closed: 'you don't believe in anything.' 'i believe in you.'

[untamedantinous]

The past few days have been less than pleasant. Firstly, it seemed that winter had decided to take an extended stay here at the mansion: yes, he knew this place had odd seasons, but winter has never been one of his favorites, even at home. Enjolras has been uneasy, lately, spending most of his evenings holed up with Laertes and Sagramore in an effort to avoid nightmares.

Today, he is hoping that spending time with the one other person from Paris will do him good: and besides that, it has been some time since he has properly seen Grantaire. It would do to check in on him, he thinks. And so, he has gathered up books and his nearly ever-present notebook, intent on doing some writing as well. --As an afterthought, he grabs the unopened bottle of wine that Dionysus had given him, and proceeds to Grantaire's rooms, where he knocks at the door.

"Grantaire?"

Comments

[futaille]

"It proceeds well enough. How goes the writing of not rabbits?"

[untamedantinous]

“It goes well. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, contains no rabbits whatsoever.”

[futaille]

"It would be quite the twist if your not rabbits writing actually did contain rabbits."

[untamedantinous]

"If you must know, it's a sort of memoir of Paris."

[futaille]

"Ah," he says. "Well, I do not recall many rabbits in Paris outside dinner plates, so their inclusion does seem unlikely." There's a slight pause. "If... if you would be amenable, I would like to read it when you're done."

[untamedantinous]

"Of course I would be. I would appreciate the proofreading." He offers a small, shy smile, and takes another sip of his wine.

[futaille]

"Yes, of course, I'll be as exacting as ever in my standards. Absolutely eviscerate every incorrect bit of punctuation." His tone of voice completely belies his words.

[untamedantinous]

"You certainly did a fine job with the sheet I made for the meeting." The words could easily turn sarcastic, but they do not.

[futaille]

He huffs out a little laugh. "Well that was the next best thing to a blank canvas I've ever seen."

[untamedantinous]

"--Thank you very much," he says drily.

[futaille]

He smiles brightly. "Happy to be of service."

[untamedantinous]

"Yes, yes, I know." He takes another, longer sip of his wine.

[futaille]

He shrugs. "Putting aside jokes for a bare moment, though, I do look forward to it. It's a story worth telling."

[untamedantinous]

"It is. If not for us, for them."

[futaille]

"Mostly for them, I think."

[untamedantinous]

"Of course, yes." He's going to set his writing aside for now, though, and continues to sip at his wine.

[futaille]

He drags his own chair over to sit beside Enjolras. "So what have you been up to aside from that?"

[untamedantinous]

"Mm. Spending time with Laertes and Sagramore, every so often. Writing. Trying to keep warm. Baking bread. The usual sorts of things, I suppose. What of you?"

[futaille]

"Spending time with... well, people, I suppose. Painting. Trying to keep warm. Playing games. ... I got to ride a horse."

[untamedantinous]

He blinks a little. "You hadn't before?"

[futaille]

"At what point would I have? That's what carriages are for."

[untamedantinous]

"You never went...hunting, or anything like that?"

[futaille]

"When would I have gone hunting? Not terribly much game in Marseille."

[untamedantinous]

He shrugs. "I don't know; I went hunting when I was younger. That is where I learned to shoot."

[futaille]

"Of course. Not part of my upbringing, therefore I have only ridden here."