cœur de paille

Jaune. 24. French. Platinum. Vista.

[jau-ne]

tam-sinxbaird:

[She decides that she likes the danger in his smile. There’s a sense of kinship with someone playing nice on the surface with something more mischievous brewing underneath. Not that she assumed either of them were up to no good, it’s just nice to see that there was someone with something else just below the surface. She takes the seat offered to her by the gesture of his hand, running her finger along her lip, cleaning the juice that had spilled from her bite.] 

You know, Salem actually means ‘peace.’ It’s only with time and history that’s its gotten its reputation and power. [It was a non-answer. Everything about the witches in America was about revenge and power where it had never been before. She finds that exciting. Plus, the dark name combined with her sweet attitude? What could there be to resist? A little bit of danger with seemingly guaranteed safety.] What about Jaune? Where did that come from? [This is where she would say something in French, if she could be bothered to remember anything from school, and she supposes assorted ballet terms didn’t count.]

[Tate’s brows raised in interest as the woman started to actually explain the truth of her alias--revealing an even greater depth. He wondered if it ever stopped with her.] 

I did not know this. [He sat with it a bit before humming, both somberly and with an appreciation for what that said about humanity as a whole.] Is that what attracted it to you, then? That misunderstanding? The loss of truth? [He smiled then, admittedly a strange action to take after what he just said. As was his way.] You are very intelligent. 

[She asks about his own nickname and he can only smile wider. His expression stays somber but fills with warmth too as he presses his palms together, webs his fingers, squeezes them.] Jaune means yellow. The color of a memory I have that is very dear to me. I chose it when I came here in an expression of hope. 

[A smirk now, more sly, more typical of him.] And because it is frequently mispronounced as ‘john’. A bit of prostitution humor. I could not resist.

[jau-ne]

rivers-run-wild:

[The feeling of that smile against his kiss is one he has memorized. Already, he knows it, though each time he would like to know it more. Deepen his intimacy with it, though he would already know it blindfolded—just a second’s touch would be all it took. 

The warmth of chestnut eyes are so easy to fall into, and he does, as Tate pulls back, hand comfortably curled against Deacon’s chest and into the soft cloth of his t-shirt. Tate looks at him with a kind of reverence, and he can never, ever get enough of it. His eyes flutter closed unwillingly, as Tate presses their faces together briefly, and his stomach stirs with amusement and tension as Tate teases him, the pushes him away. 

There’s always been a something there, with them. Always just that… thing, he can never touch, yet he feels like it physically grabs him each time they’re together. Whatever this mess is between them, he can’t seem to shake the strength of its effect.

Tate disappears under the water, leaving Deacon smiling above it, watching after him with entertained eyes. When Tate resurfaces, Deacon steps closer to the edge, crouching down, and reaching a hand out to offer the Frenchman an arm, if he wants help out of the water.] I make everything sexual? Me? Need I remind you that you that the day we met, you took one look at me and asked if I wanted to fool around? Not that I deny liking your style. 

[The pool was shallower than some of the others but no less clear. He watched the pattern of light on the surface move against the bottom in pretty, waving motions, hand stretching out to close around the dark ring against the floor. Tate pushed off from it and broke the surface again in seconds, hands coming up to push his hair out of his eyes into a sopping mess, flat in places, sticking up in others. He waded there for a second, smiling, then slowly swimming back over, fingers creeping over the edge once he reached it to hold himself up while Deacon bent to his level.]

...more than one look, actually. I’d say I took about four or five, then made the offer. Lest anyone accuse me of being hasty. [Tate winked, then reached up and placed the ring gently into Deacon’s palm. He let his fingers linger there, though, hand pressing deeper into the others, neck straining up.] 

Give me a kiss, darling. You look amazing today.

[jau-ne]

price-julian:

Well you know how the saying goes, if you want a job done well, do it yourself. [And that was true in so many areas of Julian’s life. It hadn’t been a specifically conscious doing on his part, but somewhere down the line his expectations had soared into skyscrapers, that as of yet very few seemed to possess a suited ability to scale. So he often got his hands dirty, metaphorically of course, because he wasn’t a fan of cleaning and the best way to prevent that is to not make a mess in the first place. He continued, after a quick sip of the cold espresso left in the bottom of his old cup] but believe it or not, despite my army of ‘little employees’ I do have to put in some effort to take home my dollar. 

