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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 5, 2009 19:21:55 GMT -5
Adrien Baillon was a nineteen-year-old blond kid with good teeth which nonetheless weren't often showed in his permanent smile, but he had a pretty mouth even without them - lips pink and full, such that they looked bitten - and this went unnoticed. He had dropped out of school when he was sixteen, strangled an old man to death with his own tie shortly after, and thus far had escaped prison for that and other offences, such as cocaine dealing and prostitution. (The coke thing had been short and had mainly had to do with a Corsican named Marchetti who'd done a nice job of breaking his heart. Marchetti was now in prison for life, but Adrien still got glum thinking about him.) Even so long after his crime, Adrien had avoided newspapers religiously so as not to read anything about himself, fearful. Adrian Veidt was the reason he'd picked them up again.
It wasn't much at first. Divine had given him a newspaper clipping one day with an effeminate flutter of her fan and a coo - "I know you don't read newspapers, sweet, but you should know you're in them?"
Adrien had absolutely panicked and snatched it away from her, but it had just been a joke. Veidt had the same first name as him and was blond and at first glance, from that angle, in black and white - yeah. Might do a double take, if you saw it on a stand and knew Adrien Baillon personally. Up close there wasn't really a resemblance anymore. Adrien had read it anyway, though, because it was charming then. And, being French, and liking to read anyway, he'd kept reading. Oh, now he read stuff other than that about Veidt. It had only whetted his appetite for current events in general. But he liked him. He wasn't a politician, but knew politics, and pictures of him with singers and stars of all kinds could be found in any tabloid. And his name - the former one, the Greek one - was so queer that of course it provoked sympathy. Adrien had another name, too, Our Lady of the Flowers, which was queerer.
This was something of a quirk with him, like Divine with her fan or her pencilled-on fingernails, or Darling with a flower in his fly. They did these things without thought or care, just to make a habit of them, just so someone else in their circle would talk about them that way. Adrien, being younger than the rest of the queens, for the most part, wasn't as quirky as he could be, but they were giving it time. They smiled and nodded and cooed about his quirk as well as they could. For Adrien, however, it was rather serious. He got more and more pleased with himself and how much he knew as time went on.
And along with hundreds of housewives all over Paris, Adrien's interest was piqued at the news of this ward Adrian Veidt had collected. Unlike those housewives, however, Adrien had nothing better to do the night of her rather flashy birthday party than to loiter around Veidt Industries and try to see who went in and who didn't and whatnot. And of course, considering his long history as a hoodlum, he thought he'd try to sneak in if the opportunity presented itself. This had seemingly presented more of a problem of wardrobe than anything else, because Adrien was nonchalant like that. Divine only had dresses that would fit him, and he wasn't going as no queen, he could say that immediately. The fancy dress that Seck had borrowed before was too big on him. Ultimately Adrien had ended up borrowing shirt, tie, and trousers from another friend of his (who worked, luck would have it, as a waiter). He had one good black coat and had to hope it would do, and that no one would look at his shoes, and then he set out, hair neatly combed, to party-crash.
It had taken considerably longer than he thought, and unbeknownst to him it had probably had a lot less to do with himself than he supposed. He didn't even consider trying to get through the front, where everyone else was going in. There was bound to be a guest list of some kind and the place was crowded with photographers, besides. Getting in wasn't so hard after that. He walked in with a few other people who looked like they worked there, behaving as though he did, too. He wasn't really sure how he had pulled this off, why they hadn't asked further questions. In any case, this was how, unable to believe his luck - and not really bothering to hide that he was delighted to be there, because the way he figured it he would be caught and thrown out in fifteen minutes and should make the best of the time he had - Adrien Baillon ended up surreptitiously crashing the birthday party of an unusual girl named Micaela.
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 5, 2009 19:37:49 GMT -5
((omg, I am in love with that whole post. It's so literary.))
"Please inform me just what it was that you saw fit to pull me aside for, Melissa," Veidt was saying wearily to his secretary after she lead him away from where Micaela was still speaking to Dan Dreiberg.
