[ Inevitably, the conversation returns to the only foreign element at the table, that is, Claude. Frowning a bit and looking sideways at Jean Louis who looks defensive and uncomfortable, in a way Claude has never seen him before, he takes his time answering, thinking first Jean Louis' words over, then Potos'.
Claude knows what he wants from the world.
Then, it must take a special temperament, for a socialist to live in the same house as Marie-Camille.
Why are they talking about him? Claude's fine, a bit out of his element, but fine, Jean Louis is the one who is evidently not at ease with how they're here, sitting opposite each other, presenting Claude to Potos like some pedigree dog. It must have a special temperament, indeed. His frown deepens and he leans sideways, into Jean Louis' space slightly, not exactly penetrating, just skirting, touching. Reaching out, he runs his fingers over the inside of his wrist, over his palm, interlacing their fingers gently. Squeeze.
Only then, does he give Potos his attention, the frown only halfway washed off, though a smile is softening it somewhat. It's not apologetic, it's deflecting. He holds the other man's attention without releasing Jean Louis' hand, though he's feeling for his every move to make sure he actually wants Claude to hold it. If he gives any indication that he doesn't, Claude will let go. It's that simple.
He looks at Potos. Yeah, it's that simple. ]
I wasn't as politically outspoken when I was a teenager. I couldn't live with her now, I think, but there are plenty of reasons for that. Politics is only one of them.
[ A pause. Genuinely thoughtful, ]
If politics is the only thing keeping you together or the only thing keeping you apart, maybe it's time to re-evaluate some things in that relationship.
[ He realises only when Claude actually takes his hand that he's tense all over. It's not fear - really, if he's ever frightened of Stéphane, he hopes he's got the fortitude to shoot his own brains out before he can reach a lower point in existence - but it's something and he can't pinpoint what it means. Stéphane is acting much like he always has - he's a man of power and he isn't, simultaneously, and like that he seems to embody contradictions to the point where you can't tell one apart from the other. It's always been... confusing but never particularly bothersome.
Aside from a few times, of course.
He lets Claude take his hand, sweet Claude with his kindness and his warmth, and that warmth even translates into his system a little now, his shoulders lowering a fraction. Fine. There's nothing very unusual about this, it's not even unusual for him to want to shut Stéphane up with his fist; for some reason, his mind flashes backwards to Emilia, to the front pages outing her to the world, him as well, grimy, long-distance pap shots and headlines that made her a lot smaller than she was, reducing her to nearly nothing. It had been a vile thing to do. Vile and unsophisticated but efficient, flawlessly so. Beneath his rage, he'd been impressed.
He tenses up. Relaxes again. Stéphane is replying to Claude and he isn't quite hearing it, stuck in that odd between that happens sometimes. He gives Claude's hand a small squeeze, instead, and follows the other man with his eyes, nodding along appropriately completely out of habit. Happily, Stéphane is preoccupied with Claude, the way he becomes sometimes - preoccupied with others, with things he wants, people, bodies, power. Jean Louis watches him and wonders with an odd sense of detachment what exactly he's looking at. ]
[ Stéphane smiles at Claude's reflections. It really is a coherent whole, isn't it, the man, the politics, the morals, the ethics. The tendency to go for an idealistic world, one that neither of them lives in. It's adorable in its own right. Jean Louis has found someone very, very harmless, not unlike his last girlfriend - boyfriend - whatever that was - and at some point, no doubt this relationship will go the same way. Sacrificed for the sake of the man's goals, his drive for power. It's actually a bit sad to think about. Perhaps, if things go differently, there'll be something in it for all of them at length - he'll have to mull that over, preferably when he's alone and not being stared into an early grave by his former charge.
Oh, but are they holding hands?!
Dearest God, yes, he'll have to encourage this. Anything else would be a crime against all that's good and proper - or, at least, it would be more of the same, of Jean Louis losing something that's probably good for him and gaining yet another reason to be angry and resentful. It's not that Stéphane doesn't like him like that, au contraire. Oh no, that's when systems burn, after all, and the old crumbles for the new. It's a spectacle. He more than likes it.
