[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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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.]
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[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.]