Week 6: Francis/Roderich

Roderich adjusted his cufflinks one more time, standing in front of the hall mirror. He glanced up the clock; seven-ten. Francis would- or ought to- arrive soon, to take him to the opera. He'd protested, briefly, at the invitation, mostly because it was a French opera and partly out of habit. However he'd (predictably) relented soon enough, and although there was no trace of a smile anywhere about him, he was rather looking forward to it. Francis was about the only one of his acquaintances, with the possible exception of Arthur, who knew how to dress, and if you looked past the nymphomania he really was very cultured.

Seven-fifteen. What time did he say it started? Roderich fastened his coat, winding a scarf around his neck and pulling on a pair of gloves. A French opera house was bound to be full of judgemental fashion slaves, and frugality or no, he was quite capable of playing along.

(You can choose an opera, if you like XD)

Francis checked the time on his watch, acknowledging that he was actually early by fifteen minutes. As he walked up the stairs of the grand opera house, he glanced around, watching the other opera-goers around him. He noticed that his date was already there. He looked at the large clock in the hall. Seven-fifteen. He did remember telling the other that it was seven-thirty.

Shrugging that off, he walked up towards Roderich, and smiled pleasantly at him. "I see that you are... really early." He took in the other's appearance and dress, nodding a little unconsciously. "And as usual, you do know how to dress when appropriate."

(Okay! xD)

'Oh, Francis, there you are,' Roderich answered, turning to the other man with the faintest of smiles. 'I left a little early, I wanted to allow for any...mishaps...' By which he meant, he wanted to allow for any time he spent wandering around lost. He'd managed to avoid that this time, though. He looked Francis over, smile flickering approvingly. 'And thank you, you're looking well yourself.'

He made a small motion towards the back of the lobby, signalling that they should enter the auditorium. 'Shall we? Although, now that I think of it, where are we seated? Box or gallery?' He didn't consider the possibilty of the stalls, knowing Francis wouldn't lower himself to that, even if they did offer a rather good view. And were cheaper. But that was beside the point. In fact, he couldn't even recall the opera they were seeing; he'd be ashamed of himself, but it was French, so that made it slightly more acceptable.

(Are we here or here? And I think my Britishness is coming through in his disdain for the French XD)

"I thank you for your compliment." He smiled, and led Roderich towards the theatre hall. "Box seats, naturally, and the play we are watching is Manon, in case you have forgotten." He turned a little to glance at the other, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Austrian operas have very much been highly-regarded, but I assure you, French operas are just as good, if not, better."

Turning a corner and going up the stairs, Francis headed towards their designated box. "After you then." He bowed to the other with a wink, holding the door open for Roderich.

(Meh, it's okay. xD Let's go with the Vienna State Opera, since it's a French opera.)

Roderich rolled his eyes as he entered the box. 'Manon? How like you to choose something so sordid...' he said, moving to take a seat. 'I'll admit it has its merits, but I don't think a comparison to my operas is quite appropriate.' The opera they were about to watch was exactly what he expected of France, and of Francis; a melodrama full of foolish lovers and gaudy costumes.

'You know, I remember Erzsebet telling me she met Massenet, a while ago,' he remarked- a while ago in this case meaning close to a hundred and fifty years. 'Through Liszt, I think. I must say I admired his compositional skills if nothing else.'

Francis merely smiled pleasantly. He had decided to pick Manon mainly because it interesting was how the heroine left the hero because he lived in poverty. He wondered if it would inspire Roderich to stop being such a... miser sometimes. It was almost painful to watch. Taking a seat beside the other, he crossed his legs neatly, leaning back into the seat.

"Really now? I had no idea." He commented thoughtfully. "This opera should prove enjoable then, seeing as Manon was one of Massenet's best works."

If Francis was hoping Roderich would learn anything from this, he was more of an optimist than most men. Roderich was utterly blind to the obvious quite a lot of the time. As the lights dimmed, Roderich folded his hands in his lap, more interested in glancing down into the audience to see who was there than what was going on backstage. He'd spent countless lifetimes in places like this, on the stage, behind it and in the audience, and he knew well enough that the leads were probably bickering with each other while the director shouted at his underlings. It would all be smoothed over by the time the curtain went up, of course.

He turned to Francis. 'Well, the music will be enjoyable. Providing the orchestra is competent. And much rests on the shoulders of the performers, of course. As for the plot, well...it's fine if you like that sort of thing.' Privately- or not so privately, since he was not all that tactful- it was little more than soap opera to him, but even he had been suckered into watching daytime dramas on occasion. Now that was going to stay private.

