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]

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.”

[timebethine]

Laertes swallows down his first answer (I find them very pleasing), and his second (I find thee fair enough as thou art). "Thou art no marble statue," he says instead. "Thou art meant to live, not only to be seen."

[untamedantinous]

Surprisingly enough, that makes some color rise to Enjolras’ cheeks, though he is unaware of it, and he gives Laertes a small, quietly pleased smile. “You have the right of it, mon ami. Thank you.”