[Julian snorted but it wasn’t spiteful] I saw a very lovely cab, I saw the insides of two hotel rooms and more conference rooms than I care to remember. But no trees. It wasn’t that kind of trip unfortunately. But having said that, I have seen them yes. I stayed with a friend who lives over there a few years ago, don’t quite compare to the blossom trees we get here hm?  [he smiled only briefly at the laugh of the other, tipping his head knowingly to the side as the server offered them a slight bow to his head before he scurried off] As I said before, its not all champagne parties and snorting coke off of pert asses sweetheart, I do have to work. And more often than not that requires my being there.

[the two coffees met the table with a clink, Julian nodded at the server] thank you [he said quickly, turning his attention back to Jaune. For a moment his expression changed, somewhere between thought and its quick conclusion. He shook his head] I can’t say I’m a gambling man as it goes, I don’t mind a bit of horse racing here and there, but a casino…maybe, depends on my mood I suppose. But I’d rather throw my money at a nice meal or something more guaranteed. 

Is that what they say? Hm. [Tate smiles and laughs at first, feigning ignorance as if to imply he’d rather not expend the effort, personally. The escort was under no illusions that Julian worked hard for his money, but listening to the older man make a case for himself would never get old. Neither would listening to a man talk about his work, all the energy he put in, all the sacrifices he made. Struggles were hot, even ones suffered in luxury.] Remind me what you do again. Isn’t the whole point of being the head of some company so you can sit back and let the money roll in for you?

[Tate listens intently to Julian’s description of what he’d seen in Japan and thought it’s scant, his brain fills in the blanks until several pretty pictures fill his mind. Julian compares the sakuras to the blossoms they have here and Tate just hums, unconvinced.] I wouldn’t know, I haven’t left the continent since I was born. I have always wanted to visit the east. Kyoto, Shanghai, Taipei. Have you been to these places as well?

[A shit-eating grin crosses his face.] So the snorting-coke-off-asses thing is just a perk, then. I’m surprised, Julian--I did not think that was your scene. Not that I am judging. [Tate smiles at the server and picked up his cup, blowing gently through the milk foam without thanking the client for his charity.] Mm--but I hear the lounge is special. Expensive to enter, and far more debauched than, well. Conversations like this. 

[jau-ne]

ferrxsfae:

[Clear skies. Fresh air. A guitar. It’s the perfect time to work on some new music, to find that spark that’s been missing lately, and Ferris plans to take full advantage of it as she finds a nice spot in the shade and flips open her notebook in front of her. The guitar sits on her lap as she looks over the rows of scratched out lyrics and scribbled notes in the margin, enough to make anyone feel a little disapointed, before she flips to a new clean page, a fresh start. 

Her fingers strummed over the strings, a soft sigh leaving her as she thought, but still that spark had yet to really hit. Instead, fingers plucked out the familiar chords of an old tune that always set her mind at ease, humming softly along as she did so. She doesn’t hear approaching footsteps, so when a shadow falls over her, she jumps a bit, eyes darting up and widening.] I’m sorry… did you need the spot? 

[Green Envy. More populous during the early afternoon than it used to be, Tate had no clue why. All he knew was, escorts came to gather there more frequently between bookings on certain days, laughing and poking fun with their friends around the garden. It ruined the atmosphere a bit, in his opinion, but was nothing to complain too much about, especially when today, there was a beautiful girl playing music in bursts that drowned out the static noise around.]

No, darling. You stay. [He walked past her to actually enter the garden next to her, bending and starting to scoop some of the soil out into a small jar he brought.] You look irritated. Too loud to concentrate? I know--this place is supposed to be meditative. Some people can be so inconsiderate.

[jau-ne]

elliot-miller:

[Elliot is lost in thought when he notices that someone is walking up to the boardwalk from the beach. He blinks himself into the here and now and waves at the stranger with a smile. Is this someone who lives at Quay as well or further up? They’re all neighbors here, anyway. Determined not to become a hermit here in this place, he greets the other person when they’re close enough for him not to have to shout.] Hey.

