gurabad | 046 » this house don't feel like home

[in his back pocket, francel's phone lights up with a string of messages, all of them related to a photo he snapped on set, late at night, long after everyone save security had gone home for the day.

soooo hot
Why don't you pull those down just a little lower... ;)
where is this? looks like a hotel lobby?? lol don't get caught kid!
► I work as hotel security... if I catch him, I'll let you know how he tastes.
dam i would wrekc that ass so hard
► I want him to sit on my face

for a moment, francel glances down at the messages, reading them over and over; he refreshes the page, watching the shares and likes tally up. his expression betrays nothing. then he puts his phone on the counter, screen down, and resolves to ignore his phone for the rest of the day.]

...How should I greet him? Like... "Hello, Mr. Valhourdin." No, no... but "Hi, Zephirin!" would be too casual...

[ These are clever shots, Zephirin admits privately as he scrolls through another tagged photo set before backtracking to the very first image opened, the link sent to him. This page, he keeps minimized on his phone, pocketing the device for now — the dressing room corridors are only marginally more secluded than the rest of the site, and besides, he's about to step into full view of the security camera ahead.

Beyond the door bearing his name, his requested stylist already awaits, another point in Francel de Haillenarte's favour. What the man does in his free time is his own business, within reason, but it would be a shame to see him dismissed.

Catching the end of Francel's musing aloud, Zephirin makes his greeting a comment on the young man's needless concerns: ]

Would it? [ With a few more fluid steps, he crosses the room and rounds his chair, settling in it for Francel to begin his task. Zephirin's eyes rest on the man's reflection in the mirror before them. ] Good morning, then.

[ Those were clever shots, from each pose and angle to the apparent theme behind certain outfits, revealing enough to titillate without giving too much away, let alone the model's identity. That so-called hotel lobby, however, could turn into a problem. ]

...One moment.

[ Casually, as if he means to check his phone merely to make sure that its notifications won't disturb them while Francel works, Zephirin pulls it back out. A couple of swipes and taps of his finger bring him past the lock screen, the home screen, and finally his opened browser window to close. The picture there, clearly taken in strategically selected pieces of a wardrobe recognizable to both him and Francel, stays on display for one moment, and then another. ]

O-Oh! Ze — phi — uh, h-hey...

[hey was not one of the options that francel gave himself as far as greetings went, but that hardly matters as the star of the show breezes past him and takes his seat. that in itself doesn't bother francel — most celebrities, actors and actresses alike, tend to ignore him in favor of their phones while he does their hair and makeup — but something is wrong. zephirin de valhourdin isn't usually so brusque.

the issue of zephirin's brusqueness is immediately explained by the actor having francel's private website open on his phone.

it is therefore obvious that zephirin has somehow made the connection between his unassuming stylist and the nameless, faceless "model" whose body is the fixture of many an internet pornographist's fantasies.

and there seems to be a great many things that francel should say. chief among them is is this why you called me today? and secondly, why were you looking at this? — but neither question rises to francel's lips.]

...

[he tugs nervously at his shirt.]

I... I can explain.

[sure he can.]

Edited 2018-07-09 00:36 (UTC)

[ Finger poised above his phone's screen, Zephirin lifts his gaze. In the mirror, Francel's reflection looks caught red-handed, without a single word said to broach the matter that the young stylist feels the need to justify to his client.

Zephirin feigns a moment's bemusement, cocking his head, but it was almost unnecessary to confirm his conclusions by gauging Francel's reaction — the list of "suspects" was short to begin with. ]

You mean this, I presume? [ He tilts his phone, turning its screen back on after the battery saver setting kicked in. The risqué photo reappears. ] A friend pointed the post out to me. The background seemed oddly familiar, and I'm inclined to agree...

[ Not to mention the accessories used. ]

Your... friends... shouldn't be looking at websites like this.

[the accessories were borrowed from wardrobe — brand-name leather bracelets, a subtle character addition to the freewheeling spy that adelphel de chevraudan plays in a high-stakes gambling scene. francel knew it was stupid to use them for his private photos, but he's used other pieces of luxury clothing as props before, and the majority of his viewers seem to believe that he is some sort of fashion model, or else the spoiled "baby" of some rich sugar daddy. no one questions it when he takes photos of himself with designer products.

no one save zephirin, apparently.]

H-How did you figure out it was me? I know I shouldn't have taken photos on set, but... there are other guys here. It could've been anyone...

