[ So, this is a ballet production and consequently, Ed definitely wouldn't be here under normal circumstances, except Izzy's run afoul with the director because of course he fucking well has and now, someone's gotta put their foot down. Ed, of course. It's always Ed. In any case, he resolved the issue within the first five minutes of visiting the stage, re-organising a few of the lights to account for the altered choreography, last-minute, which is why Izzy wouldn't hear of it. It changes their entire fucking lightning plot but so long as everyone's on board with that, Ed doesn't see the issue. Weird hill to die on, in his opinion. Their people are here to work, not lounge about in the wings.
Unlike Ed, who's definitely just hanging out at this point but.
Ballet is so fucking pretty.
He's currently standing in the wings, watching as the rehearsal moves on to act three and trying not to get in the way of anyone. Years of experience helps in that; also, dressed as he is in leather and black, he sticks out like a sore thumb. And everyone's so goddamn limber, they squeeze around him like they're some sort of fucking liquid and Ed's the only solid thing in the whole theatre. Tiny, flexible, god-like people, ballet dancers. Or butterfly-like, maybe, if you wanna get more naturalistic about it, whatever.
So, uh. He doesn't expect it when someone nearly crashes into him. He stumbles backwards half a step out of reflex, the other - a man, oh, the one who dances Armand, isn't it, fuck, he's amazing - grabbing his shoulder briefly before apologising. Ed's eyebrows go up, about to tell him that it really was his fault for trespassing where he doesn't even go, but then, the man asks him about the lights and his gaze flits to the scene, instead. ]
Oh. Uh, yeah, it's looking great. [ He waves his hand at the back wall which is currently being lowered into place. A pretty thing, very soft and subtle. ] Long as you stick to the script and don't fall off the deep end in the back, I think we've got you covered.
[ Said with half a smile. Man's definitely a pro, from what Ed's seen. He's not gonna go anywhere he isn't meant to. ]
[ Don't fall off the deep end in the back, the man tells him and Claude's smile widens slightly as he chuckles; in a way that would have been a proper laugh if he weren't saving his breath, sorry gorgeous person in front of him. He'll laugh with you for real next time. ]
I'll try not to roll into the deep.
[ Shaking his head in a way that doesn't mean no, it means don't worry, Claude straightens up, stretching slightly in his shirt and vest plus jacket that always feel a little bit constricting, even with all the extra seams and inlays. Arms well above his head, that's how he does it, the stretch. All the while he regards the other man, noticing his long hair this time, easy bun at the back of his neck, keeping it out of his face. The rest just hanging loose. Looks good on him. Looks natural. Even with the trends of the time, not a lot of guys dare go that long, but - Claude thinks - this man couldn't have it any differently.
And Claude likes it, too. He supposes.
Arms coming down, shoulders doing a roll, he gives a little wave at some of the Champs Élysées couples that are beginning to mill by them, though most of his attention is still on the head technician. He wishes with everything he has that he isn't going to take his leave yet. They've got five minutes yet, and Claude feels invigorated. For some reason.
So, if not for Claude, he wants the man to stay for the performance. He'd like to dance for him, he thinks. Of course, dancing for people is what he does, he's a professional, a true artist, as it has been termed by the dancers, but there are performances that are more personal, intimate, still.
He swears, though, he isn't trying. He doesn't even know which way the man swings, leather is no real indicator anymore, if it ever was, like everything else you put on your body it's just an aesthetic. Choice.
He's just got a feeling. ]
Will you throw me a lifebuoy if I do fall in?
[ The guys on the spots are usually pretty amazing, they can save anything and everyone, but they're not really talking about the guys working the spots. Claude hopes he knows. Whatever his name is. ]
[ The other man gives him a small laugh, a chuckle, restrained. But somehow, Ed knows it's a true laugh, that it could've been more under different circumstances and the thought makes him smile back in response, his shoulders relaxing an inch or two. For someone so talented, this guy doesn't read arrogant at all which is amazing in itself; artists can be... fickle, supposedly. That's why Izzy hates working these gigs and conversely, why Ed likes it. It's interesting, the way they work, these people. What they see between the shadows and the moving lines of light.
He stretches like a ballet dancer - all cat, maybe one percent human. Ed's back creaks a little at the sight of it, all those joints just rolling with the motion. Fuck, when he stretches he has to take care not to give himself a fucking leg cramp. Ed watches as the man waves at some of the dancers passing by while Ed stares at the ladies or, you know, the dresses. All that fabric, just swishing by in the dark. Once they step out into the light, everything looks so soft and bright, colours swirling against the darkness of the stage floor. Beautiful. He's so caught up in it, he nearly misses the man's follow-up comment, delivered gently, unassuming.
Like you wouldn't even know the man was flirting if you weren't looking for it.
Ed's not gonna lie - it's hard not to look for it when everybody around here is so goddamn gorgeous. ]
Gonna throw my entire body into it, swan dive, the whole thing.
