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

[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.”

[futaille]

Grantaire pushes himself up to sit on the counter he just cleaned, and he regards Enjolras closely. "The supposed great men of history, you're a fair sight better than any of them." He shrugs. "You're not perfect, I know that, but..." He shakes his head, waving a hand airily. "I know, it's nothing you want to hear, that's fine."

[untamedantinous]

“Of course I am not perfect,” earnestly. “I’ve killed men. Men that were no further apart from me than you and I are just now.” He hesitates a moment, and goes for his until-now abandoned coffee, sipping at it as he considers his next words. “You missed it,” he continues carefully. “But it was necessary at the time.”

[futaille]

"I know you had," he says, tone several shades more serious than is usual for him. In fact, it's comparable to what it was in their brief exchange before he passed out at the Corinthe. "I was probably the only one who found a way to avoid that, and that's hardly to my credit."

[untamedantinous]

"--Not the only one," quietly. "Though theirs was unintentional." He takes another quick sip of coffee to fortify himself. "Bahorel was the first to fall, before the fighting had even properly started. He would be disappointed to know he missed the bulk of it, I think," with a rueful smile. "And Prouvaire, he was taken prisoner. We were going to trade him for a police spy, but --it was already too late."

[futaille]

Grantaire's answering smile is a bit bittersweet itself. "Of course Bahorel was the first to fall. He'd probably consider it an honor. Jehan... he shouldn't have had to be alone."

[untamedantinous]

"You are right." His voice turns a little brusque, here --but it is mostly aimed at himself, not Grantaire. "He was..very brave. Got caught up in the first attack, in the confusion when Pontmercy arrived."

[futaille]

He nods. "Of course he was." He reaches over and rests a hand on Enjolras's shoulder.

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras sighs a little and reaches up to clasp his hand briefly. "I am sorry," he says quietly. "I think this is the first time we've spoken of the barricades; it is ...difficult."

[futaille]

Grantaire's hand doesn't move. "Harder for you, I'd figure. I saw little and did less. But I knew them too, and I'll remember them alongside you."

[untamedantinous]

Neither does Enjolras'. "That is all I can ask," he replies, attempting to summon up a smile. It doesn't quite work. "They need not have died for my sake. I know it was not for me, but -- it does feel like it at times."

[futaille]

Grantaire shakes his head, squeezing Enjolras's shoulder slightly. "They followed you because they believed in the same things you did. They didn't die for your sake, they died along with you, for France's sake."

[untamedantinous]

"You didn't." He turns to look at Grantaire then, a little uncertain, but clear in his purpose all the same. "At least, not for France's sake. I was not afraid of dying alone. I expected it, in fact. I have said it before, but I...ah. Thank you. If I needed to die --at least I had someone who cares for me at my side." His eyes are still on Grantaire's, watching him cautiously. It is not often -- hardly at all that he unburdens himself thus to Grantaire, and so he is not entirely certain where to go from here.

[futaille]

He meets Enjolras's eyes, not averting his gaze. "I couldn't not. I knew where it would likely end, and that's why I stayed." He'd been a Cassandra soaked in alcohol, in truth. "I'm only grateful you permitted it." By that he means both that he stayed and... the obvious.

[untamedantinous]

He smiles, then -- a very similar to the smile he gave Grantaire on that day, and nods. "I knew you weren't entirely hopeless," he says, in an effort to lighten up the conversation. "I may have said something to that effect before that, but -- " A shrug. "There was not time for many things, then."

[futaille]

"I know," he says with a smile of his own. "I'm only mostly hopeless anyway."

[untamedantinous]

"Especially mostly hopeless in fencing," almost teasing, that smile turning a little fond. "We should practice again, sometime."

[futaille]

"If you wish it. I'll point out, though, that there are several other pastimes available here." Have a slightly impish grin, Enjolras. "And on account of your sensibilities, I won't even mention billiards among them."

[untamedantinous]

"Thank you," primly, and he waves at the covered dough. "Yes, I know there are, I am doing one of them right now, if you recall. What else did you have in mind?"

[futaille]

"I found an entertaining game called pinball. Or if you insist on more physical activity, we could probably fashion up a strange variant of tennis in lieu of an actual court. I think I saw some racquets on a shelf in the game room."

[untamedantinous]

"Well, it will have to wait until I can put this in the oven and such, I think perhaps it may be almost ready. It should have doubled in size, in theory."

[futaille]

"I wasn't expecting right this second. You'd be surprised at how patient I can be."