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

[futaille]

He laughs, shaking his head ruefully. "You're right. They're your family. I may be an idiot, but I'm not that kind of idiot. How about... something about Athena."

[vineleaves]

"Alright, big sister Athena." He thinks for a moment. In truth he hasn't spent much time with her; aside from certain specifics of their birth they have little in common. Personality-wise. "She's... tall."

He sips his wine.

"Oh! She did weave some incredibly lovely fabric for me once. I'd show you, but it went missing with the rest of my luggage."

He will never stop being bitter over this, he's sure. Regardless of whatever new clothes the gods of this mansion might have in store for him.

[futaille]

"That's unfortunate. Maybe it will turn up one day. All right, what was living with Apollo like?"

[vineleaves]

"Apollo's great! I was gone a lot of the time, you know how I am, but whenever I wasn't off traveling somewhere I was back at Delphi. That, ah, that was his temple. He's very good when it comes to planning, and he's great to have around in a pinch. I think people assume he's going to be sort of uptight, but you should have seen some of the parties we threw with the oracle ladies."

[futaille]

He can't help but burst into laughter. He was right there at good planner and great to have around in a pinch, definitely with 'sort of uptight', but then the oracle parties completely throw his mental image into very odd places. "I would not have imagined that." So now, of course, he has to purge his brain of the image of Enjolras partying with a Delphic oracle.

[vineleaves]

"Don't get me wrong, some of the prophecies were real, legitimate prophecies." He drains, then refills his glass. "But a lot of it was incoherent ramblings from the girls who were drunk off my wine and high off of Apollo's... ah... medicine."

[futaille]

"I always did wonder what exactly the fumes were."

[vineleaves]

"Ohhh yeah, that's why we had to limit it to just one day a month." He would further explain that it was similar to laughing gas from a dentist, but he can't remember when that became a thing, and thus is pretty sure Grantaire wouldn't know what he was talking about anyway.

[futaille]

Correctly ascertained, in fact, but it was close. Another twelve years, sadly. "There must have been quite the line on that one day."

[vineleaves]

"That's why they weren't all real! Apollo could definitely do real prophecies, I mean, but when you've got people camping out outside you sometimes sort of just..." he makes a vague gesture.

"Generally speaking people were fine with either option they ended up with. If it didn't seem to make sense they just assumed it was the gods being mysterious and speaking in riddles they couldn't figure out. Everybody wins."

[futaille]

That is a delighted laugh. "The gods are inscrutable indeed. A fondness for wine and a talent for nonsense? Clearly I could have been an oracle."

[vineleaves]

"The night is young, there's still time for you to start speaking gibberish if that's what you want to do."

[futaille]

"Oh, I'm always speaking gibberish."

[vineleaves]

"Yet everything you've said tonight makes perfect sense to me."

[futaille]

He laughs a little. "Oh no, what am I coming to if I'm starting to make sense?"

[vineleaves]

"Fear not my dearest," he tries to stifle his giggles. "I've been called the god of madness, so I think you're still in the clear."

[futaille]

"Oh, excellent! In that case, everything is quite as it should be."

[vineleaves]

He smiles, a hand going up to twist in Grantaire's curls as he presses a warm kiss to his lips.

[futaille]

He smiles around it, relishing as always the rich wine taste of Dionysus' kisses. "Yes. Quite as it should be."