The stone steps are quickly descended with no one in front to slow his pace (Marise and her girlfriends tend to have that effect on him, chirping like birds) and Claude meets Vincent halfway. He had been waiting for him, then. After all. The smile comes naturally, as a consequence and Claude takes Vincent's offered hand with the greatest strength and care. With a heart-felt thank you, I'm very glad you enjoyed it, as he shakes it twice before letting go, only reluctantly. You won't hear him try to deny how the praise sticks like tar and feathers. A bath might be exactly what is needed to get any of this -- out of his system again. A warm bath with something bubbly added, be it soap or champagne. He can't decide which the situation calls for. Time will tell, he suspects... For now, he simply gestures in the general direction of the Seine. "I had planned to have a meal in the Latin Quarters. If you don't mind the walk, you should join me."
It's tradition. Usually something the company enjoys together across ranks and internal fighting; these after-parties on the last day of a run, especially if the run has been as successful as this one. La Bayadère has undoubtedly earned Jules a greater profit than the man has seen since... since... Tonight, however, Claude would honestly rather celebrate with someone who thinks him better for his charisma than certain of his fellow dancers who (in the wake of the catastrophe back then) would prefer and have suggested he take it to another venue. All of it. The dancing, the charm and the physicality. All of it. God knows, Strauss would pay up front.
Looking Vincent over without being too blatant about it, he gives him a fair chance to consider his response. He's tall. Taller than Pavel. Definitely taller than Claude, although this is by no means a great feat, Claude being on the shorter side. The back door opens behind them and he hears the first ballerinas scatter into their close-knit groups, milling past them without a care in the world, seemingly. He knows their feet must hurt. La Bayadère is no laughing matter, technically. Out the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Marise's blackish-brown curls bouncing merrily up and down. She, in turn, catches sight of him as well. Eyes moving alertly from him to Vincent. The briefest pause, before she waves at him and continues into the night with the others. He only greets her halfway, her back already turned and his attention focused solely on the other man.
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It's tradition. Usually something the company enjoys together across ranks and internal fighting; these after-parties on the last day of a run, especially if the run has been as successful as this one. La Bayadère has undoubtedly earned Jules a greater profit than the man has seen since... since... Tonight, however, Claude would honestly rather celebrate with someone who thinks him better for his charisma than certain of his fellow dancers who (in the wake of the catastrophe back then) would prefer and have suggested he take it to another venue. All of it. The dancing, the charm and the physicality. All of it. God knows, Strauss would pay up front.
Looking Vincent over without being too blatant about it, he gives him a fair chance to consider his response. He's tall. Taller than Pavel. Definitely taller than Claude, although this is by no means a great feat, Claude being on the shorter side. The back door opens behind them and he hears the first ballerinas scatter into their close-knit groups, milling past them without a care in the world, seemingly. He knows their feet must hurt. La Bayadère is no laughing matter, technically. Out the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Marise's blackish-brown curls bouncing merrily up and down. She, in turn, catches sight of him as well. Eyes moving alertly from him to Vincent. The briefest pause, before she waves at him and continues into the night with the others. He only greets her halfway, her back already turned and his attention focused solely on the other man.