[ Sometimes a relationship is work, Jean Louis says, leading them onwards from non-consensual Sleeping Beauty to the next one in line, a more naturalistic version of Little Red Riding Hood with the wolf twice the size of the little girl. Could be an analogy for many things. The liberal forces in the world, opposite the more humane ideologies. Capitalism and life. The masculine power opposite the feminine. Maybe all three at once. Claude looks the edges of the wolf's coat over, the tips of its fur catching the lights around them, glistening gold.
No, definitely capitalism. And in extension, liberalism. He raises an eyebrow and glances from the wolf to Jean Louis in a very telling way. Is that you, it means. And who am I, then?
The answer is in the name. Little Red Riding Hood.
Their fingers clasped, Jean Louis catching his initiative with the ease Jean Louis catches anything, money, fame, Claude, he drinks his mulled wine and feels the way someone passes by behind them, discussing something in lowered voices, he doesn't try to make it out. Not when Jean Louis is telling him they shouldn't get into the discussion of work while intoxicated. In any way. He has still to see the man get drunk.
Briefly, he wonders whether that might be a good thing. What kind of drunk Jean Louis is. ]
Not all debates are meant to be won, you know, although I know in your position, you win pretty much by existing. [ It's said completely without malice or envy. Claude respects the position the other man has put himself in with the Luxembourgish government, the tip of the balance, constantly. ] Maybe I just really want to see your arguments when you're in some way intoxicated. A little less... rigid.
[ The next sculpture makes him frown, an instant feeling of revulsion forming within him before he consciously makes the connection to the fairy tale in question. He's never liked it. As a child, it used to frighten him - this old hag, living in a forest, eating children - the brother and the sister, alone in the woods, abandoned by their parents because the parents couldn't care for them. Giving the sculpture a cursory look-over, he turns his attention to Claude instead, the icy sense of unease fading quickly. It doesn't matter, after all. It's just a fairy tale. ]
In some way.
[ He doesn't drink, of course. Sadly, he's inherited Erik's temper. He gives Claude's hand another little squeeze, then leans in without thinking and kisses his cheek, a quick peck. He's cold, Claude. They both are but not too much. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low, his breath ghosting over the other man's ear. ]
Fine, we'll give it a shot one day. But if you hope to see my stubbornness culled by drugs, you'll be sadly disappointed.
[ He draws away, though he doesn't let go of Claude's hand. Instead, he simply leads them away from the ugly ice sculpture - the next one, he thinks, is supposed to be a mermaid, her thin arms reaching upwards, towards the sky. She wanted more, didn't she, and went far indeed to get it. The price, in the end, is of course too steep for her, for everyone, realluy, that's the whole idea behind the concept - that's why so few people truly go the distance. But you can if you want to. If you really, really, want to.
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No, definitely capitalism. And in extension, liberalism. He raises an eyebrow and glances from the wolf to Jean Louis in a very telling way. Is that you, it means. And who am I, then?
The answer is in the name. Little Red Riding Hood.
Their fingers clasped, Jean Louis catching his initiative with the ease Jean Louis catches anything, money, fame, Claude, he drinks his mulled wine and feels the way someone passes by behind them, discussing something in lowered voices, he doesn't try to make it out. Not when Jean Louis is telling him they shouldn't get into the discussion of work while intoxicated. In any way. He has still to see the man get drunk.
Briefly, he wonders whether that might be a good thing. What kind of drunk Jean Louis is. ]
Not all debates are meant to be won, you know, although I know in your position, you win pretty much by existing. [ It's said completely without malice or envy. Claude respects the position the other man has put himself in with the Luxembourgish government, the tip of the balance, constantly. ] Maybe I just really want to see your arguments when you're in some way intoxicated. A little less... rigid.
[ He grins and looks back at the display. ]
no subject
In some way.
[ He doesn't drink, of course. Sadly, he's inherited Erik's temper. He gives Claude's hand another little squeeze, then leans in without thinking and kisses his cheek, a quick peck. He's cold, Claude. They both are but not too much. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low, his breath ghosting over the other man's ear. ]
Fine, we'll give it a shot one day. But if you hope to see my stubbornness culled by drugs, you'll be sadly disappointed.
[ He draws away, though he doesn't let go of Claude's hand. Instead, he simply leads them away from the ugly ice sculpture - the next one, he thinks, is supposed to be a mermaid, her thin arms reaching upwards, towards the sky. She wanted more, didn't she, and went far indeed to get it. The price, in the end, is of course too steep for her, for everyone, realluy, that's the whole idea behind the concept - that's why so few people truly go the distance. But you can if you want to. If you really, really, want to.
Yes, he likes that story a lot more. ]