[Durham doesn't usually take an overly active interest in perfecting his appearance. Yes, he owns nice suits and his shoes are always polished until they resemble mirrors more than leather, but he isn't one for staring at himself in any surface he can find a reflection in. Tonight, however, the stakes are slightly higher. He knows that Cambridge is, unashamedly, a tricky bastard to pin down. He also knows that as far as the Order are concerned, nothing between this friend of old and his golden boy, Oxford, have changed. The thought provokes half a scowl on a usually neutrally aligned face.
He can't help but turn up to the gallery Cambridge has given him the address to looking nothing less than dapper, every single line of the suit he's wearing tailored to within a millimetre of perfection when it comes to his shape. He also knows, amongst everything else, that Cambridge is a sucker for a good suit. This evening, despite his interest in history and the role art plays throughout centuries he's spent the most time researching and studying, that isn't what he's here for. There's little he bothers trying to hide as he searches out the familiar face in the crowd of London's well-to-do.]
[ People-watching is a habit of Cambridge's and it doesn't take him very long at all to spot Durham's face in the sea of art-lovers, nor does he waste much time in slipping his way through the throng in Durham's direction. The half-drunk glass of wine - about as average as the art in the room, or so Cambridge reckons - is quickly fobbed off on a loitering waiter in exchange for two fresh ones as he approaches Durham with an appreciative half-smile, half-smirk. ]
Ah, Mr. Baxter - [ Codenames wouldn't do here, not when surrounded by so many civilians at such close-quarters. It wasn't often that Cambridge bothered to use anything other than codenames with fellow operatives - other than Lincoln, who was perpetually just 'Gibson' out of coolly derisive detachment than anything else. ] - What a pleasure to see you.
Hullo, Mr. Moore. [Durham doesn't even roll his eyes at Cambridge's greeting and even though he's well aware of how much abuse he'd get for admitting it, he'll suffer the amateur dramatics for a night with this man.]
The pleasure is mostly yours. Partly mine. [He smiles a less than neutral smile, almost warm and reaching his usually cool blue eyes. The glass of wine he assumes is for him is slipped from Cambridge's hand without ceremony.]
I assume you've already done your rounds? What monstrosity are you going to take me to see first?
Mostly mine? Dear me. [ Cambridge raises an eyebrow, expression deadpan, as he presses the other glass of wine in to Durham's hand as he reaches for it. ] Well, I do believe I was due some if I remember our conversation correctly.
[ He begins to lead Durham through the throngs of gathered art connoisseurs to the first 'monstrosity' with a darkened expression of increasing delight; as a rather critical man by nature, he did so quietly relish the idea of being able to take it out on the artists who had so publicly set themselves on precarious pedestals. Cambridge's infamous standards would not relax for anything, not even for fine art. ]
Oh, it's all terribly average, I'm afraid, but there are one or two true eyesores hidden away. [ He sounds practically excited as he steers Durham towards a minimalist grey canvas and makes no attempt to hide his contempt as he surveys the piece. ] For example, this one is so unbelievably overpriced it would break your heart...
Cheers. [Durham raises his glass in toast to the awful art on the walls, and possibly the company, before taking a sip. As he's led through throngs of the more pretentious than prestigious fellow guests, he can't help but find himself agreeing with Cambridge's assessment. He isn't anywhere near as critical as the other man, but there's absolutely nothing in the room that catches his eye.
When they reach the first piece that Cambridge is bursting at the seams to show him, he tilts his head slightly, for a moment looks like he's actually studying the piece hard. His expression softens as he glances across at the other man, head shaking slightly, almost imperceptible as he's once again forced to agree.]
I feel my heart breaking. [He tells the other man, delivered in the same deadpan tone as usual. It doesn't occur to him until much later that Cambridge is the very last person he should be uttering words of that ilk to.]
And you think the next painting you're going to show me is the pièce de résistance?
[ Cambridge hadn't idly chosen those words; despite how often he decried poetry as largely ineffective on him he still knew there was a power and a weight in words. He deployed them carefully, and hearing Durham repeat the words back to him left Cambridge with a quiet smugness in his smile. ]
A crowning glory of sorts, if it's really at all possible for one thing to be more average than anything else.
[ He extended a finger, indicating another painting that Cambridge thought was particularly dull, and takes a sharp sip of his wine as if to theatrically steel himself against the sight of it. ]
I almost feel bad for bringing you here and putting you through all this dross. Almost.
Come now, you feel no more remorse than you usually do for attending and judging each and every piece with the same contempt as the last. You're enjoying this.
