Jean-Claude (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
baisant) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-01-15 03:31 pm
baisant) wrote in undergrounds2016-01-15 03:31 pm
DOWN COMES THE NIGHT (JANUARY CATCH-ALL)
I) THE CLUB
It's a regular night at Guilty Pleasures. A steady hum of conversation and music creeps across the air of the interior of the club, not too loud, but not too quiet besides. Phillip has just finished an act, received the appropriate attentions, and there arrives the appropriate scheduled break, allowing people to decide whether they want to hit the bar for a drink and stay for Awbrey or start to think about making the long, lonely journey home. Or maybe not so lonely. It's not up for Jean-Claude to decide how they arrive or exit, after all.
As the owner of the club, he tries to keep a relatively low profile. That is not to say that he will not book his own, private events, for the right customer, for the right price. But the public will notice, assuming the business should stay afloat for so long, that he does not age. They will notice certain other oddities about him as well. His pallor. The way that he hardly touches his drink.
And so his role in Guilty Pleasures is a bit less removed than another strip club owner's might be. He handles the background affairs. The performers and the employees, they all answer to him. But he has an announcer take his place. He is not the host. He is the Management. And he is always there. Always watching. Taking notes for the dancers, taking cues from the crowd. Handling a situation as it arises with all the grace that his collective six centuries afford him. And what a lot of grace it is.
He sits at the edge of the bar, nursing a glass of wine although he's barely drank any. Sitting still and poised as a statue. As his eyes meet the surly bouncers' across the room and he offers the man the barest of nods, which the bouncer returns in form.
And then he turns, and it is as if life has returned to his body as he raises the glass of wine to take a sip and asks, "It is not a bad show tonight, non?"
II) THE DELUGE
Jean-Claude may be good at adapting to a lot of difficult situations and scenarios. He may have an excellent poker face and he may know how to navigate himself through a challenging political moment better than most. But here he is, standing in an expensive velvet frock coat, with equally expensive if not moreso Italian leather boots strapped to his feet, staring out from the shop awning he'd found shelter beneath with something of a look of defeat. He has been caught out in the rain, and it would seem that the damned English weather has no intention of letting up any time soon. And he'd really liked these shoes.
He lets out a long and heavy sigh and swears low under his breath in French as he turns to determine whether he might at least explore the shop that he had trapped himself against. A... Convenience store? He sighs again. Will the day get any better, he wonders to himself.
III) THE THEATER
It isn't just because he's French that Jean-Claude loves the ballet. That's a cliché, and one that he resents, thank you very much. No, he likes the tranquility of it, the darkness of the theater, the beauty of the dancers' movements, of their costumes, the orchestra... How one can sit back in their seat and listen, or watch, and need not focus on the dialogue. Not of the mouth, at least. For dance is a dialogue of the body. And the human body is something that Jean-Claude knows, intimately. And loves just as much. For all its weaknesses and flaws. For all its beauties and temptations. He likes to sit and watch and admire, and the ballet is a perfect way to do just that.
It should come as no surprise that he's a season ticket holder. Despite being Belle Morte's plaything for centuries, he's managed to amass a tidy sum of money to his name, which he is as a rule rather frugal with. But the theater is a place he has been known to indulge himself, at times.
He has enjoyed the most recent production, and as the crowd slowly fills out into the street beyond, Jean-Claude lets himself be carried with them. In something of his own world as he remembers better days, better times, and the people he had known then... Having no particular place to go and no particular place to be for the rest of the night, he lets his feet take him where they will. He's perhaps too well-dressed for a night on the town, but that's never stopped him before.
IV) THE PURGE
He should have known that there would be trouble with this purging of magic, when it had come up. He should have known that he would not have been so lucky as to escape it. And he should have known that it would be Phillip, one of his most popular dancers, not only to fall victim to their fines, but to also find himself under arrest for the sheer amount of paraphernalia he had been in possession of. If Jean-Claude were capable of developing a headache, Phillip might have given him several in the last few days alone.
And so, despite wanting to maintain a low profile within the supernatural community, it comes to pass that instead Jean-Claude finds himself taking a taxi into Westminster to bail his trouble-making front man out of jail. Clutching his jacket tight around himself, he sets his shoulders square and schools his expression pleasantly blank, before letting himself into the building itself, asking around until he finds himself directed into a rather unassuming waiting room. Where no doubt he's going to be left to wait for an extraordinary amount of time, before forced to sign a lot of paperwork and sign over an exorbitant amount of money.