The secretary, dressed as usual in a shade of magenta that offset her employer's habitual purple, said nothing. Instead, she handed him a copy of some lower-level newspaper whose front page blared loudly that Veidt apparently had more than fatherly interest in his new ward.
Veidt's mouth twitched into a small, ironic smile.
"They're really mining the gutters today, aren't they?" he asked, passing the newspaper back to Melissa. "I thought I ought to tell you, in case people at the party make assumptions..." the hapless Melissa stammered back, and her distress was so great that Veidt actually laughed and put a hand on her shoulder.
"I can assure you," he said warmly, "there are many things that would better occupy my attentions than attempting to woo Micaela."
Melissa laughed too, nervously. Veidt looked about the room rather casually, assessing the various strangers who always turned up at these things.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 5, 2009 20:52:59 GMT -5
((<3))
Still rather convinced he would be pitched out, and already resigned to this seeming-inevitable fact, none too unhappy about it, Adrien did not mind being given slightly odd or even curious looks. Outside, of course, people gave you all kinds of stares, but in here, next to everyone else... Well, of course he wasn't dressed in a standard fashion. The shirt was both formal and sort of silly, and the pants fit a bit too well, and the jacket was a bit too loose... but it seemed, next to all these other well-dressed folks, more eccentric than shabby. Context did stuff like that. Adrien just ate that up. It was sort of brilliant, and he appreciated it as he did irony or luck or the improbable. Still, sooner or later, someone would find that the name Adrien Baillon was not on the guest list - and it was the name he gave out very freely when asked by anyone just pausing to chat - and poof! That would be it.
Pity Divine wouldn't really care. Seck would be interested, of course, he liked everybody's news, but it wouldn't mean anything really intriguing to either of them. They'd listen. That would be enough. Besides, it meant enough to him that he supposed it was all right if no one shared it.
Adrien was using this context as well as he could, too. Stand up straighter than usual and never say the word "ain't" in a sentence - smile knowingly at everything, which he already did - it was too easy to blend in. Quirky, he looked. He'd been asked if he worked for the papers, and then asked, "Which one?" at the affirmative reply (because, considering his newspaper clipping collection, he liked that pose a great deal), he'd replied 'First Communion. It's a niche publication.'
He marveled at his own cleverness. That he could be. He told people cards wasted trees when they asked him for theirs, but accepted theirs graciously, slipped them into his pocket. He warmly accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter and continued to mingle. A glance at the clock told him he'd been there longer than he thought he would be, and he was starting to figure why. See, they didn't know his face, and they were dubious about that, but none of them wanted to admit they weren't in on the secret of anyone else's identity. If they asked it was as poshly as they could. They figured he had to be known by someone for Adrian Veidt to invite him, and that was what kept him safe. He decided to use that for as long as he could to try and see if he could glimpse Veidt anywhere near Micaela and figure out what truth there was in an article that'd come out earlier that day. He privately thought (or hoped, maybe) there wasn't, and he wanted to debunk it. It was the only reason he was there, anyway. And he liked the risk: based on that theory of his, Adrian Veidt was probably one of the only people there who would know immediately he didn't belong, and so should have been the last person he wanted to be seen by. At the same time, it was the first person he wanted to see.
And he supposed he was playing games, rather careless ones, with himself: Adrian Veidt was also the last person he wanted to be thrown out by. It was also very clever, and doubtless going to get very cruel if he kept at it. Adrien's cleverness, however, did not extend to fully knowing himself, and he didn't notice this at all.
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 7, 2009 0:52:14 GMT -5
Veidt's gaze continued to travel over the room, until it came to settle on a slightly shabby-looking young lad of extraordinary beauty whose body language nevertheless screamed INTERLOPER! to anyone who paid close enough attention. Veidt, of course, didn't really need to pay very close attention to be able to tell, but there was such a delightful audacity to the boy's brazen and obvious intrusion that Veidt was already amused in spite of himself.