[He scoots to one side of the step he is sitting on so the other person can pass if they want to.] Are the sunsets always this gorgeous here? [He’s new and he wants to let the other person know that… that and to get them to talk to him a bit. Asking a question is always a good start, although he has a feeling that the answer will be ‘yes’ and that he’ll be ordering lounge chairs tomorrow so he can watch the sky turn these colors every night.]

[Though the pools had their own charm, Tate sometimes felt the pull to the ocean. He’s grown up not far from it himself, and that light saltiness to the air made him feel at home whenever he smelled it, saw it, stood in it. As the day wound down, it was a little chilly for actual swimming but he did stand ankle-deep in the sand, letting the waves wash over his feet and toeing small shells from the muck. When he grew tired, he walked up the steps towards home, sneakers dangling from his fingers.]

Oh, yes. Always. [He turned over his shoulder to glimpse at it again, almost like an afterthought. He’d been here so long the beautiful sights had almost become the default. Deep pinks and purples swirled above. Tate turned back to the other man, rubbing at his arm to warm it up.] Today is especially pretty, though. ‘Looks like cotton candy. You will get used to them.

[jau-ne]

rivers-run-wild:

[Tate’s laugh is refreshing. Sometimes, the brunet is so… controlled, and poised, that seeing him loosen for something unplanned, like a bark of a bright laugh, is rewarding. Like Deacon had somehow earned something even more delightful in how real it was. 

He’s sweet, and as much as he walks the walk of a seductive and sensual individual, Deacon will never let him forget that the blond knows his other side. His sweet and boyish side. ‘Sugar’, if you will. 

Deacon grins, his expression overtly sarcastic.] Oh, mm yes of course. [And he bites back a chuckle, eyes lit as he watches Tate.

He tries not to take it personally when Tate sounds almost dismissive about the show. Another almost-empty promise that he’ll show. But it’s hard to hold anything against him when he calls Deacon ‘darling’. It sends a sweet shiver down the blond’s spine, warming him from his ribcage, outward. He’s missed this. Him. It’s been too long since he’s heard the term of endearment—though likely no more than a week, it’s still been too long.

The question makes his grin spring free again, and this time he doesn’t hold back the chuckle. Arms folded over his chest, he can’t help it—the only reply he can muster is to lean forward and take that full, foolish mouth under his own in a slow kiss. He can feel his grin curling earnestly against Tate’s lips.

When they part, there’s a smile in his eyes.] I missed you, you slut. [He chuckles, fondly.] And If you think I’m going to protest to seeing you whip it out, you’re quite wrong. 

[Tate’s so preoccupied watching his bare feet shift along the pool’s edge that he doesn’t see Deacon coming until their faces are together again. He’s arrested by it, inhaling slowly, taking in the blonde’s familiar sent and just enjoying the feeling of those pouty, plush lips against his own. D smirks and Tate smirks back, harder until his lips are spread too thin to keep the kiss anymore.]

[He leans back and finds his fingers of one hand have curled into Deacon’s shirt. He smiles, eyes traveling all over that sharp face, before pulling him closer, lightly knocking their faces together, one cheekbone against another.] So naughty. I was only asking as a friend. Must you make everything sexual?

[Tate winked, hand slightly up to the blonde’s shoulder instead, other one dropping to play with the elastic of his shorts.] ...kidding. [He pushed Deacon back lightly and grinned as he fell backward into the deep end, turning while underwater and diving for the ring.]

[jau-ne]

price-julian:

I’m sure I’ll make it through. [he absently ran his ring finger around the rim of his near empty coffee cup, glanced up at Jaune. The other’s smile was thin and took up little room across the bottom of his face. But Julian’s smile, which in that moment just didn’t even exist, took up less room.] Well then, Hello. 

[He had ‘left’ and had lived shamelessly out of a suitcase, which he’d without any ceremony, emptied a shirt from every day only to throw it at his assistant to have pressed for the evening. He’d been in a bad mood the entire trip, taking some of it out on his clients, a fair bit more out on his assistant but most of it on the tight ass of a pretty Japanese junior who he’d accidentally had one too many drinks with one night. Mostly he was grateful to be home.]

