six: silence before jean-jacques (open)

[untamedantinous]

A wildfire burns quickly and hot until it is extinguished. In some cases, Enjolras' passion has been likened to a fire. Here at the mansion that fire tends to be mostly banked; but the embers remain. It is easy enough to stir it into wakefulness; and Enjolras' dreams of late have done just that. (They have passed, now, but the burning need to do something remains.) So he is in the café as he usually is, sat at a large table with various piles of writings strewn about.

Off to the side, one might note a flier that is still obviously a work in progress, set off to dry a bit while he works on something else. The general air of disarray suggests that he has certainly been here for hours at least, though he does look a good deal happier than he had the last time he had taken refuge in the café. The warmth and fire of his passion has awoken another familiar friend: writing like he's running out of time.¹ It is in truth very much what he would be doing in Paris, and there is a relaxed pleasure that is evident in the way he sits, in making himself feel useful even if it is for goals of his own making.

He has clearly been at it for some time, fingers inkstained and coffee grown cold beside him. There is a copy of The Social Contract open in front of him, and every so often he makes a thoughtful noise, writes a few things down, then turns to the next page. It is truly only a thought exercise that he's working on, a passing fancy to abridge a work that he is already intensely familiar with; but he appreciates the challenge. It is entirely different from the other, more private writings he has been working on, which are kept in a small notebook currently buried under all those sheets of paper. Regardless, the work pleases him --though the coffee does not. He picks his cup up to take a sip, makes a face, and rises to go start himself another.





¹ Wrong musical, same vibes.

Comments

[futaille]

"List those anyway. Just add others. Like..." He leans back in his seat thoughtfully. "Advantages and disadvantages of having arrived here. Comparing home worlds. Fashion. Love. Ridiculous jokes. Food. Games. Plants. Make sure to mention that anyone may chime in on any topic at any time."

[untamedantinous]

"Very well." He sighs and moves to scrawl those down on his flier. "Plants?" He looks vaguely amused. "I was unaware those were an abiding interest here."

[futaille]

"There's a greenhouse. There are assuredly at least a few botany enthusiasts."

[untamedantinous]

"I suppose. I am not used to advertising these sorts of things."

[futaille]

"You probably won't, after a while, for what it's worth. As long as the first few go well."

[untamedantinous]

"Mm. We shall see, I suppose. At least I will be assured you will be there."

[futaille]

"Oh, most certainly. And if it is just me, then I will gamely pretend to be several people of strikingly different opinions and get into debates with myself while you work through the tumult, until you finally bid one or another of the competitors to silence."

[untamedantinous]

He's clearly only half-paying attention to all that nonsense that just came out of Grantaire's mouth, intent on parsing down this phrase. "Mmhm. And just how drunk do you intend to be at this meeting, that you might do all this?"

[futaille]

"I am fairly confident that I could manage to do it stone sober, but how interesting it would be would increase with each drink, up until a point at which it would plateau and then precipitously collapse in concert with me doing the same."

[untamedantinous]

"I fail to see how that would be interesting." Sorry, Grantaire, he's definitely not paying attention now. At the very least, it should feel familiar.

[futaille]

Very familiar indeed, which of course means that he also has extensive experience in continuing to talk in the vicinity of an Enjolras who isn't actually paying attention to him.

"Oh, you lack imagination, in that case. Imagine me vociferously defending the Discourse on Inequality and then rounding to the other side of a table to denounce it as so many empty words on a page. Long enough and I would start to vehemently interrupt myself. Perhaps I would throw a half-eaten pastry at myself in a fit of pique, although I would end up needing to apologize to Laertes for thoughtlessly wasting his hard work in a moment of passion, for surely the pain au chocolat is not meant as a weapon. Although perhaps a debate then about what foodstuff would make the best weapon, citing historical precedent..."

[untamedantinous]

"I do not lack imagination. I simply think it would be absurd instead of interesting." He is going to continue writing, in that case. Book Two of The Social Contract waits for no man, after all.

[futaille]

"Ah, but absurdity is often interesting. I would in fact go so far as to say that most interesting things are absurd in their own way."

[untamedantinous]

"You certainly are," he says mildly, clearly still intent on his book.

[futaille]

He grins brightly. "Interesting and absurd? Why thank you, I feel immensely complimented." He grabs the draft of the flyer and then a pencil, starting to sketch on the empty space.

[untamedantinous]

"Mmhm." He looks up briefly to shoot Grantaire a small pleased smile, and then quite promptly goes back to wrestling with his latest turn of phrase.

[futaille]

He glances up from his sketching. "What part have you gotten to?"

[untamedantinous]

"I am up to book three, so far."

[futaille]

"Making good progress, then. Not that I'm surprised you're mustering both the will and the strength for this particular project."

[untamedantinous]

"I wonder how Rousseau would feel should he know I am making his writings subordinate to my will." He sounds mildly amused, if still distracted.

[futaille]

"It does seem a bit tyrannical. Perhaps the words should vote on the matter."

[untamedantinous]

"They do not have conscious thought, it is a puzzle."

[futaille]

"Ah, see, I was thinking to comb through the text and counting each 'oui' against each 'non', even if they are hidden in other words."

He will probably not do this.

Probably.

[untamedantinous]

"Tch." There's a dismissive wave, and he goes back to his writing.

[futaille]

"Entirely fair. I would imagine the oui vote would carry anyway."