danish casanova

claiming 31 points for TOBIAS GLÜCKSBURG

point breakdown:

REPLIES: [3] x [1] = [3]

STARTERS: [5] x [5] = [25]

FILLING A W/C (forgot to add last week): [1] x [3] = [3]

TOTAL: 31

with @crpheused at the louvre

the danish prince looked sort of like a real-life disney character, all suave-looking and imposing presence even in a room filled with a who’s who of the world. blanche can’t help but come near to him, mostly as a moth flying towards a flame more than anything else—though they didn’t really know what they’d do once they got near. royals were always a bit of a toss-up to interact with: they can either be huge sticklers of protocol, or they can be as easygoing as easygoing gets. either way, however, they had a huge profile, and convincing them to see the worth in what they’re doing would always prove to be advantageous.

❛  hi there !  ❜  they chirp out, voice bright and bubbly as ever.  ❛  geez whiz, this is all rather serious business, isn’t it ?  ❜  they say, almost rhetorically.  ❛  has your royal highness not seen anything that caught your eye ?  i don’t think i’ve seen you bid much.  ❜  or at all, but maybe blanche hasn’t just been paying as close of an attention as they should have had.

Such was the inevitability of life that those with the appearance of Prince Charming often had the personality of the Evil Queen. Or, even worse, an alcohol dependency and commitment issues. He blamed his father. He was Dutch, after all.

“I could ask you the same thing.” As such, Tobias found himself looking down at his new companion, taking them in with the analytical gaze he’d mastered over the years: “why would I bid for shit I don’t need? This whole thing is a PR circus; notice how it’s those who are worried about their images and status who keep winning shit?”

When the gavel had fallen on the final lot, the Danish crown prince found himself instantly relieved. He’d underestimated the boredom of the whole event ( and really he should’ve remembered from last year. Except he’s pretty sure he and Amber left early... Oops. ) and he was quite ready to head off elsewhere. 

Except one of the Morgan twins had threatened to stab him if he turned up at the Moulin Rouge. He was too attractive to die that unexciting a death.

Tobias Glücksburg was not, of course, known for his ability to be either subtle, or quiet. It might’ve made for entertainment in a bar, or in his mother’s company, but maybe society events weren’t the place for him to flex the muscles in his jaw.

“So,” he said to the body beside him, some chap he hadn’t met before, but who seemed chummy with Italy’s Prime Minister. “Tell me why Napoleone has paid through the nose for what is single-handedly the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen? Imagine having him for a sugar daddy.”

Even if he couldn’t appreciate the art hanging upon walls ( after all, when you spend your childhood defacing age-old works in the name of fun, everything becomes a little less interesting ) Tobias found himself -- like always -- admiring the art that had its own agency. Some of the most beautiful people in the world were lurking among some of the ugliest art he’d ever seen, and with the drama of the past week looming over his head he needed to... blow off steam.

He was on drink number god-knows-what, a half-eaten canape in his hand, and he stopped beside a body he didn’t recognise, but probably ought to have done:

location: louvre closed: @crpheused·

There were enough people in the room to have conversations with but Edward tended not to gravitate towards those that were eager to talk about the objects. There were original texts from prolific writers as well as the painting drawing the most attention. The only thing he knew about the painting and the other objects that raised brows was that his sister was interested. If she was interested it either meant it was highly important or incredibly dull. Edward turned his attention to other splendors of the night and nursed a drink in one hand, turning towards Tobias. 

It was a relief to find someone who wasn’t willing to talk about whatever was happening in the room. Edward wasn’t interested in those he could bid on as well, reserving his intentions for other prospects. “What’s your opinion on all of this?” Edward asked conversationally, stirring his drink. “Who’s to say these aren’t really good knock offs?”

A low chuckle fell from between Tobias’s lips, and he offered his British counterpart a shrug, “it’s a bunch of old shit. I really don’t get why people give a fuck. Do they know that spending millions of dollars to just donate this shit is completely insane? What a waste.”

He was, honestly, having a particularly awful night. Society events seemed to always become an amalgamation of his exes, or his exes’ exes. The whole ordeal always left a bitter taste in his throat, and yet he continued to come back for more. The curse of man, he supposed. Maybe Frankenstein wasn’t the only modern Prometheus.

