[He is standing with his back to JL, so he can't actually see whether the man's joking or not, but he can fucking well hear it, like, the tone in his voice is completely serious and besides, whenever JL's joking, it's never about boiling fucking potatoes. Their humor is darker, okay. More grim or whatever. So, Marcel raises an eyebrow while he chops up the second to last carrot out of a stack of fifty. Smiles sharply to himself, his voice completely neutral when he says:]
Why don't you go ahead and fucking try?
[The final carrot pretty much chops itself, his fingers have moved into complete auto-pilot now and he pushes the gigantic stack of orange to the side, so he can make room for another big pot. They won't need to boil for as long, now that he's chopped them up, so if he times it right, he'll have both the potatoes and the carrots finished at the same time.
And when is his timing ever fucking off? Hell, even in the kitchen.]
[Yes, why not? He sits for a moment longer, eyes roaming over his latest reply to one of his contacts, deciding that no, it'll wait. Later, maybe, or even tomorrow. Some matters are more delicate than others. Getting off the chair, he pads around the kitchen table, socks quiet against the floor boards. The potatoes are boiling away on the stove and he removes the lid carefully, hot steam hitting his wrist and lower arm immediately.
It's almost like a warning, isn't it?
Which he promptly ignores, reaching into the pot after just a few seconds and grabs a small chunk of potato resting close enough to the surface to breach the water.]
Fuck - fuck, that's hot, that's...
[He drops the lid onto the counter with a loud bang, pushing the burning hot, nearly flesh-melting chunk back and forth between his fingers. It's a battle not to drop it on the floor but no, no, it's going - straight in! He manages by some miracle not to hit himself on the nose with it in the process, chewing away quickly as the heat starts burning away at the roof of his mouth. Such an excellent plan!]
[Ain't like any one of them do the dancing deal, but hey, as JL moves over to the stove and starts battling a potato, ending up gulping it into his fucking mouth, it's almost like watching one of them bird dances, he doesn't remember which kind they were now. Marcel actively stops preparing the carrots for boiling, because it's so fucking funny that he pretty much just turns towards the spectacle and watches. Like, shit, all he needs is the fucking popcorn. Snorting, he finally returns his attention to the new pot, reaching out to fill it with water, fixing JL a glass while he's at it. It just stands there oh so fucking innocently on the table while he drops the carrots into the water and grasps the pot under one arm, walking over to the stove. In his other hand, he takes the glass, all but shoving it in JL's face as he moves past him.]
Don't fucking ruin your mouth, okay. Like, shit, I use that sometimes.
[I use that sometimes says the man with all the solutions and hands him a glass of water completely unprompted. Jean Louis just takes it out of his hand and gulps down the water quickly, the potato turning to some rather nasty mash on his tongue before he manages to swallow it properly. For a long moment he just stands there, empty glass in one hand, the other still burning slightly from the water.]
For an under-cooked potato, it's not that bad.
[He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth. Lovely - in a few minutes, there'll probably be pieces of skin dangling from it. The human body really is very odd. He steps closer to Marcel, looking over his shoulder, brow furrowing slightly. Carrots always look so small and cartoonish when they're raw, especially in pieces.]
Do you remember back when some idiot from school tried to convince you that eating raw carrots would make your cock go orange?
[He actually laughs this time, a barking kind of laughter, not very pleasant.]
Shit, yeah - and I started eating carrots 24/7 to see if it was true and my piss turned so orange that the school nurse told Pa to take me to the doctor, fuck, he was furious.
[The grin fades as he has to concentrate on the carrots again, turning on the right hotplate and getting the things under a lid. All done with a perfectly open mouth, because that's his fucking deal, okay.
Finally, with everything in place, he turns towards JL fully, reaches out and grabs the glass from him, now that it's empty he won't be needing it anymore, right? It's always been like this between them and it always seems to get back into play, when they talk old times. This dynamic. Marcel narrows his eyes slightly as he looks JL up and down, then leans over and leaves the glass on the counter, without actively turning away. No fucking need.]
Afterwards, I found the kid and beat him up for lying, because my cock hadn't gone orange and liars have to eat their words and if not their words, then they had to eat their own shit, you know.
[He just leaves Marcel to do away with the glass, it's all on automatics now. What's funny is how it's very nearly always been like that - he can't remember a time when they didn't have this rhythm, this going back and forth from one service to another. Even from the get-go, when Marcel beat away his bullies and left them crying for mama, even then. It's never been in a fucking contract or something similar, paperwork and paragraphs, shoot him. It's just a thing that happened and happens. He meets the other man's gaze with a very thin, very subtle smile.]
I remember. Met him during recess sometime after and told him to brush his teeth. [He steps sideways, resting one hand against the counter. The distance between them probably grows with a few centimeters but that's it. It's just movement, nothing else.] He started crying like a baby.
[Though it's been many years, he can't help but stare at Marcel with a slight sense of wonder at those last words, an expression he can only register in the back of his mind. Wouldn't be able to recognise it in the mirror, but he knows it's there. He knows that Marcel knows it, too.]
[A smile, wide and sharp and as genuine as it gets from him. JL is looking at him with those eyes again, okay, like, it's not even a horny look, it's just - as if Marcel is better than anyone else, as if Marcel is the fucking best. He grins, slaps JL on the shoulder twice, the final one turning into more of a grip and he has to turn back towards the carrots, because the water's boiling and the heat needs to be turned down. Seven minutes like this and it's a done deal, the potatoes will be done in six. Fuck, he's good, he's fucking great.
