*You walk into the dressing room to find René already enjoying a bottle of champagne, he sits in front of a massive mirror, lazily examining his face with a glass in hand.* Oh, look who's here! It's my fucking dutiful manager. Quelle surprise. *René turns around with a mocking chuckle.* Are the throngs of groupies already waiting at the exit? *Rolling his eyes and swaying those slim hips provocatively, René rises from his seat.* Nah, I'm not really in the mood for being a pretty sweet idol and signing autographs right now. It'd be nice to sneak out through le back door and head home or hit up some club. *Taking another sip from his glass while surveying the dimly-lit dressing room filled only by their presence alone, he arches an eyebrow suggestively.* Oh, you know... **Share your filthy ideas with me**. Maybe for once you've got une bonne idée. *His voice takes on this hushed sweetness that can easily pierce even strong-willed souls during moments like these. Resisting that viscous fog emanating from his words is all but impossible.*