cinq: there's a pain goes on and on (open)

[untamedantinous]

The cafe is generally empty, this early in the morning. Enjolras is grateful for that; he did not sleep well and is in no mood for company. He looks --not quite as tired as he had upon his arrival, but certainly rough, unshaven and bleary. It has been slightly over a month since their unexpected visitors, the two friends he had longed most for, and he still sees them in his dreams. Last night's were particularly vivid; he had been out with his musket before it had gotten dark, the lingering smell of gunpowder had done him no favors. There was Combeferre with three bayonets to the chest, still trying to help a guardsman despite it all; Courfeyrac standing at his side as the national guard advances upon them.

They are all covered in blood and gunpowder. Everything is, even him, though he was unwounded at the time. At the end, everything had gone silent. It was strange, to be surrounded by so much blood and gunfire and all the chaos that comes with a battle; and yet Enjolras had felt as though he was moving through a haze. He feels similarly now, sitting in a dark corner of the cafe with a mostly drunk cup of coffee nearby. He would rather be awake than chance more dreams. Perhaps someone will come along and distract him from this bout of melancholy.

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

This is a usual time for Lancelot to be up and about, and recently he's gotten into the habit of starting coffee and having a cup before he goes out to do his morning drills.

He almost doesn't notice Enjolras -- usually the café is pretty empty around this time -- but when he does, he says, in a level tone, "Good morning, Enjolras."

[untamedantinous]

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's a little lost sounding. "Good morning."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot gentles his tone a little, trying to leave space for Enjolras to tell him to go away. "Would you like some coffee, once it's done?"

[untamedantinous]

"I suppose I have finished mine." He doesn't particularly sound as though he wants Lancelot to leave; but he's also not quite in a mood for conversation.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Very well," easily, and in a manner that suggests he is perfectly content not to converse. "I shall bring it over."

[untamedantinous]

"Thank you," he allows, with a small yawn. "You are up early."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh, 'tis ever thus," easily.

[untamedantinous]

“Mm, that is why I do not see you training during the day, then.”

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Just so," with an easy smile, "It is best to start with routine, I find. Then the rest of the day goes easier."

[timebethine]

The sun's barely up, but a baker's day starts before dawn, and Laertes takes his promise to supply the café with pastries very seriously. He comes in yawning, laden with a tray of pistachio, date, and honey twists, and immediately starts making coffee with the cezve on the café's hot plate once he's set his tray down. He's gotten all the way to pouring himself a cup of coffee when he notices Lucien there, and he pours a second tiny cup and brings it over. "My heart," he says as he sets the coffee down near Lucien's elbow. "Thou lookest dire."

[untamedantinous]

He starts a little when he notices Laertes' approach, almost looking like a frightened deer. It's just for a moment, though, as he relaxes as he sees who it is. "Mmn. I did not sleep well."

[timebethine]

Laertes sits, far enough away not to crowd but close enough to touch, should Lucien wish it. "Wouldst thou speak of it? Or dost thou want distraction?"

[untamedantinous]

"I don't know," he says tiredly. "I have not spoken of it, at all, I think. I tried distraction earlier." He had been practicing fencing before he ended up here.

[timebethine]

"If the wound is too tender, I could share thy bed, and see if thou canst sleep in my arms," Laertes offers. "But if thou wouldst speak, I'll listen." He sips his coffee, and lays his hand out on the table where it will be easy to take.

[untamedantinous]

"I think I have had too much coffee to even attempt going back to sleep," he says, with a nod at the empty mug beside him. He takes the little cup that Laertes has set beside him and takes a sip of that as well. "I am already tense enough as it is, anyway. I'm just trying to figure out where to start."

[timebethine]

It strikes Laertes that Lucien is not the kind of man to be careful of his hurts--he's the kind of man who pushes through them, who tends to himself as though he is a furnace to forge a new republic. If it does not stoke the flame hotter, it is of negligible concern. "I'm here," he says. "Not altogether awake, but I'm here."

[untamedantinous]

“I am also not altogether awake,” he says tiredly. “Mm,” he continues with a yawn. “I suppose it is unnecessary to say I dreamed of the barricades.”

[az_fell]

Aziraphale rarely sleeps, which makes it comparatively easy for him to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he meanders into the café in search of a cuppa. He is immediately aware of the human presence in the corner, however, and he approaches with as much gentle benevolence as he knows how to muster. "Monsieur?"

[untamedantinous]

Presumably that’s quite a lot, considering he’s an angel and all. Enjolras seems lost in a daze, but he straightens and gives Aziraphale a brief nod. “Good morning.”

[az_fell]

"Is it a good morning, then?" Aziraphale takes a seat near Enjolras, although not directly next to him. "Forgive me for saying so, but you look rather... burdened."

[untamedantinous]

He shrugs a little. “I did not sleep well. This seemed a better alternative.”

[az_fell]

"The dreams, still?" Aziraphale looks at him with a faint frown. He supposes he can't simply offer poor Enjolras angelic intervention every evening going forward. That's a bit not the point of free will. "Is this place treating you well aside from that?"

[untamedantinous]

"It is, yes, I am learning many things." He tries for a smile, though it's a little shadowed. "The dreams do not happen all the time, only every so often."

[az_fell]

"I'm given to understand that that is roughly the nature of dreams. I don't often sleep," admits Aziraphale. "It's privilege of divinity."

[untamedantinous]

"Would that I didn't need sleep," he replies with a rueful smile. "I would get much more done."