ahehehehehe.
Val has taken to wandering the halls.
It's not because he's bored. Goodness no, never that. But his dear old pupil is more interested in spending time with his lover-- Finn, fancy that, Alden's actually stayed with someone now-- and Meligot doesn't need his help all the time. In any case, he's formulating Plans.
Not at the moment, though. At the moment he's far more concerned with visiting all his old haunts, and at this particular moment he's walking into the little cafe-and-bar that is a favourite of the more settled-in agents, who want to do more off mission than just sit in their rooms and relax a bit. People play cards here, and drink a bit, and get to know each other. Val's always been fond of this place, and it looks the same as ever it did.
It's empty, though, which is somewhat less common, except for a man -- disgustingly young, like everyone still here -- seated in one of the café's most padded chairs, sipping a glass of wine, one hand idly tapping out a tune on the cushion. The expression on his face bespeaks profound boredom, from the closed eyes to the curled lips.
That's something, at least, Val reflects a little ruefully. And of course no one's here-- that's the reason Meligot's pulled him out of retirement, of course. He's to save them all, for the good of the worlds, and at the moment he only has to remind himself that if he doesn't do something places like this will remain empty, and he feels more motivated.
Not enough to actively do anything about it so late in the evening, though, so he saunters over to the man with the glass of wine, and slips into the seat next to him, watching him curiously.
The man, who upon closer inspection appears to be humming something incredibly softly-it sounds like the Marsellaise, which strikes Val as unnecessary-opens his eyes, without turning. He smiles a bit. "I do feel like making some terribly clichéd remark about 'what brings you to my fortress of solitude,' but one does not do such things to people whom one does not know."
"Doesn't one?" Val drawls, only a little mockingly. "Sheer boredom, lad, and I'm sure I wouldn't be adverse to making your acquintance. It's damned boring around here."
"Lad?" inquires the man, and sits up, finally, turning to look him over. "Of course. You must be Val. He who graced our agency with the lovely presence of one Lord Alden. He who has had Meligot all aflutter lately over your arrival." He raises an eyebrow. "I can see her point."
Val grins. "It constantly warms my heart to hear that so many people can say my pupil's name with such abject horror in their voices. At your service, my boy. You are...?"
"I apologise; most remiss of me. Juilliard Vichy." Juilliard makes a flourishing gesture with his hand, apparently a sitting bow.
"I'm afraid I haven't heard of you," Val says, "but then, I've been gone for seven years and I haven't heard of half the young people running about these days."
"Dear me," he murmurs, "the resemblance is uncanny." A little louder: "You wouldn't have heard of me, no, but you might have seen my effects in the state of milord's blood pressure."
"I'm afraid not," Val says absently, and looks around. There's a few empty glasses on a nearby table, so he drags one over and pours himself some wine. "On the other hand, milord has always had a tendency towards high blood pressure, and I haven't seen very much of the man since arriving."
"And of that I envy you," Juilliard might say, under his breath, but it's quiet enough that Val isn't quite sure.
Nevertheless, he's already taken a large gulp of the wine, and so he considers he has license to sound not entirely sane. "Whyever so?" he asks.
"Whatever could you be speaking of?" inquires the boy, eyes very wide. "I was only ... commenting to myself on the quality of the wine. Enviable. Yes."
"Oh?" Val says, but does not press it. He has a few guesses, and none of them merit prying into. "I think it's quite good wine, myself," he adds instead.
Juilliard smiles. "Why, thank you. I bribed it from a prince myself. He apparently thought it was a good trade for my seducing one of his political rivals. The man was hideous, but there were four bottles of this, and on the whole I can't decide which of us got the better deal."
Val raises his eyebrows. "I assume you with your wine is one half of that deal, but I cannot quite make out whether the prince with the distracted rival is the other you are referencing, or if it is said rival for being seduced by you."
"Between the prince and I, I meant. Without a doubt the rival got the best."
Val finds himself grinning slowly. "Did he say so himself?"
"He was left utterly speechless, I assure you," says Juilliard, and sips the wine. "However, I believe that is what his emphatic hand gestures were indicating, even though I cannot of course be sure."
Val nearly laughs, and takes a sip of wine instead. I'd like you to prove it, he nearly says, but it is unclear if Juilliard is looking for a conquest or merely bragging.
Juilliard finishes the glass, and places it delicately on the table. He assumes an intent posture, chin in hands. "But I bore you terribly, I am sure, and after all you can hear much more scandalous and likely untrue stories were you to ask Meligot about me. Whereas I suspect the greatest font of information about you would be Alden, and the odds of the two of us carrying out a conversation without attempted homicide seem rather slim at the moment. Tell me," he says, and quirks a smile, "about yourself."
Fascinating, Val thinks, still a bit absently, and swirls his wine around, staring into it. "I enjoy good wine, good sex, missions well completed, card games, mindless computer games, and modern art," he offers. "I've worked here since I was your age and I'm certainly far too old for you. I am currently, as I must have mentioned earlier, bored out of my bloody skull, though this might improve with more wine and continued interaction with you, my charming young fellow."
