|
Post by Enjolras on Jan 16, 2008 16:18:15 GMT -5
*stands on the bar and pretends to have first an erection and then breasts, courtesy of a rolled-up paper and some glasses*
*He nodded.* "I heard. Never thought I'd see her with kids."
|
|
|
Post by Marius on Jan 16, 2008 18:48:27 GMT -5
"Neither did I, but I can't think of a better person to take care of children. "
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 0:37:03 GMT -5
**LATER**
*Well, he wasn't drinking, merely brooding. Which was probably worse. The senile old barman had recognized him and smiled. The life was back here, the youth. Little did he know the craziness that involved Enjolras's coming back. He smiled a little. He'd seen that face every day for so long, and yet he didn't remember the man's name. The man who's served the wine that had kept them going, and sometimes made them depressed, but more often had made them crazy.*
*So he sat at the bar, looking around and reminiscing.*
|
|
|
Post by Grantaire on May 9, 2008 0:54:31 GMT -5
He was once again in his element, but had chosen a small and cozy table near the wall rather than sitting at the bar itself. Three bottles were lined up in front of him, though he favored no slotted spoon, sugar, or water. The first bottle seemed to have only just been opened, it's pretty green line just below that of it's fellows while it's patron sat with his upper body leaned over the table, cheek against the cool, smooth wood and arms spread up and out embracing the whole round thing.
He was not drunk, yet, as he wanted to hold onto his thoughts just a moment or two longer.
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 0:57:30 GMT -5
*Enjolras hadn't seen him yet; he was looking at the door to the back room where they'd all spent so many afternoons together.*
|
|
|
Post by Grantaire on May 9, 2008 1:06:25 GMT -5
Grantaire spent a fair bit of time ignoring that room, and never went near the place where the Corinthe had stood, nor around the universities. He rarely came here, actually, but his experience of the night before, and that morning, had prompted him to return.
Now he saw everything before him through the green of his little line of bottles and he watched the people come and go, hidden himself from view and behind the curtain of emerald.
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 1:15:49 GMT -5
"Might I look in?" *He asked the barman. Delighted, he showed Enjolras to the back room. It was the same as ever; it was as if they'd never been there. He could almost hear Combeferrre; he could practically see Joly examining his tongue and convincing them he had a horrible disease.* "What is it this week?" *Someone always asked.*
*The tables were rearranged; the chairs stacked up on top, but it was the same room. There was where they'd nicked the walls in an attempt to move a table; there was where someone had stabbed his knife into the table (Enjolras could no longer remember who it had been). The hours they'd spent here; the things they'd planned... all gone. Nobody left but him and Grantaire. That other Marius... he wasn't truly Marius. Not their Marius. No, he'd shot himself in the head.*
*Enjolras wondered if he had the right idea. He rested one hand on the worn wood of the table he and Combeferre had always sat in, running his palm over it.*
|
|
|
Post by Grantaire on May 9, 2008 1:23:19 GMT -5
When the barman led Enjolras past his table toward the back room, he lifted his head (after they had passed) and watched his friend go into the old little room. He could imagine Enjolras' memories; grand and glorious. His own consisted of derisive snorts, sharing his information with where to get the best cup of coffee and who had the cheapest wines and most level billiards, singing at the top of his lungs when their Fearless Leader was trying to make some serious point about something that shouldn't have mattered as much as it did.
After another couple moments, and against his better (and sober) judgment, he got up to follow, grabbing one bottle from his glass barricade.
He stood at the doorway and watched the other man first, keeping quite, lingering outside that little room that didn't belong to him.
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 1:30:39 GMT -5
*It wasn't the planning or the glory he missed; it was the innocent youth, the camaraderie, the laughter. He never laughed now; he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. He didn't realize how much he'd missed the simple feel of having them all there, in that room. He moved through the room, touching the tables and letting his strong fingers rest over the nicks in the varnish, or the mysterious missing chunks of wood.*
*There had been life here. Laughing, singing, joking, teasing, passionate life.*
|
|
|
Post by Grantaire on May 9, 2008 1:33:30 GMT -5
Grantaire let Enjolras to himself and his ghosts for some minutes before finally stepping quietly into the room, holding the bottle in both hands in front of his chest like a shield, still full. He didn't hide his steps, but he didn't say anything either.
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 1:37:40 GMT -5
*Enjolras thought he might be imagining things for a second. He turned around with an uncharacteristically vulnerable look across his features.*
"They're gone, aren't they?" *He asked Grantiare, looking lost.*
|
|
|
Post by Grantaire on May 9, 2008 1:43:38 GMT -5
The expression made him frown and he took another step forward, tapping his fingers on the glass of the bottle with dull, musical results.
"Yes...I'm sorry."
It should have been Combeferre standing here. Enjolras' best man, his presence would have been a better comfort, and Grantaire knew he was himself a poor substitute for any of them.
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 1:49:46 GMT -5
"Gone." *He repeated. He glanced around the room, suddenly starting to rearrange the tables. What had taken ten or so men, boys, whatever they had been, about thirty seconds and a collision or two, took Enjolras alone a few minutes and a loosened cravat, but eventually he stood back, looking at his work.*
"Oh, no, that went over there." *He nudged a table over to the right a bit.*
"There. That's where Jehan and Joly would sit, across from Feuilly and Courfeyrac... Combeferre and I, over there, with Marius when he came, and over there Bahorel and Lesgle... and you there." *He said. He had pointed out each seat, mostly to himself. He knew they were gone, but now at least the tables were as they should be.*
|
|
|
Post by Grantaire on May 9, 2008 1:56:32 GMT -5
"Me, here."
He muttered, unsure of how to respond after the energetic, frantic display, and took his old seat at his single table where he'd been relegated when serious matters were discussed.
His mind placed the men where they'd used to belong for only a moment, seen as he always had through the fumes of the wine, before returning his lucid gaze back to Enjolras, pained that he was at a loss to offer anything the man might find useful.
|
|
|
Post by Enjolras on May 9, 2008 12:09:48 GMT -5
*He could almost, almost feel them there. He could almost see the messy heads of hair, bent over a map of the streets of Paris; he could almost smell the wine and a dozen different colognes and smoke from the stove in the corner; he could almost hear the murmur of voices, mingled with the occasional burst of laughter.*
*Almost, but not quite. He sighed a little, as if he'd expected them to be there, but of course they weren't. They wouldn't come back, either.*
*He turned to go.* "It was a bad idea to come here." *He muttered to himself.*
|
|