He sits back in his chair and lets out a sigh. He really should have eaten first...
V) THE MYSTERY
Choose your own adventure! Do you have an idea that I haven't covered here? Not a problem at all, just go for it!!
It's a regular night at Guilty Pleasures. A steady hum of conversation and music creeps across the air of the interior of the club, not too loud, but not too quiet besides. Phillip has just finished an act, received the appropriate attentions, and there arrives the appropriate scheduled break, allowing people to decide whether they want to hit the bar for a drink and stay for Awbrey or start to think about making the long, lonely journey home. Or maybe not so lonely. It's not up for Jean-Claude to decide how they arrive or exit, after all.
As the owner of the club, he tries to keep a relatively low profile. That is not to say that he will not book his own, private events, for the right customer, for the right price. But the public will notice, assuming the business should stay afloat for so long, that he does not age. They will notice certain other oddities about him as well. His pallor. The way that he hardly touches his drink.
And so his role in Guilty Pleasures is a bit less removed than another strip club owner's might be. He handles the background affairs. The performers and the employees, they all answer to him. But he has an announcer take his place. He is not the host. He is the Management. And he is always there. Always watching. Taking notes for the dancers, taking cues from the crowd. Handling a situation as it arises with all the grace that his collective six centuries afford him. And what a lot of grace it is.
He sits at the edge of the bar, nursing a glass of wine although he's barely drank any. Sitting still and poised as a statue. As his eyes meet the surly bouncers' across the room and he offers the man the barest of nods, which the bouncer returns in form.
And then he turns, and it is as if life has returned to his body as he raises the glass of wine to take a sip and asks, "It is not a bad show tonight, non?"
II) THE DELUGE
Jean-Claude may be good at adapting to a lot of difficult situations and scenarios. He may have an excellent poker face and he may know how to navigate himself through a challenging political moment better than most. But here he is, standing in an expensive velvet frock coat, with equally expensive if not moreso Italian leather boots strapped to his feet, staring out from the shop awning he'd found shelter beneath with something of a look of defeat. He has been caught out in the rain, and it would seem that the damned English weather has no intention of letting up any time soon. And he'd really liked these shoes.
He lets out a long and heavy sigh and swears low under his breath in French as he turns to determine whether he might at least explore the shop that he had trapped himself against. A... Convenience store? He sighs again. Will the day get any better, he wonders to himself.
III) THE THEATER
It isn't just because he's French that Jean-Claude loves the ballet. That's a cliché, and one that he resents, thank you very much. No, he likes the tranquility of it, the darkness of the theater, the beauty of the dancers' movements, of their costumes, the orchestra... How one can sit back in their seat and listen, or watch, and need not focus on the dialogue. Not of the mouth, at least. For dance is a dialogue of the body. And the human body is something that Jean-Claude knows, intimately. And loves just as much. For all its weaknesses and flaws. For all its beauties and temptations. He likes to sit and watch and admire, and the ballet is a perfect way to do just that.
It should come as no surprise that he's a season ticket holder. Despite being Belle Morte's plaything for centuries, he's managed to amass a tidy sum of money to his name, which he is as a rule rather frugal with. But the theater is a place he has been known to indulge himself, at times.
He has enjoyed the most recent production, and as the crowd slowly fills out into the street beyond, Jean-Claude lets himself be carried with them. In something of his own world as he remembers better days, better times, and the people he had known then... Having no particular place to go and no particular place to be for the rest of the night, he lets his feet take him where they will. He's perhaps too well-dressed for a night on the town, but that's never stopped him before.
IV) THE PURGE
He should have known that there would be trouble with this purging of magic, when it had come up. He should have known that he would not have been so lucky as to escape it. And he should have known that it would be Phillip, one of his most popular dancers, not only to fall victim to their fines, but to also find himself under arrest for the sheer amount of paraphernalia he had been in possession of. If Jean-Claude were capable of developing a headache, Phillip might have given him several in the last few days alone.
And so, despite wanting to maintain a low profile within the supernatural community, it comes to pass that instead Jean-Claude finds himself taking a taxi into Westminster to bail his trouble-making front man out of jail. Clutching his jacket tight around himself, he sets his shoulders square and schools his expression pleasantly blank, before letting himself into the building itself, asking around until he finds himself directed into a rather unassuming waiting room. Where no doubt he's going to be left to wait for an extraordinary amount of time, before forced to sign a lot of paperwork and sign over an exorbitant amount of money.
