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

[summerdude]

The entire time Lancelot has been talking, Magnus has been leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, brow furrowed. There's a moment where he kind of wishes he had a pen and paper, so he could take notes, but -- his mental notes are good enough. There's another moment where he wishes Qi Yan was there. She's so good at asking thinky questions, especially ones that are sneakily feminist.

"No," he says, grudgingly, after waiting a minute to make sure Lancelot didn't have anything else to say. His objective here was really about the trauma workbooks, and Lancelot just dismissed those out of hand! "But thank you for answering my question." He fidgets for a moment, playing with a hairband that he has around his wrist, thinking, trying to set aside his knee-jerk distaste for Lancelot so he can really parse what he's saying long enough to respond in detail. After all, he's not going to let Lancelot be the bigger man here!

Finally, he sighs. "Galahad told me a little bit about what Camelot was like," he says. "The, like, violence and stuff."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot manages not to frown. If that did not appease Magnus then he has no idea what might. He takes another sip of his drink -- it's nearly gone and he's beginning to wish he had more.

He responds, "Did he? And what did you make of it?"

[summerdude]

Magnus sighs. "Do you know about the Vikings?" If Lancelot had bothered to read Odin's book, he sure would, but apparently it wasn't relevant to him.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, of course."

[summerdude]

"What do you know about the Vikings?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot gives him a flat look, "Ere I came here, I lived in Britain. I know enough of Vikings."

[summerdude]

"Yeah, yeah, the marauding and plundering and settling and stuff," Magnus says, and smiles brightly for a fleeting moment. "One of my best friends fought and died under Ivar the Boneless in the 800s! I think that was before your time though." His smile fades. "So you know about the, like, Ragnarok thing, and the dying gloriously in battle thing, and the whole, like, concept of the dishonorable dead thing?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, I do."

[summerdude]

Magnus blinks at him, surprised and begrudgingly impressed. "Wait, you do?" he asks. "Almost nobody ever does."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I do. Most of those raids ended many years ago, but their tales and ideas carry on, even in spite of the Church."

[summerdude]

"Huh. Is that why Camelot is the way that it is?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot keeps the frown from forming. "I suppose that depends on your understanding of 'the way it is'."

[summerdude]

"Punch first, ask questions later?" Magnus suggests. Then he makes a face. Actively being the bigger man around a guy like Lancelot is so hard. "Okay, I swear I wasn't actually trying to throw shade just now."

[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."