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

[az_fell]

These poor Les Misérables characters are so terribly grim and fatalistic. Aziraphale pulls a sympathetic face regardless and then says, "I presume you're aware your associate is here?"

[untamedantinous]

"Grantaire? Yes." He shifts his weight a little, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken. "I did not expect him to be. I do not know if I expected anything, much less...this house."

[az_fell]

"None of us expected this," says Aziraphale with a fresh infusion of sympathy. "You can rest now, though, if you'd like. That must be a relief, after what you've been through."

[untamedantinous]

“I’d rather not,” he replies, a little awkwardly. “I slept enough after I arrived, and it was—“ He trails off and closes his book, clearing his throat. “Let us say it was not entirely pleasant.”

[az_fell]

"Ah." Aziraphale makes a delicately understanding face, or so he hopes. He considers, but by this point, Earth feels shockingly far away. What's the harm? He can understand, perhaps¹, how quickly Crowley threw off their usual light trappings of pretending at humanity.

"If it's dreamless sleep you need, monsieur, I can help you with that," he offers.

¹Not that he'll admit it to Crowley.

[untamedantinous]

Well, he’s already met someone who can heal him and glows, so perhaps this offer is not much of a surprise. He does hesitate a moment, frowning, tense. This seems mildly familiar and he can’t quite place why.

“It would be welcome,” he finally decides after a moment. “Though I do not think I require anything particularly strong.”

[az_fell]

Crowley said not to meddle. Then again, Crowley said not to meddle and then began passing out recreational drugs to dead revolutionaries. Aziraphale can easily argue that this is a good, angelic meddle.

"You won't feel a thing," he promises. He taps Enjolras' forehead. Indeed, there will be no obvious effect -- but he will sleep soundly tonight.

[untamedantinous]

“Thank you, monsieur.” He does truly appreciate it. He hasn’t had a good, sound sleep since before the barricades.

He offers a small smile, and shakes his head. “This place truly is astounding.”

[az_fell]

"Nothing short of miraculous," says Aziraphale, mostly a private little joke for himself. "I'll leave you to it, but I'm really very pleased to have met you."

[untamedantinous]

He offers a small, entirely correct bow, and a smile. “Merci, monsieur.”