figureheading: (their dog just died)
Philippe Barrault ([personal profile] figureheading) wrote in [community profile] wealthofnations2022-11-24 01:51 pm
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fic: old things.




It’s been two days since he stepped back, two days of chaos in the party while the vote came in as to who would take over after him. Still holding out for an answer on that one, aren’t they? Being out of a job doesn’t suit him, Philippe finds after about five minutes. Luckily, the offers are already trickling in, with all the discretion he owes his image at this point. He has a few possibilities up for consideration, though he might still be waiting for the perfect fit.

He hasn’t changed jobs in thirty years.

The commiseration party was, naturally, Karl’s idea. Though actively out of politics himself for a good few years, he’s still got as many contacts in the party as Philippe and quite a few more of the old gang. Let’s drink ourselves stupid, he’d said to Philippe as way of invitation, and forget that all old institutions must fall eventually.

And because Philippe no longer has a wife demanding his attention when he’s not at work, only a boyfriend who wouldn’t dream of holding him back ever, he says okay and dresses in a nice, dark grey suit, showing up fashionably late, because once you’ve been the boss, a part of you always will be. They’ll wait for him, he knows. They always did.

When he steps inside the large garden of René’s house, more a park than anything, truly, the lights go up, blazing to life and music starts playing, his mind immediately picking up on the tune. Happier, the Postmodern Jukebox cover. The voice is definitely Allison Young’s, too. He stares around. At the band, the whole PMJ gig, the guests – former and current members of the party, Karl at the front, laughing openly. We broke up a month ago, the singer begins; does she mean you forgot about me, she continues.

“Is this your work,” he asks Karl, feeling like a kid who’s been thrown a surprise party, having had no clue. “Flying those guys in from the US must have cost a fortune, Karl!”

“Everyone pitched in,” Karl reassures him, although it’s not the money, it’s the effort, Karl could’ve paid for this set-up on his own easily, after all. Philippe shakes his head once, then – with a huff – pulls Karl in for a hard, back-patting hug. They’ve known each other for more than thirty years, haven’t they?

Old farts, they are. Maybe it’s a good thing that some new blood runs through those wrinkled veins of the CDP.

“Happier,” Karl asks, in time with the music.

“If I were, it would be a celebration rather than commiseration,” Philippe comments.

“I did try,” Karl replies while Philippe starts shaking hands all around. Last in the row stands Jean Louis, unintrusively, meaning that Karl invited him as well. They just look at each other for a few moments. Behind him, Karl comes up, putting a hand on his shoulder, heavy, friendly, brotherly.

Oh, I hope you’re happy, sings Allison from up front.