sirenspull_logs | A very French Invasion

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A very French Invasion - BACKDATED

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.

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"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."

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."

"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."

He laughs; he can't help himself. Real purpose and difference... Grantaire itches to argue, but allows those ideas to hang suspended, shaking his head. "A man is no more than a star, a star no more than a man. And how long will you be without comrades? Why, if I am not deceived, you have one right now. You are not one who hides away from the world, and men will not long stay from you. Did you not see yourself in Paris?

"But tell me, yes or no: do you pledge belief in the possibility of change? Are you one who believes that change--be it called positive, negative, or otherwise--may occur?"

"It was never me in Paris. I was a vessel, a conduit. My words, my ideas, the things that were expressed through me, but it was never me. I may have pointed the way, but we were headed together towards a destination. It was never about me.

And then there was you.

You weren't like them. I know that."

Another beat, a breath.

"Change is the only thing that remains constant. So, yes."

Enjolras refills his own glass.

"If Grantaire is anything, he is eternally out of place.

"But as for Enjolras, who is he? Have we ever seen his like before? Perhaps you have walked in masquerade throughout, and perhaps we--pardon, should I say 'they and I'?--were mistaken in perceiving you. After all, men will follow lies without reflection. Show me a leader who was not composed of fiction, and I will show you an ant with the overwinded eloquence of Cicero.

"I wax cynical again. Ignore me; I fasten myself to offhand remarks and chase a wretched musicality in thought, and in doing so fall into absolutes. Which are not the rule, for where in this world are we to find clarity?

"What I say instead is that there are men who... Let us say make possible the appearance of truth. Men who spread the fire of their own belief. Belief being--But no, I wander." Unaccustomed to arguing at this angle, Grantaire does feel out of place, stepping around his favorite arguments and oft-spouted convictions. But this is not the occasion (it may in fact be the only occasion on which he could argue from this side), and who is he to back down from such a challenge of discourse? "There are men who understand and look upon terms of truth with clarity. There are men who believe in the constancy of change, men who believe that there is something else.

"These men are uncommon. All men--present speaker excepted--desire to believe, but most cannot catch hold of certainty. So most men seek those who speak with fire and seem to see. And if they are attracted to the ideas spoken, what of that? Why should a man not be the sum of his ideas and words? What more is a man, and does Enjolras truly lack it? If the man who raised the barricades was a vessel, he was an open-hearted vessel who could have been no other than himself. If he was a vessel, so are we all."

Grantaire drains his half-glass--it takes no time and makes scarcely an impact--and holds it toward Enjolras. "If I may be allowed."

Edited 2012-12-31 03:26 (UTC)

"I never said a word to them that I did not myself believe, if that is what you're saying."

Always frank and candid, Enjorlas tries to cut through the verbose onslaught. It's a skill of his. But, he remains pale, his expression pensive.

It occurs to him that, at the cafe, he spent very little time just talking to Grantaire. Now, it feels strange to feel kinship with someone, to share death with someone, and now to feel like something of a stranger.

The phrase though, the request for permission, strikes jarring chord. It's so sour it almost gives him pain. It is the first time since his arrival Enjolras makes eye-contact with Grantaire. The expression is wild, cold, and almost a little frightened.

After a beat he silently extends the bottle, pouring another half-glass.

That isn't it in full (or even close, so far as he discerns), but Grantaire doesn't have time to protest or offer emendation; the unbound agitation of Enjolras' eyes stops him silent. He had half-thought to provoke some sort of reaction with his request for wine (though in part, the request had come naturally), but this... Well.

The first instant of connection is enough to confirm and amplify his misgivings, for although Grantaire can see the Enjolras he knows so well, he is lost amid uncertainties and disconnection. 'Chaos,' Enjolras had said, and it seems he has indeed been thrown far off-balance and out of touch with himself. And Grantaire is, for at least a moment, afraid.

When what you almost believed, when the only myth you do believe...