I did yes. [he said simply] I had a somewhat important transaction to take care of in Tokyo. A three day trip turned into nine. So its safe to say I’m happy to be back, even though I’m sure it will be short lived. [he let out a soft, wispy sigh, catching the attention with a soft click of a server who’d sauntered past to swipe up his empty coffee cup] I’ll have the same again, whatever he wants too please. [he looked up at Jaune again] What’s new here then? Have I missed anything exciting? 

Shouldn’t you have little employees to do that fetch work for you? [Tate chuckles, amused at how Julian takes that tone like he’s absolutely prepared to get what he wants. And the thrill of it was, the client had a way of speaking that not only made you obey, but made your want to as well. Really, Julian was like every twink’s first wet dream, giving you looks across the room that said, ‘you’re going over my knee when I’m done with this.’ Tate had grown out of that role more with age but it was still nice to return to your roots, so to speak. He enjoyed the nostalgia Julian gave him, as well as the possibility that the old fantasy could be his again, whenever he wanted it.]

Wait, really? Did you see the sakura trees? [Tate hummed in interest the second Julian said Tokyo. He lifted his feet and returned them to the ground, leaning into the table with his elbows laid out sideways. Then he laughed--always the pessimist, wasn’t he.] Oh, I know. Everyone would like a piece of you. They can do nothing on their own. [Tate sat back, expression pleasant, and blinked at the server like he wasn’t surprised to be offered that courtesy.] I’ll take an espresso macchiato, please. No sugar.

[When Julian asked what was new, Tate took a deep breath and sat back in his chair to think, rocking it some with his weight.] Oh, the new casino opened. [Not really his thing, but other might have liked it.] With the lounge...as I understand, it makes for quite an experience, if you are into that sort of thing. It sounds like it was made for men like you. Am I right or wrong?

[jau-ne]

callxmexkip:

[In the Great Game he was playing for the long run - he disliked Jaune simply because it felt like someone had out-scored him. If he did face things like that, then he’d eventually have to get rid of the other boy. But he wasn’t stupid also, it wasn’t a single player game, it was team work and he had no grudges towards the other escort. A bit of resentment maybe but most times Kip didn’t know what was proper to feel or just misplaced sentiments because his brain was in shambles, so he pushed it aside. We don’t deal with feelings here, we bottle up and then have an ulcer like men. 

And just like his sunshine of a roommate, Jaune had never warranted any direct hostility from him so he’d channel back to the bedroom, workout or the vicious, violent and bloody games baptist mothers had nightmares about. (Mental note, he had to call his mom sometime still that week.) The teasing, however, had him raising one eyebrow and smirking back.] Wouldn’t you?

[He forced himself to bite back any potentially cruel replies he had on the tip of his tongue - if you’ve nothing good to say, then don’t say at all. He didn’t quite live by those words but he often remembered them when it came to the other escorts. A good neighbour policy was more effective into keeping people away from his business than being an absolute asshole. That was how he had kept everyone away in High School and that’s how he kept people away at Southampton, too. 

He should’ve continued the trick but as he sat back and frowned at himself he couldn’t help laughing stupidly, offering Jaune a stupid smile.] Now I’m gonna owe you a trick ‘cos it just occurred to me I don’t have any sleeves and I failed horribly, go me.

[Kip’s acknowledgement of his question makes Tate smile wider, knowingly. There we go...wasn’t it to much easier to just enjoy each other rather than getting petty about things? He wouldn’t have blamed the other escort much either way, but if he was truly bothered, Tate had no qualms about making it up to him, so to speak. Nothing healed a rift between two people like a good bottle of wine and some hours set aside to experiment, explore. Tate had plenty of history fucking people who hated that they loved him, what was one more?]

Yes. [Tate says very matter-of-factly, as if to gently suggest Kip should just go for it if he wants it.] And I have. It’s been a very enriching experience so far. Like a cultural exchange, sort of.

[At first, he thinks Kip’s joking. That there’s some punchline waiting to land, or that he’d missed, or maybe that there was some humor lost behind a language barrier. Then he thinks it over more and realizes the other escort is serious, that there’s no trick coming. And Tate breaks out in laughter, extremely entertained and near-affectionate laughter, the furthest thing from mocking.]

You are just adorable. [He removes the playing card from his pocket and hands it out for Kip to take back face up. It’s the Jack of diamonds.] Do you have a coin? I’ve got one. A trick.

