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]

That is certainly a pile of books. He's doing his best to try and hide a smile, since the reminder of friends who are not here still causes an ache that he doesn't quite have words for.

"You have been busy, I see," he nods. "The rooms move often, then, I take it? I have only been here some two days."

[rememberettersberg]

"The basic shape remains for the most part, but new branches seem to crop up with alarming regularity." Nightingale slots another book into place, then glances back over his shoulder. "Where did you arrive from?"

[untamedantinous]

The clothes should at least be a giveaway there; he is dressed in a cravat and waistcoat, as any proper 19th century gentleman. But the where, well, he offers a shrug. “I was in Paris; it was June of the year 1832. I am learning that is not the case here.”

[rememberettersberg]

"Ah, do you know Grantaire then?" He finishes his reshelving and leans back against a desk, brow furrowing slightly. "I've yet to discover anyone else from my own timeline. I must have offended whatever capricious fate has brought us here." Nightingale smiles, a little wistful.

[untamedantinous]

"Yes, he is --" There's a slight pause, considering. "He is a friend, he was a member of our group of like-minded students at home." There. It's not a lie, but it is also not entirely the truth, though Nightingale doesn't need to know that. "He is not who...I mean, I do not know what I expected, here, least of all him."

[rememberettersberg]

"I'm sorry for the circumstances that led you both here. Wherever here may be." Nightingale sighs. "Hopefully it's some comfort that you're not alone."

[untamedantinous]

"It is, I thank you." He's not entirely willing to admit to how much of a comfort it is, though, and takes a sip of his wine. "--Ah, yes. That. It was not unexpected, either, but thank you for the sentiment."

[rememberettersberg]

"Predictability makes a thing no more pleasant to go through," he says. "I'm Nightingale, by the way."

[untamedantinous]

“I suppose so, exams are often predictable and unpleasant as well.” He raises his glass a little, a small toast. “I am Enjolras.” A beat. “Or Lucien, if it is easier for English tongues.” There’s no rude intent at that comment, of course, and he offers a polite enough smile. He has no quarrel with England.

[rememberettersberg]

"Enjolras, then." Nightingale's French is very good. He begins to gather a fresh pile of books, scanning the shelves slowly to see what, if any, new tomes have sprung into existence. "What are you reading?" he asks, interested to see if Enjolras' tastes have further shaped the shelves.

[untamedantinous]

Ah, good. There's a small nod, and he gestures to the books in front of him. "Philosophy, among other things. History, for the most part."

[rememberettersberg]

"History for you or looking into possible futures? I've no idea what year the mansion thinks it is right now."

[untamedantinous]

“Well, history for my country, a future that I did not get to see for me.” There’s a small smile, though. “It is alright, though, what we fought for does come to pass.”

[rememberettersberg]

"Ah yes, that must be heartening indeed." Nightingale sighs. "I hope you find some semblance of happiness here, Enjolras. I can think of many worse options for an afterlife."

[untamedantinous]

"I --thank you. So far it is a very strange one indeed. I can but hope that more of my friends will join me here."