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]

"Mm?" He turns and glances at Grantaire, continuing in his work. There is --flour everywhere, including on his face, but he is making the effort at least. "I suppose so. I have never tried it before, but--" he shrugs. "The boeuf bourguignon the cold box gave me the other day was quite frankly an embarrassment, and I was hoping I might do a little better."

[futaille]

"Well, if you take to it with the diligence you do anything else, I have no doubt it will be a fine loaf of bread indeed." He pauses. "Also, you have flour on your face."

[untamedantinous]

"I wouldn't bet on it. I do not think I have ever baked a thing in my life." He frowns and brushes at his face, which just serves to smudge the flour around some more. "Do I? Thank you."

[futaille]

"Well, you'll at least get there eventually, then." The attempt, though, at wiping the flour off his face makes him stifle laughter. "That didn't... here." He only hesitates for half a breath before stepping forward to wipe the flour off himself.

He clears his throat. "There. Good as new."

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras gives him a small smile and a nod, moving back to let the dough rest a little and wash his hands. "Thank you. It is a bit of a mess in here. Hopefully I can straighten it up some while the dough sits. I think that is the next step."

[futaille]

Grantaire steps back as well, lightly rubbing his fingertips against one another¹. "I could help?"


¹ To knock the flour off. Clearly. Obviously.

[untamedantinous]

"If you'd like," he offers, turning his attention to the recipe book. "What have you been doing with yourself, then, the last few days?"

[futaille]

Grantaire shrugs and starts to collect mixing bowls and the like to clean. "Eh, you know me. Drinking, carousing, playing pointless games."

[untamedantinous]

By the power of wibbly-wobbly time, Enjolras deposits the dough in the greased bowl, covers it, and moves to help Grantaire as well. "That does sound like you," he agrees, with a wry kind of look. "--I am glad we got to see Courfeyrac and Combeferre."

[futaille]

He nods. "So am I." He scrubs at a mixing bowl. "Whatever else this place does in the future, I'll be grateful to it for giving them back to you for a day."

[untamedantinous]

"You and Courfeyrac seemed to have a good enough time," mildly. "Though I am sorry it did not think to bring Joly or Bossuet."

[futaille]

"Oh, we had a good enough time, yes," is the just as mild reply, although a smile flits across his face as he says it. "That said, if our visitors could number only two, the right two came."

[untamedantinous]

"--Well, Joly would have thought he was going to get a disease from Temeraire, undoubtedly. And Bossuet would have fallen off of him, I'm sure."

[futaille]

And that's a surprised laugh that falls out of him as he turns to look at Enjolras. "Both true. Oh, one eagle which should certainly never try to fly."

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras' eyes are twinkling, a little, but he's not about to mention it. "Certainly not unless he was latched on very securely."

[futaille]

Grantaire's own smile tries very hard to stay wry, although it's more an overwhelming swell of fondness being actually displayed. "And I'm sure his luck would keep the straps ever so secure."

[untamedantinous]

"Well, surely Temeraire knows how tightly one must be latched on. He is a very intelligent dragon." His own smile grows a little wider.

[futaille]

"Of course he is. Interesting bout between L'aigle's luck and Temeraire's brilliance, then." He starts to wipe down the counter.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras will settle into rinsing out and washing the bowls, then. “Yes. He has told me he does have his harness here, perhaps I can convince him to take me flying sometime.”

[futaille]

He nods slowly, continuing to clean. "It seems appropriate. If the Bonaparte of his world has gotten to fly on a dragon, it is only fair that a better man by far from ours should be able to do the same."

[untamedantinous]

He makes a little ‘tch’ sort of noise, but he’s smiling at the bowls as he washes them. “It is not hard, to be better than Buonaparte. Unless you venerate him as Pontmercy does.”

[futaille]

"I venerate very little as much as Pontmercy venerates Bonaparte¹."

¹ Do we even need to state what the notable exception is at this point?

[untamedantinous]

“Alcohol, perhaps,” somewhat drily. Why yes, he is going to avoid the elephant in the room.

[futaille]

He laughs softly and tosses the washcloth he was wiping the counter with into the sink. "Ah yes, that must be it."

[untamedantinous]

There is only so much bowl-washing one can do when baking bread, there’s only a few bowls involved, after all. So he finishes up and settles against the counter. “You shouldn’t,” he says quietly, knowing Grantaire is going to ignore this as he always does. “I am not—I am nothing so good that I should be venerated.”