Lucien Enjolras

Because Lan Wangji likes Grantaire, and because he said that he would likely be there, he is there. He enters precisely on time, carrying his own teapot in his hands. He finds the seat farthest from the center, sits, produces a teacup from his sleeve, and fills it for himself. It would not quite be accurate to say that he settles back, because he sits as perfectly straight as ever, but there is a certain air about him that makes it clear he intends to do very little other than observe as he lets his tea cool.

He doesn't mind letting conversation wash over him. He has been doing that for most of his life. Political meetings, war strategy sessions, and discussion conferences. If he had something to say, he would say it, as he did at Carp Tower when Wei Ying burst in to demand the whereabouts of Wen Ning -- but today, he has nothing. If someone should govern the mansion, it isn't going to be him, and he would rather not see the privileges of leadership fall to anyone too eager to claim them. The thought of entering into a squabble about it as a form of entertainment is exhausting. Power ebbs and flows, and those who grasp it abuse it as often as not. Expressionless, he sips his tea once enough of its heat has leached away and remains silent.