[ 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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[ 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.
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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. ]