quatre: they will put away the sword

[untamedantinous]

There are a number of kitchens to be found in the mansion, as most people know. Enjolras is in one of them, flour speckling his flannel shirt and black jeans. There is a recipe book open on the counter near him, open to a page on baguettes. The young man in question is currently absorbed in kneading some dough: once again, something new to concentrate on. (Yes, he had known that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were only here for a day, but that does not really make it much better.) So, inspired by Laertes -- and, perhaps, the underwhelming boeuf bourguignon the mansion had provided the other day -- he is attempting a French classic. Perhaps a homemade baguette will taste better than mansion-provided food.

Comments

[untamedantinous]

“I might think you a different person entirely, should that day ever come.”

[timebethine]

"I could say the same of many great thinkers; Aristotle and Marcus Aurelius likewise had their faults--" And there's the chicken again, ringing so loudly that Laertes nearly leaps out of Lucien's arms. "That cannot have been forty-five minutes."

[untamedantinous]

“He is,” nodding with a smile. “And quite patient about teaching it, when I’ve a mind to learn.” He lifts an eyebrow.

“Do you prefer it more, outside? It is turning too cold for me already out there, but I am from southern France, it is a little warmer there in general.”

[futaille]

He has another sip of his drink. "A person you'd prefer?"

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras jumps too, a little more startled than he would like to admit, eyes wide and lost for just a moment before he realizes that Laertes is talking. “Ah—it doesn’t seem like it was, but the chicken would not lie to us,” he says, knowing how ridiculous that sentence is and attempting to sound as grave as he can.

[untamedantinous]

“I cannot say, I have not met him.” He purses his lips a little, thoughtful. “We would likely butt heads just as often as we normally do.”

[timebethine]

Laertes can't help laughing at the gravity in Lucien's voice--nor can he help kissing that serious frown. "The chicken is a knave and cannot be trusted."

[futaille]

"Very likely, and I doubt he would be nearly as entertaining while doing so."

[untamedantinous]

“Perhaps so,” as he returns the kiss. “But my baguette calls to be divided, and then you may have me for —however long I must let it rest again.”

[timebethine]

"Tell me more of the great minds of the First Republic," Laertes urges as they head back toward the kitchen. "That will certainly pass the time while we wait."

[untamedantinous]

“We have very different definitions of entertaining,” he replies, mildly enough. “But no, I do not think I would prefer him. I prefer getting to know you better.”

[futaille]

He smiles wryly and shrugs. "There's not that much to me, really, but you're perfectly welcome to it."

[untamedantinous]

“Ah, well! There are many I could speak of; of course. Would you prefer to hear about the ones whose writings I gave to Claudius? Or others, unjustly killed by them?”

[timebethine]

Laertes considers the names he remembers from his brief, intense research jaunt. "Tell me of Saint-Just," he says. "He did great harm in pursuit of a perfect republic; I would know what cause he thought deserved so many of his countrymen's lives. He was younger than I am now when he died. I cannot ... I cannot imagine holding such horrific power."

[untamedantinous]

“Oh, there is more than you’d think, I’m sure. For example: do you have any siblings at home?”

[futaille]

"Just one. A sister. But I didn't know her very well. She was barely walking when I left for Paris."

[untamedantinous]

“Quite the gap,” says the young man with no siblings. “How old were you when you came to Paris?”

[futaille]

Grantaire blinks. Enjolras actually taking an interest is so strange. "I was fifteen."

[untamedantinous]

He may have had some quiet conversations with Combeferre while Grantaire was otherwise occupied, is all. “Ah.” He nods. “…I was seventeen. Paris seemed massive to me, even coming from Toulouse.”

[futaille]

Otherwise occupied is an excellent way to phrase that. "Paris is massive, even when put up against any other city in France."

[untamedantinous]

“Quite,” he nods. “It was a little overwhelming,” he says with a wry smile. “Thankfully I met Combeferre not too long after that.”

[futaille]

"And history was made," he says wryly, taking another drink.

[summerdude]

"I do like it outside! And anyway, I don't really feel most temperatures," Magnus says, glibly. "Extremes, yeah -- Muspellheim is burning hot and Niflheim is deadly cold, but I'm Middle Ground guy when it comes to, like, regular Midgardian seasonality."

[untamedantinous]

"I...suppose?" He sounds a little amused.

[futaille]

"Oh, it's undoubtedly true. Every action creates history, even the small ones. Possibly especially the small ones, for all they're buried under the grand idiocies."