A Business Arrangement, <Vesper>

[Vincent Clare]

Unlike most people, when Vincent feels ill at ease, he slides into a suit; The form is familiar, like a uniform, like a shield. Few people get to see him in jeans, let alone a t-shirt or anything as personal and comfortable.

He forgoes on robes over the suit--instead just a cloak from Melanie's Milan boutique, a beautifully cut garment which melds all that is beautiful and stylish from the Muggle and wizarding world.

As he steps from Diagon Alley onto Knockturn Alley, the directions in his hand after glancing at them briefly, he ignores the tight alley to the right, the one which ambushed him time and time again as he walked past.

That was why he was so tense, he thinks; he waited for the memories with each step he took, he let himself relive the past two years in his dreams. He had every right to be angry, though, he tells himself. But there is guilt there too; he feels terrible to be so blisteringly angry at a woman who is dead now. He can't grieve without being angry, so he doesn't. He can't let his son see him fall apart.

He takes pause at the entrance to Vesper's, a plain and unassuming entrance which belies all that her business is. The reception is elegant, understated, and he tucks the directions back into his pocket even as he wonders if he really wants to be doing this.

But he supposes it can't hurt to make an inquiry.

[NPC]

Vesper’s business has many layers and levels. There will always be a market for those corner hookers and such; they don’t have that market cornered but they don’t want to have it cornered, either. However, their girls down there are attractive, well-cared for, and almost always drug free, and have all of the best places to stand and to stay.

After that, the layers get fuzzier; strippers and call girls of varying levels of service who cater to different levels of kinks and have different prices. And then there are the escorts, who go from simple events out to the highest society functions – and, of course, still do sex. However, across board, her girls are at least sixteen, and Vesper prefers a full seventeen or eighteen. There will NOT be children used in her trade.

Vesper believes that even if she is in the ‘flesh’ trade, it doesn’t mean that they cannot be civilized. The establishment that Vincent just entered is much larger than it might seem, though it doesn’t seem small either. There are a couple of levels reserved for ‘business transactions,’ should the client wish to not go somewhere; there are a couple of levels where some of the girls live.

And then there is this level, which is understated and elegent, much like the rest of the place. Vesper’s office is on this level.

A well-dressed young man, good-looking enough but in an understated kind of way, not quite geeky in glasses, appeared quietly. “Mr. Clare?” he asks in an unassuming voice and with a quiet smile. “Hell, I’m Jeremy Felding. Please, Vesper is expecting you.”

He bows slightly and gestures the direction, and then leads the way. A soft knock on the door and a feminine voice beckons them to enter. Vesper is a tall woman who appears to be somewhere in her forties and still looking fabulous, though you have the impression that she is at least a decade or two (or three) older than she looks. She doesn’t wear glamours but has taken exemplary care of herself over the years, though no one really knows exactly how old she is.

Her hair is up in a smooth, professional bun, and she is also dressed in professional though flattering to her figure. She rises and smiles warmly – and genuinely – at Vincent. She is used to people being unsure of themselves just as much as she is used to people being too full of themselves. She greets him smoothly and warmly.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent doesn't notice the young man at first, and he turns to tilt his head at what he suspects is an original Toulouse Lautrec. A little smile quirks--provocative images of modern life were the man's speciality, particularly Moulin Rouge, which is apt, he thinks. He tries to not remember that the original is supposed to be at some museum in the United States. Somehow he likes it better here, actually.

"Oui?" He turns and nods his agreement, then follows the young Mr Felding to Vesper's office. He murmurs a quick, "Merci," to the young man before talking a moment to assess the, well, Madam.

She is statuesque, even taller than Elena had been, and blonde. He cannot tell how old she is--not so old as his mother is, but not young either. She is certainly beautiful and polished and entirely professional in her elegant office.

He hides his nerves, his feelings, his sheer disbelief at the surrealism of meeting with Vesper to discuss buying the company of a woman behind a polite wall, a smile that is always reserved for strangers and situations where he is required to smile but doesn't feel like it... that cultivated smile he has developed from childhood.

"Bonjour, Madam Vesper," he says neutrally in return to her warm greeting.