[jau-ne]

iza-aumont:

[Often times, the realization they’re being drawn will make a person bristle. It’ll make them too nervous to remain under Iza’s intense gaze or too irritated at being told what to do. He enjoys the subject who stay still when he tells them to, though the escorts here didn’t cause a fuss with him too often. This escort in particular has never been invited to his bed, he doesn’t venture far from his favorite escorts often and they weren’t his main reason for being here in the first place. 

Nevertheless, he’s seen the man’s reviews, he’s heard talk from other clients, so he expects a reaction such as this. What piques his interest more than anything is the accent, something from the far south of France but recognizable no less.] Perfect. [He replies in his native language, somewhat relieved to drop the cotton-in-the-mouth feel of English at least for a moment. He continues]

It sounds cherubic either way, but I’ll accept you admit you aren’t being modest. [He chuckles with a closed mouth, looking down to his work to see what features he’s included already.] Your moles are already there, of course. Your face would be too pristine without them. [Somehow the imperfection they provide, the way they break the pattern of finely arched brows and eyes wide but low enough to seem perpetually bored, keeps Jaune’s face from being entirely too conventional. He smirks at this discovery. Briefly, he takes a break from drawing, looking at the man to ask,] Are you fond of them for this reason? Or is it something else?

[Though he’s determined to be a good model now, Tate can’t help but smile when Iza immediately reverts to speaking to him in French upon first hearing him speak. He’d noticed the other’s accent too, of course, but he’d been in England quite a while and it rarely crossed his mind to lapse into his native language even among his countrymen. But it wasn’t an unwelcome gesture at all. In fact, it was almost a relief to hear it spoken again, lilting through his ears gratefully. His expression stayed pleasant, voice buttering some when it was finally his turn to reciprocate.]

That is probably a safe assumption to make always. Where are you from? [He hums again in approval when it becomes clear Iza has a fondness for imperfecton--or maybe, asymmetry. Tate feels similarly, though he got the feeling the other man was much more of a scholar about it, whereas Tate’s opinions could essentially be chalked up to ‘looks beautiful. Look real’.] 

I did not know there were levels to pristine. No, I don’t consider my moles flaws at all. I just like how they are arranged. Like tattoos, but natural. I guess I just like the dots. [He mused for a bit, then let his eyes drift over to look at Iza’s face, still holding his position.] So you like to draw. Just people?

[jau-ne]

rivers-run-wild:

[He snorts. It was a good thing Tate was making it pretty clear that he was being facetious, because Deacon would have set him straight had he not—as it stands, he only rolls his eyes. But a smirk grows on the corner of his mouth, despite himself.] Riiight. Says the man who spent a couple hundred quid on truffles. [And something just then touches his eyes with warmth—as ludicrous as that had been, the consuming of them had been a good night—and it had had very little to do with the truffles themselves, and more to do with the charming French git who’d been cooking with them.] 

[He considers trying not to stare as Tate strips from his pants. But then he decides he doesn’t much care, and stares anyway. The question actually takes him a bit to process, he’s sufficiently distracted.] What? Oh, uh, no. He was just drunk. And Bruno is one of my band mates. Which you would know if you ever bloody came to one of my shows. Selfish git. And you call yourself one of my best mates. [But he grins. And the truth is, Tate probably has never said that. But Deacon has. And he means it.] 

[That made Tate smile wide and laugh–the blonde would never let him forget about that, would he. Not that he really wanted to forget, because that evening was one of his favorite memories since first coming to Southampton. In part because of how it ended, with the blonde straining on his fingers, in his mouth. But largely because of the truffles themselves, how he’d poured affection into whipping up that special, expensive custard, and what Deacon had said when he tasted it.

“Brill.” So like him.

Tate had since made it a goal to introduce D to a smorgasbord of luxury meals, if only for more of that amusement.] It is not my fault. They were market price.

[Again, he glanced at the water and the dark metal on the bright floor, thumbsmoving absently to mess with the waistband of his Emporio Armani trunks, the tip running under the elastic, back and forth.] Oh, mm. Right. I will come, darling. I forget easily, that is all. [He looked back at the blonde then, devilishly conflicted.] Do you think I should strip completely? I don’t want to put dry clothes on over wet briefs…

[jau-ne]

tam-sinxbaird:

[By this point in her life, she knew when she was being inspected. So she inspected him right back. His face was all sharp angles, far sharper than she naturally had or could even be bothered to carve out with makeup. Jealousy crosses her mind as she couldn’t find herself able to look away from the features, but she pushes that thought down to be dealt with later. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing, looking at the dirty glass deposited on her tray.]

