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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 9, 2009 13:19:11 GMT -5
There were some girls, born boys, who could stroll around in dresses and cosmetics and look very much as elegant as any other girl, not effeminate, but simply feminine. But Notre-Dame was not one of them. Indeed, he might have sneered at the suggestion. Although he was not overly masculine in build, nor in manner, he refused to behave in a further delicate fashion, and anyone with a brain in his head would have known, if he were paying attention long enough, and wanted to figure it out, what was wrong with the young woman in the powder-blue Victorian dress, and the dark-brown, curly Southern-Belle wig, which was clearly a wig to anyone who recognized the blond eyebrows.
Nonetheless, Notre-Dame was not going to the circus as a boy. Circuses were particularly made for drag queens, weren't they? Wasn't Notre-Dame too dressing up? He asked for directions to Erin Harper's tent and then headed out in that direction.
He would be recognized, he was certain, even as he tottered in daintily in heels, if for no other reason than a very familiar smile playing about his lips.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 10, 2009 20:23:39 GMT -5
Erin was sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on a nearby table scattered with posters, one hand limp in his lap, the other curled around a cigarette at his lips, gaze unfocused somewhere in the direction of the tent wall. The flap to the tent had been closed, which was as good as a 'closed' sign when the rest of the circus was open; behind him there was a large cage with the door open, and Erin was dressed only in a pair of pants so that the watchers could note how the his muscles of his chest and shoulders rippled and explanded when he changed. His hair was back to a managable length, not brushing his cheekbones or hiding his completely normal blue-gray eyes from view, and his fingernails were no longer than any other man's. And, of course, there were no wings. Not yet. He looked quite normal, really, moderately attractive as any young man, unnoticable on the street, but not dissimilar enough to the more feral version of himself that Notre Dame had met to be unrecognizable.
He gave Notre Dame a cursory glance when he entered, removing the cigarette long enough to say, "Exhibit's not open for another half-hour. Get out."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 10, 2009 20:52:53 GMT -5
Notre-Dame recognized Erin immediately, before he even realized what it was he was recognizing. He gave Erin a hazy and almost flirtatious smile, the flirtatious bit coming naturally to him while in the dress and with paint on his lips, rather artfully so. He hadn't thought of the bird-man as ever being just a man. And so this intrigued him. And he wasn't a bad-looking one, either; Notre-Dame could've done 'im without any hesitation.
But this was not precisely his intention as he continued in and sat in one of the fold-out chairs almost primly, knees together, of course. He patted his hair.
"Aren't even a little lonely, mister?"
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 10, 2009 21:34:32 GMT -5
As Notre Dame did not get out, and instead took a seat, Erin's eyes came back to him, moderately disgruntled now. Then said eyes narrowed. He expelled a small wisp of smoke, taking the cigarette from his lips and his feet from the table. He leaned forward, staring hard at Notre Dame for a few minutes, then rose, walked over, and snatched the wig off his head.
"A-ha," he said, sounding pleased with himself. He was smiling, at least, or the corners of his mouth were turned up. "You look familiar. You- hmmm." Corners turned down again, but not in an unhappy way, merely as Erin examined him. He sighed. "I remember you."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 11, 2009 19:55:39 GMT -5
Notre-Dame, not having Divine's high maintenance attitude where it came to wigs, as he generally inhabited an in-between world, gender-wise, and didn't need to specifically be one or the other sex in his appearance to keep a cool demeanor, did not fuss about the wig being pulled off. He only smiled up at Erin, pleased to be remembered, and waited a moment before prompting, "... Notre-Dame-des-Fleurs."
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 11, 2009 20:11:14 GMT -5
"Hm." Erin rubbed at his nose, still examining Notre Dame. "That's kinda long. Cumbersome."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 11, 2009 20:27:16 GMT -5
Notre-Dame's smile didn't faze, even as he blinked, as he did indeed blink, lazily slow. "Notre-Dame, then. Erin," he said then, as though to say, Erin, darling, it's been so long in a ridiculously flirtatious manner.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 11, 2009 20:45:54 GMT -5
The hand rubbing Erin's nose froze. He gave Notre Dame a rather suspicious look. "Yes?" he asked slowly, uncertain as to whether Notre Dame actually had anything else to say or if he'd only said it like that so as to make Erin grimace, although if that was the case Erin would make him think of something else to say.