[NPC]

She regards Vincent Clare kindly. There’s no pity, no disparagement. She likes many of her girls’ clients. Many are good men who for one reason or another need an escort or a release that no one else can offer them. Her girls are well trained, healthy, and most of them choose the life. It is, perhaps, an older set of traditions to be the type of escort she trains a few select for, but by the time they get to that point, they are there by choice.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” she says to her secretary. The quiet young man nods his head in respect and retreats, closing the door behind him.

“It is wonderful to meet you.” She extends her hand and shakes his professionally. “Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea, water, whiskey?” She tactfully doesn’t mention coffee. She has heard about the, ah, confrontation. Tara is quite upset, from all rumors. Vesper doesn’t plan on mentioning Vincent’s patronage to her at all.

She gestures to a seating arrangement that is professional yet warm.

[Vincent Clare]

She knows who he is, he realises belatedly. He probably should have picked it up earlier: Welcome back to England. Of course she would monitor the society she caters for with her higher priced companions. He wonders just how much she knows about him.

"No, thank you," he says politely, and he takes a seat.

He's lost his charming edge to some extent, or it's merely tarnished from ill-use--the one that deals with social niceties and complements woman on inconsequential things to make them smile.

Gregarious, charming, smiling Vincent is hidden. Carefree, careless, debonair Vincent is gone.

He curses Blaise yet again, and waits for Vesper to initiate whichever discussion is appropriate. This is a business discussion, after all, and he approaches it with the clinical edge he's applied to most of his life since Elena sucked all the warmth from his life. Only Sebastien, and Blaise to some extent, manage to soften him a little, work under his defenses.

I will pay you a great deal of money--you will dispel this coiled tension. A business transaction. That is all.

[NPC]

Hmmm. Straight up business, then. Shame. She remembers the years he had been such a playboy. His wife had killed that, apparently – or, she hopes, perhaps the lightness is simply buried. Her girls can help with that, she thinks.

She sits, smooths her robes, and smiles. “You have expressed an interest in the services my people offer. The women in my employ come in just about every permutation you can desire, and the services they provide are equally diverse. Price fluctuates accordingly – I can better have your needs met if I had an idea of a price range.”

Whatever he picks, there are a few women she has that Vesper already has in her mental queue. Sometimes one can forgo price just slightly to make a good match – long term it would be more profitable.

“I offer a contract with a limited confidentiality clause – it covers all but a few others, essentials in my organization that deal mostly with money.” She flicks her fingers slightly. “You understand, I am sure. We also offer several different non-disclosure agreements between client and employee, if you wish to have the comfort of such.”

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent had, in the past, considered himself a little above using his money to buy company or sex or even friends (although false-friends flocked to money anyway, he knows in retrospect).

He was arrogant: he was good-looking and charming... he did not NEED to buy sex or beautiful women--they flocked around him, fluttering, desperately hoping to catch his eye.

So while he'd never sneered upon the idea of courtesans or escorts or even prostitutes, he'd never considered that he'd be... here like this. Non. Only fat little heirs like Luc Sauniere needed to buy sex, whose repulsive, sweaty hands and fat lips made their money less attractive.

So this is... very strange, he decides. He could probably find a nice woman to date, but he just cannot be bothered to make the effort. He has no heart for that.

Vincent shrugs elegantly. As she probably already knew: "Price is not an issue, Madam Vesper," he says in his cultured, French-tinged English that lilts like a caress over velvet.

He nods. Contracts. Business agreements. Disclosures. He relaxes infinitesimally; it's business, plain and simple. He nods. "I do wish to have this, oui," he says.

[NPC]

Ah, he had a pretty voice. And wasn’t bad to look at either. All of her eligible girls would vie for him; unless he had some extreme kinks he was keeping well under wraps, he would be one of those clients you coveted completely.

She nods her understanding; so he’s willing to pay top price. Some might find it surprising that some of the wealthy men preferred by-the-hour hookers. Of course, she still has to ask about the specifics.

“Do you wish merely to stay in, or do you forsee a time in which you might wish to have someone on your arm for an event?” She hopes for the latter. “And for what lengths of time might you wish to contract for?” By the hour, by the night, by the weekend, by the week; most of her girls are flexible in this respect.