He sits back in his chair and lets out a sigh. He really should have eaten first...
V) THE MYSTERY
Choose your own adventure! Do you have an idea that I haven't covered here? Not a problem at all, just go for it!!
no subject
"I am here for a friend," Jean-Claude answers, smoothly, remaining where he sits draped in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, until he's directed he should be following this handsome young officer elsewhere. His voice is low, smooth, and there is a light French accent lingering on his words, although his English is as good as most native speakers'. "Phillip Sanger." He tilts his head up at the other man, taking in the measure of him. He smells...fae. But not as though he is fae. Just that the scent is there, lingering about him. Like sunshine and fresh ripe fruit. A delectable temptation, he is, in more ways than one.
"Jean-Claude," he introduces himself. "Are you here to assist me in such matters, officer? Or should I prepare myself to be roughed about as well?"
no subject
"Only if you invite it. Please, follow me and we'll see what he can do."
Offering a last wary glance at the other man he makes his way over to a desk he's appropriated for the evening, drops into a chair and begins quickly looking up the man in question. Phillip Sanger, Phillip Sanger...
"Ah," Lancelot says, and his eyebrows jump then knit into a frown. Phillip certainly had managed to collect quite the haul. He hesitates, uncertain how much Jean-Claude might know already, and finally gives an apologetic tilt of his head. "He's been held at the moment, and accumulated quite the fine..."
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Not outwardly, at least. Internally, he's rather exasperated with the wait and with the fact that Phillip really should have known better. Or he should have known better than to be surprised by this sort of thing from Phillip, one or the other.
Jean-Claude folds himself into yet another chair and drums his fingers on his leg, perhaps the only sign that not all is as well as it might have been. "I will pay it," he says, simply. Phillip can make it up to him later... And make it up to him he'd better. He realizes belatedly he probably should have asked how much of a fine it is. He really is getting impatient, here.
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"He is also looking at being charged with jail time for some of his offences -- will you be bailing him until the court date?"
He looks up, studies Jean-Claude a second before twitching a faint smile.
"You may want to look at the costs before you commit."
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He gestures broadly towards the monitor in front of the other man, before leaning sideways in his chair, moving to rest his chin on his hand, tucking a leg up underneath himself in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "You might as well give me the damages," he says, wearily.
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"The fine is £500. We can release him to you on the understanding you make sure he appears for his court date when he will be charged. Can you please confirm your postcode and the first line of your address?"
Lancelot hesitates, looks up again and tilts his head.
"I'd offer you some tea, but... I'm not so sure that would help."
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"If you were to offer me a proper drink, I might be more inclined to accept," Jean-Claude huffs. "Yet somehow, I do not think that a British officer such as yourself would do such a thing. So here we are."
He takes in another breath and idly rattles off the information that the officer has requested of him, moving to lean sideways in his chair again, crossing his legs before him and resting his chin on his hand. Looking rather bored and as though he's striking a pose, of sorts. Internally, he's trying to keep from thinking too hard about the pulse that he can hear, steadily thrumming away across the desk from him. It's always so much harder to ignore them when they're so attractive like this, though.
"Tell me," he says, watching the other man type, in a tone to suggest that he's half idly musing to himself as he speaks. "Are all of your coworkers as handsome as yourself?"
no subject
He turns his screen toward Jean-Claude, flips his keyboard and mouse to face him and quirks a smile.
"Follow the on screen instructions to make your payment -- and try not to hold it against us."
no subject
He peers at the screen and begins to follow the instructions as he is told, albeit slowly. He has learned how to use a computer and most modern technology, but he is over six hundred years old, and it does not come naturally to him. Perhaps it shows a little, in the manner in which he types. "I hope that this does not mean that you are about to leave me here to fend for myself with this machine, officer," he says, glancing at the other man from across the desk. "That, I shall hold against you."
no subject
"No, no, I'll stay to make sure it clears." Which, he thinks silently, might take a while at the speed Jean-Claude types. "Although I can promise Night Council's computers mean you no particular harm. The worst they can do is irritate you by running a little slowly."
Personally, Lancelot doesn't find it so bad, but he has an immense amount of patience that not all his colleagues share. He's seen the way some of them curse and bang their mice.
no subject
"I would not be so quick to say such a thing," Jean-Claude responds to the other man's words, glancing up at him coyly. "That they do not mean me harm. I know a form of sadism when I see one and your computer forms certainly fit the bill."
