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]

"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."

[timebethine]

Laertes listens to this recitation in silence, bearing witness to the names and lives of these dear strangers. He almost feels them close by, voices echoing from beyond the impassable gate--the high, strident tones of their calls for justice, the hush of their conspiracy; the ringing gladness of their laughter. He wishes he could take Enjolras's hand in his and hold it, offering mute comfort to his grief. "I wish I knew them," he says at last. "I hope I may, one day. Thy love for them is woven through every word."

[untamedantinous]

If he did, Enjolras likely wouldn't mind. He feels a little small and lost, now he's let all that out, a little comfort would be welcomed. "It's so strange, to be without them," still just as quiet as he was talking about Grantaire. "They are my brothers, they should be here with me."

[timebethine]

At that, Laertes does take his hand, fingers warm and sure on the cool grass. "How wouldst thou make this a place that would welcome them?"

[untamedantinous]

"I don't know." He doesn't mind the hand, save to twine his own fingers with Laertes' absently. It is somewhat unconscious in all truth, reacting as he would to Courfeyrac or Combeferre. "It is already miles ahead of anything we might have asked for, at home. Perhaps there might be more cafes, but the bar serves its purpose well enough. It is just too quiet."

[timebethine]

"It's true; for a place where so many people live together, it often feels as though our lives are as separate as islands. Shared meals might do much to unite us--or meetings, of the kinds thou hadst with thy friends."

[untamedantinous]

"They might, yes, but then again it might feel like school." He quirks a sideways smile at Laertes, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "Meetings might work. I cannot think what we would discuss as a whole, I have scarcely met everyone here and so do not know their sensibilities."

[timebethine]

"It might be a good way to find out."

[untamedantinous]

"It might, yes. But where would we get word out? And how often should they be?"

[timebethine]

"The welcome table? How often did you meet, in Paris?"

[untamedantinous]

"It varied. Generally twice a month, sometimes more if events called for it."

[timebethine]

"Then we'll try twice a month, and see whether that answers thy need." Laertes withdraws his hand and knits his fingers together over his stomach, gazing up at the slowly drifting clouds.

[untamedantinous]

"That sounds alright." Enjolras does the same, for a moment lost in his own thoughts and memories. "I am sorry," he says after a minute or two. "I did not mean to -- to lay all of that on you, though you did ask; but it is the first time I have spoken of them since everything, so I suppose it was needed."

[timebethine]

"If it feels lighter now, then I'm happy to take a little of thy burden." He laughs, just a faint huff of sound. "I'm happy to draw thee on to pleasures. Hast thou ever been swimming?"

[untamedantinous]

"Of course, but not recently. It had not got hot enough at home, yet, but if it was awfully bad, we would go to the Seine sometimes in the summer." He glances up at the sky. "I suppose it is nice enough, today."

[timebethine]

"It may not be fine much longer." Laertes heaves himself up, then reaches down for Enjolras with a smile. "Come on--I promise I'll keep my eyes on thy face."

[untamedantinous]

There’s a mildly bemused snort, and he takes the offered arm, leveraging himself up. “Thank you, though I cannot imagine scars would be so pleasing to look at.”