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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Impossible to say how the act has been perceived. Stillness may be a sign of disgust, of shock, of welcome; whatever the case, it is at least not repulse. Enjolras has received the gesture, and this is more than Grantaire could have asked for.

"There is nothing to forgive, my brother."

He is holding Enjolras' hands again, and simply gazes, his self inexpressibly open. This man and this martyr, this boy of the golden hair and golden soul, so long distant and admired, has at last opened his arms.

"I knew that you'd say that. But please... you call me brother. You have more than earned that... but forgive me all the same."

"If it is your wish... Know that I bear you no ill-will. That I admire you for the very force of vision that may have born some blindness. That if there was pain, it has always been a small price to pay. And again, a thousand times over, that you have shone into my darkness the only light I have known for years, for what seems a jagged eternity.

"If you require it, I absolve you. So far as you believe yourself guilty, I offer my forgiveness, bound as it is with my affection."

The breath he pulls i ragged and there's a small choked noise of pain in it. Then, he swallows hard and opens his eyes. Grantaire's words seem to have steadied him.

He opens his eyes. The rims are red and his lashes are wet and thick with tears, but he seems to have resolved himself. He squeezes Grantaire's hands.

"Thank you. If I can tell you... when the time came, I was grateful to have someone by my side. To know that, even then, I did not stand alone."

It is magnificently strange, both terrible and beautiful, to see Enjolras so affected. The day the angels cry, the day the world cracks open and all of the questions are for once, if only for one glorious moment, silent.

And he can't hear them. The questions are silent, quelled by the actuality at hand, in his hands and in his eyes, the voice that fills his ears with unforseen triumph. It's too much, almost; he can't think about it, but allows himself to feel and follow the living pulse. In this moment, the world simply is, and Grantaire truly exists in it.

"Now know that you never will. So long as I am here, you need not meet the world alone, nor march without companionship. So long as I draw breath, I will remain. If all dances in chaos, I will ground it; I will form a fixed point of existence. Something... There is clarity here. And I almost do believe..."

But the thought is too far, and Grantaire is not in the mood for chasing it. "It was an honor, Enjolras, to stand by your side."

"And that is not a debt I can repay. But,I will spend whatever days we have here trying. I am your servant and your friend."

"There is no more that I could ask." Grantaire is all warmth, and suddenly he feels himself released from the weight of innumerable concerns and doubts. That Enjolras has spoken so! That his eyes relay such truth! Rising and attempting as well to pull Enjolras up, Grantaire laughs with an unweighted buoyancy never heard in the cafe, nor ever in Paris.

"Though I might as that you think on it not as a debt. Smile, Enjolras; there is light in the world, after all!"

Enjolras watches him quietly, with a troubled sad expression. With almost agonizing slowness, it draws itself into a sad smile.

"I've never seen you like this. It's nice."

"Yes? Well, yes, it is... For me, certainly. I scarce know myself, and if I stop to think--" He shakes his head, half-turns on his heel in what is almost an impromptu dance step. He continues to move as he speaks, gesticulating broadly, stepping without burden. "But this is not the time for examination or the weary toil of what-is-means or what must be. It is not a time to hide behind words and phrases, nor to bemoan the world--though sure I will return to my railings soon enough.

"Or perhaps not. Perhaps this is more than some passing euphoria, perhaps this is the dawning of a new day. That a man may die, only to live for the first time..."

Now he turns and returns to Enjolras. "But tell me, how is it with Enjolras? How looks the day for my paragon?"

[Enjolras cannot help but shake his head as he watches Grantaire's jubilation. It does make him feel a little better. His smile widens again, and he chuckles softly.

But when the subject comes back to his situation, his expression grows grave again. He unconsciously tugs on his sleeve cuffs again.]

I thought we had this conversation already.

He blinks, caught off-guard. What did...?

Oh. Oh! He'd quite forgotten about that; it--the topic that Enjolras is so set on avoiding--is background information, and hasn't worked its way into the now.

Or hadn't, until Enjolras raised it once again.

Grantaire tries to shake it off, smiles. "No, no, never mind about that. Now. I mean now, how stands the world for you at this moment, as you and I and we stand? For this, this now is all that need be accounted for.This now it what counts, and this now is where I ask."

"I'm glad that you're here. And I'm grateful for your friendship and forgiveness. It is a great relief to not be alone, and to have at least one of my comrades returned to me. I am pleased with this at least.

Be secure in that."

"So shall I be." He bows, allowing himself to fall back into the reassuring tide of belief. He is unwilling to release this unaccustomed giddiness (for who knows if it can last, who knows if it will return) and reaches for Enjolras' arm. "Now come, Enjolras, will you dance with me? Just a turn around the room, a celebration of reunion and discovery, or worlds so suddenly open."