[ It's not that Zephirin wants to watch Francel squirm, especially considering that his goal is to keep the man employed. The young stylist's demeanour has been refreshing, his handiwork promising, and ideally, this entire unexpected discovery won't drive him to any decision so drastic as resigning. Even so, Zephirin's quizzical look remains fixed on Francel's reflection. One brow arched, the actor leans back in his chair, lowering his phone. ]

I don't recall accusing you of anything... [ In fact, someone else in Francel's place might have opted for some acting of their own, pretended that they hadn't noticed Zephirin's phone, that whatever suspicions he harboured, they were off the mark. ] But as the website's owner, I would imagine that you track hits — I'm surprised that you're objecting to my friend's interest in your galleries.

[in truth, zephirin has a point. were francel not so paranoid a person, he might have been able to play it cool, play it off — avoid having this conversation at all. but then, there is something strangely earnest about his tension. he has the air of a man who has waited forty years for the police to arrive at his doorstep and charge him with murder; he seems strangely anxious, even relieved. perhaps he has imagined this, time and time again — perhaps he has been waiting for someone to find him, and of all people, it had to be zephirin de valhourdin...]

...At this point... I only check the donations.

[or perhaps not. his expression is terribly distraught. it may very well be that all of this is a nightmare for him, and that he is anxious for zephirin to drop the anvil simply because he cannot bear the suspense.]

Look, I... I understand, and I'm sorry. If that photo might cause trouble for the film, I'll delete it. My site isn't that popular, so it won't travel far. But please... don't tell my boss. I can't afford to lose my job...

Edited 2018-07-09 04:35 (UTC)

[ Drawing out the suspense while Francel quails and sweats may not be Zephirin's intention, but the conversation plays out like a scene from a film, with the stylist cast in the role of a starving artist of sorts, desperate for his lucky break. Whether or not he really depends on the donations that his moderately popular website brings in, he seems seconds away from wringing his hands and falling to his knees to implore Zephirin to have a heart.

Zephirin's expression smooths out, lest Francel take flight, never to return to any dressing room assigned to the client who pried into his secret life. ]

We can't predict what might happen as a consequence of your posting this particular photo, but I didn't call you to get you fired — on the contrary, I'd like you to agree to take over my wardrobe on a permanent basis.

[ Truth be told, what intrigued him in the first place was the likelihood that the mystery model was in fact his stand-in stylist, the only candidate on set to have after-hours access and possess the physique for his preferred photoshoots. Outwardly, Francel appears meek, all too conscious of his lack of experience as a freshly graduated newcomer, but his personal project is surprisingly daring. ]

Of course, if you have another update planned and you value your privacy, I suggest choosing a different location next time.

...Y-You want me to be your —

[this is a surprise. this is not how francel expected zephirin to react. disgust would have been one thing, blackmail another — but seemingly indifferent acceptance?

if francel had his curling iron in hand, he might well have dropped it on his feet.]

But — but why?

[ Zephirin anticipated relief on Francel's part, not something bordering on alarm, and the slightest hint of irritation crosses his features. Slipping his phone out of sight, he stands from his seat, turning around to face Francel instead of the man's reflection, his back to the mirror. ]

I believed that we would both benefit.

[ Which is as much as he can divulge without airing a number of complaints. Unfortunately, Francel de Haillenarte is staring at him with the look of a man who would rather be anywhere but here — understandable, perhaps, if my client saw my lewds is likely to run through his head whenever he sees Zephirin.

Perhaps Zephirin's next line in their dressing room drama should be "I could make or break you." They aren't rehearsing a scene to shoot, however, and unlike some of the characters that Zephirin typically portrays, he has no desire to intimidate Francel to get his way. ]

In any case, let's hope you're right. I'm sure you realize that this could reach your boss just as it reached me.

Edited 2018-07-09 20:08 (UTC)

I-I'm sorry. I'll just...

[with jittery, nervous hands quite unlike the steady fingers that gently applied the slightest hint of color to zephirin's lips only a week ago, francel takes up his phone — his website was already open — and deletes the photo in question with a few quick taps. it's been up for less than five hours; if any of his followers ask, he can easily make up a reasonable excuse.]

There. It's... it's gone. I'm sorry.

[zephirin may have no intention of intimidating francel, but his status and his hint of irritation have accomplished exactly that. though the actor has now deigned to face him directly, francel seems to be hiding behind his phone; his mouth is obscured by its top edge, its camera lens. he glances at zephirin for a moment — puppy-dog eyes — and then looks away.

(the most common complaint regarding francel as a stylist is that he never makes eye contact.)

nothing the actor has said makes sense to francel, but he does know one thing:]

Could... we talk about this later? A-At the end of the day? Filming starts in two hours, and I need to get you ready...

Edited 2018-07-09 20:56 (UTC)

[ Zephirin's gaze lowers to Francel's trembling hands before he raises it again for that fleeting second of eye contact, swiftly broken. Frankly, the stylist seems in no shape to work right now, not without dropping his tools or jabbing Zephirin, but the alternatives are worse — postponing this conversation to bring it up on the way out would have left Francel an anxious mess for the day. Ignoring it altogether could well land them in trouble.

