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]

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."

[summerdude]

"Oh, yeah, the dissociation." Magnus crosses his arms again. "Like I said, those books should be helpful."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"The what?"

[summerdude]

"Dissociation." Magnus says it slowly. "It's a--" he taps his temple a few times. "--thing."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Ah," with interest. Some of his caution ebbs off. "Susan called it a 'traumatic neurosis.'"

[summerdude]

Magnus shrugs. "Never heard of it."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Perhaps they mean the same thing. I've noticed terms change, over time. We had no word for it at all, in my time."

[summerdude]

"Huh," says Magnus. He supposes this tracks, based on his conversations with Galahad and, to a lesser extent, Sagramore. "I'm pretty sure in Valhalla they just call it 'proof of valor.'" This, for what it's worth, is a joke. A really bad joke.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot absolutely does not grok that this might be a joke. He still looks thoughtful. "Well, since now I understand what you might mean, I will consider the books."

[summerdude]

Magnus sighs, drains the rest of his root beer, and tosses the bottle in an easy arc directly into the trash can, where it clatters against the walls as it falls. Oh, score.

Then he forces himself not to cross his arms again. Bigger man, he reminds himself. Lancelot is being, like. Surprisingly decent? Horrifyingly. To keep himself from crossing his arms, he wraps his fingers around the edge of the counter, letting it bite into his palms. "Look," he says. "Some of my issues with you are on me and my issues, not on you and your behavior. I'll own that."

[lanselos_du_lac]

A little nod. "I appreciate that admission."

[summerdude]

"Like," Magnus releases the edge of the counter long enough to gesture vaguely at Lancelot. "It's the cop energy. Your vibes. Also," he adds, and then slams his mouth shut. Galahad said Lancelot isn't a dad to him, so maybe Magnus shouldn't judge Lancelot for being a deadbeat dad. "Yeah."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I don't understand cop energy." The question is sincere, even if it does come out a bit flat.