"You may as well be one of them," he grins a little. "I have already spoken of Courfeyrac, my second lieutenant. Combeferre is the first lieutenant, he is our philosopher and our doctor; my oldest friend. He is ...very dear to me, almost my other half, if that makes any sense. He tells me when I am wrong and is usually correct, though I mislike it." There's a wry look. "He can also be quite terrifying when he wishes to be. He is a man of science and progress, and I love him dearly for it.
Then there is Jean Prouvaire, but we called him Jehan most often. He is a poet, intelligent and brave and full of fancies, he has the oddest ideas most of the time, but you can't fault him for it. He is as concerned with the rights of the people and equality as he is with his words and flowers." He pauses a moment, remembering the barricades, the last time he had heard Jehan's voice ringing out over the walls.
"He is -- they are all some of the bravest men I have ever known. But that is another topic, and to continue: next there are Joly and Bossuet, which -- yes, I have said two, but they were most often together at home anyhow. Joly is a doctor as well, though sometimes more concerned with himself having the diseases he read about than his learning. When he is not doing that, however, he is always willing to share a drink or a joke. He --makes the room seem brighter, somehow. His other half, Bossuet, is the unluckiest man you could ever hope to meet. He has made a lifelong friend of misfortune, somehow. But he, too, has a sense of humor about it. They share everything, even their mistress." There's another pause, as he shifts position a little.
"Then, Feuilly. One of the few among our amis that is not a student, he is a fanmaker. But even though he does not study, he is one of the most intelligent men I know. He thirsts for knowledge and liberation of the people --if France is my mother, then humanity is perhaps Feuilly's. He knows all sorts of things about the rest of Europe, ancient history -- Poland is a particular favorite of his. I do admire him very much, he has come from nothing and worked so very hard to educate and inspire himself.
Bahorel is next. He is our oldest brother, and he acts like it." He gives a brief, fond smile. "He is very bold, and fond of a fight, studying law for longer than I have been in Paris and yet still not a lawyer. It is deliberate, at this point; he wants change to come as much as the rest of us do. He is very good with people, as well, fond of mingling and cafes.
Lastly, of those not here, there is Pontmercy. I do not know him well at all, he has only come to a small number of meetings. I do think Combeferre and I may have frightened him off at the first. However, he fought bravely with us at the barricades, and for that I am grateful." There is a long pause here, as he collects his thoughts on the last of his amis. He's been stewing over it for a week at this point, he may as well let it lie in the open. (And perhaps it's better, that Laertes doesn't know Grantaire well. Maybe it will be easier, then.)
"--And then, as I said, there is Grantaire. He is here as well, if you have not met him yet you may well soon enough. He is cynical and brash and loud -- ...well, as loud as any of the rest of us are, I suppose. He is...damnably frustrating, to the point where I want to bang my head against a wall every time I speak with him." Though he is complaining, a little, it does sound somewhat fond. "I do not know why he seems to enjoy frustrating me so, but he ...is a good friend, despite all that. I cannot fault him there." He rubs a hand across his face, then, staring up at the clouds dashed across the sky like so many wads of cotton, and is silent for a small moment. "He died with me. I did not think he believed in anything, save a good glass of wine and billiards, but at the end -- he stood with me, for the republic. He asked my permission." It's said quietly, a little wondering, a little sad. "I do not know what to think of it."
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Then there is Jean Prouvaire, but we called him Jehan most often. He is a poet, intelligent and brave and full of fancies, he has the oddest ideas most of the time, but you can't fault him for it. He is as concerned with the rights of the people and equality as he is with his words and flowers." He pauses a moment, remembering the barricades, the last time he had heard Jehan's voice ringing out over the walls.
"He is -- they are all some of the bravest men I have ever known. But that is another topic, and to continue: next there are Joly and Bossuet, which -- yes, I have said two, but they were most often together at home anyhow. Joly is a doctor as well, though sometimes more concerned with himself having the diseases he read about than his learning. When he is not doing that, however, he is always willing to share a drink or a joke. He --makes the room seem brighter, somehow. His other half, Bossuet, is the unluckiest man you could ever hope to meet. He has made a lifelong friend of misfortune, somehow. But he, too, has a sense of humor about it. They share everything, even their mistress." There's another pause, as he shifts position a little.
"Then, Feuilly. One of the few among our amis that is not a student, he is a fanmaker. But even though he does not study, he is one of the most intelligent men I know. He thirsts for knowledge and liberation of the people --if France is my mother, then humanity is perhaps Feuilly's. He knows all sorts of things about the rest of Europe, ancient history -- Poland is a particular favorite of his. I do admire him very much, he has come from nothing and worked so very hard to educate and inspire himself.
Bahorel is next. He is our oldest brother, and he acts like it." He gives a brief, fond smile. "He is very bold, and fond of a fight, studying law for longer than I have been in Paris and yet still not a lawyer. It is deliberate, at this point; he wants change to come as much as the rest of us do. He is very good with people, as well, fond of mingling and cafes.
Lastly, of those not here, there is Pontmercy. I do not know him well at all, he has only come to a small number of meetings. I do think Combeferre and I may have frightened him off at the first. However, he fought bravely with us at the barricades, and for that I am grateful." There is a long pause here, as he collects his thoughts on the last of his amis. He's been stewing over it for a week at this point, he may as well let it lie in the open. (And perhaps it's better, that Laertes doesn't know Grantaire well. Maybe it will be easier, then.)
"--And then, as I said, there is Grantaire. He is here as well, if you have not met him yet you may well soon enough. He is cynical and brash and loud -- ...well, as loud as any of the rest of us are, I suppose. He is...damnably frustrating, to the point where I want to bang my head against a wall every time I speak with him." Though he is complaining, a little, it does sound somewhat fond. "I do not know why he seems to enjoy frustrating me so, but he ...is a good friend, despite all that. I cannot fault him there." He rubs a hand across his face, then, staring up at the clouds dashed across the sky like so many wads of cotton, and is silent for a small moment. "He died with me. I did not think he believed in anything, save a good glass of wine and billiards, but at the end -- he stood with me, for the republic. He asked my permission." It's said quietly, a little wondering, a little sad. "I do not know what to think of it."