For the time being, at least, he has two hours to get used to the idea that someone knows his secret. ]

Can I count on you not to disappear on me later?

[ Zephirin relents as he speaks, taking a seat once more, straight-backed and facing ahead. Francel's reflection fully conceals his knack for taking enticing pictures of himself. ]

I won't. I promise. [there's a touch of pink to his cheeks as he adds:] ...I stay late.

[after a pause, the stylist inches closer, feeling more in control now that the matter is settled, or at least pushed aside for the moment. zephirin is seated, as he should be, and francel is standing — this way, he doesn't have to think about how tall the actor is. he takes a deep breath.]

So, ah... let's see...

[though he still looks as though his mind is on his racy pictures, francel leans closer, holding his breath as if he is afraid to even exhale in zephirin's direction. he looks over every ilm of zephirin's face.]

...You don't appear to have any significant blemishes today, but since we're shooting the Costa del Sol scenes and it'll be quite warm, I'm just going to apply a bit of powder so you don't shine in the lights. And... we'll use the same lip color as last time. Was it comfortable for you? Not too creamy or sticky?

[ This is an improvement. Even if Francel still avoids meeting Zephirin's eyes, and the actor's proximity apparently makes him so uneasy that he doesn't dare breathe while he conducts his careful inspection of Zephirin's skin, he is capable of focusing on his job. He has stopped trying to use his phone as a shield to hide behind.

Francel's professional manner is exactly what Zephirin appreciates — the stylist's questions and explanations are to the point, none of them overbearing. Ordinarily, the actor would respond in kind, keeping his distance and putting work before play without fail, but in light of today's revelation, he finds himself contemplating Francel's private life between offering his answers, all the more intrigued.

Does Francel make a habit of staying late for the thrill of it? ]

It was fine. [ A small smile pulls at Zephirin's lips as his gaze travels the length of Francel's body reflected in the mirror. It's a shame, too, that the stylist's most recent photo is better kept from circulating any more than it already has. ] On the other hand, the scenes we filmed last time didn't put it to the test... How likely is it to rub off?

[oblivious to the way zephirin’s eyes are roving curiously over his slender frame, francel applies a hydrating lip balm after pinning the actor’s hair back for the bit of powder he promised; he smiles reflexively, responding to zephirin’s smile. he is glad that the awkward tension between them has dissipated, that they have forgotten his private photos for the moment. with a small laugh, the stylist pauses in the middle of transferring the lip color to a brush (a sanitary measure — brushes are easier to clean than whole tubes of lipstick) and tips the creamy nude color on its side so that zephirin can see the label on the bottom.]

Well, the color itself is called “Make Up Sex,” so... it’ll stay on for more than just a kiss or two.

[he laughs, shy and easy, as he leans in with the brush. his strokes are gentle, the brush’s soft hairs feather-light against zephirin’s lips.]

If it does come off, just call me over to reapply it. I can take it off before you eat lunch, too.

Edited 2018-07-10 19:00 (UTC)

[ Little by little, Francel seems to relax, shyly charming instead of ready to bolt — another improvement.

In lieu of laughter, Zephirin's mouth twitches slightly at its corners, otherwise dutifully still so as not to disrupt the movements of Francel's brush. Any remark has to wait until Francel has finished smoothing the thin layer of colour onto his lips, but once more, the actor quirks one neatly groomed brow, glancing over the tube's label.

There are boundaries to observe, regardless of Francel's no longer secret activities; nevertheless, Zephirin's gaze wanders to the stylist's mouth next, lingering there. ]

I take it you're speaking from experience?

[ Whether that involved eating lunch or rigorously testing how well the product lived up to its name. ]

A-Ah? No, I... I don’t usually wear makeup.

[why would he, after all, when his cheeks burn a pale pink prettier than any pigment squeezed out onto his fingertips, and his bottom lip flushes red where he bites into it? francel follows zephirin’s gaze to his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to make of it — he’s never even shown his lips on his website.

he puts the brush away, taking up a spoolie with which to hold zephirin’s already-immaculate brows in place using a soft wax.]

When I got into this it was because I wanted to make myself look better, but... well, it’s more fun to make a beautiful person perfect than to try and make an ugly person passable.

Edited 2018-07-11 13:17 (UTC)

[ This new piece of the puzzle doesn't fit beside the others laid out so far. On the one hand, Francel has the confidence to post suggestive photos of his body on the internet; on the other, his otherwise excellent eye for detail has overlooked his own natural charms. Even as he calls himself ugly, the pretty dusting of colour has yet to fade from his cheeks, and no doubt plenty of his followers would want a taste of his plush lips, if they could see his face.

