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

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot gives a little shrug and moves on. "Magnus-- I did not seek to attack you, that day, did I? Despite the fact that I might have had what passes for a reason. When I hit Galahad -- which I should not have done -- I was reacting to something else entirely. A personal pain. I had no way to understand who he was or what had happened. I know you think it an excuse, but I was not certain he was real. When he put me down, things became much more clear. I knew where each of us stood, and I knew, too, that I did not understand what was happening."

He thinks for a little moment, then says, "It is true-- we are more likely to strike first. I know not why we are as we are. I do know that there has been little peace in my lifetime, no matter where I lived. I was raised to make war, and sometimes that is my first inclination."

[summerdude]

"Yeah, dude, that's my entire point," says Magnus, as if Lancelot should be able to make any connection between the zillions of questions he's been asking with very little context.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He actually laughs a little, and his tone is friendly enough when he says, "Aye, well-- it seems that's what you should have said first. It is hard to talk to you, Magnus. I am trying to understand you, but you do not make your thoughts clear. I'm not interested in a contest, unless it is with blades. Speak plain."

[summerdude]

"I'm not going to fight you," Magnus says, immediately. "I promised Galahad I wouldn't kill you," Well, basically. It was definitely implied. "No, I mean -- look, I came here from Valhalla, okay? I get what it's like to be from a a society that's all battle, all the time. And I do get that it can be super disorienting when you first get here. What I'm saying is that it's not an excuse. I--" He breaks of, registering again that they're in a crowded room, and even though everyone else seems to be talking and mostly ignoring them, he's not actually going to start airing Lancelot's personal business to his face. That's a blush too far. "Can we talk outside?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot gives him a perplexed look, but he takes up his glass and says, "Aye, I suppose."

He stands, nodding to Magnus to lead on.

[summerdude]

Magnus leads him out. For lack of a better place to go -- he'd rather be outside outside, but he guesses neutral ground is better -- he heads to the nearest kitchen, where he retrieves a couple root beers from the fridge and tosses Lancelot one. He hoists himself onto a counter, then, sitting and swinging his legs. "Look," he says. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you really should read the trauma books."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He opens the root beer, sniffs it, and then takes a tentative drink. He doesn't much like it, but that's fine.

He's also a little tired of trying to work his way through whatever it is Magnus expects, so in response he says simply, "Explain. Please."

[summerdude]

"I think you could use it. I think it would help you." Magnus sighs and scuffs a hand through his hair. "Okay, you know what? Realistically, I don't expect you to listen to me. I know I'm, like, just some dickhead kid. Well, dickhead twenty-five-year-old who looks like some dickhead kid. I don't like you and you don't like me and that would be true even if there wasn't, like, a culture class misunderstanding about the queen or whatever." This is the most that he's going to give on this front, by the way -- a shared misunderstanding. "Or even if -- you know, everything with Galahad."

He frowns. "I don't like it, and I think that even if you come from, like, Violencelandia you can still choose another path--" he gestures to himself demonstratively "--and not hit people, no matter how insistent Galahad is that it's fine that you did. But, like, even without all that, I just don't like your vibes. Um, no offense. But I don't. And I get that it's mutual, or whatever. But Galahad is really insistent that you get to pick your own path here too, which, like, yeah. Everyone deserves a second chance, I guess." This is actually something he fervently believes. Maybe not for Loki, but for everyone else. "So you should deal with your trauma."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot takes this in, and then pauses. After a long moment, he sets the bottle aside. It costs him something, but he does not draw himself up straight as is his impulse. Instead, he stays leaning against the counter and says, carefully, "Magnus. There is something that I need for you to understand."

He meets Magnus' gaze, "It is well if you do not like me. I do not need to be liked. But if you are going to insist on bringing me back to one moment, again and again, then you should recognize--"

A breath. He stops. He has already said to Magnus that that was the worst time in his life. He doesn't want to say it again. So he changes paths.

"I am not making excuses for what passed between Galahad and I. I was wrong. That I know. Regardless of why it happened, I was wrong. But, too, I was dealt with, swiftly and rightly, by the one who was wronged. So now I will ask you to consider: have I raised a hand against anyone else here, after that moment? Have I shown violence to anyone -- anything, other than the walking dead?"

He is regarding Magnus very directly, seriously, his expression no longer flat, but edging into vulnerable.

[summerdude]

The bigger man, Magnus reminds himself. He forces himself to meet Lancelot's eyes. "So," he says, willing himself not to sound guilty. "Speaking of the zombies. You know how you almost died and I healed you?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Of course I do. I am grateful."