But all things have a time and a place. ]
Wise words, friend. For some of us - [ A meaningful glance in Jean Louis' direction, you listen here, now, whether you like it or not, and a loose gesture with his hand. ] - it may have gone a bit overboard, even. I certainly don't have a life outside of politics. If there's not much else to share, then that's how you end up connecting with everything and everyone.
[ He sips his coffee again. It's growing on him, honestly. Maybe he'll go for another, his diet be damned. ]
Luckily, there are other parts to play in this giant machine we call politics. I'm glad you're aware of that, Monsieur Bérubé - it's what the future's made of.
[ Not for him, obviously - but for other people. People like Bérubé, maybe even like Jean Louis. Yes, that could be something worth seeing. ]
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no subject
Claude knows what he wants from the world.
Then, it must take a special temperament, for a socialist to live in the same house as Marie-Camille.
Why are they talking about him? Claude's fine, a bit out of his element, but fine, Jean Louis is the one who is evidently not at ease with how they're here, sitting opposite each other, presenting Claude to Potos like some pedigree dog. It must have a special temperament, indeed. His frown deepens and he leans sideways, into Jean Louis' space slightly, not exactly penetrating, just skirting, touching. Reaching out, he runs his fingers over the inside of his wrist, over his palm, interlacing their fingers gently. Squeeze.
Only then, does he give Potos his attention, the frown only halfway washed off, though a smile is softening it somewhat. It's not apologetic, it's deflecting. He holds the other man's attention without releasing Jean Louis' hand, though he's feeling for his every move to make sure he actually wants Claude to hold it. If he gives any indication that he doesn't, Claude will let go. It's that simple.
He looks at Potos. Yeah, it's that simple. ]
I wasn't as politically outspoken when I was a teenager. I couldn't live with her now, I think, but there are plenty of reasons for that. Politics is only one of them.
[ A pause. Genuinely thoughtful, ]
If politics is the only thing keeping you together or the only thing keeping you apart, maybe it's time to re-evaluate some things in that relationship.
no subject
Aside from a few times, of course.
He lets Claude take his hand, sweet Claude with his kindness and his warmth, and that warmth even translates into his system a little now, his shoulders lowering a fraction. Fine. There's nothing very unusual about this, it's not even unusual for him to want to shut Stéphane up with his fist; for some reason, his mind flashes backwards to Emilia, to the front pages outing her to the world, him as well, grimy, long-distance pap shots and headlines that made her a lot smaller than she was, reducing her to nearly nothing. It had been a vile thing to do. Vile and unsophisticated but efficient, flawlessly so. Beneath his rage, he'd been impressed.
He tenses up. Relaxes again. Stéphane is replying to Claude and he isn't quite hearing it, stuck in that odd between that happens sometimes. He gives Claude's hand a small squeeze, instead, and follows the other man with his eyes, nodding along appropriately completely out of habit. Happily, Stéphane is preoccupied with Claude, the way he becomes sometimes - preoccupied with others, with things he wants, people, bodies, power. Jean Louis watches him and wonders with an odd sense of detachment what exactly he's looking at. ]
no subject
Oh, but are they holding hands?!
Dearest God, yes, he'll have to encourage this. Anything else would be a crime against all that's good and proper - or, at least, it would be more of the same, of Jean Louis losing something that's probably good for him and gaining yet another reason to be angry and resentful. It's not that Stéphane doesn't like him like that, au contraire. Oh no, that's when systems burn, after all, and the old crumbles for the new. It's a spectacle. He more than likes it.
But all things have a time and a place. ]
Wise words, friend. For some of us - [ A meaningful glance in Jean Louis' direction, you listen here, now, whether you like it or not, and a loose gesture with his hand. ] - it may have gone a bit overboard, even. I certainly don't have a life outside of politics. If there's not much else to share, then that's how you end up connecting with everything and everyone.
[ He sips his coffee again. It's growing on him, honestly. Maybe he'll go for another, his diet be damned. ]
Luckily, there are other parts to play in this giant machine we call politics. I'm glad you're aware of that, Monsieur Bérubé - it's what the future's made of.
[ Not for him, obviously - but for other people. People like Bérubé, maybe even like Jean Louis. Yes, that could be something worth seeing. ]