Juilliard looks for a second a bit at a loss as to which of that litany to reply to. "Excellent," he settles on, and displays three fingers, ticking them off as he goes. "As to your preferences, admirable, especially the first two, although I will admit that I have an abiding distaste for Picasso which you will be unable to convince me away from. As to that last, I confess I'm deeply flattered. Likewise." He adopts an earnest expression and lays the fingers along the side of his face. "And--as to the suitability of your age, dear Val, I certainly disagree."
As this last is certainly the most interesting part, Val finishes his wine, considers briefly, and settles for, "Explain your reasoning, then."
"Oh, honestly, my good sir, must I go into that? It's been said before, and I do so love being original. There are only so many good lines about age being like fine wine. Also, you're certainly not the oldest, although you may hold the unenviable place of being the most British." He grins.
"I should hope age isn't like fine wine, or I should spend all my time intoxicated, and as I don't, I find the metaphor completely inapt." Val taps the side of his glass for a moment. "I'm afraid I don't know a damned thing about you aside from those simple and, I'm afraid, not terribly distinguishable characteristics of being a quite attractive young man and enjoying wine and sex. You'll have to do better than that." He considers for a moment more and adds, "I'm sure you can, in fact, if you can go round seducing princely rivals as you say you can."
Juilliard raises an eyebrow. "M'sieur, are you asking for a resumé?"
Val laughs delightedly. "No more of a resumé than what I told you, lad." He sobers slightly and gives Juilliard a stern look. "I don't make a general habit of sleeping with people I only know three things about. You'll have to give me at least six."
"All right then," says Juilliard, and appears to ponder this. "I have in the past caused an international incident in an alternate Spain by informing the queen that her policies were entirely and completely irrational, the last time I lost a game of poker was three years ago to our darling Meligot, and I believe that I'm thus far the only agent to attempt to seduce Vonnegh, which was in point of fact the wager I lost to Meligot." He shudders. "Incidentally, I failed, much to my delight."
"And much to mine," Val says, in something that might pass for mixed glee and awe were he a lesser man. As such, he is only terribly amused. "Very well, lad, the minimum requirements appear to be fulfilled. I must next inquire rather you are considering seducing me because you are bored or because you have some genuine interest. Either way I'm seriously considering it; it's a matter of scientific curiousity."
"Scientific curiosity?" He looks terribly affronted. "Not because of my scintillating wit or stunning beauty? I suppose I shall take what I can get, but, o tempora, o mores!"
Val laughs again. "You are not the scientific curiousity, my dear boy, the question was."
"Well, I suppose I can accept that. M'sieur, you are entirely," and his voice drops a few notes and becomes even more of a drawl, "a matter of interest."
Val grins, and sizes the boy up again. Very pretty indeed. And it's a terribly boring evening otherwise. In any case, Meligot might throw a fit, and that's more than worth it.
Alden might throw a fit, he reminds himself, recalling the distaste in Juilliard's voice at the mention of his old pupil, and so Val kisses Juilliard to stop himself from laughing.
Juilliard obligingly kisses him back, bringing a hand up behind Val’s head to keep the balance, and then slowly drawing it down his spine.
Nice, Val thinks, and pulls the boy closer because no one seems to be objecting to this.
Juilliard makes a distracted motion with one hand at the doorknob, and it clicks shut. Val is momentarily amused at the locked door that did not, previously, had a lock, and then his attention is brought sharply back to the matter at hand as the boy begins moving downwards.
"Juilliard," he protests a little breathlessly, and grabs the boy's shoulders, which isn't really the best plan, as Juilliard seems to take that as encouragement.
"We're in a bloody café," Val manages, "and I like this cafe, and I like coming in here without thinking about this all the time thankyouverymuch--"
"Spoilsport," Juilliard murmurs, and straightens slowly up, trailing his hands up Val's chest. "Where do you propose we go instead?"
"I don't have rooms at the moment," Val says, "and Meligot will murder us both if we make too much noise in the guest quarters." In fact, that's an amusing prospect, but he's not entirely eager to broadcast that he's barely been here two days and he's already made very good friends with the young ones.
"Mine are a ways away," Juilliard says, and laughs. "Nothing for it; we'll colonise the bolthole. Come on." And opens the door and courteously beckons Val over to the room across the hall, which opens at a whispered word.
“This is new," Val observes, rather surprised. "What in the worlds is this?"
"Mine," Juilliard explains, and closes the door behind him. "I discovered, before all of this happened, that there were several dozen rooms unfilled, you see. Had never been filled, rather. I went by the assumption that if no one noticed that the room had disappeared, it wasn't important, and, well," he gestures at the large bed taking up most of the room, the wall hangings, the little teak cabinet, "did this. Of course only a select few initiates see the insides."
“Honoured," Val murmurs, because charmed seems a bit too flippant. He can't quite resist, however, asking, "How many of these sorts of setups do you have around the place?"
"Twelve," Juilliard says instantly, "at last count, and in various levels of use. That's of course only the ones here."
"You never cease to amaze," Val announces, and sits down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. He glances back up at the boy. "I assume and hope, at any rate."
"You assume and hope correctly, m'sieur," the boy says, spreading his hands, and unbuttons his shirt slowly. "I do promise."
Val finds himself grinning and quite unable to stop watching the boy. "Very good, lad."
Juilliard grins in response, shrugs off the shirt, and switches off the lamp.
"I know."