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]

Claudius laughs. "Oh, thou caughtst me long ago, ere thou knew what thou hadst caught. What of thee? Canst thou take praise, or art thou looking for snares?"

[timebethine]

"I can take it," says Laertes, bracing as though for a blow.

[wickedwit]

"Boldly said." He watches Laertes's face across the table, thoroughly endeared by how brave he makes taking a compliment look. Perhaps it needs some bravery. He remembers Laertes saying he didn't enjoy praise that sounds like expectation, praise like Laertes can learn anything. So instead, he says, "I admire thy many passions. Thou hast combed such wonders from such a vast shore of subjects, brilliant little pieces of learning like collected shells on the beach. All from moments where something happened to catch thy interest -- a book thou saw'st in the library, a particular remedy thou didst hope to find in herbalism, a time someone mentioned boats. Whatsoever the spark, thou wilt take that first curiosity and follow it to its end. Or in all directions -- either way, thou wilt cover more ground. Thou art devoted to thy projects, devoted to the people who inspire thee. Even if, at times, thou art impulsive, disorganized ... that impulse is thy passion, that disorganization a necessary step to learn something new. Thou hast to take apart a toaster to see how it works, to use a metaphor from Tress's workshop."

Smirking, he adds, "That's why it surprises me not at all thou didst save us all during the zombie attack. It may have been opportune, but thou wert always able to take one moment's curiosity and turn it into an opportunity. It speaks to thy speedy wits, that thou canst start with something Crowley said to thee about a TV show, follow that thought and find him, then discover the secret source of the zombies. Many fought. But thou foughtst and wert clever. I happen to find such cleverness attractive."

[timebethine]

And when Claudius says it like that, Laertes can feel that there was merit in what he did--caught in the frame of Claudius's perceptive eye, Laertes feels seen, understood, worthy. His heart gives a hard, urgent throb that he recognizes now as love. "Come away with me," he says, and takes Claudius's hands across the table. "I love thee. I want thee. Come away with me, and let me learn thee anew."

[wickedwit]

Claudius rises from the table, with an inviting smile cast over his shoulder, hand still linked to Laertes's as though to lead him off in a dance. "Happily."