He caught the boy's eye and smiled knowingly, but he did not allow the gaze to linger. The last thing he needed was to create the false impression that this was some kind of love at first sight thing. If the boy was at all receptive to certain signals, Veidt's intentions would be obvious. If not, that was the boy's loss.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 7, 2009 15:46:35 GMT -5
Smiling and nodding and pausing only to interject something like - "I agree with so-and-so from the such-and-such publication, [insert quote from said person here] - " Adrien completed a brief bit of conversation, rather languid but swift and simple hand gestures matching everything that he said, eyes continuing to glance about himself just as everyone else's. Everyone was looking for something bigger, not concerning themselves with eccentric (or mundane; Adrien found most of them sadly mundane, and felt almost sorry for them, except that he was enjoying himself too much) small fry. The difference between Adrien and these people, however, as each moved on, catching sight of someone else looking at them, was in who exactly was looking.
Because Adrian Veidt had looked at him just then before glancing away. Adrian Veidt had looked at him.
...Adrian Veidt had looked at him in that way.
Ohmygod.
Adrien's smile hadn't wavered, but he had glanced away and swept a hand over his hair simply because all that excitement had to go somewhere, and any kinetic motion helped deposit it. But he'd glanced back in a moment, wondering why no one was currently talking to him. Veidt was right there. If Adrien had been actually invited to this function and therefore not seriously concerned with being thrown out, he thought, he'd be all over him. Metaphorically speaking. It occurred to him that people were actually intimidated by the man - his reputation, or perhaps simply his physical presence, both or either, seemed to suggest he should stay apart, untouched. Anyone with any dignity would have properly looked away rather shyly and perhaps intimated with an expression of deep longing that he come over there, and, indeed, now that he thought about it, a lot of people he'd seen near the man perhaps had been giving him just that look.
When Adrien looked at him now it was with his warmest smile, however, and with the same perfect and untouched shamelessness that had brought him to crash an extremely exclusive party he had no right to attend - in borrowed waiter's clothes, no less - he went over to him. It was not a shy little beeline, attempting to conceal the fact that he was moving towards him, nor was it hurried and proud, a big confident businessman going to offer him a very firm, very manly handshake. Measured, a little idle, rather deliberate.
He figured that if he was about to be thrown out, he had about two minutes before it happened, simply by virtue of having bought himself time through being puckish or charming or at least very bold. Even so, he marveled at the crystal-clear lack of control he had over what he seemed to say. He felt very light but not light enough to dissolve into hysterics; instead, it was as though he was even calmer and more fluid than ever, as though he had become this glossy, fantastic substance that made everything around him seem brighter. Maybe that was the power of Veidt, though. To make everything in his presence suddenly glimmering and golden.
"Adrien Baillon," he said, with a sort of underhand offering of his hand, a sort of soft and half-thought out gesture that was almost like a question, rather than the sort of handshake you generally gave someone under these circumstances. Then, as though the devil had gotten into him, he added, no less sincere even for the lie, "Editor-in-Chief of First Communion. Such a pleasure," and kept smiling brightly.
((...I play a fanboy. I mean, I know I shouldn't be surprised, but... I do.))
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 7, 2009 17:22:18 GMT -5
"Yes, of course," said Veidt, nodding, with a placid smile. "Tell me, M. Baillon, do you make a habit of concocting random alibis for gatecrashing parties to which you haven't been invited, or is today your first attempt? If it is the latter, I commend you for your persistance."
He said all this while still shaking the boy's hand. His smile, amused as it was, was also a cover for the way he was carefully observing every small twitch and motion of the interloper's face and hands, probing for more nigh-invisible signs of stress and worry an escapade like this would inevitably create.
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 7, 2009 18:12:42 GMT -5
Adrien thought he might faint with delight. Of course, that wasn't really an option, because if he were to do so the reason would be put down to something that was more likely to be fear than delight, and he didn't think too much of miscommunication. He hadn't expected that. He wasn't sure why he hadn't, because obviously Veidt was not the fake concerned with appearances that his guests were, but to be spoken to with perfect candor and without veil... well. Adrien didn't really know he had expectations of Adrian Veidt, and still didn't, but the man was exceeding them.