Yeah, and the apple has healthy sugars over added sugars. [Her expression is still bright, even though the sugar was sort of the point for her having the yogurt in the first place. She could get her sweet fix without feeling too guilty for it.] Salem. [She waits until after she introduces herself to take a bite out of her apple, knowing better than to make a first impression with her mouth full.]

[Tate’s smile is almost devilish as she plays along, finding a ridiculous amount of pleasure in how she seems to suggest she cares about these things as much as he does. That’s yet to be determined but it’s a good start. Keeping his eyes on her, Tate murmurs quietly and pleasantly in response.] Yes.

[He reaches across from himself and pats the seat beside him as though she needs his permission to return to the rest of her tray. Her name--her alias, it’s immediately apparent--makes him smile even wider, greatly intrigued by the depth that name suggested.] Salem. That’s very wicked. [And just to add to the metaphor, she bites into that forbidden fruit and now it’s all Tate can think about. He can’t tear his eyes off her.] Why did you choose that name? Are you a fan of witches or is that supposed to be ironic?

[jau-ne]

@ghcstxander​:

[Xander’s eyebrows drew together slightly. Ten pounds… what was that in American? Presumably more than ten american dollars. But Xander was too proud to ask for help with the exchange rate.]

Not particularly, no. I can’t say that I care either way. [A common enough turn of phrase for Xander. There wasn’t much he actually found interesting enough to have an opinion on. Whether or not he had yogurt this morning was inconsequential to him.

At Jaune’s explanation he simply inclined his head, looking pointedly at him.] Clearly. [Wasn’t that exactly what Jaune had done? Hopefully the clipped response would be enough to ward him off once and for all and leave Xander to his blissful silence.

But then he slipped out a pack of cigarettes. And suddenly - suddenly Xander was willing to put all previous weirdness and thieving tendencies aside. Now that the other man had something he wanted, well, that was a completely different story. He might actually have to be nice for once if he wanted to convince the other man to let him bum a cigarette. His last failed attempt was all too fresh in his mind.]

Cities don’t differ too much across the continents, I see. The pigeons back home were god awful. Basically ruled the streets. [Not a lie, New York had been damn full of them. But that’s what you did when you were trying to forge a connection, right? Offer up facts about yourself? Xander was admittedly a little rusty. He tried not to look like he was eyeing the pack too much.]

Hm. Used to going without? [Tate hummed pensively. Changing his tune? Was Ghost just that remarkable at letting things go or was that an act to not seem wronged? Tate wasn’t sure, though he distantly wished the blonde would scowl again. He liked how that hostility looked on the other’s face, the accusatory sneer, narrow eyes, tight lips. 

Tate licked over his own as he slid one cigarette out and popped it into his mouth, setting the carton by his side instead of returning it to his pocket. He kept his eyes on Ghost, lips just barely curving upward in interest as he saw something new and more amicable take over the younger man’s expression. 

So fucking transparent. 

But he figured calling the other out would only end the game. So he just went about his business, lit up and inhaled deeply, angling the smoke upward and away from them when he breathed it out. He wiped at the underside of his nose with his opposite hand before he spoke.]

You are from America. [It wasn’t a revolutionary discovery, obvious in the accents, of course, but it was still notable to him. He blinked at Ghost curiously and took another drag, waiting until his mouth was clear to ask again.] How did you end up here?

[jau-ne]

alexandra-beckett:

[Alex had left her food sitting around because the memory that she’d left her hair straightener on in her room had flashed through her mind. She’d rushed back to her room, the thought of her yogurt far from her mind. A quick switch of a button had turned off the straightener and she went back to where she had left her snack to find someone else eating it] 

 I didn’t realize that it would go bad in the matter of ten minutes

[An annoyed look rests on her face as she checks, seeing that half of it was already gone.]

You owe me yogurt now, and not the cheap kind, that’s one of the best brands around.

