A very French Invasion - BACKDATED

[makeflowersgrow]

WHO: Deadpool, Enjolras, Eponine, Grantaire
What: An invasion of HoA. Grantaire wants to see Enjolras (cue awkward reunions) and Eponine doesn't really know what she wants, but will find herself watching Deadpool.
When: 17th December -in the afternoon
Where: HoA mostly.
Warnings: Well, Enjolras is a slave, so slavery? Erm......... I don't THINK we need any more warnings... Stand by for updates if needed.

Eponine manages to get them all, doesn't she? Or at least it seems that way to her. Men. Men who want her to drop everything and lead them to houses to reunite with their true loves or fallen comrades. Men who don't seem to notice that they ask her to drop everything to do such a thing. Men who don't see how much it pains her to obey.

She doesn't have to do what Grantaire asks her to do. He's nothing. He means nothing to her, and Enjolras, without Marius close by, ceases to be important to Eponine too. Especially after his attitude towards her. And yet, when Grantaire asks her to take him to Enjolras, Eponine barely hesitates before consenting to lead the way.

She can barely understand why, but it's instinct. These men, they are friends with Marius, and she feels, somehow, by helping them, that she is helping Marius too. The Amis make her feel a part of something, accepted almost, instead of the beggar or the whore or the teenager goaded into working for free. They bring her closer to Marius, to the person she so desperately wants to be and the society she so desperately wants to be a part of. She wants their friendship though, their approval; even their conversations. Talking to such a good person is the highlight of her week. So she'll help them, even though she doesn't want to go anywhere near HoA. Even though she never wants to see Deadpool again... though she misses him. Love? No, it was never love. Eponine doesn't know love. Wouldn't know it.

She peels the potatoes quickly, chopping roughly, before setting them in a pan of water. Not bothering to clean up her peelings or put the scrubbing brushes away, Eponine hurries Grantaire back out of Hattie's, and together, they start the walk to HoA.

Away from the house, Eponine feels less confident and more awkward with Grantaire. She doesn't have the intellect to understand what he says, which makes her feel ignorant. She doesn't know what to say, what would be appropriate to say to such a man. She tries to pretend he is Marius that she can talk to, but that illusion only makes her more tongue tied. In the end, she trudges in silence, pondering how to explain her absence at work to M'sieur Gold.

Comments

[fitofgrandair]

Although Grantaire typically holds action to be useless, this direct course appears the most desirable, perhaps even as close to necessary as any action may come. He is uneasy and concerned (not to mention moderately sloshed, though the two bottles of wine aren't enough to shake his comprehension), uncertain of what to do in this strange world other than finding Enjolras. Who, by the by, should be no more alive than should Grantaire himself. Nothing about this makes sense, and it would be easy enough to set the whole of it adrift, just track down some heavier-hitting alcohol and lose himself entirely.

But he can find Enjolras. He can do that much.

Shouldering through the situation's impossibilities, Grantaire falls into a well-developed habit: he talks. Talks with vague recollection that the person with him is an individual, and that the individual is named Eponine. Talks without attachment and without particularly pruning his thoughts. Talks around the matters most tugging for concern.

"It is contrary to my norm to take action or move forward in any way save speech. In the Parisian cafes, I am known for two talents: my propensity for producing words and for dissipation. Such has been the worth of my education. One might think that my propensity for irreverence, combined with an obdurate refusal to decrease the volume of my speech, would have backed me into trouble. But I have not the genius nor the magnetism to be worthy of arrest.

"Nor do I desire such notice. I ask only that I may speak and enjoy the company of others, that I may drink freely, that I may pursue the company of the fairer sex, and that I not be left behind when the world around should crash into black; which is an event unlikely to occur, but can you show me proof that it will not? Something waits or nothing waits or we may find some concept for which we hold not the words or comprehension. Such as this, one might aptly note, this inexplicable jumping of world and displacement of time, of self...

"Am I myself now that I am here? Have I changed in my being? Am I Grantaire, and are you Eponine, called 'Ponine? I cannot say, and fear no one will adequately satisfy my quandary. Lacking evidence to the contrary, I will continue to call myself Grantaire. And I feel certain that Grantaire-that-was (if he differs from Grantaire-that-is) would have no quarrel with my adoption of the name. Thus, I am Grantaire, unchanging and new-made with every moment, never to be more advanced than I now stand.