"Like what sort of thing?" Francis was vaguely amused. Tragedy or not, he was generally more interested in the acting skills of the stage players, especially when it came to a plot that he had seen several times. A good storyline was most certainly important, but an actor's skill was something that was more or less forgotten in favour of a plot line.

As the stage lights britghtened and the narrator took stage, Francis watched quietly as he recited his lines. He wondered if it was a new sort of sleep induction. The man was utterly boring and monotonous. Was this not supposed to be an opera? That was a fair bit of disgrace to French culture in itself. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Roderich still watching the audience. Hopefully, the other had failed to notice how awful it seemed to be, although, he did not place much hopes in that line of thought.

'The sort of thing that uses tragic circumstances as a cheap thrill, exploiting the basest of human behaviours almost...pornographically,' Roderich replied quietly, glancing at Francis out of the corner of his eye. He gave him a sharp smile. 'But there's no harm in this kind of voyeurism. It simply isn't quite the same as high art.' He regarded the narrator; smiling still, almost pityingly. 'I do hope the lead actress can carry this thing, because it's not quite a flying start, is it?'

He was being smug, and he knew it; he usually spoke about Austrian superiority as simple fact, with a neutral expression, but occasionally it was satisfying to be an arrogant toerag, to put it bluntly. It was no fun teasing Ludwig or someone like that in this way, but Francis was quite likely to respond in kind. If the opera wasn't going to hold his attention, he was going to make his own amusement.

(lmao he's being a dick, am I ooc yet XD)

"Considering that it is quite fictional, I don't quite see how the plot is quite an exploitation of anything at all." It was difficult for him to keep the coldness out of his voice, but Francis trusted that he was abe to do so. Afterall, his own ability surely far surpassed the pathetic narrator below them. He blamed him for the night's faults. If it was the original casting of the opera, even someone like Roderich would have been too captivated by the play to comment on anything else.

"High art, my dear, is one that is too broadly placed out to be defined." Sighing a dramatic sigh, he glanced at the other with a tinge of pity in his eyes. "From what I know though, the only kind of art I hear you have been exposed to is of one kind, making your "idealism" of "high art" to be one that is narrow-minded and shallow. That is rather sad. Hopefully there will be beauty in this French piece in time to come." And if there wasn't, Francis would simply go down to give the crew a piece of his mind. He knew his partner tonight was just about one of the most critical and sarcastic person about. If it was not for this challenge that he sought for tonight, why else would he have bothered asking him to come? He smirked inwardly. The fun was just about to begin.

(Nope, not yet. xD Am I, though?)

'Fiction or not, it's exploitative, fuelled by the same urge that compels people to gawk at others' misfortune,' Roderich replied, waving a hand dismissively; never mind that he was just as guilty of producing and partaking in similar works. The difference was that he believed his works had enough artistic merit to gloss over that fact. Whether he was correct or not was another matter.

He shifted slightly in his seat, crossing his legs and unconsciously mimicking Francis' posture. His eyes rolled at Francis' words. 'Narrow minded, hm. If that's what you want to call it. I prefer to term it as being in good taste- and having taste, for a start. Still,' he added, his gaze drifting back down to the stage, where the lead was performing her first song, 'She's talented at least. Excellent soprano. And, though it shouldn't really have any significance, quite beautiful, which is one thing you can always count on this country for, I suppose.' He shot Francis a sly look, part insult and part compliment.

(No, you're good. I just like playing him as an irritating git sometimes >u>)

"So, in other words, any great Austrian tragedies in play should be overlooked as an accident?" Francis thought outloud. "Interesting concept you have there, seeing as they could be so... extremely similar in style to French ones."

He tilted his head in mock thought. "Taste is relative, and well, I, like you, believe that I, myself, have excellent taste." He mused quietly in thought. The female lead wasn't particularly good. Was Roderich mocking him? The tone didn't vey much sound so, though. Turning his head to face him, he smiled with amusement. "I am glad that at least the visual aesthetics is o your approval then." After all, it might be a little horrifying if Roderich felt that French people could be ugly.

'Not accident, but carefully written for maximum dramatic effect, and sensitively handled; consider, for example, the touching and tragic death of the heroine at the end of Schreker's Der Schatzgraeber. It has a simple plot, almost like a folk tale, but her lonely death accompanied by a single loyal retainer and the lover she could never have, is profound, is it not?' If he were being frank, even Roderich could admit this was not the best example, but he had become quite skilled at arguing the merits of his own works. He sighed almost fondly, knowing it was an argument that neither of them would let rest, and that wasn't particularly vitriolic anymore. 'Next time you're free, I'll choose the opera and demonstrate what I mean, shall I?'