[Tate just blinks at her at first, lets her lean forward and look at the state of the cup, before taking another cautious spoonful into his mouth. He waits until he swallows to speak up again, stirring the cup a bit as he looked down into it.] Yes, I thought it had been abandoned. It is pretty hot today. Double that amount of time and the cultures would be useless. Considering the good they do for the body, I had to act. [Another spoonful. He looks back up at her.]

Yes...you have good taste. Please forgive my manners. I’ll buy you anything you want.

[jau-ne]

price-julian:

[Tate reminded him of someone and it had only been recently, in the past encounter or two, that Julian had pin pointed just who. He’d been about sixteen when his mother had remarried and for that brief period of that particular matrimonial moment he’d had a step brother. And Jesus Christ were these two personality doppelgangers. 

His step brother had been one too; the kind of boy who had a particular talent in being able to highlight each and every nerve that could be irritated within the other, with an uncanny and absolute skill in being able to hit each and every one of those nerves without even really trying. 

But he had one of those smirks, one of those oddly innocent yet quick mouths, that let him get away with it. He bothered Julian, but not enough for him to be truly bothered by it. 

Although his feet on the table. That really was bothering him.]

 I really was just referring to you providing the pain killers. [He took the tiny espresso cup between a thumb and a forefinger, brought the now semi cold liquid up to his lips and finished its content in one large swallow] Never…[he said simply, letting the cups rim clink against the table] at this particular moment in time targeting the crippling threat of exhaustion that’s endangering how productive I’ll actually be able to be today, is more of a concern than a headache. Me and caffeine, my most proud of and committed relationship to date. [He lent back against the chair, folded one leg over the other] but what do I owe the pleasure today Jaune? 

I think I would have to run back to Vista for that. It would be quite the wait. [It was funny really, because when Tate thought of all the clients he’d served both here and elsewhere, Julian reminded him of most of them. Loosely, anyway. 

More so in Paris, he’d been surrounded by these stoic, affluent men with good posture and carefully ironed suits. They all had this intimidating air about them, this incredibly domineering spirit that, frankly, Tate had always found alluring. Of course, Julian’s expectations differed. At least he bothered to speak to them at all, and not just treat them like furniture.

Tate chuckled at Julian’s refusal to give up the coffee.] Fair enough. I did warn you.

[He smiled thinly at the client’s final question.] Is that code for “scram”? I cannot tell. I thought I would say hello, that’s all. It’s been a while. Did you leave again?

[jau-ne]

callxmexkip:

[As he looked up to find Jaune’s eyes attached to Jaune’s face - Kip almost wanted to feel that small point of resentment. Eight months! Eights damn months and this guy was some weird success but then he reminded himself he didn’t really give a shit for life in Southampton - not like most did. He had something going for himself, he was good at it, he didn’t want to think of the future, make useless plans and all that jazz. 

The subtle wonder on Jaune’s eyes made him feel a little better, like he wasn’t being completely useless practicing dumb card tricks in a garden. Like a small throwback to the golden years of high school where the popular kids let him sit with them because he was funny, amusing, somewhat worthy of their time. They were all stupid and shallow but he liked the attention.

 Like now. But unlike his school mates back then, Jaune was mostly a nice person.] Oh honey you haven’t seen me beg. [Dramatic pause for effect why not.] Could try tho. [He quipped back with a wink, mild malicious smirk on his lips as he looked up, watching Jaune choose his card. He reached and removed it from the deck, kissing it lightly before hanging it over to the other.] 

Up in your pocket goes.

[Tate just smiled at him, though his face was arranged in such a way that it looked almost foxish in most scenarios. Up until last month, Kip had been his senior, Platinum for almost the entire time Tate had been here. And though maybe the other boy still held that seniority on paper, as he’d been part of the lineup in Southampton for more than twice as long as Tate had, his most recent promotion had validated him in a way that told him he deserved to be confident.

 It was a clever system. Reviews and tier levels made things seem competitive, rewarding escorts for their behavior by upping their earnings and boosting their bravado. Now Tate had even more money to spend per kept appointment. Who wouldn’t get a swelled head?

So, yes. He smiled at Kip like a simple peer, focused on the prospect of seeing a neat trick. But then, he’s distracted by the suggestion in the other boy’s comments, humming again in deep interest.] I bet you would like that. Want to see what all the fuss is about? 

