LOG

[reiterated]

With: Claude Bérubé
In: Krass
For: Workingtitle

[The club's busy tonight, as is true for most Saturdays. He's been watching Claude for the better part of the last thirty minutes, eyes narrowed slightly in the darkness and Sisi gravitating back and forth between him and Günther. There's drama happening between them at the moment, apparently. Cute. Let the children play.

Straightening up, he watches as Martin breaks off his conversation with Claude downstairs, the two of them having been chatting on and off ever since his arrival. Apparently, other people want drinks as well tonight; who would have thought? Heading downstairs quickly, he slips through the crowd with natural ease, claiming the empty seat next to Claude and shooting him a calm smile, nothing too sharp.]

Oh my. [He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. His French is fluent enough.] Did he leave you to your own devices tonight, Claude? What a rascal.

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[padampadam]

[This week's been a rush and not the enjoyable kind. His deadlines one missed beat after another - the interview that binds his entire narrative together happening only by sheer willpower. And a good amount of luck. Claude drowns the last of his Bailey's that Martin was kind enough to bring him without queues and requests on repeat over the loud music. Waits for the bartender to return from his actual job. Krass is not pointless without Vincent around, just lonely. Even with these endless masses migrating past his turned back.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Timm Strauss claims the stool next to Claude's, greeting him with a smile that has its edges carefully tugged out of sight. Claude simply nods his head in return. When it comes to exes, he's really not the jealous type, but Timm rubs him the wrong way in all the wrong places.]

He's working. [A simple reply. Matter-of-fact. Basic.] And I just turned in my material, so I'm off. The tragedy of conflicting work schedules.

[reiterated]

[A small nod. It's not that he understands, really - Timm's never had any conflicting work schedules to care about. The joy of being your own employer. But it's clear that Claude's not expecting much from this conversation and consequently, Timm's all about raising the stakes.]

Tell me, who did you choose for your little column this time around? [A small wave in Martin's direction. The bartender gives him a look of acknowledgment, starts detaching himself from what he's doing. Nothing's important enough, not when it comes to Timm. Bliss.] Yet another German curiosity for the French to marvel at, no doubt.

[Berlin and its historical embarrassment. This year really is about putting the German people on display, like a bunch of circus animals on parade. He hates it - but well. Hate's a powerful feeling and maybe that means he ought to cherish whatever Claude's doing. Seeing as the man's clearly doing Vincent with an impressive regularity, it might not even be a leap.]

[padampadam]

[For the French to marvel at... Claude raises an eyebrow slightly, honestly trying not to let too much sarcasm seep into his smile. A slight shrug and he plays aimlessly with his empty tumbler. It's heavy, almost traditional with its crystal-like appearance, if you don't take into account the colour. A smoky bordeaux. Kind of sexy, kind of kitsch.]

By divine favour, I managed to interview Wolfgang Engels. For a piece about defection.

[Sure, he could expand, but Timm's French is adequate enough that he could just as well read the column himself when it goes into print in the morning. Not that Le Monde needs his money, of course, but it's a matter of principle. Like a whole lot of things around the other man, resembling Vincent so closely that you have to wonder whether he's the embodiment of all Vincent's ugly.]

[reiterated]

[Martin pauses by them and Timm quickly orders two of whatever Claude's just emptied - Bailey's, by the looks of it. Timm drinks everything with no preferences, very practical.]

Oh yes. The man in the tank! [He smiles, somewhat more genuinely.] He must be pretty old by now. I grew up hearing stories about him. [Pause.] In hushed voices, of course. How the world's changed.

[Those last words spoken with a decent amount of sarcasm. Change is such a relative concept, after all. Who knows, tomorrow there might just be another Wall erected somewhere for the sake of a collective round of play-pretend. Bring it on, he says - free entertainment.]

[padampadam]

Not the world, Timm. The people.

[Casual as his tone may sound, the words are sharply cut. Shards of glass in the air, burgundy like the tumblers that Martin is filling for them - Bailey's on the rocks. Claude wraps his fingers around the tumbler, raises it to his lips and sips the creme-coloured liquid carefully, casting a quick smile in Martin's general direction. Always the saviour, yes? Well, some of us have complexes. So much is obvious. He returns his attention to Timm. Watches him over the rim of his glass.]

The world adheres to its own laws, biology and physics. People to their humanity.

[Shaped by society. As a result - well, some are gifted with more of it than others.]

[reiterated]

[He raises an eyebrow.]

Do you nitpick Vincent's word choices, too? [A slight laugh as he sips his glass, the taste of Bailey's forgettable and nondescript. It's like sex, alcohol. Interesting only as a framework for something else.] I bet you do. Two journalists, how could you not. [Setting the tumbler back on the table, he smiles slowly, sharply, leaning in close again, an illusion of intimacy.] One secret, just between the two of us: every time you put him down, he'll love you a little bit more. Do save some for the rest of us.

[With that, he leans away. Away from Claude's personal space, despite a rather growing inclination to seek it out. The man's hot with all that French disapproval. Besides, he's Vincent's toy. And Vincent ought to learn how to share, only child that he may be.]

[padampadam]

[His face falls very tangibly. Drowning a large mouthful of soft alcohol, a caress on his tongue, in a futile attempt to soothe his temper, Claude swallows and pushes the drink aside. No more for him, for tonight. Not with a shit-stirrer like Timm around; who knows, he might lose composure and beat the crap out of him. Wouldn't be the first time. This hot French head of his...]

When I disagree with Vincent, it's not really verbal dominance, you know. [Carefulness and close watch aside, he's being completely frank. Honest.] I just want to listen to him talk some more.

[Hell, he could listen to Vincent talk forever and ever. His world view interests Claude, in the same way that the feel of his body does. At this point, the two have become inseparable - the mental and the physical. Claude has never truly been attracted to anything less than that, has he? Not that he expects Timm of all people to understand. The man appears to care about nothing besides the way his reflection looks.]

[reiterated]

[A lazy shrug. Claude can think of it as he likes - in the end, everybody just wraps up unpleasant truths to spare themselves and why would Vincent's newest obsession be any different? Why would anyone? God, he loves the world, it's so predictable.]

Sure you do. Especially in bed, right? [Another sip. Then, a wink. In Claude's general direction, seeing as Timm doesn't particularly care who receives it. So long as he gets laid, it's a night well-spent.] I'm just saying. The man's not into healthy relationships. But then again, you aren't here to stay, are you? [His smile widens as he turns his attention more fully on Claude.] Maybe that's why he likes you so much. It would certainly complete the picture.

[padampadam]

[A long pause follows, Timm's words echoing in the loudness filling the club, the dance floor. Feeling his jaw setting, Claude gets to his feet, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulders, not even staying still long enough to slip his arms into the sleeves. Shit, what a fucking arsehole. What a fucking --]

No. [Chipped and cold. Usually, the coolness scales in their relationship is maintained by Vincent, but Vincent isn't here. Fire and brimstone aside, Claude is fully capable of freezing Hell over.] I'm not here to stay.

[He doesn't thank the other man for the drink (Timm gets too much for free at Krass, king of his castle) or bid him goodnight before turning around, facing the exit, a sea of men in various stages of undress stretching out between him and salvation. Well, Moses did it. So, he breaches the waves. In every way that matters.

Maybe there's an email from Vincent waiting for him back at the apartment.]