He turned his attention back to the stage, where the young lovers were abandoning their original journeys in favour of running off together; it almost raised a smile. 'And yes, I do find France aesthetically pleasing, as it happens,' he added, slightly amused. 'The art, the architecture, the...geography...'

Francis harrumphed a little haughtily. "That is quite the typical plot, the same thing you can find anywhere. Besides..." He raised an eyebrow at the other, "Is it not, and I quote you, 'exploitative', and also, ah, fuelled by an urge to gawk at other's misfortune?" He commented coolly, raising his fingers to make quotation marks. "But if you insist, I shall not hesitate, as you seem to be quite willing to lure me out into a date." There it was, the usual lewd remark. It was most amusing to see the change in expression whenever he said it.

"Oh?" He smiled a cocky smirk that hid the part of him that was secretly pleased. "For someone that claims to have good taste, I suppose that one like me should be simply honoured to have a compliment of such from you." Like the other, he turned his back towards the play, despite the fact that his attention was already far and away.

'If you must flatter yourself, then by all means, consider it a date,' Roderich replied calmly, eyes fixed on the stage, but a smile playing around his lips. 'God knows you're better company at these things than certain uncultured people, even if you are singularly argumentative. The question is, your place or mine?' He was referring to opera houses, naturally...although he wouldn't deny it was an entertaining pastime to play along with Francis' double entendre-laden remarks.

'As for compliments,' he continued, now glancing at his companion, 'You're quite right. I don't give them easily, as you know. A few hundred years ago I'd have thrown my empire away before saying it, but as it is now...I do enjoy France. While we're on the subject, how do you like Vienna?'

Francis smiled a little. Roderich most certainly seemed to be in a good mood today. By his standards, the Austrian was practically showering and bathing Francis in compliments and praises. He wasn't even expecting the other to retort his remark with something equally suggestive, causing him to smirk a little. "While I would usually say mine, dear Roderich, I would like to see what you can offer to me this time, at your place."

To him, Austria could be quite the bastard as well as annoyance, but when it came to the arts, for all Francis praised about himself, he could see the beauty of the style of the nations too. "I was at the Leopold Museum yesterday." He noted softly and slowly, not taking his eyes away from the stage, "Quite the collection you have in there. Vienna... I adore the Art Noveau you hold on this place." He glanced over to Roderich, giving a subtle little wink.

'Mine it is, then.' Roderich's eyes glazed over as he watched the action on stage, so he turned to Francis again. 'Ah, the Leopold. I do like art nouveau, although I recall the, ah, controversy that tended to flock to it. Like when Klimt painted that ceiling.' He paused, briefly remembering when the ministry had attempted to confiscate the paintings, and the artist had threatened them with a shotgun. They had been interesting times. Shaking his head, he went on.

'By the way, what are your plans after this? When it's over, I mean.'

(I lol'd hard when I read about that Klimt thing, man.)

The voices of the play had become mere background noise, Francis mused as he thought in silence. "Controversy always does surround great works... isn't it? After all, a good artist is one who lets his insanity bleed in his works, no?" He shrugged a little. Of course, there were also abstract pieces that even he couldn't comprehend.

"After the play? I was thinking of a cup of coffee... Would you care to join me?"

(RODDY I AM SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE. D: Don't hate me for this. I still love you, you know. <3)

'It's true that the best artists tend to be unhinged, which is all well and good until they start causing trouble,' Roderich replied; he appreciated the work they did, but he could have done without the headaches they'd caused him over the years. 'They are so often terrible drama queens, as they say...' Not that he- or Francis- was much better.

He nodded, smiling. 'Coffee it is. I could use a Melange...or, what do you call it, a café Viennois? Well, anyway. There's no shortage of coffee houses here.'

(doooon't worry about it, I'm always super late with my threads, dearie XD <3 to you too =3=)

He laughed softly at the remark. "Yes, yes, most definitely... and then there's always the question of which country each work should really belong to." He shook his head with a quiet sigh.

"I shall be honest, it has been a long while since I have had your Viennese coffee... I trust that you would most kindly point out an excellent one for us?" He winked lightly.

( I HAVE A VERY GOOD EXPLANATION FOR BEING LATE. I GOT A JOB, AND THERE WERE KIDS, AND KIDS ARE SCARY. ): )