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

[wickedwit]

"Let's see. Now I may go against the grain, and speculate these spirits, whose chief aim is entertainment, bring together contrary personalities for the sake of seeing sparks. You and Enjolras are ideal counterbalances... and whoever summoned you, they made sure Enjolras wasn't far behind. But for that reason I think it's unlikely. These spirits are playing a game, taking turns." Claudius thinks of the people who were here from the beginning, that first week or two when every other day marked a new arrival. The game isn't like chess, with pieces lined up on both sides of the boards, but like weiqi, with pieces being dropped in as they go. But if he had to choose from the people in this room ...

"Lan Wangji," he says. "Two extremes of eloquence. He's a man of most extraordinary wit and humor, know'st thou -- his wit is a well-aimed bon mot with a raised brow. Yours is a very whirlwind of words, wherein thou hid'st wisdom."

[futaille]

"I don't know if I'd say I hide any wisdom so much as it occasionally sneaks its way in to hide itself, but that's entirely beside the point." He is grinning, though, at Claudius's conclusion. "Lan Wangji? Definitely a contrast on several axes, and I like the thought. Our conversational methods, as you mentioned, of course. But I can think of several others even from our brief acquaintance. For instance, on a spectrum of much less import, I never really managed to pick up cooking, and he's wonderful at it. Have you had his cooking, by the way? It's delicious, although I'm somewhat convinced his husband has a nearly indestructible digestive tract, given the amount of spice he apparently requests. But yes, delicious."

He takes a drink of his wine. "Excellent deduction, and I'm sure the mansion spirits are laughing at our attempts regardless."

[wickedwit]

"Then we've fulfilled our roles. The rest of the night is ours to do with as we will." He smiles fondly. "I have had Lan Wangji's cooking, by the way, but only when I was transformed into a child. You arrived after that. That's for the best -- I can still maintain an air of mature elegance around you."

[futaille]

"Oh, you know, that's exactly the two words I'd use to describe you if asked. Mature elegance."

[wickedwit]

"Brat," he says, smiling as he says it, brushing his shoulder against Grantaire's. "Thou shouldst have three words, at least. A food, a drink, and an animal."

[futaille]

He laughs. "You know, I do not recall at any point saying that I was somehow the ideal arbiter of them. Just that everyone has them." It's a lukewarm objection at best, though, as he has an immediate answer. "Soufflé. Cabernet. Raven."

[wickedwit]

"Soufflé!" He laughs. "Truly? So light and airy a dish?"

[futaille]

And that's a grin. "And see, even you help the comparison. You look at a soufflé and say, oh, it's a light an airy dish, which of course it is to look at, but it's also a dish that requires precision and care to make, and is tremendously rewarding when you succeed."

[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."

[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."

[wickedwit]

Claudius is two steps away from telling Grantaire I love you, and he can't even articulate to himself why that would be a bad idea. He just has the vague, instinctive sense that they're not there yet, without the slightest idea of what would bring them there. Perhaps it would be a fitting subject for philosophical debate. Perhaps not. "I'll let you catch up with your other admirers," he says instead. "Bourbon is best shared, I believe."

[futaille]

He grins. "A bottle of bourbon is indeed best shared. A whole House of Bourbon is, apparently, best overthrown, so it's probably best that there is just the one of me."

[wickedwit]

"Thou ridiculous sophist," Claudius says by way of farewell. By now, sophist has become his pet name for Grantaire.