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]

“Your valor is appreciated, mon ami.”

[futaille]

Grantaire pauses and takes another pull of his drink. He shrugs. "I suppose I had to find some somewhere," is his airy reply.

[untamedantinous]

He laughs and sips his coffee. “In a mansion neither of us could have thought of, two months ago? You may as well.”

[futaille]

He leans back a bit with another shrug. "Well, it provides everything else. Except good boeuf bourguignon, apparently."

[untamedantinous]

“Yes. I haven’t looked for anything more involved than that, yet.”

[futaille]

"Somewhere a drawer full of valor, a cupboard of diligence, who even knows?" He grins. "If I ever find a box of temperance, though, I'm immediately closing it and walking away."

[untamedantinous]

“Mm, I do not think I have ever seen you entirely sober. ….Aside from the once.” He takes another sip of his coffee.

[futaille]

"I am not often entirely sober, so that stands to reason."

[untamedantinous]

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

[futaille]

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

[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.”

[futaille]

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

[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]

“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.

[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."

[untamedantinous]

"It does not seem all that historic, to me, but I would say that I am quite biased."