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Monday
May 6, 2010 22:35:54 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 6, 2010 22:35:54 GMT -5
Monday morning arrived, and Adrian left in the early hours of the morning, leaving a small sleeping Adrien tucked in bed with a kiss on the cheek.
When he arrived at the work, one of the first things Adrian noticed that there was much higher concentration of clustered female employees watching him. He responded with an uncharacteristically broad smile.
"Good morning, everyone!"
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Monday
May 6, 2010 22:53:36 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 6, 2010 22:53:36 GMT -5
There was, in response, a cluster of laughter and giggling.
Unlike the usual fangirlish giggling however, it was warm and bright and considerable more intelligent, which one would expect in an office.
One of the interns, a bit more outgoing than most, piped up, "You seem happy, Mr. Veidt!" Among the younger employees in particular, who worked at Veidt Enterprises the way other people volunteered for politicians who inspired them, the honorific "Mr Veidt" sounded warm and intimate and respectful rather than perfunctory and distant.
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Monday
May 6, 2010 23:45:24 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 6, 2010 23:45:24 GMT -5
"I do have the occasional fit of good humor."
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Monday
May 6, 2010 23:51:47 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 6, 2010 23:51:47 GMT -5
"In response to romantic dinners?" asked the girl, holding out a magazine with a barely-blurred photograph of Adrian Veidt with a barely-tanned young woman with above-shoulder curled blond hair. She could only be seen from behind, but she was wearing a clinging magenta dress that molded very nicely around her perky backside and showed off her legs to a nice advantage. It was a combination of the seductive elegance of the dress and the way their bodies were angled towards one another, the slight tilt of each head being completely tender, that made it perfectly obvious they were romantically entangled, and had probably been physically so by the end of the night.
The caption across the article was exhuberant and demanded to know more. But the tone, like that of the intern, was not cheeky so much as it was bouncy and breathless. Rather than gossipy and snide, everyone was delighted that Adrian had found love. It was as though your loner bachelor uncle, who spent his time spoiling - and occasionally embarrassing, with his know-it-all attitude and worldliness - you, had found an anonymous but doting, lovely wife in one of the tiny countries he frequented on his exotic trips, and you couldn't help but be ecstatic.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 0:21:01 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 7, 2010 0:21:01 GMT -5
Adrian took the magazine and looked at it.
It took all his willpower to prevent his eyes from unfocusing with vague alarm, but he managed to do so and smiled again, passing the magazine back.
"Perhaps," he said lightly.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 0:25:50 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 7, 2010 0:25:50 GMT -5
There was a quick squeal that was immediately silenced, but the intern was beaming, hard.
In fact, her companions were, too. Really, everyone in the vicinity was noticeably leaning in and smiling crazily. As Adrian went on his way, a passing accountant cried, "Congratulations!", and there was a spattering of excited clapping wherever he passed.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 0:34:54 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 7, 2010 0:34:54 GMT -5
This was... unexpected, and rather overwhelming, but it regardless managed to lift his mood enough that when he arrived at his office, he quickly put in an anonymous order at a florist's over the phone to have a bouquet sent to Adrien.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 0:57:10 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 7, 2010 0:57:10 GMT -5
At home, a little bunny named Adrien woke up and stretched out in the sheets, which were a biiiit soiled, and would have to be taken care of by the housecleaner later, and then lay back and held up his ring to the light, watching it glint. His heart felt overfull, a spilling-over of love. The bits that spilled over went through his blood stream down to his toes and made all his body feel a bit warmer than usual. His feet arched pleasantly. Mentally, he was in paradise.
A little while later, the housecleaner showed up. She never seemed to mind cleaning up after even the most obscene things - once she'd had to wash something embarrassing off the kitchen countertop, and she'd actually brushed off Adrien's shoulder fondly that day. It was almost as though she were proud of him for all that, though he didn't get why or how that could be. Just as she was packing up, the door rang again. Confused, he answered it. There was a delivery service for a bouquet of extravagant flowers. Adrien shrieked with delight and took them and sat down, overwhelmed, getting dewy-eyed right there in front of both of them until the housekeeper set them in a vase for him with a smile and left.
Adrien was alone. He collapsed onto the bed and stroked his engagement ring again - he couldn't get over it. The rest of his life, forever, with Adrian... he thought back on the events of the previous weekend over again and over again, unable to get them out of his mind.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:14:31 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 7, 2010 1:14:31 GMT -5
A few hours passed, with the standard sort of schedule, except the bonus element of finalizing the posters for the charity festival at Yankee Stadium. Adrian made sure Mag (never Blind Mag anymore, but her proper name spelled out in full) took precedence over himself in the poster without either of them overshadowing the images of small starving Third World children and sent the advertising committee to have the final posters printed and put up around New York as quickly as possible.
By the time two o'clock rolled around, he finally had half an hour to himself, and, thinking of Adrien's apparent temporal confusion, placed a call to his liason in the local record depository asking for a fax of any information from 1939 or before about a young man named Adrien Baillon.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:19:19 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 7, 2010 1:19:19 GMT -5
At home, Adrien, on the other hand, cautiously approached Adrian's ordinateur and curiously tried to look something up which had occurred to him. Something involving the words Nazi, Germany, camps, and the date 1939.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:37:36 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 7, 2010 1:37:36 GMT -5
The faxes arrived some twenty minutes later, in the form of a few sheets of dense-looking Courier text on a white background except for a photo of Adrien.
And yet it wasn't the Adrien Adrian knew. He was thinner, a little stooped, with somewhat pained confusion in his smile and his hair cut so closely that it was effectively gone.
It was a prison booking photo.
Adrian adjusted his glasses and skimmed through the pages until he came to a report indicating that the prisoner had been executed by guillotine in 1939.
He set the papers down and stared at them for a long time.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:40:46 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 7, 2010 1:40:46 GMT -5
In the middle of Adrian's stupor, his telephone rang, shrilly.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:46:17 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 7, 2010 1:46:17 GMT -5
Adrian blinked and shoved the papers back in his desk as he reached for the receiver.
"Veidt speaking."
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:50:55 GMT -5
Post by Adrien Baillon on May 7, 2010 1:50:55 GMT -5
There was sobbing on the other end.
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Monday
May 7, 2010 1:53:06 GMT -5
Post by Adrian Veidt on May 7, 2010 1:53:06 GMT -5
"Adrien?"
His voice came out sharper, more alarmed than he'd intended. He adjusted it.
"Adrien, are you all right?"
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