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]

Because you tasted of it the first time we kissed is, Claudius realizes, too personally embarrassing an answer to give. "It's my favorite drink," he says, which is no less embarrassing. "One of my favorites, but you feel more like a bourbon than a scotch."

[futaille]

Grantaire's eyebrows flicker upward in mild surprise, but his grin doesn't at all diminish. Quite the contrary, if anything. "A high honor indeed, to have secured a small corner on the shelf of favorites."

[wickedwit]

Claudius is two steps away from telling Grantaire I love you, and he can't even articulate to himself why that would be a bad idea. He just has the vague, instinctive sense that they're not there yet, without the slightest idea of what would bring them there. Perhaps it would be a fitting subject for philosophical debate. Perhaps not. "I'll let you catch up with your other admirers," he says instead. "Bourbon is best shared, I believe."

[futaille]

He grins. "A bottle of bourbon is indeed best shared. A whole House of Bourbon is, apparently, best overthrown, so it's probably best that there is just the one of me."

[wickedwit]

"Thou ridiculous sophist," Claudius says by way of farewell. By now, sophist has become his pet name for Grantaire.