"And who can honestly lay claim to change? I call all improvements falsely classified, I call all development misdirection. Man wishes to believe in movement that carries forward--and upward, if we are to more into directional terms--in time, that somehow we march ever skyward on the backs of those who have come before. That we lay down our lives in order that humanity may one day reach perfection--As if perfection were anything so certain, and as if humanity and perfection are two terms not entirely at odds! Oh, we are dreamers, we who walk upright and think our wants necessity, who think our minor indignations cause for war.

"And what trouble we cause, what glorious bloodbaths we are able to produce! Violence beyond conception, revolution beyond our wildest dreams. We want not pain, but thirst for glory. We wish to be called beings of peace and love and care, beings who stand for equality, but in the end we are beasts above all else. Every attribute above base urge is merely a cover, another disguise donned in following those wishes for perfection. We class and we categorize and we latch onto love, but what is all of this in the end?

"But there it is again: if we ever may have an end. For years this was my one belief. That eventually each of us will find nothing and will become nothing in the sweep and crash of time. That to face execution is to stand upon the precipice of this nothing, and that the pull of the trigger brings about the final dissipation. What of this, now? What of this when I and we stand here, and Enjolras waits beyond? I must broaden my disbelief, I must work harder at my doubt.

"Ah, the mysteries of this world, and of these worlds! And how insensible we beings are."

[makeflowersgrow]

Eponine tries to listen. Really, she tries. But Grantaire uses words she's never heard and discusses concept even academically minded people find difficult to grasp. Eponine doesn't stand a chance.

She lets Grantaire talk, tuning out his words whilst she thinks of an excuse for Gold.She might say she was sick - yes, sick would be good, and Hattie had given her a hot water bottle and sent her to bed. But she was feeling much better now, thank you. Yes, that'd do.

She's startled when she hears Grantaire say her name, and she looks over. Had he asked her a question? But then he started about real and fake Grantaire's and Eponine failed to understand again.

She tunes him out again, and begins to dwell on Deadpool. What was she to do?
Eponine knows she didn't love him. Still doesn't. At the time, he had made her laugh, given her hope for the future. He had shown her affection, something that nobody had ever done for her. So she had let herself be swept up by him.

Was it wrong to do that?

When he had taken the mask off... Well, he didn't look like Marius, or anyone else she had seen. And he had lied to her. Let her get into trouble.

No, she did not love him, or even like him much. But he seemed to like her, and she craves the attention, that feeling of being desired by a man who is not paying her for her services.
Eponine doesn't know what to feel or do about him any more. She trudges, just a little in front of Grantaire, completely lost in thought until they reach Deadpool's house.

"M'sieur? This is it. If you ring the bell, you must ring for Deadpool or Enjolras."

She nods towards the door, before pointing to the side of the house.

"I shall... Wait here, I suppose."

[fitofgrandair]

"I thought I might request to see the recent specter of Lamarque," he throws out absently, eye and mind on the door and what will be found within. None of this, none of this makes sense. Enjolras is held captive within that house, Enjolras who fought with such fury and knew with such passion... And will that Enjolras remain even under slavery? Grantaire cannot doubt this, but the question remains, the question haunts. Well. Soon enough, he will know.

After a moment, he looks at the girl again. "You've no wish to be reunited with your lost love? In any case, I thank you, Madame 'Ponine. You have done me a great service." Taking her hand, he kisses it lightly, a gesture with a touch of honesty. Then he is gone, moving toward the door.

And here it is. No more time for contemplation or anticipation (the doorbell throws him for a moment; it is an unusual sight, but ultimately not so far removed from what he has known, and its use is readily discerned). Grantaire straightens himself, breaths, and rings the doorbell.

[antinouswild]

[Enjolras takes it upon himself to answer the knock at the door. He's a little distracted, having a law book in his hand and an apple in the other. He assumes it's someone who knows Deadpool, so he'll just let him in and get out of the way. His tone is both commanding and short.]

Inside. I don't think he...

[Then, he sees. He meets Grantaire's eyes and nearly chokes on a bite of apple. He looks oddly undignified for a moment. Quickly he rights himself, standing up straight and moving to close the door.

His only thought.

He can't.

He just can't. Not like this, not now.]

[the_dead_pool2]

[Deadpool meanwhile has just been following an old strategy used by Kevin Ford, stress baking. He has been making use out of the kitchen frequently, and sending food to different places, keeping some of it here. Currently he is working on sugar cookies, because well its Christmas time, and why the hell not. Despite how he might be feeling on the inside, to the world around he seems pretty happy go lucky right now]

Who is at the door? If its Jenova Witnesses or whatever, tell em we ain't interested.

