deux: it must be done

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras has not held a musket since the barricades. However, there's no time like the present. Through trial and error and various annoyed thoughts directed to the closet in his rooms, he has found one that will suffice. It feels ...strange, to have one in his hands again, to know that not so long ago he had held one and killed more than once with it. But he is pushing aside any lingering apprehensions he may have and heading outside to the shooting range some helpful person had set up in the recent past. Perhaps no one will bother him here, he hopes, it is fairly far afield; and the whole purpose he has will make it difficult to have any conversations.

The slight tension in his shoulders may belie his earlier anxiety, but it has not affected his aim as of yet. Should anyone follow the sounds of gunfire, they will find Enjolras as well, loading, firing, and reloading his musket with some determination.

Comments

[untamedantinous]

"It feels nearly the same for me, and it has only been a week. I can hardly imagine what a month would be like." He settles in to reloading his musket, pursing his lips a bit.

"I know I will not like sitting idle for so long."

[timebethine]

"What type of occupation suits you?" Laertes asks. "When we spoke last, it was revolution--but revolution is a means to an end, not an end itself."

[untamedantinous]

"I do not know, in truth." He shrugs a little. "At home, I think I mentioned, I studied law. There is no call for that here, and I did not have time for hobbies, too much, there."

[timebethine]

"Thus, the gun." Laertes tilts his head a little, studying the musket. "Would you prefer a less dangerous form of exertion?"

[untamedantinous]

"I confess, I do not know how good it is for my nerves, so suggestions would be welcomed." He has been noticing how tense he's been while doing his drills today, and it's a bit frustrating. He had been attempting to take some of the edge off, out here.

[timebethine]

Laertes grins. "How are you at running?"

[untamedantinous]

“Alright, I suppose. Why?”

[timebethine]

"Catch me, then," says Laertes, and he takes off at a sprint.

[untamedantinous]

“What—“ He blinks a little, taken aback, and then shrugs off his coat, leaving it in a pile atop the musket before racing after Laertes.

[timebethine]

Laertes is fast, but more than that, he has stamina. After he rounds one of the Mansion's many improbable corners, he slows to the kind of ground-eating stride that he could keep up for an hour if he had to--looking back to make sure that Enjolras is following, pouring on speed when Enjolras seems to be catching up.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras is in fact following, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all. It has been quite some time since he's run, of course, so he is not quite as fast as Laertes, but he is certainly making an attempt. He is reasonably fit, of course, so eventually he'll catch up, but not just yet.

[timebethine]

For a while, Laertes just lets himself get lost in the sheer joy of exertion: the wild laughter, the pounding of his own heart, the way Enjolras's face seems alight with something other than purpose. Right then, he burns to keep making Enjolras laugh.

In a meadow near the edge of the wood, though, where the grass is woven through with purple clover, Laertes slows just enough to let himself be caught--if Enjolras cares to catch him.

[untamedantinous]

Well, he may as well! As Laertes slows, Enjolras catches up to him at last, laughing and hair askew, and taps him on the shoulder before sprawling down into the grass. "There, caught you." It is honestly a surprise, how good that made him feel, and he cannot help but smile.

"I don't think I've done that since before I came to Paris."

[timebethine]

Laertes flops down beside him, grinning. His cheeks are flushed with the run, but he feels impossibly good; the scent of clover is all around him, and the sky is powdered with fine, high clouds. "At times we forget--we're panting, sweating creatures, as much appetite as angel. We need more than purpose to sustain us. We need good food, employment for our hands, and the company of others." He tilts his head to turn his smile on Enjolras. "I enjoy thy company very much, sir."

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras, too, feels good; much better than he had while he was still doing his drills. It is a release of a different sort than he intended, but a release all the same; his mind is no longer lost in thoughts and memories of his last few days in Paris, nor is it on the strange conversation he had with Claudius days ago. It is simply present in the moment, and he continues smiling over at Laertes. "I suppose that is so, yes," he says thoughtfully. "I am too serious, a good deal of the time, my friends always used to chide me for it quite like you are now. Which is to say: I enjoy yours as well, mon ami."

[timebethine]

"May I kiss thee?" Laertes asks, light, smiling. "It's of no moment if thou say'st no."

[untamedantinous]

"I--" He's a little taken aback by the question, honestly hadn't even considered such a thing. "I don't..." There is some hesitation, and he settles back in the grass some to at least try and get a grip on the emotions that are running through him.

It doesn't sound unappealing. He's just never thought about anyone in that sort of way before, and here, now, where he has the time to perhaps concentrate on something like that -- it's all too new. He needs more time to think on it, to figure out exactly how he feels about all of this.

"No," is finally what he decides on, turning back to face Laertes properly, color rising in his cheeks. "That is to say --not yet at least, I have never paid much attention to ...all that." He gestures with a hand, demonstratively.

"I am sorry." He does sound it, too, he does not wish to disappoint this charming and unpredictable new friend of his, but he's also entirely certain he would have little idea of what to do in a romantic sense.

[timebethine]

"Of course--as I said, it's of no moment." It was a gentle enough refusal that it only touches Laertes lightly; the day is still fine, and the company is still good, and what regret is in his heart is easily quieted. "I did find thy Socrates," he says, diverting to a new subject without letting his smile waver. "It was funnier than I expected. But I see why thou likest it. There are passions enough in it to rouse a mouse against injustice."

[untamedantinous]

"It is very good, isn't it?" He settles back in the grass again, rolling so he might get his weight more settled. "If you managed to find it, and you've taken a liking to Voltaire, I'm sure there's more to be found in the library. I took more than enough books that day that I haven't been back, just yet."

There's a pause. "You do remind me of one of my dearest friends, you know. I think you would like Courfeyrac, if he were to arrive here."

[timebethine]

"Oh? What's he like?" Laertes asks.

[untamedantinous]

"Oh, he is --was --my second lieutenant, of a sort. We studied law together, and he was quite often distracted by various things --ladies, primarily, but he was a fine man all the same. Charming and warm, and he took in Pontmercy, I think? --when he left his grandfather's house. So quite kind, as well." In truth, Courfeyrac is one third of their little circle of three, the warmth to Enjolras' fire and Combeferre's light; and Enjolras does not know quite what to do without him. Perhaps that will change, in time.

[timebethine]

Laertes reaches across the grass and briefly presses Enjolras's hand, then withdraws. "I hope he comes," he says. "He sounds like a fine and noble heart, and one that ought to beat again."

[untamedantinous]

"He is, yes." There's a brief smile, and he glances away. "I am sorry, I did not mean to ruin this by speaking of the past. It is only that you having me chase you made me think of him." But at least he's speaking of it! There's some progress, there.

[timebethine]

"Tell me of thy friends," Laertes offers. "If they come, I want to greet them as though they were my own."

[untamedantinous]

"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."