[Kissing the card earns him a bright, toothy grin from Tate, who takes the card and peeks at the face before doing as he’s told, tucking it away.] I love gifts. Now what, handsome?

[jau-ne]

ghostxander:

[As Jaune’s smile widened Xander had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. What a little shit. You’d think people would have a little more professionalism here but it seems he was mistaken. He was no stranger to people playing with him but it never took them long to lose interest when they realized he simply didn’t care.

Not that he had anything against the other man. He was simply indifferent either way - though that was open to change if he did anything particularly infuriating (more than usual, that is.)]

Not really. It’s a yogurt, not the hope diamond. [Xander drawled, unimpressed. Though he wasn’t sure why Jaune needed his yogurt.] And I highly doubt Lady Nora would let anything as offensive as a squirrel anywhere near her food. Do squirrels even eat yogurt?

[The second the question slipped out Xander winced, regretting his slip of the tongue. Now he actually seemed interested. He didn’t want to be mistaken for actually wanting to make conversation, god forbid.]

[Tate chuckled at that. It was true, admittedly, but he found it interesting that the other boy had gone for such an extreme comparison. Was that an indicator for some high-maintenance personality trait? It was impossible to tell. But now he was interested in finding out.]  It’s hardly even a ten pound bill. But didn’t you still want it?

[All the same, his instincts were telling him to tread carefully. Though Ghost claimed to not be annoyed, his face and the shortness of his responses told a different story. Too annoying, and he risked scaring the blonde off. Too relaxed and he wouldn’t get what interested him.]

They’re just smaller, nimbler cats. They’ll eat what they find. Do not underestimate a thing when it’s hungry. [He smiled wide, only just now realizing that could have been a metaphor for himself and what he’d done. Sniffing, Tate looked to the side and down at the table before shifting in his seat and slipping a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.] I saw one steal a bag of crisps the other day. An unopened bag of crisps. [He murmured as if that were some alien phenomenon.]

[jau-ne]

rivers-run-wild:

[Tate is a fucking sight. 

Always has been. 

And not just because of that long, tempting line of his porcelain throat as he dips his head back to the sky, Adam’s apple bobbing—no, it’s not just that. It’s the way he somehow ever-so-subtly swivels his lean build towards Deacon, despite his air of general apathy. It’s how he’s casually and calmly drinks his coffee, never hurries for a reply one way or another. How he just sort of… sits. Takes of his shoe sand puts them in a meticulously neat line just off the edge of the pool. 

In fact, it’s so cute, that it never really even crosses Deacon’s mind to kick them in just for a laugh. (Though, the fact that he’s about to go get Deacon’s ring, a thing he clearly wouldn’t do if Deacon played such a mean trick on him, likely has something to do with it.)]

Okay, um, ouch—I resent that. [He half means it, too—the comment about his ‘cheap trinkets’ pulls the grin from his face and his brows down on the sides.] I’ll have you know that bloody thing is titanium and cost me a bloody fortune. It’s one of the good ones, trust me. 

And it was last night—[he shakes his head, rubbing a palm over his face.] Fuckin’ Bruno thought it would be fun to push me in on our way back from the Needy. Git. 

[Socks off, Tate scratches at his ankle while Deacon decries the insult to his jewelry. He’s expecting it really, and smiles thinly as it happens, and though he isn’t looking at the blonde’s face, he can picture it clearly in his mind. A tight little pout, brows worried together, trying to look more nonchalant than he was. Tate glances up at D with a skeptical, teasing smile, yanking his socks off his toes.]

What a waste...you should be more frugal. Like me. [He joked, under no illusion whatsoever that he was good at handling money. After all, Tate was the type of person to buy rounds for everyone at Needy, to splurge a week’s worth of earnings on premium packages at State of Sloth, and who only bought his groceries from a specific high-end grocer in the city and who was constantly splurging on different products from beauty stores.

Crossing his legs, Tate pulled his shirt up and over his head, then moved to stand, fingers working on the button and zipper of his pants as he turned to face his companion casually.] Bruno? [Was all he asked before he bent at the waist, pushing his jeans away his hips and stepping out of them. When he stood again he shoved his arms down the legs, turning them right-side-out again.] Do you need avenging?