open: don't let the wine go to your brains

[untamedantinous]

It shouldn’t be this hard to prepare for a meeting. He’s done it countless times before. However, this time, it somehow is difficult. He’s never really had to set things up at times like this; and he knows as well as anyone else that he is not the best at social niceties. Granted, this meeting is in a much more well-appointed cafe than any he had ever been accustomed to holding space in in Paris. At least they have the benefit of a larger space. Consequently, Enjolras has spent much of the day of the eighth of Menestheus preparing, a little uncertain of how to plan a social gathering that is not immediately centered around planning a revolution. He is trying his best, at least.

Most of the tables and chairs have been pushed a bit more to the center of the room; the couch is arranged off to the opposite side. There are even various pillows scattered about, should anyone choose to sit on the floor. Arranged on a few of the larger tables and the counter there is a modest spread of food: of course, some of Laertes and Galahad’s pastries; but Enjolras has also procured what amounts to a few charcuterie platters: sliced sausages and meats, a selection of (mostly French) cheese, and various sliced loaves of bread and crackers are laid out for perusal, and spreads to go along with them. In an effort to provide multiple options of entertainment, Grantaire has set up a table somewhat near the food, with an assortment of wines and liqueurs. Off to one side, there are a few pots of brewed coffee, cream, sugar, and whatever else anyone might like to add to their beverage of choice. If anyone is drawn to the liquor cabinet, they will find three cups filled with various pieces of paper sitting atop it.

Enjolras himself is lingering on the couch with a glass of wine and some bread. He’s not sure how many people were even informed about this gathering, though he had done his best to advertise. If no one arrives then perhaps he will try again another time; but at least a few in attendance other than himself and Grantaire would certainly be welcome.

Comments

[futaille]

"Why yes, you have seen me fall unconscious from drinking."

[wickedwit]

“Then I’ll leave you to mull. It’s been an absolute pleasure, Aornis,” he says, rising from his seat. “Do keep in touch.”

[forgethertoo]

"Until next time," she tells him.

[temnota]

"Would I? I am not sure," Aleksander said playfully. "I do rather enjoy being a dog uncle and thus getting all of joy but none of the hard work."

[sagramore]

"Well, that's a choice, that doesn't speak to thine own natural talents."

[wickedwit]

Claudius raises an arch eyebrow at that, impressed by the aptness of the metaphor and by how well it shows Grantaire knows him. It does nothing for the emotions still coiling in his chest, where he bids his heart beat a little quieter, he can hear his own pulse hammering in his ears. "Well," he says briskly, "then thou must be something tart and sweet, that can pair as well with savory dishes as desserts. A cherry compote with shredded ginger, mayhap."

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs, loud and delighted. "Finally thou hast caught on. I did hope thou wouldst take my meaning when he was here last, but each timed it sailed over thy heads."

[wickedwit]

The translator does it work, and Claudius detects only a slight shift in accent, as though the words are more familiar on Dionysus's lips. He can do little with it, except sip his wine and take note of it. "And what's on your mind, Lord Dionysus? Is there some subject you'd care to discuss?"

[futaille]

He laughs, delighted. "And better when added to other dishes than on its own. I don't think I would have thought of it, but I like it. Very well-aimed."

[wickedwit]

"For a drink, thou art bourbon," Claudius continues, enjoying the sound of Grantaire's laugher far too much to stop now. "For an animal ... I would say thou wert a dog, but every dog is bred for a career. That would be too dull for thee, like being forced to study mathematics. Perhaps thou art one of those charming birds from overseas that can be taught to talk."

[futaille]

"A parrot makes entirely too much sense," he says with a grin. "Although unsurprisingly I'm wondering most about the drink. Why bourbon, of all of the varied options?"

[wickedwit]

Because you tasted of it the first time we kissed is, Claudius realizes, too personally embarrassing an answer to give. "It's my favorite drink," he says, which is no less embarrassing. "One of my favorites, but you feel more like a bourbon than a scotch."

[futaille]

Grantaire's eyebrows flicker upward in mild surprise, but his grin doesn't at all diminish. Quite the contrary, if anything. "A high honor indeed, to have secured a small corner on the shelf of favorites."

[vineleaves]

"Oh, please, don't call me 'lord'. Makes me feel old." Usually when speaking with any of the residents, he matches whatever language they're speaking. He caught on to the fact there's something translating everything the first time he heard two people talking to one another, but he generally doesn't want to trust someone or something else with handling his words. It's nice to have control over the exact connotations in speech.

Right now though he's a little tipsy, and decides to just have fun. He switches to Middle Egyptian. "I was wondering if you'd like to introduce me to that drinking game you mentioned the other day."

[peaklordshen]

That basically sounds like pizza but worse to Shen Yuan. "If it has another name other than bread, it's not bread anymore," he challenges.

[futaille]

"Oh, are you implying that exacting standard to noodles as well, then? Because I for one cannot think of a noodle that doesn't have a name other than 'noodle'."

[socialjusticedragon]

Temeraire looks briefly perplexed; what could be so distressing about Galahad riding him? "He is the son of Arkady and Wringe, and we brought his egg to Australia with us so as to help start an aerial corps there. Arkady was insistent that his egg should have a very rich captain, and I suppose that Caesar took that to heart; as he immediately enquired after Rankin's prospects as soon as he met him." If a dragon could roll his eyes, Temeaire would be.

"Rankin is --an awful man. He abused and starved poor Levitas, his old dragon, and did not even care when Levitas was dying; he was not even there until Laurence made him go."

[untamedantinous]

"Mm, so I have. But other times as well."

[futaille]

"Oh." He pauses. "Ah, well. Yes, I suppose you have."

[untamedantinous]

"We were quite distracted." That blush certainly hasn't faded, and he looks a tad disgruntled now. "Needless to say, it remains true. He is my friend. Surely you can conceive of a platonic relationhip."

[peaklordshen]

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. "Skill issue," he says. "Noodles,¹ noodles,² noodles,³ noodles⁴—" He frowns. "Wait, shit, the translator."

¹ Yóu miàn.
² Liáng miàn.
³ Lāo miàn.
⁴ Cū miàn.

[futaille]

He laughs. "I get the idea. France borders Italy, I could add several more. Which is exactly my point. Different noodles have different names just like different breads. So if you logically extend your restriction, you are at a disadvantage as well."

[wickedwit]

"I can, but I have multiple conceptions. I've platonic friends who I find very attractive, and I've had lovers who weren't as platonically intimate with me as you with Combeferre. Or as thoroughly distracted with that intimacy.

[untamedantinous]

He just raises his eyebrows and looks a little amused.

[untamedantinous]

He shrugs a little. “We are two halves of the same whole. Thirds, if we are including Courfeyrac. Combeferre was my first friend in Paris.”