un: someday, life will be fairer (open)

[untamedantinous]

The library is currently occupied. To be more precise, it is occupied by one young blond man, settled in at a large table with books spread out around him. Off to the side, there is a glass of wine, half-drunk. He looks much better than he had upon his arrival, no longer dirty and bloodstained, but still a bit fragile. Some of the marble that usually adorns his countenance has been chipped away, and he is not certain if it will come back.

He is not certain of many things, here in this strange new not-afterlife, but he is certain that both the writings of Rousseau and Voltaire exist. He has the proof, right here next to him, old friends that he is relieved to have in hand. (Someday he'll find his own copies of them, maybe.) The young fellow that had healed him -- Magnus, wasn't it -- had mentioned France becoming a republic. So in lieu of talking to people, Enjolras has chosen to dive into history books and catch himself up on the last 200 or so years.

(He'd rather read than face what lies before him here. He's not sure what to do, and he doesn't like being purposeless. There is yet time to talk, time to find Grantaire, eventually, but he doesn't want to think. Not right now.)

Comments

[untamedantinous]

“If you’d like,” he replies, still with that half-smile flitting across his face. There’s a pause, for a moment, as he considers his next words. “I have news,” he adds carefully, pursing his lips to hide the smile that would surely come bursting forth if this was a conversation he was having with any other of his friends. “I do not know if you will care to hear it.”

[futaille]

He heads over to a nearby bookcase, but his eyebrows rise. "Apollo, the next time you consider whether or not I would like to hear whatever you have to say will be the first, so by all means, go ahead."

[untamedantinous]

“Very well, simply because I do not think even you might ruin my good mood.” He’s mostly kind of joking. It’s difficult to read, but for him it counts. “France is a republic. Of course it is not a perfect one, but it is a republic.”

[futaille]

He looks over at that, blinking in honest surprise. "Surely not because of us..."

[untamedantinous]

“Oh no, some years after. But it surely counts, I should think.” It at the very least means their deaths were not in vain; and he need not regret them quite as much as he has been. The smile that has been threatening to burst out is now in full evidence, shining like the sun god he hates being compared to.

[futaille]

He just stares at Enjolras for an extended moment before shaking his head almost as if in a daze and turning back to the bookshelf. "Not a perfect one, you say, of course. How so?"

[untamedantinous]

“You need only look,” with a gesture to his books there. “It is not a utopia, not yet, but it is better than anything we might have hoped for.” One cannot expect perfection from mankind, after all, even if some would like to think themselves perfect.

[futaille]

"I think utopias will have to wait until man stops being man," replies Grantaire a bit airily. He does grab an art book of some kind from the shelf and returns to his chair. "That seems unfortunately unlikely." However, it's not as acidic as his rejoinders can often be. He's reluctant, right now, to dull Enjolras's smile.

[untamedantinous]

“You may be correct.” It’s a little wry, and he’s rummaging around to find whatever bottle of wine he’d brought into the library at first, and pouring himself some more. “I, er. ….How are you finding this place? It is quite strange.” He holds the bottle up with an inquisitive look, already half-knowing the answer.

[futaille]

Well, if he's going to offer... Grantaire stands again and crosses over to take the offered bottle. "Oh, it's very strange. But on the whole, so far, I've quite enjoyed myself. It's no Paris, but it has charm in its way."

[untamedantinous]

“I suppose. I have only seen the kitchens and the library and my own rooms, from what I remember.” He has, for the most part, not enjoyed himself, but for the reading he did today. “The wine is decent, though, certainly better than the Cor—“ He trails off, looks down. “Than some places at home.”

[futaille]

He dos his best to breeze by the mention of home as if it had no effect. So he affects an amused smile. "It dropped me off in a room with a bar. I can assure you that far more than the wine is decent."

Instead of returning to his original seat, he sits in a chair across Enjolras's table. "I've also found a game room, but you know that."

[untamedantinous]

Best to do that, yes, and Enjolras quickly buries the rest of that thought in a sip of wine.

“Yes, I saw. I arrived…somewhere with a piano, of all things. Nearly made me think I was at my parents’.”

[futaille]

"Yes, I saw." He opens his book. "Although I couldn't judge it against your parents'."

[untamedantinous]

"Be glad," he replies with a slight smirk. "I do not think they would care in the slightest for you."

[futaille]

"On the contrary, Apollo, I would irrevocably ingratiate myself to them with my unmatched wit."

[untamedantinous]

That smirk is actually turning into a laugh, which he once again hides with a quick gulp of wine. "Lord. I would pay to see it."

[futaille]

He grins, delighted. "Oh? What is the going rate, then?"

[untamedantinous]

"Oh, I don't know. 5, 10 francs? Purely for the thought of watching my father writhe, I do like it."

[futaille]

"Well, should he inexplicably arrive as we have, I will do my duty as an annoyance."

[untamedantinous]

"It is much appreciated." His eyes crinkle a little at that, grinning. "Though I daresay seeing his only son shot down as a traitor will be annoyance enough."

[futaille]

"At least you rightfully earned it. Although the thought of you a traitor to France is laughable, so it was earned but not deserved."

[untamedantinous]

"...Thank you?" He's not entirely certain it's a compliment, but he does take it in good spirits.

[futaille]

He just laughs and takes a long drink directly from the wine bottle. "You are more than welcome."

[untamedantinous]

He nods, and gives Grantaire a long, speculative look. He has, admittedly, reset many of his opinions on the other young man as of two days ago; but he cannot recall if they have ever had a conversation so long without an argument before. It’s strange, and kind of nice, and perhaps the change of scenery will be a particular help.

But if he is silent too long, his thoughts do inexorably turn to the barricade, to the firing squad, Grantaire awakening, and he still is confounded by it. It’s probably best not to press, not to bring it up; and he settles into sipping his wine again. Just a brief thought of the barricades is enough to make his shoulders tense, and he’s hoping it doesn’t show too much.