“Who’s to say they won’t shred themselves upon the auctioneer’s gavel falling? The money I’d pay to see the look on Floraigh’s face if Dorian Gray spontaneously combusted.” He returned, “and why the fuck does your sister want a Van Gogh? The Dutch will hate her if it ends up anywhere but Amsterdam. She knows that, right?”

Auctions, he’d always thought, would’ve been his stomping ground. Dropping absurd sums of money on paintings that only a few people cared about beyond their price tags should’ve come naturally to him. Instead, Tobias found himself drinking too much and missing his ex; he hasn’t watched all of Ex on the Beach to know that’s a disaster.

( It doesn’t help that the majority of the women in attendance he’d either a. already slept with, or b. point-blank refused to. Screw you, Maverick Hearst. )

“You know,” he said, settling his elbows on the counter-top and nursing his glass of whiskey, “I never thought I would miss the ugly paintings at Amalienborg. Or a pint of Amstel." He chuckled and looked down at his glass, "so I hope your night has been more productive than mine?”

There was something to be said for the ability to master both outlandishness and subtlety. Tobias was not quite the master of the latter, but an uneventful night thus far made him think he was getting ever closer; to be able to break a supposed silence with the full force of his personality was always a treat, but to do it well required the ability to go unnoticed. Even if it did hurt his ego.

Amber was missing in action; Floraigh was too busy with her fiancé, and too many other people around wanted to kill him. Still, he was slightly surprised to find the female Morgan twin (though her name escaped him) lurking outside in the Parisian night as he rummaged around for a cigarette.

“Got a lighter?” He asked, lamenting that his was, in fact, in the pocket of his coat, “I’ve never seen so many people pretend to care about art in one room.” He squinted in the dim light, “wait, aren’t you the one who threatened Floraigh with a knife? Nice one.”

There were few requirements for Tobias to deem an event worthy of his presence: first, there had to be alcohol ( check ), secondly there had to be attractive women in attendance — he glanced around the room as he crossed it; check — and thirdly, there had to be something interesting enough to warrant his attention. Anything to make the time go quicker; he didn’t do art.

( Well, unless we were talking in slang terms here, in which case he’d point out he’s done most of the prettiest women — and a few of the men — in Europe. Only an arsehole would deny them the right to be called artful. )

location: kensington palace closed: @crpheused·

The evening arrived and Edward was retired at home. It had been a long weekend with events and feigned conversations but it had all been for not. In such a large place like Kensington it was easy to feel small and isolated. It was a tendency to do so after being surrounded by white noise of crowds and stretched political smiles all day. He had already returned from a restaurant reservation in North London to tend to a small matter and was remedying it with a whiskey neat. The house staff announced they still have some Jameson from the tour they did months prior which Edward gladly accepted. It was late in the evening that he was upstairs leafing through a clutter of letters when the staff announced someone was downstairs waiting for him. “I thought I said no visitors past ten,” Edward countered, obviously ticked. There was no answer about who it was and he took the stairs with annoyance. It was about time to enlist new staff members to help around the house and perhaps remember his words more clearly. 

When he saw Tobias in the chair downstairs with the same drink Edward was holding, his brows raised in surprise. Any evidence of annoyance was instantly removed from his features as he stride towards the man. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you? Whatever happened to giving me a call before coming? I was about to lecture whoever was down here about keeping a man awake.” Edward wasn’t at all tired and his exhaustion was extinguished upon seeing Tobias. It was the only sort of visitor he would allow without a proper invitation or a ring. “Bored of Denmark yet?”

“i’ve been bored of denmark since the day of my birth.” tobias’s wrist rolled in a circle, gently swirling the liquid in its glass, “but i can fuck off if it’s not a convenient time for you?”

( he’d misplaced his hotel room key somewhere in covent garden, and they’d refused to offer him a replacement. so he’d phoned number ten, and got told to go fuck himself by the prime minister. and really he was not about to go and ask poppy for help, which ended in a £45 uber fare -- bloody surge pricing -- to kensington palace. too much excitement for one day, he was certain. )

tobias sniffed the contents of his glass, “but seriously, you need to get some of the good whiskey; jameson is fine and all but the scottish stuff is where it’s at.” he took a sip nonetheless, as anything was better than the johnnie walker he’d had at the theatre, “i was just wondering if you had a spare bed? i lost my hotel key and--” a hand scratched the back of his head, “--well let’s just say i don’t have many friends in london presently.”

claiming 15 points for TOBIAS GLUCKSBURG

point breakdown:

INTRO: [1] X [15] = [15]

TOTAL: 15