These are all common questions, phrased in a discreet fashion that hopefully doesn’t make a person squirm. “We often take pride in finding a good person to meet each client’s needs, unless, of course, diversity is preferred. Are there any special requirements?”

There is an amazing array of what men – and women – want. Some of her girls specialize in a few things, and others will not do certain things. It narrows down the field.

She nods and pulls out a small device with a couple of jewels set in it. She presses the blue one. “Jeremy, the NDIs, please.” She tucks it away and a second later a selection of forms arrives on the small table. Vesper leans forward. “This is the basic contract we usually use, and these are the choices of non-disclosure agreements.”

Some are more severe than others. All of them, however, do not condone the keeping of true abuse a secret – unless it is part of the contract, physical abuse is not allowed, and mental abuse is frowned upon. The women are encouraged to report these things, and to talk in abstract about some experiences if they’re having trouble.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent forces himself not to fidget; these are direct questions, yes, but he should have expected that the Madam would ask what he wanted, of course. He does twist the ring he wears on the middle finger of his right hand--a family heirloom, and his concession of peace to his father.

"For now, I wish to stay in," he says--Merde, a softening euphemism for what it really implies if ever there were one. "But perhaps eventually..." Blaise will drag him out eventually, he knows, and then there's that fucking Monte Carlo trip.

He sighs. "I have a social trip to Monte Carlo next month, and I would prefer not to appear alone." The French women witches would be on him in a flash. They LOVE Monte Carlo. Gabrielle and her little bitch friends gamble there often.

Vincent purses his lips and shrugs elegantly again. "I would prefer for the time scale to be flexible," he admits. He doesn't have all that much time, what with business and Bastien, but he would like to know that if he wants an extra half and hour, this is not going to be an issue.

Vincent frowns slightly as he puzzles through what Vesper is saying about diversity, and then his eyes widen slightly and she startles a laugh from him, a surprised laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "Non, non," he says, holding up a hand. And then he reconsiders. "Nobody with blue eyes," he amends tightly.

Vincent scans through the documents; he is not a lawyer, but he's signed enough contracts and read enough clauses to get by. He nods as he reads, subconsciously rubbing his lower lip with his index finger. He sets the basic contract aside, and he selects one of the non-disclosure agreements.

[NPC]

Years and years of running this business, and that after a reasonable term of working as a high-priced escort/courtesan herself, had given her an easy way of discussing such matters without being crass or base as she’s doing so. She has no wish to embarrass the clients or debase her employees.

“Understandable. Monte Carlo is often more fun with a companion.” She ticks ‘knowledge of French’ onto her list for a couple of reasons. A trip to Monte Carlo being one of them. And there are a couple of the girls that would really jump at the chance.

“That is easily done.” No by the hour. By the night, then, and negotiable after that. It always worked best that way, really. Lessened the constraints and pressures. It will cost more, perhaps, but like he said, money wasn’t really an object.

Her lips tilt up warmly when he laughs; she gets the distinct feeling that he doesn’t do it often. That means no Nicole or Giselle, and also strikes against a couple of others though she’s certain some of them would have tweaked their glamours. “Noted.” Hadn’t his wife had blue eyes? Understandable.

“Would you like to meet a few of the women? See if you find someone you find amenable?” she asks. Their final contract will, of course, be based on who he chooses. She will leave him and let them in one at a time or stay, as he wishes.

[Vincent Clare]

Yes, Monte Carlo will be more fun when Vincent does feel like a third wheel. Blaise will know or guess who is companion is, but he knows his friend will keep that to himself.

He smiles wryly. "Oui, there is that," he agrees. And if she can play Black Jack or Poker, then he'd appreciate her even more. He mentions that to Vesper, although he notes it is not essential. It would be amusing if she could whip Blaise's arse at Poker, though.

Vincent presses his thumb to his upper lip as he considers. Merde, it feels a bit like a meat market, having women come in for him to assess. It feels... very strange. But in the end, he is paying money to sleep with a woman, which is also incredibly personal. It would be even more strange to pick her off a piece of parchment.