His cigarette, which by now had burned down nearly to the filter, was noticed again and he dropped it absently to the dirt floor, where it was ground out and left.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 11, 2009 20:54:16 GMT -5
As, of course, it had been the latter, Notre-Dame merely continued to smile and lifted his eyebrows at him as though to in turn ask of him, 'yes?'
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 11, 2009 21:07:23 GMT -5
A faint sneer from Erin then, as he whirled and flung himself back in his chair near the cage, one leg going back onto the table. "So, you're here for the very first showing. That's good, you know, the best one; I only change once, at the very beginning of the evening. Yeah?"
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 11, 2009 21:11:50 GMT -5
In a soft voice, the lazy smile giving the impression that there was a slightly teasing tone to it, eyes not bothering to hide the fact that they glanced over the length of Erin's leg, Notre-Dame responded, "I came to see you."
Not the show. None of that crazy stuff - that's all just added fluff and fun. Came to see you, and I like what I see.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 11, 2009 21:37:17 GMT -5
"Huh." Erin did some more staring- not so bold as his winged form, more subtle, less antagonism in his gaze. He was still trying to figure Notre Dame out. Quite neutrally, "I must have left quite an impression."
He was pretty sure he knew what Notre Dame wanted now, with all the sly smiles and the soft-voiced words, and the way Notre Dame's eyes were fixed very definately on him. And Erin wasn't adverse to the idea of screwing around some, idle fun, but in New York he'd mostly stayed away from the crossdressers, even the convincing ones at the fun bars. It was kind of weird. And Notre Dame had something about him, some air, such direct but coy want, that made Erin a little uneasy. What kind of person wanted to fuck someone they'd seen half-bird?
Damn, but he wished he didn't still have a good twenty minutes to go. Maybe he'd change early. He'd already finished his cigarette, and now Erin itched for another high.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 12:26:43 GMT -5
((XD Oh my God, I think Erin made me choke on my tea.))
Notre-Dame's smile widened. Carefully, with a certain amount of sashaying that should have been familiar to Erin by now, but without being at all delicate beyond what he already was as a light and agile young man just exiting adolescence, he stood and crossed the tent to sit in the chair beside Erin.
"Sure did." His voice was still soft. Notre-Dame had always been a quiet and soft-voiced individual, although naturally Erin was not the first to come to this conclusion about his behavior. Indeed, Notre-Dame frequently looked as though that was what he wanted. It made him a good prostitute, in the end. And he did always want something. He held up his hand, fingers curved towards the palm, as though begging for something. However, should Erin's eyes move beyond the palm to the wrist, he'd see the impression Notre-Dame was referring to, the raw marks on his wrist from having been pinned even for a short time.
Notre-Dame's smile didn't waver as he showed this to him; nor did it when, after he had allowed Erin's eyes to fully inspect these marks, he used that hand to strike the side of his head, at the temple, almost baiting him. It had been almost kittenish, this gesture, like a cat batting something about; but, while not a forceful blow, it had hardly been an effeminately gentle one.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 13:19:44 GMT -5
(( …Why? Did I inadvertently make a funny? )) Erin’s gaze did transfer to the marks on Notre Dame’s wrists, his expression blank while his mind worked furiously to remember. “I held you down,” he said slowly. “Sorry about that. You should put some antiseptic on those scratches.” He jumped in a tremendously unsubtle way when Notre Dame swatted him upside the head, completely not expecting it, but his hand shot out automatically to catch Notre Dame by the wrist. Which, he immediately released, realizing the skin there must be tender, and here was another mumbled apology.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 14:34:10 GMT -5
Notre-Dame didn't laugh, precisely, but his lips parted suddenly, teeth bared, as though he were beginning to; however, no sound came out. His eyes were bright with laughter nonetheless. Well, didn't Erin just swoop right into any trap Notre-Dame lay out for him. He wondered if he would continue to be this malleable and this easily prodded. He reached out the same hand and took his chin, turning his face towards his own so that he couldn't glance away.
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