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[personal profile] nowheretowns 2023-10-13 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Well, that certainly gets Claude Bérubé going. Jean Louis watches him, more curious about the man himself than what he's saying. Most know about power, certainly. They don't necessarily realise who's got it. Claude talks about the men in power, old men who have been in power all their lives and Jean Louis can think of many men indeed who'd fit his description.

They should piss their pants in fear says the French socialist, his stance strong and his jaw squared, and Jean Louis looks at him and thinks about his mouth.

Strength comes in many shapes and sizes but it is always attractive. ]


In reality, the men you talk about are a dying race. Old, decrepit. In no time at all, they'll be gone from the world and before that, they've made themselves irrelevant.

[ His voice, in contrast to Claude's, is calm, unhurried, though there's an undertone of absolute certainty there, something that makes his French more even than usual. ]

We must go back to the things you think you know. [ He leans back, mirroring Claude by pushing just a little bit away from the table, crossing one, slim leg over the other. ] Those men were empowered by basic human nature - rules that govern humans much more effectively than any of us ever will. Fear. The lure of convenience. What is fear of consent legislature, then, if not either fear of losing power or of losing convenience?
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[personal profile] nowheretowns 2023-10-13 06:55 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Jean Louis catches the other man's amusement and mirrors it, smiling slightly in response. They have vastly different perspectives on governance, obviously - as was evident from the beginning, seeing as Jean Louis would have never himself even considered the reality of consent laws. Empathy and interest, says Claude, and it seems like something they should definitely apply to Liberté - to its very foundation. They'll need more people, he decides. More faces, better voices. People who can sell such concepts to avoid selling the opposite.

What a shame that Claude's clearly a socialist to the bones.

Nodding slightly, he fishes around in his pocket for a smoke, glances over his shoulder to make eye contact with the guard by the door and props it between his lips. The man gives him an irritated look and turns away. He looks back at Claude, balancing the smoke between his lips as he speaks. ]


Unfortunately, I go where the money is.

[ He says it with a slight shrug, finding his lighter in his other pocket. ]

When you find a way to combine economy and empathy, I'll gladly sponsor the whole fucking endeavor.
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[personal profile] nowheretowns 2023-10-13 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The conversation comes to a somewhat abrupt halt as Claude stares at him and yes, indeed, it's very illegal to smoke indoors and someone might've fired him if they could, oh, there's bound to be more than a dozen people hoping for any excuse. He's fine with it. He's seen worse. Pushing that thought away before it gets any sort of grip on him, he lights up, sending his first exhalation sideways, away from their table. Within seconds at best, someone - a woman, intern, she's been here a couple of months, works for Stéphane - gets up and opens a window a few feet away without further comment.

He's been smoking more than he used to the past year. Most people just leave him to it, thinking they know.

It's a thing. Thinking you know something when in reality, you know much, much less than you need to. ]


I'm serious. [ He smiles again, sharper this time, the smoke from his cigarette trailing upwards, grey swirls catching in his hair. ] Find a way to sell empathy and I'll be the first in line. I like it.

[ His voice lowers a fraction as he leans in: ]

I like the way it looks on people.
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[personal profile] nowheretowns 2023-10-13 08:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[ There's another pause, loaded this time. There's been no one for a while, for him - ever since Vincent decided that he wasn't trustworthy (it stings, still, because he'd very specifically tried to be trustworthy and failure is bitter, always), he's lived by himself, going home with no one at night because he can't risk it. In a few months, they will launch Liberté. They have to control the gossip stream, otherwise when the time comes, it'll drown them.

All the same, when Claude looks at him and tells him it wouldn't be empathy before plucking the cigarette from between his lips, his hand suddenly, briefly, so close that Jean Louis can smell his skin, a part of him wants desperately to imagine a reality where all that shit doesn't have to matter.

And perhaps it doesn't, at least not as much.

Ezio, after all, is quite happy these days. ]


Maybe empathy is not a draw in itself.

[ Watching Claude for a long moment, the air between them carrying the remnants of his cigarette now along with the mood of their conversation, he thinks about his empty warehouse, the glittering fish and the windows, stretching from the floor to the ceiling and letting in the light as well as the shadows in copious amounts. His skin prickles, his left shoulder twinging. Phantoms, ghosts. His homes, no matter when or where, have always been full of them.

Getting to his feet, maybe a little too fast, a little jerkily, he pauses again, his side to the table and glances at Claude out of the corner of his eye. Then, he drops his card on the table and says, voice quiet: ]


There are other things.

[ With that, he turns and walks away. ]