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

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.

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"Ah, of course. Let me see... From what I've ascertained from our acquaintance so far, anyway, croquembouche, Fireball, and perhaps a fox."

"Oh! The fox is the Ravkan national animal," Nina says, delighted. "What's... a croquembouche?"

"Small round cream-filled choux pastries," he holds up a hand in a circle to indicate the size, "piled into a stack and bound with spun sugar. Sometimes with other additional tasty decorations."

Her eyes widen to nearly the size of a choux pastry. "That sounds incredible."

"Excellent dessert for special occasions. Livens up a table."

"I do liven up a lot of things," Nina muses.

"And there you have it, then!"

"Grantaire," Nina begins very solemnly, "do you think a meeting like this is a very French thing or do you think it's more of a social circle thing?"

He looks thoughtful. "You know, that is difficult for me to say, as up until a few months ago, my social circle was entirely French. I think perhaps there are facets of it that are particular to social circles and facets that are particularly French, and it falls into a nice convergence."

That’s a nice, reasoned reply to a silly thought she had while speaking with Laertes. “Do you miss it? France and your friends?”

He shrugs. "Sure." It's an easy answer and a complicated one at the same time. "But that hardly matters. It's hardly as if I could go back, and if I could, they wouldn't be there anyway, so that takes away half the point." He takes a drink. "But I also like it here, and despite the fact that it's smaller, there's still a lot to be discovered and enjoyed here. And maybe one day they'll make it here too."

Nina nods slowly, understanding. For her, there's someone very specific she had been hoping for, though the longer she's here at the mansion without a hint of him (not even during visitor's day), the more she's resigned to the fact that she's said her final farewell. "I hope that for you as well. It was great to meet two of them when they were here."

Grantaire is lucky enough that if he'd had one specific hope of a person, that person arrived before he could have even mustered hoping for it. But the rest would be marvelous additions too. He smiles a little. "That was a lovely day."

“They seemed like amazing individuals,” Nina says, with genuine warmth.

He nods. "They were. All of them were. As wonderful as it is here, as much as I like it, I'd switch places with any of them in an instant if I could."

"You're a good friend, Grantaire," Nina tells him.

He shrugs. "I'm all right. Could be a better one, but could be worse."

"You're loyal and kind and funny," Nina tells him firmly. "You're thoughtful."

Grantaire scratches the back of his neck and takes a quick drink. "That's a slight overstatement."

Nina gives him a skeptical, stern look, briefly wondering if she needs to head back to the pantry for bread to make an idiot sandwich.

That is a worrisome expression. "Now, I hardly dispute being funny, and will even admit to loyalty, much to my occasional chagrin. But most all people can be thoughtful occasionally, and I include myself in that."

Nina purses her lips slightly. "Occasionally? Mr. I can think of the perfect dessert, animal, and drink for someone I've only known for a short while?"

"In my defense, I have no idea whether or not they are truly perfect choices. There could easily be something more suitable that I am unaware of, either because I don't know the animal or foodstuff in question or because of short acquaintance."

"And yet you're still trying to create community and make friends because you're thoughtful." Nina sets her hands on her hips. "Are you going to keep debating with me about this until I have to bully you into admitting you're a good friend?"

"I have no doubt that you would, clearly. So I shall concede this time."

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