[summerdude]

"I see people's memories when I heal them. It was a bad wound. I saw a lot of your memories." Magnus exhales. "I haven't told anyone any details. I wouldn't."

[lanselos_du_lac]

This takes a moment to land, and another to process. He pales a little. Lancelot takes a breath. "Fine. Very well. What do you think you saw, then?"

[summerdude]

"Do you really want me to say?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes. I do." He is watching Magnus with a frank, open expression.

[summerdude]

"Okay. I saw your fight with Galahad, for one. But I also saw a guy -- you -- on the verge in this, like, miasma of directionless anger for weeks. I saw some of the stuff with... with Galahad's mom, mostly from when the, uh. Deception became clear. I saw a few fights with the queen. I saw a lot of actual fights with actual weapons. Not a lot of context on those. I guess some might've been fun but by and large the emotional tone was pretty grim."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Obviously, none of this is a surprise to Lancelot, other than the fact that Magnus has seen it and been carrying around with him for ... however long it's been since the walking dead attacked. Even so, his brain actually sort of stalls out for a moment. So much of what Magnus mentions flickers up, like a fresh wound, heedless of everything he's done to tamp it down.

He takes a breath or two. He very carefully does not move.

Lancelot tries very hard to sound level when he says, "If you have seen all of this, I cannot imagine why you are still questioning the state I was in when I arrived. I also cannot understand why you think I-- whatever it is you think."

[summerdude]

"I'm not questioning the state you were in, dude, I'm saying that kind of shit builds up if you don't deal with it, and if it overwhelms you again I don't wanna be around when that happens." He sets his jaw. "Like I said, I promised Galahad I wouldn't kill you. Or defeat you, or whatever else. So I don't wanna be in a position where that's a possibility."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot shakes his head a little -- partly to attempt to shake off the sensation of... something like panic. Whatever it is. But partly, also, to demonstrate to Magnus that that's no longer a possibility.

"You assume," he says, more careful than he probably needs to be, "that nothing for me has changed since I arrived. That seems unfair."

[summerdude]

"So you're dealing with your shit?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He does -- somewhat to his shame -- have a little flash of anger at that. Who doesn't change, in an environment like this? Who could spend months here and not question where they've come from?

Lancelot pushes that down. He still feels disconnected but he tries to meet Magnus' gaze. "I am trying. I think most of us are. Are you?"

[summerdude]

Saying I slept inside four nights in a row would mean basically nothing to Lancelot, and require context that Magnus isn't inclined to give him. "Sure," he says instead, trying for a crooked smile, and waves a hand between the two of them. "I'm Magnus Chase (hi, Magnus), and it's been 140 days since I last died and/or killed someone else. Zombies obviously excluded. And hey, you've brought the grand total of friends' dads I've met and not defeated or killed to a whopping grand total of one, so. Setting some major new records over here."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot nods, glances down. He does not owe Magnus an explanation, his time, anything. Even so. Magnus is, he understands (he thinks), trying to help.

He doesn't look up when he responds. He's willing to be honest but any additional vulnerability will be too much. (And besides, Magnus has already seen everything -- nearly everything -- that's dogging him.) "When I first arrived here, I did not even understand that I had been harmed. No, rather, I did not understand that I had been wronged. It took many conversations with Galahad, Laertes, Sagramore, Susan, to come to this realization. It has not been easy."

"Being here, things are very different. At court, after... Elaine, the Queen's reaction, every day was like," he shakes his head, "I don't know. Being burned. There was no relief or rest, and I would not take any of Arthur's comfort. That made it very easy, very likely, for me to lash out so I understand your concern. But here, there has been rest. I'm not being wounded, freshly, every day. My friends, and even Galahad, have given me other ways to understand things. When it overtakes me now, it is not like rage. I don't want to describe it, but maybe you know."

[summerdude]

Magnus fiddles with the label on his bottle of root beer. Mostly he still gets the anger, when he's, like, triggered or whatever. "Grief?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No," quietly, "That's separate."

He pauses, and then decides to risk describing it. Magnus is listening, maybe he can make himself clearer. (It still matters little to him, ultimately, whether Magnus likes him or not. It doesn't really matter. But if Magnus will insist on coming at him instead of just leaving him alone, Lancelot may as well give him some chance at understanding.)

"It is like slipping outside of my body, standing next to myself, waiting for a blow to strike that doesn't land. Or-- the way it feels when one has a very bad injury and you have to stay alert anyway. It feels awful. I can't think. Once it passes, I'm exhausted."