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"They're not the worst I've seen," Lancelot offers, "you should see some of the others." Still, he quiets a moment, studying Jean-Claude curiously. "You're a good friend, doing this. I hope your companion appreciates it. If not, bring him back to us."
Lancelot's lips twitch up in faint amusement, letting the vampire know the last part isn't entirely serious.
no subject
That, and Phillip is his pomme de sang, or so his mistress termed it, back in France. One of them, at least, along with Jason. And although it is tempting to search out another, because Phillip donates blood to him regularly, Jean-Claude must offer his protection in turn. It is traditional. However tempting it might be to give up on him at this point.
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At least, he doesn't expect that Sylvia would personally pay his bail. Investigating a set-up is one thing, bailing someone accused of dark magic crimes is another thing entirely.
no subject
"Let us hope that he remembers this kindness," he says, as he taps away at the keyboard, watching his fingers as he does, until he glances up at the screen, frowns, and starts hitting the backspace. "Though it is doubtful..."
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"You could let him stew for a while," Lancelot suggests, tilting his head slowly. "Or pay the fine anyway, but visit him and make him sweat it out a little before saying you will."
His lips flick up, idly amused, because it may be a little cruel but if he's being bailed out regardless then... well, a little emphasising of the severity of things doesn't exactly do him any harm. It'd probably be good for him to realise it isn't exactly a small thing.
no subject
"Well, that's perfectly wicked of you to suggest such a thing, Officer...?" He trails off, hoping that Lancelot might be able to fill him in on his name. He hasn't introduced himself yet, after all. It's pretty obvious that Jean-Claude approves, for that matter.
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He laces his hands together on the desk, tilts his head at Jean-Claude questioningly.
"I'd like to think I'm doing a good job since you seem entertained."
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"Once again," he repeats, with the quirk of a smile, "I should think myself fortunate to have wound up with you at my aid, Officer Dulac. It is not every day that one is called to the station to pay fines for one's wayward employee, and winds up with a Guardian for assistance." He makes a note to look around, see what he can find out about the other man in the community once he has left. Though he has no doubt, from sitting opposite the man now, that whatever rumors there may be his reputation would be squeaky clean.
"The Night Council pushes you to enforce their laws from both sides of the desk then, I see," he notes.
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He flicks a wry smile, shrugs slightly.
"Doesn't hurt me to give up a little time to be a spare pair of hands, I know the process."
no subject
He turns back to the computer for a moment. Obviously not getting through this form anywhere fast, although whether that's because he's stalling or because he really is that terrible with computers it's hard to know for certain. "If you were in my shoes, what would you be doing?" he asks, turning their conversation back to the matter of bailing out Phillip again.
no subject
He studies Jean-Claude a moment, assessing him as he turns the conversation back to Phillip. What would he do? Probably bail the person out, although depending on how much trouble they'd been to him before he might make them sweat it a few minutes thinking he might not before letting on. Just to make a point.
"I can't say. I don't know Phillip. I don't know how good a friend he is to you. But I'd probably pay, although I might let them think I'm not going to just long enough to see them sweat." Lancelot shrugs a moment, flickers a small smile. "Sometimes it isn't good to be too reliable."
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He continues tapping away uncertainly at the keyboard. "I have been known to be too...lenient, I suppose. At least that is the reputation I have gained. Though I do not think cruelty will earn anyone's respect in turn. It is a delicate balance, Office Du Lac," Jean-Claude continues, knowing he is probably sounding pretty vague to the other man but honestly not caring to announce himself as the Earl of Poplar if he can help it at all. "Is it not?"
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"It's true. If you're too gentle and forgiving people may think they can simply get away with anything, if you're too cruel then people will not like you. The balance is something many people learn the hard way. Teachers have the same problem -- too gentle the children run riot, too tough and the children hate them and see them as a tyrant."
He shrugs, offers an idly amused smile.
"But... forgive me for saying so, yet it is difficult to change your nature."
no subject
He pauses a beat, his gaze on the other man, the expression on his face near unreadable. For a moment, he has that same otherworldly stillness that some of the older vampires get. As though while his mind is busy elsewhere, his body has forgotten to pretend to be alive. And in fact it is. He wasn't meant to be Earl, he didn't ask for it, but the position was thrust upon him, and now he is resented for it. Talk about double-standards...
He quickly rights himself and nods towards the computer screen. "I have done my best here, but you will probably need to check my work in the end. I am not ashamed to admit it is not my forte."
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