[After he waits a second and doesn't get a response, he heads over, still wearing an apron. He places his hand on the door and glances at Enjolras a second]

Uh, hi. Who the hell are you?

[He looks at the stranger curiously]

[fitofgrandair]

Quite the welcome.

But Enjolras is alive. Alive and here and--judging from the brief glimpse--reasonably well. Grantaire had experienced a leap of something (hope? not possible, no, but something...) upon seeing the familiar figure, muted somewhat by Enjolras's reaction. Of course it hurts, somewhere. But it's nothing new, and Grantaire notes the sting only in passing.

And whatever Enjolras might wish, Grantaire isn't about to be deterred by the door. He calls Enjolras's name and steps forward, thrusting a hand against the door, ready to throw himself in if need be. He doesn't make it that far, though; an odd figure steps into view and speaks, looming over Enjolras. This must be the man mentioned by Eponine. He bears a look of power and is strangely attired, to say the least. Grantaire doesn't know quite what to make of the full-body covering or the apron, and so simply allows it to be.

Something that he does know: This is the man who calls himself master to Enjolras. It won't help anything to begin railing here and now (and, after all, who is he to denounce the practices of a man who might be from any world at all?). Grantaire has to remind himself once, twice, again, lest he begin running his mouth. If he wants to speak with Enjolras (this is absurd), it is necessary to enter the house. Which means playing along with this man. Which means responding without anything that might easily be construed as mockery.

Fine. Grantaire removes his hand from the door, bowing slightly. Although he attempts to keep his focus on Deadpool, he continues to glance toward Enjolras, without blame and without plea. "I am Aleron Grantaire. And you, I take it, are Deadpool."

And perhaps he shouldn't, but he offers a bow toward Enjolras, as well. "Monsieur Enjolras. How pleasant to cross paths again."

[antinouswild]

[Enjolras cannot meet grantaire's eyes. He just shakes his head and tries to push his way past deadpool.

Meeting the last person he'd want to be seen by in this situation is more than he can manage right now.

He'd hoped that whatever purgatory this was, grantaire would have been spared it. But alas that was not to be.

Retreat was never in his nature, but in this moment he could find no other option.]

[fitofgrandair]

Enjolras's indifference had been expected. His evasion now is more of a surprise. Now that Grantaire stands directly before him, how is it that Enjolras turns aside? Much might be made of this reaction, but Grantaire cannot settle on any certain answer, and so the question drifts; for the time being, Grantaire must focus on the situation at hand.

He moves to hold Enjolras back, but checks himself, managing even to refrain from speaking. All right. All right. If Enjolras wishes to flee, it is his right. And it is Grantaire's right to find him, just as it is Grantaire's right (and confirmed intention) to shove his way into the house if Enjolras or this Deadpool tries to force him out.

Collecting himself, he returns his focus to Deadpool, keeping track of Enjolras as best as he can.

Unsurprisingly, Grantaire feels that he could use another drink or four.

[the_dead_pool2]

There was clearly something going on here. What exactly that was, well Deadpool certainly had no clue. He was well accustomed to not really getting everything that was going on though, so nothing out of the ordinary truly. Still it seemed as though the French were more and more in his life, and things were annoying and confusing. It was more then likely retribution from some capricious deity, although Loki had gone, it seemed as if his little inheritance had caused problems continuously. Typical Lokster behaviour really, create problem, bail and have someone else clean it up. If the kid ever came back, he'd have to beat him, that'd be pleasant, therapeutic even.

When he noticed the man starring at him, he kind of stood there and blinked for a second before replying.

"So... should you just sing me a musical number to catch me on whats going on, or what? Because I am pretty lost right now."

[fitofgrandair]

"It is simple: I am here to see" (don't say 'your servant' and don't say 'your slave,' though for a moment Grantaire is tempted) "Monsieur Enjolras. I will hazard to confess that we knew one another in a prior world--in passing, if you will--and that I, misguided brute as I am, wish to hear how this once and distant companion has fared."

If talking his way into the house doesn't work... Well, Grantaire will work that out as it comes. Just keep Enjolras in sight if possible, but more important still, keep the door open.

[antinouswild]

[Enjolras spares Grantaire a look as he mentions "in passing." Surely it was more than passing. But, his eyes are hard.