[Durham knows he's right, knows Cambridge well enough to make scathing observations that, with the man in question, aren't so much scathing as truth.]
I suppose I should show some sort of gratitude for being allowed to play passenger? Though if you're suggesting we go elsewhere later, I won't complain.
[ To be quite honest, there's no difference between being scathing about artwork or scathing about who's-wearing-what in the Order office on casual Fridays as far as Cambridge is concerned. He'll damn multi-million pound artwork just as quickly and viciously as he'll damn Manchester's cheap polyester trousers. ]
No, you you certainly won't be complaining. [ Cambridge says this firmly, but with a smirk that suggests there's a whole lot more to what he's saying than one might suppose. He sips his drink with a pointed pause. ] And I'm not adverse to showers of gratification, you know.
I'm very aware of that. There's such a thing called subtlety and you aren't always too talented at it. Though I suppose there's little entertainment in subtlety at events like this.
[He doesn't take a sip of his wine just yet, waits for Cambridge to finish nursing his before he takes another sip of his own. Spending time with this man in particular isn't something that Durham will miss, if he can possibly help it, but as far as he's concerned even the mediocre art isn't enough to have Cambridge at his best. He's tempted to suggest they relocate to go cheap-suit spotting.]
He can't help but turn up to the gallery Cambridge has given him the address to looking nothing less than dapper, every single line of the suit he's wearing tailored to within a millimetre of perfection when it comes to his shape. He also knows, amongst everything else, that Cambridge is a sucker for a good suit. This evening, despite his interest in history and the role art plays throughout centuries he's spent the most time researching and studying, that isn't what he's here for. There's little he bothers trying to hide as he searches out the familiar face in the crowd of London's well-to-do.]
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Ah, Mr. Baxter - [ Codenames wouldn't do here, not when surrounded by so many civilians at such close-quarters. It wasn't often that Cambridge bothered to use anything other than codenames with fellow operatives - other than Lincoln, who was perpetually just 'Gibson' out of coolly derisive detachment than anything else. ] - What a pleasure to see you.
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The pleasure is mostly yours. Partly mine. [He smiles a less than neutral smile, almost warm and reaching his usually cool blue eyes. The glass of wine he assumes is for him is slipped from Cambridge's hand without ceremony.]
I assume you've already done your rounds? What monstrosity are you going to take me to see first?
Reply
[ He begins to lead Durham through the throngs of gathered art connoisseurs to the first 'monstrosity' with a darkened expression of increasing delight; as a rather critical man by nature, he did so quietly relish the idea of being able to take it out on the artists who had so publicly set themselves on precarious pedestals. Cambridge's infamous standards would not relax for anything, not even for fine art. ]
Oh, it's all terribly average, I'm afraid, but there are one or two true eyesores hidden away. [ He sounds practically excited as he steers Durham towards a minimalist grey canvas and makes no attempt to hide his contempt as he surveys the piece. ] For example, this one is so unbelievably overpriced it would break your heart...
Reply
When they reach the first piece that Cambridge is bursting at the seams to show him, he tilts his head slightly, for a moment looks like he's actually studying the piece hard. His expression softens as he glances across at the other man, head shaking slightly, almost imperceptible as he's once again forced to agree.]
I feel my heart breaking. [He tells the other man, delivered in the same deadpan tone as usual. It doesn't occur to him until much later that Cambridge is the very last person he should be uttering words of that ilk to.]
And you think the next painting you're going to show me is the pièce de résistance?
Reply
A crowning glory of sorts, if it's really at all possible for one thing to be more average than anything else.
[ He extended a finger, indicating another painting that Cambridge thought was particularly dull, and takes a sharp sip of his wine as if to theatrically steel himself against the sight of it. ]
I almost feel bad for bringing you here and putting you through all this dross. Almost.
Reply
[Durham knows he's right, knows Cambridge well enough to make scathing observations that, with the man in question, aren't so much scathing as truth.]
I suppose I should show some sort of gratitude for being allowed to play passenger? Though if you're suggesting we go elsewhere later, I won't complain.
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No, you you certainly won't be complaining. [ Cambridge says this firmly, but with a smirk that suggests there's a whole lot more to what he's saying than one might suppose. He sips his drink with a pointed pause. ] And I'm not adverse to showers of gratification, you know.
Reply
[He doesn't take a sip of his wine just yet, waits for Cambridge to finish nursing his before he takes another sip of his own. Spending time with this man in particular isn't something that Durham will miss, if he can possibly help it, but as far as he's concerned even the mediocre art isn't enough to have Cambridge at his best. He's tempted to suggest they relocate to go cheap-suit spotting.]
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