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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 17:14:08 GMT -5
Erin took him very carefully above the tender wrist this time to move Notre Dame's hand away, eyes flickering toward the hand as he released it and then back to Notre Dame in vague annoyance. He didn't like Notre Dame touching him. This boy was giving him the creeps. He was too blatant. "What?"
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 17:59:45 GMT -5
Notre-Dame beyond appreciated the effect he was having. He gently took his hand away, scooted further back into the seat he'd taken, and shrugged. He crossed his legs rather womanishly, and then, after a moment, took his wig back and replaced it meticulously, looking very involved in the process as he did so.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 18:07:35 GMT -5
Erin eyed him in some mixture of great suspicion and dubious interest. Oh, he remembered this, yes, this coy, quiet....attitude, it was beyond irritating. He found if he thought very very hard on the various occurences that happened while he was in his winged form he could remember them, and now, remembering this attitude too, Erin was not at all surprised he'd jumped him. Now, like this, Erin was too civilized to do anything like that, but he could certainly see the attraction in shocking him out of it.
Ah, well. At least Notre Dame wasn't smiling.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 18:24:13 GMT -5
At least, not until he was quite done with the wig, and had glanced back at Erin. Silently, smiling, he took his arm in a pretty way and scooted a little closer to him in the cheap chair.
"So a performance. What's it like?"
He made a fussy, housewife-y gesture with his other hand, stroking Erin's bare shoulder as though attempting to be coy instead of simply trying to provoke him.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 18:34:28 GMT -5
.... He was smiling. Erin's lips pressed together.
"Pretty boring," he said, giving Notre Dame an extremely odd look, like he was trying to chastize Notre Dame for doing something so obviously gay in a very 21st century guy sort of way. Not that was going to work on Notre Dame. "I change once, then the rest of the time it's grah, arg, lookit the bird man, watch him make funny faces and snarl. More of a curiousity than a performance. I guess at some point in time the higher-ups will try to make me fly, in one of the bigger performances. I'm new, so it's simplistic for now."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 18:41:23 GMT -5
((I like to think Jean Genet would be proud of me, but he'd probably just wince. XD))
Notre-Dame looked like he was going to laugh again, at least to someone who didn't know that that was how he always laughed - that wide smile and the crinkling of the eyes, but the action totally soundless - at Erin's rather indifferent-sounding verbal reinactment of the scene that took place.
His fussy stroking having lost its fussiness - now a soft, dangerous-like stroking like he might stroke a cat - Notre-Dame asked, "So why d'you do it?"
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 18:53:02 GMT -5
(( ^_^ ))
That was an easy question. Erin smiled a tight-lipped smile and raised his hand, rubbing his thumb and fingers together in the unmistakable sign for money. (That this was the same arm Notre Dame was paying particular attention to, and that his motion caused him to shift away from Notre Dame's stroking fingers, was no accident.) "Besides, I like it. Not the crowd, the crowd's annoying. But I get paid to stay in form." He recalled, rather abruptly, watching something on the Morning News one day, some interview with some famous drag-queen who'd been asked something about how easy it was to switch back and forth, and who'd responded with a cackle and a, "Honey, whenever you see me in drag, it's because I'm getting paid."
"Do you get paid?" A little gesture toward Notre Dame's outfit. Erin was watching him with sudden, intent interest.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 18:56:55 GMT -5
Notre-Dame tilted his head back in a nod, smile suddenly knowing, a slight lift to his eyebrows. Ah. Right.
He had been, believe it or not, on the fence before, but at that point, Notre-Dame decided he liked Erin.
"People pay for lots of things," said Notre-Dame almost evasively, smile still knowing but now almost suggesting he knew something else they hadn't been talking about, voice still soft. After all, Notre-Dame wasn't some drag queen heading off to sing songs (with his voice) and get paid for it. He whored out. Did odd jobs sometimes. Or he stole. The dress, it was something Divine'd gotten him into, and she did it for fun. For fun. And because police picked on 'em when they went out like that, and lord knew how Divine liked policemen, boy did she.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 19:03:48 GMT -5
"Stop that," Erin said suddenly, eyes narrowing. He was jittery enough, having to wait to change, to think about it, and yeah, yeah, he knew what he meant now, but that damned smile- Erin put his hand over it, hiding it, and then took his hand off in a jerky sort of movement because if he left it there who knew what Notre Dame would do to it.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 19:22:17 GMT -5
Notre-Dame was almost sorry that Erin had taken his hand away, but being physically muffled had been fun and interesting, too. Oh, not that Notre-Dame was a masochist, although some people might get that impression from him just because he was so peculiar in so many other ways. But he liked seeing people's varied responses to him, and Erin's were adding up to a picture of personality that Notre-Dame liked. Aesthetically.
"Stop... ?"
Still smiling. He took Erin's hand with both his own and stroked it insistently with little hard strokes of his fingertips, the knuckles, the palm, the veins along the wrist, the fingers...
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 19:27:56 GMT -5
Erin shook him off, leaning away. "That. All of that. Stop. Chill. Decease. Refrain. Stop it or I'll thump you one. And don't say you'd like that." He scowled at Notre Dame. Erin was used to being the predator, not the prey.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 19:49:37 GMT -5
Notre-Dame's smile was replaced with something of a pout, the pouty nature of which should suggest that it was put on and really just the same antics in a different form. He traced his fingertips dancingly over Erin's knee as though sulkingly flirting still.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 19:58:41 GMT -5
Erin threw up his hands and then stood in one abrupt gesture, his chair skidding out from under him, hands fluttering back to his side and clenching into fists, muscles twitching, his irritation blooming into anger and his anger blooming into the need to change, to shift. He threw a glare at Notre Dame and then looked away, his gaze shifting out of focus for a minute, his lips parting, trying to stop. Ah, too soon, his voice some half-strangled combination of a snarl and a purr- "You hoping for an early show?"
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Mar 12, 2009 20:01:52 GMT -5
This reminded Notre-Dame so forcibly and so suddenly of something he'd heard often from various strippers or dancers or the like in Divine's crowd that he suddenly snorted, not at all coy or to bait him this time, as though to say, Calm down. You look ridiculous.
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Post by Erin Harper on Mar 12, 2009 20:18:49 GMT -5
It was either that or Erin's own self-possession, for Erin's eyes flared, then narrowed, hands twitching, then stilling, forced to wind behind his back into the captivity of his own grip. Then the run-out of tension, like he'd flicked a switch, and Erin sagged into his former stance, casual but wary, and he turned to look at Notre Dame with an absent sort of expression and a little sneer before patting down his pockets for another cigarette and a match.
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