Shoulder-checking Deadpool as he does so, he vanishes into the apartment.]

[fitofgrandair]

And there he is, the man of stone and ice, the paradigm always unbending. Who can say what creeps into his stark-laid vision? Who can say what he may glimpse or misapprehend? The man both undisguised and unknown, though Grantaire can read the rebuff in his eyes. (If that is all. If that is all... And so it may be, but Grantaire continues to wonder.)

Grantaire doesn't respond, save with a flicker of expression that might indicate buried pain or a sardonic rejoinder. Miraculously, he keeps his mouth shut; it is only his mind that spins over and through the situation.

[makeflowersgrow]

How long has it been now?

Eponine, leaning against the wall around the corner from the door, is bored. Bored, thinking over Hattie, thinking over Mister Gold. Mostly thinking about Deadpool.

He had LIED to her. Lied. Just like Papa and 'Parnasse and everybody else.He didn't care about her.
And yet - she wants to see him. Just to... see. To reconfirm to herself... Perhaps she's a glutton for heartache. At least it's feeling something. Or maybe she's just a little bit desperate. If he doesn't love her, than nobody in Port did. But he doesn't...

Eponine's confused. She's exhausted and hungry and confused. She wants to see Deadpool.
No she doesn't.

She's hungry at any rate, and she realises, as she peers round the corner to the door, that she can't hear voices. They must have gone in. Perhaps, then, she can sneak in and grab a bit of bread or an apple or something?

She slides round the corner and edges to the door, bare feet making no sound as she comes up to the front door.
Still no sound.

She puts her head round the door. They're still there - or at least Deadpool and Grantaire are.

Deadpool.

She takes a sharp inhalation of breath, purely out of shock. She hadn't expected anybody to be in the hall. As quickly as she came, she hurries away from the door, pressing her back to the wall, lest they had seen her. Lest HE had seen her.

[fitofgrandair]

Well, that... Grantaire blinks as the man walks off, abruptly and mercifully ending their awkward exchange (it has hardly even warranted the designation "exchange," though it has been interesting enough, a study in disconnection or some such nonsense). The house stands open, the invitation had been extended, and Grantaire isn't about to waste his time in hesitation. Don't question fortune too far, not when there is a goal to be achieved.

Throwing a final look over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of Deadpool's retreating form, Grantaire enters the house without pulling the door shut.

What an odd building. It's design rings strange to Grantaire, but this is no great surprise, and he keeps his focus on seeking out Enjolras. Judging from the outside of the building, there are other floors, though Grantaire cannot immediately see any stairs.

He'll worry about details when he begins to explore and if locating Enjolras proves particularly difficult. For now, he lingers in the entryway, calling loudly by way of announcing himself. "I have come, and is this my welcome? Monsieur Revolutionary, I know you are here, and I tell you that the wastrel known as Grantaire--or Granite, as he is otherwise known--wishes to speak with you. What have you to fear, O martyr of the marble features, hero of unchanging heart? What harm might I inflict? What weapons could I possibly employ? I warn you, I will not leave until I have been satisfied. I am persistent when I choose to be, and you--constituted as you are, so resolute, so full of fire--cannot hide for long."

[antinouswild]

[Enjolras sits in Deadpool's apartment, his elbows on his knees, head bowed, looking down at his wrists. The deep bruising is yellowing and fading, but it's still there. Still unmistakable on Enjolras' pale skin. He runs a long white finger over the mark while he listens to Grantaire.

He rises suddenly, throwing up his hands. Humiliated as he is by his circumstance, he owes Grantaire something. His was the hand he'd held as he died. That has to be honored, even if Grantaire is the last person he wants to be seen by.

He swallows his pride and appears in the doorway to Deadpool's apartment. He stands there, leaning his shoulder against the door frame as he finishes buttoning his shirt cuff, covering his wrist.]

You'll disturb the entire household, Grantaire.

[His voice is calm, low, but unmistakable.]

Come inside, and do not raise your voice. I can hear you. I'm here.

[fitofgrandair]

For several moments Grantaire is still, his capacity for speech blasted. He knows he shouldn't take much heart from this bare acknowledgement, but Enjolras could have chosen to remain silent. And it may be that Enjolras speaks only to silence Grantaire, or because Grantaire represents a connection to another world, or for any uncounted reason. But he has spoken.

And that voice. Whatever Enjolras has been through, whatever his current situation, his voice resonates with unbroken fire.

