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

[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."

[timebethine]

"All very fine indeed," says Laertes, raising his knuckles to skim Claudius's cheekbone. "Thine eyne well set to give thee an air of deep consideration; thy lashes long and beguiling; thy mouth generous and expressive--" and his thumb traces Claudius's lower lip, teasingly, before he lets his hand fall. "But of all thy graces, I love best the fierceness of thy heart."

[wickedwit]

This praise Claudius all but basks in, leaning towards Laertes's touch like a cat, or like some other creature meant to be stroked and admired. When Laertes's hand leaves him, Claudius's lips are parted open, his eyes soft. It bares him to receive the stark fact of Laertes’s confession, and fold it to his heart. "Thou art a graceful flatterer," he says at last.

[timebethine]

"Nay, flattery is meant to ensnare," says Laertes with a warm smile. "I already hold thee fast."

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs. "Oh, thou caughtst me long ago, ere thou knew what thou hadst caught. What of thee? Canst thou take praise, or art thou looking for snares?"

[timebethine]

"I can take it," says Laertes, bracing as though for a blow.

[wickedwit]

"Boldly said." He watches Laertes's face across the table, thoroughly endeared by how brave he makes taking a compliment look. Perhaps it needs some bravery. He remembers Laertes saying he didn't enjoy praise that sounds like expectation, praise like Laertes can learn anything. So instead, he says, "I admire thy many passions. Thou hast combed such wonders from such a vast shore of subjects, brilliant little pieces of learning like collected shells on the beach. All from moments where something happened to catch thy interest -- a book thou saw'st in the library, a particular remedy thou didst hope to find in herbalism, a time someone mentioned boats. Whatsoever the spark, thou wilt take that first curiosity and follow it to its end. Or in all directions -- either way, thou wilt cover more ground. Thou art devoted to thy projects, devoted to the people who inspire thee. Even if, at times, thou art impulsive, disorganized ... that impulse is thy passion, that disorganization a necessary step to learn something new. Thou hast to take apart a toaster to see how it works, to use a metaphor from Tress's workshop."

Smirking, he adds, "That's why it surprises me not at all thou didst save us all during the zombie attack. It may have been opportune, but thou wert always able to take one moment's curiosity and turn it into an opportunity. It speaks to thy speedy wits, that thou canst start with something Crowley said to thee about a TV show, follow that thought and find him, then discover the secret source of the zombies. Many fought. But thou foughtst and wert clever. I happen to find such cleverness attractive."

[timebethine]

And when Claudius says it like that, Laertes can feel that there was merit in what he did--caught in the frame of Claudius's perceptive eye, Laertes feels seen, understood, worthy. His heart gives a hard, urgent throb that he recognizes now as love. "Come away with me," he says, and takes Claudius's hands across the table. "I love thee. I want thee. Come away with me, and let me learn thee anew."

[wickedwit]

Claudius rises from the table, with an inviting smile cast over his shoulder, hand still linked to Laertes's as though to lead him off in a dance. "Happily."