His smile widened, eyes became brighter. He was genuinely pleased by the compliment. He didn't know if he meant it or not, but who cared? "Thank you," he said, with frank sincerity and no mask for that delight. He spoke the way he moved - not precisely with languor, but at his leisure, taking his time and taking real pleasure in the way the words flowed. "I'm not in that habit. I can't say whether that's to do with me or with circumstances, though. This is the only party I've wanted to attend that I wasn't invited to."
If there was any giddiness, anything remotely resembling tension at all, it was because oh my God Adrian Veidt's bare hand was touching his; there wasn't much, though.
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 8, 2009 12:23:13 GMT -5
"Ah. I see. What luck you seem to have, to have pulled this little escapade off so seamlessly."
He was still smiling, but it was getting harder and harder to read.
"I am flattered, of course, that you chose this particular affair, though I feel a slight sense of having failed you. I imagine one would hope for one's gatecrashing to yield more excitement..."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 8, 2009 12:29:35 GMT -5
Adrien nodded; Veidt was right, of course. He hadn't even expected to get in. He supposed that if he'd thought he would, he'd have preplanned an alibi - and dressed better - but he couldn't be so sure about that. He might have just been the kind of person to wing it, if the rest of his life gave any indication. He was also still smiling, but despite the general enigma behind that, there was nothing really truly mysterious in it. He looked back at Veidt in a sort of general amazement and delight, taking in the moment. It was plain in his manner that he completely abandoned himself to the present, without pretending otherwise. He really gave no thought to what might happen in a moment or two, in a matter of minutes. And he didn't hide or even think to hide that he was gazing at him with great interest.
"Naw, don't think about that," said Adrien, without pride. "It's been great. And you can't be a host to invited and uninvited alike, can you?"
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 8, 2009 12:56:32 GMT -5
"As I see it, you aren't causing any trouble..."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 8, 2009 14:16:56 GMT -5
"I think," said Adrien, almost confidentially, except in a more laid-back fashion, "that's part of why no one's made me leave." Although that was obvious on a certain level, Adrien was thinking about something else. "The only reasons anyone would want to crash a party would be to cause trouble, or to, I don't know, spy or something, or maybe for a party atmosphere, and I'm obviously not here for that..."
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 8, 2009 14:45:50 GMT -5
"I'm afraid there is very little going on here to interest you," Veidt said, before taking a small sip of champagne and then continuing, "especially if you're here because this newspaper of yours wants to find out if the other tabloids' accounts of my interests in Micaela are true. However, I highly doubt you have come equipped with anything other than your own memory with which to record any sordid revelations you might discover. In short, Baillon, I highly doubt that you have come as a representative of any publication,or even that this publication exists at all."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 8, 2009 15:01:12 GMT -5
There was a sort of glacial element to Veidt that Adrien wouldn't have anticipated, but he didn't react to it woundedly. It was just one of many parts of the man that Adrien was taking in, drinking up. Living completely in the moment helped that sort of viewpoint. Even being referred to by his surname sort of tingled. He was very unused to being called anything other than "Our Lady".
His smile, which had gotten more subtle, widened again, teeth showing.
"Welll," said Adrien in something of a drawl, although not a self-important one. 'First Communion' was the name of the queen who'd leant him the waiter's costume. "Of course it doesn't, but I like to think it does. It is as real to me as anything, and I suppose that counts."
His voice sounded mildly distant as he let this thought draw out, and his eyes only momentarily glanced away from Veidt as he took a sip from his glass. Then he glanced back up at him, smile reaffixed. "I hope there's nothing sordid."
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Post by Adrian Veidt on Jun 8, 2009 15:04:18 GMT -5
"Between Micaela and myself? I shall have to disappoint you again."
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Post by Adrien Baillon on Jun 8, 2009 15:07:31 GMT -5
Adrien pursed his lips, still smiling. "Don't tell me there is. I'd rather be ignorant then."
There wasn't. It was apparent, at least on the level that Adrien was able to understand. He hadn't thought there was, of course, he'd been sure there wasn't, so it wasn't really relief that he felt, but... satisfaction. He was right; he was glad. And Veidt was really a marvel in person. It wouldn't even be so bad to be thrown out by him; the way he'd word whatever it was he'd say would probably make him light-headedly happy for a week.
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