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]

“Ah, fair enough. Still,” he says, letting his voice lower to more intimate tones, “I believe it’s Grantaire’s aim to create a space where everyone feels free to speak on any matter that moves them. Whether or not it’s to any practical end — preferably not, I think, in his case. You needn’t be certain to start a discussion. Contingencies are contingencies. They’re what-ifs, and thus uncertain by necessity.” In his musing tones, he asks, “Do you think it would excite any interest if I went about the room and asked if you had to depose a hypothetical tyrant here, how would you go about it? Or is that too confronting?”

[timebethine]

"My friend, I will counsel thee to unhappy ends here," says Laertes. "I think thou shouldst."

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs. "You can be confronting, when the situation calls for it. It's a talent of yours."

[timebethine]

"If such a need arises, thou wilt have my blade," says Laertes, reaching for Claudius's hand. "I dearly hope it does not."

[wickedwit]

"Then I know thy answer." There's a sincere gratitude there. With a sigh, he says, "In truth, I hope it all remains hypothetical. An outlandish discussion to pass the time, like asking what one would do if ..." He shakes his head. "Thou know'st, it has become a struggle to think of outlandish enough scenario. What one would do if one were transformed into a child for a day? What one would do upon switching forms with a friend's lover, and finding yourself in his bed?"

[timebethine]

"Nothing is impossible any longer," says Laertes wryly. "Except, perhaps, reconciliation without sincere repentance."

[wickedwit]

"'Tis why God and I will never be reconciled," Claudius says with a roll of eyes, eliding any other reconcilements he might wish for. "Either I must repent, or He must. And God's far more likely to say something along the lines of 'Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?'"

[timebethine]

"Sooner be transformed into a chicken than repent thy sins," says Laertes, but it's deeply fond.

[wickedwit]

"Why a chicken?" he asks with a sincere laugh, startled out of him. It's a little less smooth than his usual laughs, which are seldom involuntary even when they're sincere.

[timebethine]

"Why not a chicken? Thou mightst as easily ask 'why children,' or 'why another body.' This place is one of caprice and whim."

[wickedwit]

"There has to be some reason for it. Or does it fall under Kade's classification of Worlds? Am I expecting Reason from a World with Nonsense gods?" He's genuinely interested in the puzzle, for the moment, then shakes his head. "I could propose a theory for each, but it rather depends on you telling me when you do something like stop an influx of zombies. Zombies are a movie creature -- Crowley told me that -- and you and Crowley stopped them by re-enacting something from a television show. That would suggest the spirits sometimes borrow elements from fictional stories, and follow the logic those stories dictate. It didn't work quite as well with the Freaky Friday situation, but that was least a film." This is a very roundabout way of saying, "If there's a story about princes turning to chickens, I suppose there's a chance. So why didn't you tell me about your heroics during the zombie attack?"

[timebethine]

"The simple answer is that I did not think them heroic," says Laertes, who must have explained this fifty times already. "I found Crowley, who had some understanding of such things from the stories of the Winchester brothers, and I bade him try what they would have done. My part in this was small, and not worth the telling."

[wickedwit]

"Dost truly think so?" Claudius sighs. "I would blame thy father for spoiling thy sense of what an accomplishment is, after only letting thee choose from an approved list of accomplishments for gentlemen ... but I'll spare thee another rant against him. What about it wasn't worth the telling?"

[timebethine]

"Why--any of it. Others fought just as bravely. We merely happened to be in an opportune place."

[wickedwit]

"Ay, and they would've kept fighting and fighting without end, if thou didst not find the source. We could've carried on, I'm sure, with the martially inclined among us protecting the house in shifts, but some of us have no such skills. I would've been confined to the house, never able to go out in the garden, which would make me more miserable than I am now. Take care not to demur too much, and deny the good thou hast done. Wouldst thou really insist thou hast done nothing of note, when thou hast saved our way of life and my happiness?"

[timebethine]

"Very well," Laertes concedes, charmed despite himself by Claudius's unexpectedly spirited defense. "Perhaps I should have said something. Forgive me."

[wickedwit]

The concession mollifies Claudius, who had many more arguments he was prepared to make. Waving off any need for forgiveness, he says, "Remember that those who love thee want to praise thee and tell thee how good thou art. Thou hast a dog now, thou shouldst understand." A beat, then he corrects himself, "A second dog, I should say."

[timebethine]

"Szarka, at least, knows how to take praises." A slight lift of the eyes, not quite an eyeroll.

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs, and fondly shakes his head. "Szarka is young. All creatures are born craving approval -- I said so to Sagramore, and will say it to thee. We rely on it. Humans, more than all others, since some creatures can walk minutes after they're born, or learn language in the egg like Temeraire has. But a young human is a clumsy, ignorant thing, unable to do anything for itself. We need others' approval and care to survive, others' approval and guidance to learn. Without it we wither, like plants starved of sunlight, and know only our own insufficiencies. But such insufficiencies are shared among anything born helpless."

[timebethine]

"And how wilt thou take praises, my heart? Like a plant long starved of light, unable to raise its head and drink in what nourishes it? Or like a young creature that knows no purpose but to flourish?"

[wickedwit]

The back of Claudius's neck flushes at my heart, and he raises both eyebrows. "Wilt thou try it? Praise me."

[timebethine]

"Then let me tell thee how much I admire thy swift defense of those thou lovest--how willingly thou wouldst take any blow for their sakes," Laertes begins.

[wickedwit]

Ah, and there's that flush creeping up behind his ears. He takes a swallow of wine, since he can't really deny that, after the whole business with Hastur. "I am quick-tempered and prone to making myself a target, yes," he says loftily.

[timebethine]

"My withering chrysanthemum," Laertes laughs. "My sun-starved lily! We shall see thee learn to bear tending yet."

[wickedwit]

"I knew not what compliment thou wouldst make," Claudius says in mock-sulking tones. "I hoped that thou wouldst compliment my face or figure, or my turn of phrase."