Zephirin hums a low, thoughtful sound. ]

Your viewer count suggests that your appearance is appealing as it is...

[francel can't help but giggle nervously at that remark, sending a puff of sugar-scented breath out against zephirin's nose — at last, he breathes, his real self instead of a stylist on eggshells. apparently, he has been wolfing down the strawberries-and-cream candies that the director has placed in bowls around the set.

the boy shakes his head, removing the pins from zephirin's hair now that his relatively subtle makeup is done. as handsome as the actor already is, anything more would be overdoing it.]

I thought we weren't going to talk about that!

[though, by his tone, francel is only pouting; he isn't completely averse to speaking of his website, at least not now that they've established zephirin has no intention of getting him fired. spritzing the actor's hair with some sort of product — not a compressed aerosol but a gentle mist — francel takes up a comb and begins tousling it to effect mussed, yet carefully styled "summer beach" hair.]

That's because they've never seen my face... If they knew, they'd be disappointed.

My mistake. I was under the impression that you were asking for more time to consider my proposal.

[ Effortlessly, the lie leaves Zephirin's tongue. Eyes reflexively closed against the spray of styling mist, he looks less contrite than contented, however, resembling a cat basking in Francel's undivided attention. Despite the turn that their conversation has taken, the stylist's fingers don't waver after all, as gentle as they were last time.

After a moment, Zephirin's eyes blink open, tracing the soft lines of Francel's face. The young man's features match his body — privacy is a valid reason to keep his posted photos faceless, but his followers are unlikely to abandon him over seeing his face. ]

...Do you take requests?

[francel pauses in his ministrations for just the slightest moment, though his fingers pick up the pace quickly enough once he has regained his bearings. soon, the framing of zephirin's hair begins to take shape, though francel slows as he begins to style the back of zephirin's head — ostensibly, it is because he needs to move carefully, but deep down, he knows he's simply dragging this out in order to spend more time with the star of the show.

zephirin's interest in him is strangely intoxicating.]

Um... yes. As long as it doesn't make me uncomfortable...

Noted.

[ Styling Zephirin's hair necessitates moving from one spot to the next around the actor's seat; Francel stands up straighter again, beyond Zephirin's reach when he steps behind him to focus on the back of his head. The actor resumes observing his intriguing stylist in the mirror, falling silent for a time — said stylist is in the middle of paid work.

Both he and Francel had to rise early to get started on time, and one might think that the stylist's hands have worked their magic a little too well, so gentle that Zephirin hovers on the verge of drowsiness, but the actor's calm green eyes are alert, tracking Francel's every movement. Finally, his lips curve subtly. ]

Are you having fun?

[thankfully, francel has the grace to keep moving, though zephirin’s question is not the “request” he was anticipating. an expression of surprise crosses the stylist’s face, but his curling iron does not falter as he catches the ends of zephirin’s hair, turning the little locks outward. another pass of his serum-saturated hands through the fine golden silk helps tame flyaways.]

A-Ah? Fun?

[zephirin cannot see the real thing standing behind him, but in the mirror, francel’s reflection lights up with a broad smile.]

Well, yes! I am having fun. It’s lovely to style you, you know. Your hair has such a natural, vibrant glow, and you are patient as well as handsome... and you have such a cute button nose! Has anyone ever told you that you have the most darling little nose?

[somehow, francel has seized upon a question about himself in order to wax poetic about how handsome he thinks zephirin is...]

Edited 2018-07-12 12:23 (UTC)

Now someone has.

[ Laced with amusement, Zephirin's voice gives away the fact that he, too, is having fun, if not because he enjoys admiring his hair or his nose. In his burst of enthusiasm, Francel loses his shyness, his earlier tension — the stylist clearly isn't afraid of his client in this moment, isn't fretting that Zephirin has something to hold over his head.

It's a vast improvement that he no longer seems the victim of workplace harassment, forced into complying with Zephirin's wishes, uncomfortable all the while. ]

If I were to return your compliments, would you believe me?

[ Besides cutting and combing it, Francel probably does nothing with his own hair, but the strands are invitingly glossy, and the stylist's nose is arguably more "darling" than Zephirin's. ]

The exact same compliments? [he laughs.] My nose is small, but... I think it's a bit too small. And my nose bridge is too narrow.

[reluctantly, francel sets his tools aside, wiping his hands free of product on a moist towelette that has been sitting on the counter for some time. zephirin's styling should be done now, assuming the man can put on his outfit for the scene on his own — though francel has one more task to finish before he can free zephirin for the shoot.]

Now, you're almost done, but... the costuming department asked me to take your measurements while I have you here. They're working on some sort of motorcycle bodysuit today, I think. Can you bear with me for a few more minutes?

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