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

[wickedwit]

"I was happy to hear it, of course. Grantaire did tell me about him, but not the whole drama of his first meeting. He spoke of Pontmercy's willingness to listen." Smile softening, he says, "Grantaire gives the most gracious of toasts. Observant without being vicious, in the way the barbed wits of Elsinore are -- he's too loyal and loving a man to truly tear anyone apart. You are lucky to have him, you realize."

[untamedantinous]

"Pontmercy did come and listen, sometimes. He never spoke as much as he did that first time, really; but he was inoffensive." He shrugs a little, a small fond smile blooming despite his best efforts. "Mm. I am. You needn't tell him that, please; though I know you will likely ignore that."

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs. "Yes, but I'll keep it in reserve for the next time I want to overwhelm him into accepting a compliment. It's a masterstroke, you know. All my usual, excessive flattery, and then 'moreover, I've heard it from Enjolras himself that he's lucky to have you, which honestly is an understatement considering how oblivious he'd been for most of your friendship.'"

[untamedantinous]

"And what if I tell him before that?" It's said with amusement, he does not currently intend to -- but he might, at some point. "All of your overwhelming tendencies will be for naught."

[wickedwit]

"It's a race between you and I, then. If I over-flatter him and it falls flat, I'll know you've snuck in some flattery of your own." Claudius clucks his tongue, teasingly. "Well, I suppose it's only gracious for me to give you the edge, when you're starting so late in the game."

[untamedantinous]

"Ah, yes, gracious indeed," he says drily. "You are in luck then, I am not altogether good at flattery; but I shall, I think, consider this a challenge."

[wickedwit]

There are, as far as Claudius can see, absolutely no downsides to this challenge which will lead to Grantaire suffering more flattery in his life. "Then let's shake on it like gentlemen," he says, and proffers a hand.

[untamedantinous]

"Of course." Enjolras does the same, and shakes Claudius' hand firmly with a small smile.