucking point.]

So, the suggestion's good with you?

It's a good idea.

[Because. Well, it is. Trust Vincent to come up with it. Claude looks at him for a long moment, then glances in the direction of the bar. This is insufferable and he's getting something to drink.]

I'm getting a beer. Do you want something?

[He nods. At Claude's suggestion, however, he looks off to the side, trying to come up with a reason to agree. Maybe it would be easier, just. Sitting here with a drink in silence and to stop attempting any form of verbal communication. Maybe that's all that's left, at this point.]

Sure. Nothing fancy, just some water.

[They're back to square one, then. This was how it was in Marseille, back when their relationship had just been initiated. Claude drinking beer and Vincent Water to their amazing, king-size burgers on that small restaurant... Falling silent, Claude gets up and heads for the bar. Orders a beer (good quality this time) and a large glass of iced water.

Returning to their table, he holds the glass out for Vincent.]

Here.

[Love. Don't get frostbites while you're at it.]

[He takes the glass, icy and cold between his fingers. Sips the water wordlessly, feeling quite clearly everything that they aren't saying right now, all that natural interaction that keeps getting lost in translation. He's getting more and more certain about it now - there's nothing he can do. Perhaps apart from keeping his distance.]

You know. [He gives Claude a very slight, very quiet type of smile. There's a sense of clarity now and it's a pleasant change from the past days (weeks) of running about with nothing but confusion.] There's something called the recreation center here. A bit like camping, I guess, a fucking parody probably. [Another sip. He looks away.] Think I might go there next week. Take some time alone.

[Claude's in the middle of a sip when Vincent begins speaking. The words, however, make him pause mid-motion, eyes darting to the side and seeking out Vincent's face, the other man's gaze averted. His stance in itself is just so unlike his usual self that it's painful to watch and Claude slowly (calmly, carefully) returns all his attention to his beer. Finishes his mouthful before speaking.]

It's up to you, of course. Who knows, it might prove healthy.

[For him. For them. Claude doesn't specify. There's no need. Vincent will undoubtedly catch every implication present in that open-ended comment.]

[It's not an empty answer, not by far - naturally. It's Claude, he doesn't do empty dialogue, at least not around Vincent. Probably not in general. There's a reason why they... well. Fuck that. Fuck everything. He takes another sip, glancing sideways at Claude. He's always been the first to leave and this time, no matter how or what Claude had planned when accepting Eli's offer, Vincent feels like he's right back to square one. Don't let the door hit you on your way out, right? Right.]

Yeah.

[He doesn't know what else to say. Once again, it just doesn't matter.]

[And they return to silence. Because their words have been exhausted at this point and there's just nothing more to say. They could pick up on another subject about New Dodge, pick apart another aspect of the setting, but the point -- Usually, the two of them talk to be intimate without the physicality of fucking. Right now, there's no intimacy left. Only this.

So he takes another swing of his beer and stares at nothing in particular. In the full Saloon, there's enough to turn his attention to, if he really doesn't want to turn it to Vincent. And he really doesn't. Nice, clean shirt or not.]

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