Whether he realizes it or not, Grantaire is has been maneuvering perilously around his few remaining remnants of truth. In speaking to Enjolras and now in facing his eyes, Grantaire has circled closer toward convictions that he only vaguely recognizes, thinking himself long rid of all belief. He has long declared himself an all-around unbeliever, has found some comfort in the idea that lacking belief, nothing can truly shake him or empty his world.

But this. If something has survived, if this is belief, and if what he sees in Enjolras is to be admitted...

Grantaire downs the wine in an automatic movement, without realizing that the glass isn't full. He wants more, but sets the glass down hard and leaves it standing. "Enjolras, you are... Where have you been?"

He almost wants to reach for Enjolras, but doesn't dare. Instead, Grantaire watches mute and open, somehow stricken.

Edited 2012-12-31 21:34 (UTC)

A moment passes between them, both too long and over too quickly. Enjorlas averting his gaze as if laying down a sword.

There is no need to talk about that yet... or ever. Whatever trial by fire they passed into, they will not look backwards. Grantaire's choice was his own. Enjolras will just have to absolve himself somehow.

Talking won't help, even though Grantaire seems to do it quite well and in great quantities.

At least this question seems straightforward.

"Where have I been? I've been here."

Grantaire shakes his head. "That isn't..."

He doesn't know what he'd meant to ask. He doesn't know how to move words together or translate thoughts into coherent speech.

Too much that remains unspoken. Too much glimpsed with meager acknowledgement. And too much that crests close to comprehension, that disturbs his confirmed detachment without quite breaking through. Caught somewhere between, caught all too close to seeing, and Grantaire doesn't know whether to back away or push harder, nor does he know how.

"'Here' is not... What I mean. Your eyes. Something has happened."

Edited 2012-12-31 23:47 (UTC)

This is coming too close. Much too close. Is his new title and the days he spent in chains... the sale on the auction block... is it true that these things are written in his eyes for Grantaire to now read?'

He places his hands in his lap, looking downwards. Under the table, he adjusts the cuffs on his again, making sure the bruises are hidden.

The gesture betrays him, however. The bending of his neck frees his shirt, exposing his neck. When he lifts his gaze again the faint glint of fresh skin, a healing wound, is subtle but there to see.

"The apocalypse of the barricades happen. This place happened. I don't know what else you want me to say."

Now the words flow again, sudden and swift, unbidden. "Did the barricades break you so? You knew what might happen, you made your attempt. You--all of you--made known your cries and sounded the malcontent of the people." Miraculously, Grantaire doesn't laugh or even flinch at the phrase as he speaks it. He isn't arguing on his own terms; he need not react as he typically would. "It was not what you desired, but was it all so great a loss?"

Yes and no. No more a loss or gain than anything else. No more than another repetition, a re-cycling of history, events occurring over years in shatters. But that isn't the focus now.

And something else as Enjolras looks up again: a mark on his neck, something that draws Grantaire's attention because he is already focused on the situation's strangeness. He cannot recall any such mark from Corinthe, and cannot say what its cause may have been. "Enjolras, your neck."

"Did you find me so broken?" There is a tightness to his shoulders and his tone is clipped. "They are a great loss. They are good men all, and the world is diminished without them. And yet, while I honor their voices and sacrifice, it is their own choice, not mine."

"I say again, do I seem that broken? I assure..."

Then, the question. Enjolras' hand flies to the mark on his neck. He remembers how he'd been cool collared like an animal and it burns him.

He's stricken, looking down at the table, his hand on his neck.

"Don't--No. My words run ahead of me, without care for my intent. Not broken, I do you disservice to say so, but remote or scattered. Not permanently undone, but in this moment--and all moments, we mat recall, are passing--something like... adrift. The choices and absence of your comrades, our comrades cannot account for this displacement. I am more clear-sighted than may be apparent, and this..."

He shrugs, though he feels far from casual. "When Enjolras is indirect, the day is strange, indeed. If nothing else, your evasion and that mark suggest that there is more here."

