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 leans back in his seat, mulling it over. "Hm. Spice cake, lemonade, and a squirrel."

[summerdude]

Magnus blinks. "Why?"

[futaille]

"My proclamations are mysterious. Also, bold flavors blended with sweetness. A refreshing hint of summer. A very enthusiastic and talkative forest dweller."

[summerdude]

"...huh," Magnus says. "I would have said falafel, mead, and mongoose."

[futaille]

"You would know yourself better than anyone, so by all means elaborate."

[summerdude]

"Well, falafel is objectively the best food in the world. It's fluffy and spicy and crunchy and savory, and good hot or cold. All of which describe me. Mead can come in a ton of different flavors but they all pack a punch. If I had to pick a variety, it would be Heidrun's mead, which is generally easily available but fortifying. Not the Alfish psychedelic mead. That one's not me. And mongeese are scrappy fighters and can't be defeated by snakes." Such as, for example, Loki. "They can be cute pets but they'll also bite the head off a threat."

[futaille]

"Well-reasoned on all counts, then, and I will defer to you fully. I am impressed." He holds up a hand for a high-five.

[summerdude]

Magnus slaps it with a grin, and returns to wall-flowering.