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

[untamedantinous]

“That would be because Pontmercy is not here.”

[futaille]

"I think that would still annoy you more."

[untamedantinous]

“You would be at least mildly annoyed, I think.”

[futaille]

"Possibly. Depends on what he decided to go on about. On the other hand, if he disappeared from the closet as quickly as he disappeared from a dance we went to once, the problem would be solved quite readily."

[untamedantinous]

“I shall assume Courfeyrac was the one who dragged him along with you all, Pontmercy does not seem the type for dances.”

[futaille]

"I think he went in hopes he'd see his lady love, and then when she wasn't there, he decided he didn't have to be either."

[untamedantinous]

"I mean, it does seem somewhat pointless in that respect. I would not blame him for leaving."

[futaille]

"Dancing can be delightful regardless, though."

[untamedantinous]

He shrugs carefully, trying not to dislodge Grantaire's head from his shoulder. "I suppose. With the right company."

[futaille]

"The right company is certainly preferable of course. Like the proper sauce on a dish."

[untamedantinous]

"Mm. Yes." He gives Grantaire a small smile.

[futaille]

The small smile is met with a larger one. "You are an excellent sauce."

[untamedantinous]

He snorts a little. "What flavor?"

[futaille]

"Hmmm. I think perhaps a hollandaise."

[untamedantinous]

“And what is your reasoning?”

[futaille]

"Much like you, it's blond and I'm very rarely upset to see it."

[untamedantinous]

“…..That is exceedingly stupid,” he says fondly, and kisses Grantaire’s cheek, amused.

[futaille]

He cannot help a grin. "Well, as I am also exceedingly stupid, I can hardly say you should have expected much different."

[untamedantinous]

“I did not; I simply wanted to hear your reasoning.”

[futaille]

"And so you have. I'm glad it at least amused you."

[untamedantinous]

“You would undoubtedly be some kind of wine sauce.”

[futaille]

He laughs brightly. "Oh, almost certainly."

[untamedantinous]

"Bordelaise, or perhaps lyonnaise. I suppose it depends on your mood."

[futaille]

"Now you have me curious. Which sauce matches which mood?"

[untamedantinous]

"Whichever wine you are currently drinking, of course," wryly. "But I would say generally bordelaise."