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.

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[timebethine]

Laertes has his own baking to do--he's going to attempt a steamed nutbread, although he'll be using walnuts instead of kulunuts. When he sees Lucien at the counter, though, he tucks the recipe back into his pocket. "Hallo," he says warmly, coming up behind Lucien to wrap his arms around him. "Might I lend a hand?"

[untamedantinous]

"Hallo," with a warm smile in return, and he leans back against Laertes a little to look at him properly. (There is flour smudged on his cheek.) "If you'd like to, yes. I'm afraid I've made a bit of a mess of the entire counter."

[timebethine]

"And thyself." Laertes runs his thumb over Lucien's cheek, smearing away most of the flour. "What art thou making? How can I aid thee?"

[untamedantinous]

"Baguettes. I had some bourguignon the other day that was --truly terrible, and I thought I might at least do better than that. I do need to let this rest though, I think, so if you would like to grease one of those bowls there, that would be helpful."

[timebethine]

"At thy command," Laertes says, and lets him go. "Butter, or olive oil?"

[untamedantinous]

"Mm, I do not think it says." He frowns over at the recipe for a moment. "Ah -- olive oil, it looks like."

[timebethine]

Then Laertes gets out the olive oil and pours a little into the bottom of the bowl, swiping it up the edges with a paper towel until the bowl is fully greased.

[untamedantinous]

"Thank you," with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He takes the dough from the board he was kneading it on and deposits it in the bowl, covering it with a cloth. "There, now it must rest for a half hour or so, I think. Until it has doubled in size."

[timebethine]

"I confess, this is the hardest part of baking bread," says Laertes ruefully. "Many's the time I've forgotten the bread while it proved, and come back hours later to find my yeast run amok."

[untamedantinous]

"Hopefully that will not be the case, otherwise I may well get discouraged." He's joking, clearly, and moves to go scrub the excess dough from his hands. "Have you made baguettes yet?"

[timebethine]

"Not yet--what makes them different from other breads?"

[untamedantinous]

"The outside is very crisp and should crunch when one bites into it, but the inside is soft and chewy." He reaches to inspect the recipe. "I think it is due to the water in it, or some such thing, according to this. I can say they are very good with cheese, or a bit of butter and jam."

[timebethine]

"I'll not guide thee, then--I've been learning brioches for Grantaire, and rye bread for myself, but this style is as new to me as to thee." Laertes comes over to glance at the recipe, and asks as he draws near, "How art thou?"

[untamedantinous]

He shrugs a little in answer, busying himself with gathering up bowls and wiping down counters for a moment or two before he settles on a reply. "I miss them, but it is easier to bear now." There is a pause. "Are you well?" He had, of course, encountered Reynaldo -- and though Laertes had never mentioned him he had been cautious all the same.

[timebethine]

Laertes doesn't answer at once, which is a kind of answer in itself. Even now, a part of him is convinced that he'll see some other agent of his father--a part of him is convinced that there is no safety for those he loves here, and that he would be better off disappearing into the woods and never emerging. And as long as that part has its back to a wall, he won't truly be well. "I will be," says Laertes at last. "I'm glad to have met thy friends. I see now why thou wouldst have remade the world for them, and with them."

[untamedantinous]

"I am very glad you got to meet them as well. They both seemed to quite like you." He sets down a dish towel and turns his attention to Laertes properly, now, moving to take his hand. "I would never let anyone take you from us," he says, firm and quiet. "I know Sagramore would not, either. I would remake the world for you as well, if I could -- though it seems you are intent on doing that yourself."

[timebethine]

That firm, earnest declaration makes Laertes's heart clench with fondness--and then reminds him of a project they've yet to pursue. "I know a way that we can pass the time while we wait for the bread to rise," says Laertes (a thought that has overproved many a loaf). "Let's begin our hunt for a printing press."

[untamedantinous]

"Ah! Yes, I had nearly forgotten, what with the cafe and everything." There is a slight pause. "Have you a pocketwatch, or anything to mind the time?"

[timebethine]

Laertes casts about, then finds a kitchen timer that's whimsically shaped like a chicken. He cranks the dial on it to thirty. "This will ring when our time is up," he says. In his hand, the chicken ticks. "And none will question why we're sneaking from room to room with a chicken sculpture clutched in our hands."

[untamedantinous]

“A ticking chicken, indeed.” Enjolras can’t help but laugh a little, and takes Laertes’ hand with no hesitation. It is a mark of how comfortable he has grown with Laertes these past few months; with anyone aside from his closest friends he is usually quite aloof. “Surely there must be one here somewhere, we’ve ballrooms and room enough for fencing, the place is large enough.”

[timebethine]

"And it answers our needs; I think we've thought long enough about a printing press to have at least sown the seeds of one." He bumps his shoulder companionably against Enjolras's as they walk. (In his own world, Laertes, too, had been aloof. It pleases him more than he can say, that he has a friend with whom he is not afraid to be seen holding hands.) "We should start on this floor--a printing press would be too heavy for the upper stories."

[untamedantinous]

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking. Perhaps past the cafe? I did not look too far down the hall when I was gathering furniture, I may have missed some rooms.” Or the mansion, being contrary, may have added a few rooms recently. “Have you found any more of Combeferre’s science books?”

[timebethine]

"I have! I've been reading more on molecular chemistry--I understand only two words in five, but the deeper I delve, the better my understanding. I know not what to do with this knowledge," he admits, laughing, "but it pleases me to have it."

[untamedantinous]

He shakes his head fondly, smiling. “Just like Combeferre. I knew you two would get along. With Courfeyrac as well, though he was certainly in a…playful mood during their visit. I do apologize if he was too much.” Someone needs to make up for his and Combeferre’s tendency to be serious, after all.

[timebethine]

"Never too much, my heart--although I did later learn that he and my husband thoroughly enjoyed each other with Grantaire," he says, grinning. "I'm glad for them; those three rogues are well-suited in temperament."