To Many Rich Boys

Hamilton Center 
He had obviously gotten off on the wrong foot with Tobias. Not a great thing for their partnership. But Leon's mother had always said the best way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Something Leon had found to be very true with many of the other business relationships he had. It helped of course that he was quiet a good cook. Another thing to be grateful to his mother for.

A meal was there for in order. He would make Tobias the best lunch and win back some friendliness from the man. That was his goal at least and the main reason why he had gone to the Hamilton Center. Of course if he happened by a rather handsome suit in the meantime, well how could he resist?

It was this sidetracking that lead him to where he currently sat legs crossed on one of the many benches. The space around his feet completely taken up by a multitude of bags of various sizes and colors.

What a wonderful shopping spree. He had three new suits, an assortment of ties. And there had been a little wolf plushy in one of the shops, as soft as real fur. He couldn't resist buying with the idea of hiding it in his new partners desk. The very thought brought a chuckle to his lips.

Beauregard had been very restrained in his shopping efforts today. His intention was to replace the shirt and jacket that Pippa had ever so kindly tore into shreds and soaked in blood. (Beauregard's blood, how woeful.)

It was a personal tragedy when, after some time spent searching, he found not a single shirt or jacket to his liking. The wrong color. The wrong material. The wrong fit. Had he put on weight? Had he lost some in the time spent suffering cruel stitches? (The latter was especially unlikely, though his arm still had not fully healed.)

Whatever it was, Beauregard left empty-handed and feeling somewhat harmed for it. It was perhaps a mockery when he saw a man sitting strangely on a bench, surrounded by bags from store he had attempted and failed to shop at. And laughing, no less. A psychic, he determined, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Moving to stand nearby, checking his watch, he glanced over to the man.

"Quite a haul," he commented, smiling faintly.

He supposed he would have to wait on scaring Tobias with the wolf plush until after they had gotten on better footing. He had just been considering what store to go to next when a man's voice spoke out from nearby. Turning slighlty he found a older gentlemen standing not to far away, dressed nicely enough, and yet not carrying any bags. Odd, perhaps the man had just come into the mall? Or maybe there had been nothing to his liking?

"Ah! Bonsoir! Yes it is a wonderful night for shopping. I do love finding new clothes."

Why was the man approaching him? Yes he did have a number of bags, but surely that wasn't reason enough to stop a stranger? He supposed it was the detective in him that made him question the man's motives. After all the gentlemen could just be looking for directions.

Bonsoir. Beauregard chuckled, flashing teeth.

"I appear to have struck out," he said, gesturing emptily with his hands. A tragedy, truly, and perhaps the psychic would understand it.

Mindful of the dangers of psychics and less trusting of another man, he leaned into his negation, silencing anything the man might at any point attempt.

"Parlez-vous français à tout le monde ou ai-je l'air particulièrement européen?"

Ah his immedity honed nature of distrust slowly faded as the man explained his situation. What a misfortune to not find good clothes.

"What a pity. Are you looking for anything in particular? Perhaps I can direct you to a good store?"

The man spoke in french and Leon gave a joious laugh. Wonderful, and absolutely delightful. He might have just returned from his home country, but he did love to hear the amercians speak his tongue. Maybe he could teach Tobias some words? Although that might end with him getting a book to the face.

"How delightful. Are you european? I'm afriad I simply speak french to everyone. Especially the good looking men."

Would he flirt with an older man. Yes, yes he would, especally one as handsome as this one. The man didn't really look all that old, just simply the hair which appeared grey. It could of course be a fashion statement, or just genetics. Most likely in his late fourties or fifties.

He waved a slight hand to question of shopping, another topic obviously at the forefront now. Beauregard smiled handsomely, watching the man's obvious pleasure. There was relief in finding the conversation continuing in English. French was his native language, but not his cleverest.

There was a compliment at the end, and Beauregard wondered if the man was merely flirtatious or of that particular sexual inclination. There was no offense either way. Every man liked to be called handsome.

"Not European," he said. There was a smirk then as he broke into brief, mostly spoken song. "Ô Canaaadaa, terre de nos aïeux."

"Ah! Canadian! Have you lived in America for long?"

He was rather delighted to meet a non-american. And as the conversation seemed to be going somewhere he would get to his feet and hold out his hand.

"I am Leon. Leon Marseille. Would you grant me the pleasure of your name?"

