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."
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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."