More wine would be helpful. But for the moment, it's too much of a distraction.

Enjolras' eyes remain fixed and heavy while Grantaire speaks, and for a few moments after. Finally, he gestures and raises his eyes to meet Grantaire's again. The expression is not all fire and ice now, still fierce, but imploring.

"I entreat you now, since you demand answers. If you bear any love for me, any respect or any fidelity, please, do not ask me such questions. If it will restore the balance of the day then I will speak plain. Friendship is something that I have use of right now. I am grateful for your presence here, even though I mourn your fate being thrown in a place like this. But, there are things that I cannot speak of. There are things that I need to keep locked away to myself. And, I will ask you to allow me to do so."

It's his business.

If Enjolras wishes to remain silent, that is his right, and it is not Grantaire's place to interfere. As ever, it is more his place to hang back, to observe without impacting. And why should Enjolras not request that Grantaire remain at a distance? When has Enjolras revealed himself beyond the high-flown ideals and convictions?

Still, it hurts a bit that Enjolras should choose to withhold his not-so-secret secret. ' If you bear any love for me, any respect or any fidelity...' Ah, Enjolras, but you have no idea.

"Mourn my fate in any world, the last as much as here, if you must mourn. Little here is worse, as little here is better." He half-mutters those words before speaking with greater firmness. "I will respect your wishes, Enjolras." Rising, Grantaire moves from his seat to kneel on one knee in front of Enjolras, reaching for his hand. "Only tell me what I may do and how I may be of aid. You will have my silence, if you like, and whatever else you might call to your service."

Edited 2013-01-01 16:32 (UTC)

"Much here is worse, Much worse. You have not been here long enough. You don't know..." He shakes his head.

His lips part as if he might speak. There is a moment where he considers... what if he unburdens himself? Would some peace come from giving voice to his trial by fire? Would a sympathetic ear calm his soul at all. For a moment, his lips pulse with the breath of speech, but then it's gone.

He bites his thick underlip as Grantaire kneels. "It isn't service that I require. You know how we were in the Cafe Musain. None of us were ever without the company of the others. Don't kneel, don't promise me service. Eat! Drink! Speak! Listen to me as I do the same. Don't let me be alone.

I cannot lie, I am diminished here. But, if I keep my circumstances to myself it has everything to do with my own failings and none of yours. It is because I choose not to speak of it to anyone, not because I choose to hide it from you.

Please understand the distinction."

Yet even in the wake of these words, Enjolras withdraws his hand as it is reached for. There, in the inside of his wrist is a blue and yellowing bruise his cuff can't hide, stark against his white skin.

Edited 2013-01-01 18:19 (UTC)

Perhaps Enjolras is correct. Perhaps this world is truly, measurably worse. Grantaire does not believe this or believe in the potential for a quantifiably better world (though he would readily admit that one man's situation may be less amenable in one world than another), but what does he know of these different worlds? His own ideas have been based on the existence of a single, solitary world through which men pass from birth to life's end and into darkness. These ideas may scream for reevaluation after this shift of worlds, but he hasn't the time or focus to examine them now, if ever. It may be best to simply hold on where he can and try to keep from drowning.

He smiles slightly, a half-dejected smirk at Enjolras' words. Another misunderstanding, though it may be Grantaire's own fault for shrouding his intent with inflated speech and gestures. Had it not become clear at Corinthe? Of course not; Corinthe was obscure, awash in too many details and perceived failings, too much death and too many sudden realities. Whether Enjolras knows it or not, Grantaire has long since pledged his service (not a formal idea, but an earnest recognition and offering), waiting only to find his means.

Here he finds something of an answer: simply to be, to speak, to accompany. And this is far more than he might ever have expected in Paris, as is Enjolras' admission of the reason for his silence. There is a show in this of... Well, if not of respect, at least of the camaraderie that Enjolras had so rarely shown in Paris.