Now that Enjolras stands his ground, it is harder to take hold even of thought. What is there to say, after death or near-death and what had occurred? Those final moments in Paris... That must have meant something for Enjolras. There is no telling what he might have read in it, what he might have understood (Grantaire himself can hardly say what occurred or why), or how it appears in recollection.

Grantaire approaches slowly, and though he regains a casual composure, it is marked by something resembling deference. "How kind you are, to make your presence known."

[antinouswild]

"I had to." Enjolras'tone is flat and hard. "There is no telling what you may have done if I had not."

Enjolras knows that he owes grantaire a kindness, even honor. It's not fair.He knows that too. But, it feels like an invasion. The person he knows loved him best and followed him into death to see him as a slave burns hotter than even he can stand.

He keeps his eyes down, away from grantaire's.

"What do you want?"

[fitofgrandair]

Smiling mildly, he crosses his arms. In the absence of any plan, push on until some answer (or some attempt at an answer) should manifest itself. "You know me well, but perhaps not well enough. What should I want save conversation? My wish is as I stated: to hear how this world has treated you, and how you have raged against it--for rage you have, I've no doubt. I wish to hear a familiar voice. I wish to escape the assault of unfamiliar streets."

He is falling into the cadence and tower of words again. Pull back. The idea--as far as there is one--is not to simply talk at Enjolras, after all. "It is good to see you, Enjolras."

[antinouswild]

Enjolras just shakes his head slowly, still avoiding eye-contact with Grantaire. He lets him speak. Strangely enough, it all makes sense to him. In that ridiculous rambling way of his, Grantaire has spoken his own feelings.

A familiar face and voice is even more welcome than he would have expected. He's missed his comrades, and Grantaire's last act had been to prove himself one. Enjorlas listens, as if digesting the words as Grantaire spoke, then gestured towards the door.

"Come inside."

[fitofgrandair]

This is an improvement. It'd be better if Enjolras would look at him, but he'll take an alleviation of resistance for now. Still, the avoidance is unsettling. Grantaire cannot recall a time that Enjolras didn't directly confront someone or something. What is this, then? It can't be fear. Something that Grantaire had done or failed to do? Possibly, perhaps likely. And it might well be connected to Enjolras' newfound, hateful title.

Yes, and there is that little matter. The slavery. From what Grantaire has seen, it seems an oddly casual sort of slavery... But then, he knows little, and he isn't about to ask. It seems best to let Enjolras bring that up in his own time.

"My thanks." Grantaire bows slightly and enters. "This is where you've established yourself in this strange little world, then? And strange it must be, though I've seen little enough of it. It has been, what?, a day, perhaps a day and a half since I arrived." Had he slept at all during that time? Or eaten? Probably. He must have, though Grantaire cannot recall when. "And what little I have encountered boggles my already addled mind. I tell you, there are no words in all the tomes of Paris sufficient to describe what I have seen. Nor what you have seen, I venture to guess. Let alone to describe the mere fact that we are here.

"To awaken here was astonishing enough (and I do admit myself astonished, unfeeling as I often am); to find you here is stranger still, but not unpleasant.

"Do you have any wine?"

In retrospect, that might have been the wrong question to ask.

[antinouswild]

"I was surprised to see you." The tone is hard and candid. "But, I do welcome something familiar. You're right, this place is... strange to say the least."

There's a tension in Enjolras' shoulders and jaw. And his brows draw at the mention of wine. Still, he does have some.

"Wine, and a meal. You look as though you could use one. A meal, that is. Come on. Sit down. It will be good not to dine alone."

His voice remains cool and detached, but not insincere. But there's something stiff about him. Maybe it's the way he tugs at his collar or the cuffs of his shirt. Maybe it's the way he looks over his shoulder. It's hard to say, but anyone who has watched him would say he is not quite himself.

"I am sorry if I was rude before. You..." He picks his words carefully. "Surprised me."

And, he knows what it is to have first arrived in this place. As much as seeing Grantaire again stings him, he will carry on.

He retrieves some food from the communal fridge, and a bottle of wine, and plates and dishes.

[fitofgrandair]

Grantaire isn't about to turn down the meal, and he's pleasantly surprised when Enjolras agrees to produce the wine. Above this, he can scarcely believe that Enjolras has offered both company and even a sort of care. It must be because the others are gone, it must be the result of a collision of unfortunate circumstances, but it is the case.