He nods. "Oui," he says after a moment. "Merci." Although he has to chalk this meeting up to one of the strangest he's ever had. He does not intend to do this again. A once off for the next month or so, he tells himself. Until he's regained his equilibrium enough to want to socialise.

[NPC]

Vesper smiles and nods. She knows a couple of her girls that gamble well and who would enjoy a trip to play at a place like that. A few are quite good, really; they have the poker faces for bluffs, which really isn’t that odd considering what they do for a living.

He feels like it’s a meat market, she senses, but then again, it is. The market is of the flesh, though of the willing flesh in this case. It is odd for some, though many rich man are used to the concept.

“Shall I let you interview them privately?” she asks him. She is willing to stay, but she is also willing to bet that he would be more uncomfortable with her here than if she was in the next room.

His approval and she rises and smiles at him. Immediately when the door is closed, she gets Jeremy to summon a group of ladies she had put on standby earlier – she would be making edits, of course, but most of her picks are in that group.

Lana went in first, with her lighter hair and darker skin that made quite a contrast. She smiles openly at Vincent. “Hi, I’m Lana Larson.” Oh, what a hottie, she thinks. “How are you today?” She’s in her mid-twenties and attractive, with an incredibly direct way of speaking and a London accent.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent thinks that he'll feel a lot more comfortable if he doesn't have the very observant Madam Vesper watching his reaction to meeting each of her women, taking mental notes.

"Please," he says with a grateful quirked smile, and he stands as she does in gentlemanly fashion. He doesn't have to wait long--a tall blonde walks in, stressed in a very striking top (Vincent barely manages not to wince), jeans, and white high-heels.

She's a little more bold and forward than he's comfortable. Perhaps because he's reminded in some small way of the way Elena had been--forward and brash and outspoken, loud even. He can't recall exactly why he'd found that particular trait attractive, to be honest.

"Bonjour, Lana," he says politely. "I am well, and yourself?" he inquires. He gestures for her to sit for a moment, and he struggles to concentrate on their conversation while he wonders why on earth women would wear white high heels with jeans.

Surprisingly, the fact that she's an escort, that she's basically showing him her wares, doesn't really click. It's almost like that Muggle... speed-dating thing. With perks.

He must confess to being relieved when she bids him goodbye and slips from the room. He suppresses a chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[NPC]

Lana makes small talk but she’s relatively certain that he won’t choose her; but she is the first, after all, and there’s always a chance in retrospect that he’ll change his mind. It’s been known to happen.

She exits and Vesper motions to Lin, who is in a pretty set of white robes that flatter her slim, dancer’s figure. She’s not heavy on the assets, but she’s quite pretty. “Hello, I am Lin. How do you do?” she says softly. Lin has that shy kind of demeanor, peaking out from under lids. Her English is flawless, but her voice still has that faint quality of, perhaps, another world.


The next girl in was Stacey, whose dark skin was a contrast to the previous women’s varying shades of pale and tan. She had the heavy eyes and a familiar manner, allowing her hand to linger in his and touching his sleeve once as they talked.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent stands and turns when he hears the door open and close again, and there's a whisper of movement. The woman who draws closer could be Miya's twin sister. She is dressed beautifully, elegantly, and she even moves like Miya, with that elegant dancer's fluidity. God. Blaise would die if he saw this woman.

Vincent can't help but to smile at her; she touches that protective, brotherly instinct in him. "It is good to meet you, Lin," he says quietly.

He twists his ring on his finger without inviting her to sit, wondering how best to phrase his slight discomfort. "I'm afraid that you remind me very much of a dear friend..."

He shrugs apologetically. He wants her to know it's not personal. She just strikes that sort of chord, really, that he forgets she is paid for sex and companionship, that he just doesn't want to offend a young woman who is so like Miya, who he regards as very special young lady.

Stacy makes Vincent feel incredibly uncomfortable. Yes, he is a prospective client, but he does not want to be touched now, in this office, where he is feeling a little ill at ease and vulnerable. It indicates to him that she is perhaps not so perceptive.

He runs a hand through his hair, second-guessing his decision while Stacy leaves.