[ A small wink. Two can play that game, thanks, and while he isn't expecting to get laid while on the job (or ever, basically, feels like he's never not working these days), they can have a little back and forth without messing up any schedules, can't they? Can't hurt. Doesn't have to, surely. ]
[ It comes out very earnestly, while also still keeping the balance of flirtatiousness, just a little bit impish, not too serious, you know, just true. Very true. Claude isn't worried. These guys have never let them down, everyone knows they're the best at what they do, that's why the Opéra bothers hiring them for the big jobs in the first place, to get that kind of quality control where it'll matter the most.
And although it disturbs his train of thought, very work-centered, very unsexy by comparison, the wink doesn't even catch him off guard. It's just there, so easy, so unintrusive, it could mean anything, nothing and everything in one happy mix, maybe even at once. He smiles, holding the man's gaze for a moment, before he eventually has to glance towards the stage where Yvette is sitting, quietly, noting how she's making ready to get off the bench any moment now, the way the muscles in her upper arms shift.
Okay, he'll have to remember that five minutes are a very short time when in good company. Then, he turns his head back towards the stranger. The man with the nice hair and the even nicer eyes. Who takes a tease, and doesn't run with it, but dives, goes deep. ]
You look a great many things.
[ His voice is soft as he speaks, so soft it almost drowns out as the bell chimes, times the first. Looking over his shoulder, catching sight of Caspar across the stage, picking up the prop dress that they're going to exchange in a moment, Claude very decisively sticks out his right hand for a shake, the proper, neutral, unassuming way of greeting someone, of letting them understand you want to know them better. ]
I'm Claude. Bérubé. I have to go in a second, but I wanted you to know, it's been a pleasure.
[ I'm Claude says Claude and oh yeah, that's right. He remembers looking over the cast list when he'd had a free moment earlier in the day. He looks at the other man's hand for maybe half a second before taking it because his hands are actually pretty dirty and fuck, isn't he supposed to hoist the lady on the bench around some, what if Ed's nasty fingerprints gets on the fine dress, just - but he shakes it, all the same. Wouldn't wanna be rude.
Besides, it's not every day he's told he looks a great many things without any underlying insults. Hah. ]
Ed.
[ Edward Teach, he'd say under normal circumstances but the time isn't right for long introductions, Ed knows the script pretty well and he's aware that Claude's about to step on, seeing the very subtle softening of the lights centerstage. Gonna emphasize his entrance from the wings very nicely, right? Make the breath stick in your throat for a little while, just that quiet sense of and now - wait! - before the musical cue catches up with the story and ups the pace for everything else.
Anyway, yeah. If he'd had oceans of time, perhaps he would've been formal, restrained, a little bit more likely to pull away immediately and turn his back. It's how things go, usually - that's why more time, as much as Izzy loves it, isn't particularly inspirational for him. It's just more of the same. ]
Pleasure's all mine. Break a leg, Claude.
[ He gives Claude's hand a small squeeze and steps back a little, just to increase the sensation of space. Though he's fairly sure the ballet dancers could squeeze past him with only inches to spare, he's not really supposed to be down here right now and if he's in the way, if he annoys people, it'll just get awkward going forwards. And he likes the feel of it, is the thing. Of being allowed close to the stage, to the visuals, without anyone questioning him or wondering why the fuck he isn't up in the booth, doing his actual job. ]
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Unlike Ed, who's definitely just hanging out at this point but.
Ballet is so fucking pretty.
He's currently standing in the wings, watching as the rehearsal moves on to act three and trying not to get in the way of anyone. Years of experience helps in that; also, dressed as he is in leather and black, he sticks out like a sore thumb. And everyone's so goddamn limber, they squeeze around him like they're some sort of fucking liquid and Ed's the only solid thing in the whole theatre. Tiny, flexible, god-like people, ballet dancers. Or butterfly-like, maybe, if you wanna get more naturalistic about it, whatever.
So, uh. He doesn't expect it when someone nearly crashes into him. He stumbles backwards half a step out of reflex, the other - a man, oh, the one who dances Armand, isn't it, fuck, he's amazing - grabbing his shoulder briefly before apologising. Ed's eyebrows go up, about to tell him that it really was his fault for trespassing where he doesn't even go, but then, the man asks him about the lights and his gaze flits to the scene, instead. ]
Oh. Uh, yeah, it's looking great. [ He waves his hand at the back wall which is currently being lowered into place. A pretty thing, very soft and subtle. ] Long as you stick to the script and don't fall off the deep end in the back, I think we've got you covered.
[ Said with half a smile. Man's definitely a pro, from what Ed's seen. He's not gonna go anywhere he isn't meant to. ]
no subject
I'll try not to roll into the deep.
[ Shaking his head in a way that doesn't mean no, it means don't worry, Claude straightens up, stretching slightly in his shirt and vest plus jacket that always feel a little bit constricting, even with all the extra seams and inlays. Arms well above his head, that's how he does it, the stretch. All the while he regards the other man, noticing his long hair this time, easy bun at the back of his neck, keeping it out of his face. The rest just hanging loose. Looks good on him. Looks natural. Even with the trends of the time, not a lot of guys dare go that long, but - Claude thinks - this man couldn't have it any differently.
