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]

After a while of this, Grantaire stands and starts to stretch. "That's enough for now, I think."

[untamedantinous]

"Mmm?" Enjolras doesn't exactly bother to look up.

[futaille]

He tosses a cloth over his painting. "I'm taking a break. Would you like a glass of the wine you brought?"

[untamedantinous]

"Ah. Yes, that would be nice." He does take a moment to shift position and stretch some, at least.

[futaille]

He nods and goes to get a couple of glasses, pouring one for each of them. (There may be a slightly more generous pour in his own.) He hands Enjolras his glass. "Cheers."

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras nods and takes it, giving him a small smile. "Thank you."

[futaille]

He smiles back and shrugs. "You brought it in the first place, so thank you."

[untamedantinous]

"I thought you might get more use out of it than I would."

[futaille]

"That does seem likely. Especially this month." He takes a long sip from his glass.

[untamedantinous]

"Mm. Yes. Would you like some bread, the next time I make it?"

[futaille]

"Oh, that would be lovely."

[untamedantinous]

"I cannot promise that it will be very good bread, but we must take what we can in this time."

[futaille]

"I wasn't expecting any such promise, so there is nothing to worry about on that score."

[untamedantinous]

"It will, at least, be better than the baguette," with a rueful smile. "I fear I am too impatient for that one."

[futaille]

"Eh, even the baguette was fine. And whatever you make will be better than what the house can make now, anyway."

[untamedantinous]

"Yes, I suppose so. It is easy enough, all you need to do is mix it up and leave it."

[futaille]

"I assume baking is involved at some point too."

[untamedantinous]

'Oh, yes, of course; but that is after you let it sit for a while."

[futaille]

He takes a drink of his wine. "Ah, I have more in common with bread than I thought!"

[untamedantinous]

He raises an eyebrow. “Indeed. I’m sure I could come up with something clever about fermenting, but I cannot think of it just now.”

[futaille]

"If you'd like, I'm happy to pretend you did. Would it be more 'sensible chuckle' clever or 'laughing uproariously' clever?"

[untamedantinous]

He just rolls his eyes a tad. "Neither, if you please."

[futaille]

He grins brightly. "As you wish, of course."

[untamedantinous]

"Of course." He takes a drink of his own wine and settles back in his chair. "How goes the --painting of rabbits?"

[futaille]

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