Walking around JL, he opens the fridge and takes out the bag with pork chops, moving over to the counter again and opening the layers of thick paper that they've been wrapped in and holding one of them up for JL to see. It's the size of a plate, pretty much, like shit, they're two grown men, they need to eat.]
You think that's gonna do a trick on your fucking appetite, huh?
[Marcel slaps him on the shoulder a couple of times, his grip lingering for a few seconds and leaving a sense of comfortable warmth in its wake. Jean Louis watches him quietly as he turns back to the food, fixing the heat on the carrots with instinctive precision, the same way he manages security perimeters or shoots people when the drama really goes high. There's something dangerous about it, much more so than angry outbursts or verbal threats.
It's nice.]
I'm sure. [He looks at the pork chops, his face showing only subtle interest, though his teeth are on the verge of watering. He's definitely ready to eat that. All of it.] Let me guess - Francois? That man's never owed us anything, has he?
[It's a statement of wonder, rather than an actual question. He likes people who pay their debts and keep themselves and their businesses out of trouble. Isn't that what individual freedom is all about? For the little people, at least. Naturally, not everybody can rule the world, even if it's what they all want, but there are easy and hard ways to live.]
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no subject
Why don't you go ahead and fucking try?
[The final carrot pretty much chops itself, his fingers have moved into complete auto-pilot now and he pushes the gigantic stack of orange to the side, so he can make room for another big pot. They won't need to boil for as long, now that he's chopped them up, so if he times it right, he'll have both the potatoes and the carrots finished at the same time.
And when is his timing ever fucking off? Hell, even in the kitchen.]
no subject
It's almost like a warning, isn't it?
Which he promptly ignores, reaching into the pot after just a few seconds and grabs a small chunk of potato resting close enough to the surface to breach the water.]
Fuck - fuck, that's hot, that's...
[He drops the lid onto the counter with a loud bang, pushing the burning hot, nearly flesh-melting chunk back and forth between his fingers. It's a battle not to drop it on the floor but no, no, it's going - straight in! He manages by some miracle not to hit himself on the nose with it in the process, chewing away quickly as the heat starts burning away at the roof of his mouth. Such an excellent plan!]
no subject
Don't fucking ruin your mouth, okay. Like, shit, I use that sometimes.
no subject
For an under-cooked potato, it's not that bad.
[He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth. Lovely - in a few minutes, there'll probably be pieces of skin dangling from it. The human body really is very odd. He steps closer to Marcel, looking over his shoulder, brow furrowing slightly. Carrots always look so small and cartoonish when they're raw, especially in pieces.]
Do you remember back when some idiot from school tried to convince you that eating raw carrots would make your cock go orange?
no subject
Shit, yeah - and I started eating carrots 24/7 to see if it was true and my piss turned so orange that the school nurse told Pa to take me to the doctor, fuck, he was furious.
[The grin fades as he has to concentrate on the carrots again, turning on the right hotplate and getting the things under a lid. All done with a perfectly open mouth, because that's his fucking deal, okay.
Finally, with everything in place, he turns towards JL fully, reaches out and grabs the glass from him, now that it's empty he won't be needing it anymore, right? It's always been like this between them and it always seems to get back into play, when they talk old times. This dynamic. Marcel narrows his eyes slightly as he looks JL up and down, then leans over and leaves the glass on the counter, without actively turning away. No fucking need.]
Afterwards, I found the kid and beat him up for lying, because my cock hadn't gone orange and liars have to eat their words and if not their words, then they had to eat their own shit, you know.
no subject
I remember. Met him during recess sometime after and told him to brush his teeth. [He steps sideways, resting one hand against the counter. The distance between them probably grows with a few centimeters but that's it. It's just movement, nothing else.] He started crying like a baby.
[Though it's been many years, he can't help but stare at Marcel with a slight sense of wonder at those last words, an expression he can only register in the back of his mind. Wouldn't be able to recognise it in the mirror, but he knows it's there. He knows that Marcel knows it, too.]
no subject
[A smile, wide and sharp and as genuine as it gets from him. JL is looking at him with those eyes again, okay, like, it's not even a horny look, it's just - as if Marcel is better than anyone else, as if Marcel is the fucking best. He grins, slaps JL on the shoulder twice, the final one turning into more of a grip and he has to turn back towards the carrots, because the water's boiling and the heat needs to be turned down. Seven minutes like this and it's a done deal, the potatoes will be done in six. Fuck, he's good, he's fucking great.
Walking around JL, he opens the fridge and takes out the bag with pork chops, moving over to the counter again and opening the layers of thick paper that they've been wrapped in and holding one of them up for JL to see. It's the size of a plate, pretty much, like shit, they're two grown men, they need to eat.]
You think that's gonna do a trick on your fucking appetite, huh?
no subject
It's nice.]
I'm sure. [He looks at the pork chops, his face showing only subtle interest, though his teeth are on the verge of watering. He's definitely ready to eat that. All of it.] Let me guess - Francois? That man's never owed us anything, has he?
[It's a statement of wonder, rather than an actual question. He likes people who pay their debts and keep themselves and their businesses out of trouble. Isn't that what individual freedom is all about? For the little people, at least. Naturally, not everybody can rule the world, even if it's what they all want, but there are easy and hard ways to live.]