It is odd. Grantaire feels... wanted, almost.

But something is wrong, as well. The aversion of Enjolras' eyes, something in his very movements, in the way he interacts with the room. There is a sense of misplacement. Of something stifled. Enjolras' voice is unmistakable, the fire still burns, but something holds him down. It occurs to Grantaire that this might be the only time he has seen Enjolras pushed out of control.

This recognition it muffles what solace Grantaire might take from this new almost-acceptance, and the apology only heightens his unease. When was the last time he had heard Enjolras apologize to anyone? He is a gentleman, yes, but one with little patience for mistakes or relenting. And Grantaire cannot recall ever having received such words.

Something is out of place, and he wants to ask, but it's somehow too early. The ground is too uncertain, and he doesn't want to set Enjolras off so soon. He can play diplomatic when he has to.

So he returns to less direct speech. "I surprised myself. Who knew I possessed such capability? Who knew that I could be such a venturesome traveler? But how could you think I would ever leave you behind?" He smirks, though there is an undercurrent of honesty in the words. "You see life and new worlds where I see nothing, ashes. I find this fascinating, and more than a little unusual. And it provides a refreshing perspective.

"You must tell me about yourself. About what you have found. A young lady--more correctly, a guttersnipe and aspiring lady, a would-be maiden of jewels and dowries and ballgowns who washes floors and commits minor thefts--happened to mention you, though she was primarily concerned with speaking of her lost loves, and I learned little enough."

[antinouswild]

"I'm afraid that if your goal is to understand this place, then you will get little wisdom from me. I've been here many weeks now, and this place is still strange to me."

Well, no one let it be said that Enjolras was not one to speak plainly. He is aware that his present behavior is a change from the moment Grantaire arrived. He feels that Grantaire must have noticed, and is humoring him. This nags at him as well.

Once the plates are filled and set down, and the glasses on the table, Enjolras fills Grantaire's halfway and then keeps the bottle.

"Perhaps we have traded positions. You see a new world and I see a chaotic hell that has no use for me. But, I will carry on and find my purpose in this place."

And the elephant in the room remains unspoken of.

"The girl, Eponine. Yes, I should have imagined."

[fitofgrandair]

Half a glass? Grantaire smirks. "How ungenerous. Am I so unpracticed in holding my wine? Still, I thank you." The food smells fantastic, after all, and Grantaire can no longer avoid his hunger. In this case, food almost seems more necessary than wine, and Grantaire decides that he might as well begin to eat. (And it turns out that all right, yes, food does trump wine right now. Ah, the downfall of being a brute animal: this subservience to the body's needs.)

Even famished as he is, Grantaire can eat and speak, and it is still the presence of Enjolras that matters most. Still his indirectness that sparks concern. Is it pride that keeps Enjolras from responding to Grantaire's request? A maintenance of some distance?

Or perhaps something deeper still. The trouble may run to foundations and belief. Even the most strong-willed men may occasion upon doubts, and it may be that this change of situation has shaken Enjolras. The thought gives Grantaire pause, and he ceases to eat, tapping a finger on the table. "Has your vision then become so clouded, or so clear?"

Such orderless sight is clarity for Grantaire, but for Enjolras... "I wouldn't worry overmuch about finding a purpose. You? You'll create a purpose, just as you always have." Enjolras is in part his persistence in seeing light, in perceiving possibilities as inevitabilities. And men who glimpse doubt need not be destroyed by it. "There is too much light in you yet. What might we say? That you are no flickering taper, but an unmannerly star. That the chaos of a thousand nights could not extinguish your fury."

He blinks, pauses, returns to the food. "My position is, alas, irreversible--though why should I wish any other? I find no new world, but more of the same, a reorganization of every piece of what we knew. (That is, what most knew. What I perceived and questioned.) Use is our comfortable delusion, wholeness a distant dream.

"But that is my view, recommended both for everyone and nobody, at all."

[antinouswild]

"It is the world that has changed. My vision has remained painfully clear. I..." Enjolras takes a beat and a breath to choose his words carefully. He swallows his food, then continues. "... I didn't expect this. I thought things would be different somehow."

"I know that you are adept at taking your wine, Grantaire. That is why I am holding onto this bottle. But, you have it wrong, mon ami. FOr a short time, I believed that I did have a purpose. But, I am no star full of light and fury. I am a man. I man needs comrades and fidelity in order to make real purpose."