It is while considering these matters that Grantaire notices the marks on Enjolras' wrists. That... That must be what he means. That must be related. (And it may be why Enjolras has withdrawn his hand, though that may merely indicate a desire to be removed from Grantaire. And who could blame him?) These marks and the trials of this new world. The slavery. The questions Grantaire might well ask.

But if Enjolras wishes to keep silent on the matter, Grantaire will honor his wish. If Enjolras should ever wish to speak, Grantaire will listen. Until then, silence. It is only Grantaire's eyes that may betray him, flashing a flicker of troubled surprise.

"Then so be it." He stands, attempting to strengthen his smile. "Every man must have his silence, every man must have his time. Far be it from me to break the respect that any man is due. Speaking, drinking, eating: these are functions I was made for. And rest assured that while I live--if life this may be--you need not be alone."

Grantaire's distress is clear to Enjolras. Once more he considers unburdening himself, the relief in confiding in a comrade is still tempting. But, the look on Grantaire's face, the suffering as well as the admiration, still stops him.

He knows Grantaire has him in high regard. He always did. Can he really admit to being in such a low state to someone who looks up to him?

"I am grateful, and I thank you." But the other phrase about life, if life this is, gets his attention.

"Grantaire, tell me please, what is the last thing that you remember before coming here?"

Given Enjolras' recent evasiveness, the question is surprisingly direct. Grantaire watches Enjolras steadily for a moment before responding. "Corinthe. A drunkard who has slept through the battle cries out for the Republic and is permitted to join the revolution's golden pillar. Shots are fired. And then... Here we are."

Edited 2013-01-02 00:42 (UTC)

"Spare me the euphemisms please, Grantaire."

They've ignored one elephant in the room, let them not remain blind to a second one as well.

"That's the last thing I remember as well. I never... I never did understand you. You did not have to die."

"But we all do, and what good have I ever been at living?" Grantaire grabs his chair and pulls it next to Enjolras, taking a seat. "Granted that I can reel off speech like no other and excel in sport and merriment, that I am a true champion of the great gods of wine, beer, and absinthe... But what is all of that?

"If a man is offered a chance to prove himself in death, should he not seize it? Even the most miserable of men may show some valor in the end, if he acts upon his... If he is consistent with himself.

So far as consistency may be deemed a virtue."

"To put it plainly, the others died for the revolution. You did not. You died for something else. And, what am I to do here with that knowledge in this place, with you before me? We have met no maker or final years. So...now what?"

"Ah. Yes."

Perhaps Enjolras made more of the choice than Grantaire has expected. "I should think the more pressing questions relate to the fact of our un-dying. Or perhaps these are questions too vast for answers and to broad to tackle at this moment." It would almost be easier, he thinks, than answering the questions around which Enjolras speaks. Grantaire isn't certain that he has hold of a certain answer, or that he knows how to find one. He simply acted as he needed to act, as he felt was fitting.

But always, always there are reasons somewhere. And if Enjolras insists...

"As for myself and my decision, I point again toward consistency. For what other reason did I place myself among such revolutionaries? Charming company and fine fellows, but what reason had I to sit among their ranks? It was not merely to mock or even to converse, though the dialogue certainly gave me pleasure, and the companionship proved essential."

He shakes his head. "I have spoken of man's need to believe, and I have excluded myself from the category. Perhaps this is untruthful. Though I mistrust belief and spurn truth, there are times I wish..." He gestures vaguely, a wave of his hand. "Avec vous, I saw something of belief's steadfast light. I caught sight of foundation in an unsteady world. Do you understand? There was something immovable, and matched against this, what was the worth of life?

"You need do nothing with this, though. Understand it or look aside, take my terms as you will or dismiss them entirely. I am full of words; there will be time for more. And none need mean a thing."

"Life is what we make of it. Death is to. But, you could have lived. You were young. There was lots of time for you."

What Enjolras will not express is how grateful he was to have someone by his side.

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