"What? Let me go... I..." But Enjolras has to laugh as he tries to pulls his arm back.

He's never danced before. Even when he lived in his mother's house and was pressed to attend balls, he never did dance.

"I only gave you one glass of wine and you're drunk."

"Ah, mon ami, does this seem like wine to you?" Grantaire leads Enjolras into a sort of waltz, a series of steps learned in Paris and adjusted to suit Grantaire's impulse. Dance had first appealed to him as a way to pass time and enjoy the company of ladies, and while he is no master, he possesses more grace than might be expected. "I am drunk as you have never seen me before. In this moment, I am not the child of wine's obscurity, but of joy's effusiveness. I am strange, and I am myself more than ever. Do you know? In Paris, I danced to evade, or I think I may claim as much. Now I dance for the pleasure of it.

"And you... Where did you learn to dance, Enjolras?" It is a gentle prodding, no more. "Ah, but your head was too full of burning dreams, ce n'est pa vrai? Those who fly above the earth need never deign to learn its steps."

Edited 2013-01-03 17:32 (UTC)

Enjolras doesn't dance so much as is dragged. He fumbles awkwardly, half trying to free himself and half trying not to be pulled off his feet.

"We won't for much longer if you keep throwing yourself around the room. Control yourself and let me go! Me? Dance? What an absurd idea."

But there is no heart in the reprimand, coldness or anger.

Edited 2013-01-03 17:35 (UTC)

"And why not? Now, with the heat of revolution passed--for the moment! don't fret yourself, I say only for the moment--why should Enjolras not assay the mystery of dance? Use it to unveil Enjolras, to set the world aflame in yet another fashion. Or simply enjoy yourself, for why should you deny yourself all pleasure?" Grantaire continues to pull Enjolras along, guiding him through the steps as best he can. "There is more to this status--and it may not be stasis--called life than you or I or any man has known."

And oddly, oddly he believes it. In this moment, passing though it may be, Grantaire glimpses possibility above negation. Taking a step back, he would scarcely recognize himself, but for now he simply accepts.

"Release me!" But there is laughter in his voice. "Even as a boy I did not dance. I'm glad I made you happy now please."

"If I must." He glides to an end, freeing Enjolras slowly and offering a final bow before releasing his hand. "But you are not so abominable as might be thought. If a troll such as I can dance, then surely it is not beyond your reach."

Still living, only living, but somewhere below and as-yet unheard thoughts and instinctual doubts roll in dark clouds. There is an end to all things save pain and the inevitability of human suffering. You can't remain forever, and if behind every half-joy is a month's sorrow, what must follow such euphoria? Waiting, waiting.

"You give yourself far too little credit, and me far too much."

"You think?" Grantaire shakes his head. "If you are in the mood for modesty, I am in the mood for self-abnegation. Or say instead that I live in the very mode of self-abnegation, and with good reason.

"But if you will not dance, what would you have, Enjolras? What is it that will set you free, what will remove from you this crippling reluctance?"

"How am I reluctant? I just don't... express myself in such a way."

If he is honest, the phrase 'what will set you free' cuts him. But he remains stoic.

"Must I dance to prove that I am glad you're here with me?"

There is a gap here somewhere, a point of disconnect that warns of cold, though Grantaire cannot see what it is. He senses more than analyzes it, can feel it creeping in and reaching...

Keep away.

Grantaire has stopped short, an expression of confusion passing over his features. "No... No, Enjolras, that isn't what I meant. It is...

"I don't ask you to do anything for me. How could...?

"I ask only that you enjoy yourself." He smiles again, recovering somewhat. "You are always so stiff, so austere. So set above the earth. Surely, there must be something that gives you pleasure."

"There are plenty of things that I take pleasure in. I have no interest in overindulgence, but that's not the same thing. Most of my pleasures have come from my companions, in their loyalty and love."

"Of course it isn't the same. Do you consider dancing to be--"

Grantaire shrugs, waving aside a spar of aggravation. 'Overindulgence.' Of course. Best to just leave that one be. He is trying to speak, he is trying to reach Enjolras, but his words keep missing their mark, or Enjolras misreads them. This should be no surprise, though; Grantaire knows well enough the ways that Enjolras comprehends.

"If companionship is what you require, if you ask only for company and talk, then that is answer enough. Perhaps you angels take your joy while cloaked in the guise of severity. Perhaps angels do not make themselves known so freely as do men. It is my mistake, but I will make amends." Still somewhat on edge, he pushes the feeling to the side.

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