And Claude likes it, too. He supposes.
Arms coming down, shoulders doing a roll, he gives a little wave at some of the Champs Élysées couples that are beginning to mill by them, though most of his attention is still on the head technician. He wishes with everything he has that he isn't going to take his leave yet. They've got five minutes yet, and Claude feels invigorated. For some reason.
So, if not for Claude, he wants the man to stay for the performance. He'd like to dance for him, he thinks. Of course, dancing for people is what he does, he's a professional, a true artist, as it has been termed by the dancers, but there are performances that are more personal, intimate, still.
He swears, though, he isn't trying. He doesn't even know which way the man swings, leather is no real indicator anymore, if it ever was, like everything else you put on your body it's just an aesthetic. Choice.
He's just got a feeling. ]
Will you throw me a lifebuoy if I do fall in?
[ The guys on the spots are usually pretty amazing, they can save anything and everyone, but they're not really talking about the guys working the spots. Claude hopes he knows. Whatever his name is. ]
no subject
He stretches like a ballet dancer - all cat, maybe one percent human. Ed's back creaks a little at the sight of it, all those joints just rolling with the motion. Fuck, when he stretches he has to take care not to give himself a fucking leg cramp. Ed watches as the man waves at some of the dancers passing by while Ed stares at the ladies or, you know, the dresses. All that fabric, just swishing by in the dark. Once they step out into the light, everything looks so soft and bright, colours swirling against the darkness of the stage floor. Beautiful. He's so caught up in it, he nearly misses the man's follow-up comment, delivered gently, unassuming.
Like you wouldn't even know the man was flirting if you weren't looking for it.
Ed's not gonna lie - it's hard not to look for it when everybody around here is so goddamn gorgeous. ]
Gonna throw my entire body into it, swan dive, the whole thing.
[ A small wink. Two can play that game, thanks, and while he isn't expecting to get laid while on the job (or ever, basically, feels like he's never not working these days), they can have a little back and forth without messing up any schedules, can't they? Can't hurt. Doesn't have to, surely. ]
I'm a great swimmer, don't worry.
no subject
[ It comes out very earnestly, while also still keeping the balance of flirtatiousness, just a little bit impish, not too serious, you know, just true. Very true. Claude isn't worried. These guys have never let them down, everyone knows they're the best at what they do, that's why the Opéra bothers hiring them for the big jobs in the first place, to get that kind of quality control where it'll matter the most.
And although it disturbs his train of thought, very work-centered, very unsexy by comparison, the wink doesn't even catch him off guard. It's just there, so easy, so unintrusive, it could mean anything, nothing and everything in one happy mix, maybe even at once. He smiles, holding the man's gaze for a moment, before he eventually has to glance towards the stage where Yvette is sitting, quietly, noting how she's making ready to get off the bench any moment now, the way the muscles in her upper arms shift.
Okay, he'll have to remember that five minutes are a very short time when in good company. Then, he turns his head back towards the stranger. The man with the nice hair and the even nicer eyes. Who takes a tease, and doesn't run with it, but dives, goes deep. ]
You look a great many things.
[ His voice is soft as he speaks, so soft it almost drowns out as the bell chimes, times the first. Looking over his shoulder, catching sight of Caspar across the stage, picking up the prop dress that they're going to exchange in a moment, Claude very decisively sticks out his right hand for a shake, the proper, neutral, unassuming way of greeting someone, of letting them understand you want to know them better. ]
I'm Claude. Bérubé. I have to go in a second, but I wanted you to know, it's been a pleasure.
no subject
Besides, it's not every day he's told he looks a great many things without any underlying insults. Hah. ]
Ed.
[ Edward Teach, he'd say under normal circumstances but the time isn't right for long introductions, Ed knows the script pretty well and he's aware that Claude's about to step on, seeing the very subtle softening of the lights centerstage. Gonna emphasize his entrance from the wings very nicely, right? Make the breath stick in your throat for a little while, just that quiet sense of and now - wait! - before the musical cue catches up with the story and ups the pace for everything else.
Anyway, yeah. If he'd had oceans of time, perhaps he would've been formal, restrained, a little bit more likely to pull away immediately and turn his back. It's how things go, usually - that's why more time, as much as Izzy loves it, isn't particularly inspirational for him. It's just more of the same. ]
Pleasure's all mine. Break a leg, Claude.
[ He gives Claude's hand a small squeeze and steps back a little, just to increase the sensation of space. Though he's fairly sure the ballet dancers could squeeze past him with only inches to spare, he's not really supposed to be down here right now and if he's in the way, if he annoys people, it'll just get awkward going forwards. And he likes the feel of it, is the thing. Of being allowed close to the stage, to the visuals, without anyone questioning him or wondering why the fuck he isn't up in the booth, doing his actual job. ]