There was a cute detective to chase at work, but flirting with another man never hurt anyone. Beside's Tobias was't here to get offended.

"A century or so," he said with a wink. Openness, honesty was often so absurd on the outside that he could answer truthfully without fear.

Beauregard would grasp the man's hand for a quick shake, deciding if nothing else be could entertain himself.

"Henry," he said, his own skin cool against a much livelier body's. He nodded to the bench, an invitation for both to take a seat. Mall people watching was an exquisite thing.

"I venture to guess you are not American."

The man had an odd sense of humor, or at least that's what Leon hoped the comment was. It set his teeth on edge, along with the undeinable coldness of the man's hand. He didn't like that, it was too cold, far to cold. But he wouldn't say anything, the man could have a condition or maybe like himself had powers. Leon's own temperature could fluxuate dirastically when he used his pyro-abilities. Of course it usually landed him in the hospital if he ever got that cold.

Henry motioned for them to take a seat and Leon settled back down on the bench.

"Non. I am from France. My father is a film maker in Hollywood and we moved here when I was still a child. But I do visit my homeland often."

Oooh. Beauregard could sense something there, perhaps concern, in the man's brain. He kept his negation enforced for all that it sent a dull throb behind his eyes.

Couldn't have anyone unkindly knocking him into dead sleep.

"A filmmaker!" he marveled. "In Hollywood! What sorts of films does he make? And what do you do?"

How unique a little story already.

He didn't keep up much with his father, they had never particuarly gotten along. The man had always been rather distant and busy. So Leon gave a general shrug.

"I believe he has moved from indie, to artisitic, to action, and right now I think he is working on dramas. Hard to say really he has a varied career and I must admit we do not talk very much.As for me, I am a detective."

He would attempt to flash Henry a brillent smile. Hand already reaching for his badge. With his long hair and flamboyent style, he certainly didn't look the part and often had to show his badge to many a person before they believed that was what he really did.

"Mon badge if you need evidence."

That was certainly a varied career, vague enough that Beauregard held some doubt for it. Perhaps not even doubt in the man beside him, but some father figure running off to wild Hollywood claiming to be making films, sending home the occasional check.

León flashed a smile, a badge, and a new source of fascination. Beauregard nearly ached with curiosity. There was so much to ask, to sink his teeth into.

"You are a fascinating man already," he said, eyeing the badge. "Mon badge" was a comical bit of... Frenglish?

"Do you specialize in any sort of case?"

The badge showed Leon looking a bit more professional then he did now, with his hair up.

He was glad the conversation had moved to something more interesting then his father. Talking about his family never was a good topic for him.

"I worked undercover in Chicago for a couple years but now I live in the mountainside with it's wonderful cases that no one else will take. Mostly its jsut the half eaten body or two. Everyone screams monster now over the littlest things. "

The current case did actually involve a mostly eaten body but he certainly shouldn't give away the details. He figured his explination was enough to make Henry come to the supernatural answer.

How delightfully callous! Beauregard was nearly giddy, angled slightly where he sat to observe the man's face, perhaps beginning a ritual of eventually seeking eye contact.

"Have you had much luck with these cases?" he said. "I always feel a tad wary outside on full moons."

He gave a playful wiggle of his fingers at the hint at shifters.

Certainly he hadn't heard of any beastly arrests. How would you even detain one?

The man's tone certainly didn't hint at any fear, and Leon could only assume he was joking. He gave Henry an uncertain smile, and being uniformed on vampires Leon was all to ready to get eye contact as they spoke. It seemed of course the natural thing to do for conversing.

"I'm afraid I don't usually get to the end of the cases. I work so hard for leads and the like only for it to be snatched up by the government people "

He spoke assuming that the supernatural divison was known to the public, completely unaware of what was and wasn't known. But he was a little miffed at having all his more interesting cases taken from him. Maybe with Tobias they would be able to get more headway and actually wrap up the case before wind of it got to the higher ups.

That was an interesting little tidbit, if nothing else. The poor detective, having his cases stolen away the likes of the government.

"Perhaps you find your way into a government position, then?" he suggested, interest genuine, if not entirely wholesome.

There was also the question of why the man had left his undercover position, but that was another topic to delve into as the conversation progressed.

Head aching, Beauregard allowed his negation to fade for a moment, reminding himself to pick it up again later.

"I think mon captian would have a heart attack if I tried, they would probably ask me to cut my hair too. Besides I just became partners with a cute blond."

