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

[futaille]

Well if he doesn't take the bait, maybe more bait will work. "Truly, I can think of nothing more fitting."

But he also can't help a question. "What other distractions?"

[untamedantinous]

“You needn’t concern yourself with them. I needed sleep, primarily.” He settles back in his chair, still watching the other man with some interest.

“When did you arrive?” And was it in the same condition he had? That does seem important.

[futaille]

"Of course you needed sleep, I doubt you'd gotten five minutes of it in a week." He shakes his head, but still answers the question. "Three days before you did. I... didn't expect you."

[untamedantinous]

He’s not going to make the comment he would really like to, here; he is trying to start off on a good foot. “I….didn’t expect anything,” he says, quiet. “I don’t know. Were you…ah..” There’s a vague gesture to his chest, surely Grantaire can pick up on context clues.

[futaille]

"Covered in blood, yes," he confirms with a nod. "Not actively wounded, though. Somehow it all scarred over on arrival."

[untamedantinous]

He nods, and sips his wine. “I am not now, but I was still bleeding when I arrived.” He doesn’t know how to ask what he wants to, not yet. This new place is still overwhelming, he can’t find all the words he is so accustomed to throwing out in pretty speeches and pamphlets.

What he can say, however, is: “….Thank you.” He’s not quite certain what he’s referring to, but it needs to be said.

[futaille]

Grantaire shifts uneasily in his seat, almost as if the the thanks is a hair shirt being placed over his shoulders. "It was nothing." He's no more certain of what he's referring to than Enjolras was in the first place.

[untamedantinous]

“It was not nothing.” He shifts, too, and finishes the last of his wine. (He’s probably going to need it.) “You are not nothing.”

[futaille]

Grantaire freezes in place, much like the statue he often accuses Enjolras of being. It takes several moments before he manages to summon up words.

"I... I should go. I'm distracting you from your reading."

[untamedantinous]

“You are not,” comes the quick reply. He doesn’t want Grantaire to leave; he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the comfort of having someone familiar here, in an unfamiliar place. All he knows at the moment is he doesn’t wish to be alone.

“Please, stay.” There’s half a grin. “Maybe you might find something to suit your discerning tastes.”

[futaille]

"As you wish¹," he says, but does stand. "I'll just... find something to read, then, I suppose?"


¹ No. Wrong canon. Same meaning, though, really.

[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'."