He really didn't want to cut his hair again. He liked it long. There was also the stuffy suits that all the government agents seemed to wear. Where was the room for his lovely red or green in that? Or his Bugeratti?

Beauregard was increasingly sure there was no way this man could have played an undercover anything. His mannerisms were very distinct, even distinct among former Frenchmen. He smiled, still, listening. There was a decided flamboyance to León.

"Is that who you're buying all this clothing to impress?" he teased with a tilt of his head.

It was clear where León's heart seemed to lie, and it obviously wasn't in exceptional career performance.

He laughed at the comment. Impress Tobias with a red suit? Very unlikely, maybe if he wore black the man wouldn't be so stiff, but he doubted it.

"Non. I think these clothes will make him glare at me instead. But I couldn't resist buying them. I am a lover of fashion and I do not own any of these colors in this fabric. You said you were looking for clothes, is it for your job or just personal shopping?"

Henry didn't look like a person who worked with his hands, and there was a charm to him. Leon pegged him as the more social job type. Sales or something of the like.

It sounded as if León was a collector of fashion as much as a lover of fashion. Beauregard wouldn't be caught dead in certain colors. But it was enough to inspire a smile if nothing else. What an unusual man, truly.

"Bit of both," he said. "But the chemistry of shopping didn't feel quite right today, and so I return another. There are not dress codes for detectives?"

A tad teasing as he glanced toward the bags but could see only bits of their contents.

The bags contained suties of purple, green, and red and a wolf plush whose little ears were poking up out of one of the bags.

"Oui, thankfully it's only restricted to business clothes and suits. But they didn't think to restrict the color when I first arrived. I do admit they have since put up some color restrictions. "

His lovely violet suit had gotten that rule into place. The HR department would probably be waging a war with him if he didn't constently bribe them with belgium choclates and of course food. And of course the occasional flirting.

"The HR thankfully like me."

León continued, and Beauregard saw something he could sink his teeth into, if not in the traditionally literal sense.

"I take it you do primarily office work, then? I imagine... grieving families don't take warmly to flamboyant suits."

What fury a widow would feel to witness some long haired man prancing up to her in some flower colored nonsense, bubbling out basic French here and there.

But truly, he wondered what drove a man like this one to play detective when he seemed to have such a preference for levity.

Why did people hate his suits so? They were wonderfully crafted.

"Non. I do a lot of my work in the field. I'm a good very good in dangerous situations. Especially the more physcial."

He would pause to give Henry a wink before continuing.

"Usually my partner deals more with the families, though I think Tobias will be less tactifully then the others. But I always were my black suits when I address the familess. They are afterall in grief."


Charmless, this one, and Beauregard was charmed easily by flirtation. Did the man fuck criminals? Corpses? Perhaps simply crime scene evidence.

Choosing between many things to question, he continued thoughtfully.

"Will you switch roles, then, if he is tactless?"

"Of course. But I haven't seen Tobias deal with any familes yet so we shall see. "as

He kept most of his attention on Henry, but his eyes flashed occasionally to the sides taking in their surroundings. More of a habit on his part, he wasn't feeling particuarly distrustful of the man. Henry was delightful company so far. But there was still the question of the coldness. He had felt it when they had shook hands.

His eyes wondered around looking for a window to judge the weather outside. Was it cold? Rainy even?

Ah. Not the most interesting answer. It would be rewarded a nod.

Beauregard pondered what else to pry into, following glances out to people watching. Many, many teenagers, shoving and yelping and noisy as they all seemed to be.

Their twenties were when they began to develop into people instead of animals.

"What sorts of dangerous situations does Detective Marseille find himself in?" he asked after a moment, looking back to the man with curiosity.

"Oh the usuall. Shoot outs, car chases."

Henry might be cute but Leon wasn't about to divulge any sensative information or tell him about any abilities that may have come into play when hunting down criminals.

There seemed to be a lot of teenagers out and about tonight. Their voices were loud and echoed in the enclosed space.

Beauregard assumed this, of course, to be entirely fake. He chuckled.

"Colorful as your shirts, León," be said. The man told a fanciful story, flashed a badge, but every detail seemed outlandish, inaccurate. Any further interest seemed to abruptly vanish.

He moved to rise, offering a smile.

"Best of luck with your new partner. Here's hoping you don't need it."

He smiled and waved to Henry as the man stood up to leave.

"Of course. Have a good night Henry."

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