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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"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.

Enjolras has to smile. He just has to. "No, I don't consider dancing to be much of anything, except not for me.

Grantaire, if you please. I am not an angel. I am a man, no better or worse than you. A pedistal is not my place. Don't put you below and me above. I'd much rather be by your side. And, be calm. I already told you I am glad you're here. I don't know what more you want.

There is food uneaten, wine undrunk, and stories untold. We can make use of all of them."

Grantaire doesn't know what he wants, either (though so far as 'better' may be measured, he would certainly argue that Enjolras can easily be considered better). What Enjolras has just said--'I would much rather be by your side'... Is there anything more that he could desire? If anything, the phrase is almost too perfect.

And maybe it isn't that Grantaire wants something so much as it is that he fears the fragility of this peace, and at base he is convinced that the scene before him is an illusion only. He cannot ask for anything more certain, but he also cannot keep the doubts forever at bay.

Let those thoughts roll as they will. There are thanks in his eyes as he speaks, "I am not a man to let food or drink go to waste, nor to leave stories unshared. Speak, Enjolras, and I will listen... And speak before I unloose my own words, for this room has heard enough from my troves."

Grantaire's words bring another slow smile to Enjolras' lips. He reaches out and presses the other man's hand.

"Be at ease. And do not try so hard to impress yourself upon me. You wanted my comradeship and have have earned that. Be calm and secure in that."

"Were it so simple at that..." But he smiles with only mild uncertainty; it helps to feel Enjolras' touch and hear such heartening words. "The discoveries of an hour, however miraculous they may be, cannot undo so many years of uncertainty. You must understand that what has happened..." He holds Enjolras' hand in both of his own, searching mutely for words. "It is a process far more difficult than was dying, and I am born anew in ways I do not yet understand. But I will do my best."

"It does ease my soul to know that I've made you happy, and given you some peace..."

Enjolras does not relinquish his hand, but allows Grantaire to hold it.

"Perhaps it is not yours to understand me as it is not mine to understand you. Maybe we can just exist without comprehension. Do we really need it? SOme things must simply be taken on faith."

Is it truly peace when it unsettles so? It has not been an unwelcome unsettling, certainly, but Grantaire could hardly call this sense of shifting peace.

This time, there is a strong hint of the accustomed cynicism to his smile. "For there is at base nothing to understand, or nothing that will satisfy our comprehension." No, that isn't helpful, at all. "There, again, I speak blindly.

"Faith and I stand on uncertain terms, Enjolras. It will take some time before we begin to see eye to eye again." Grantaire speaks with more conviction than he feels; perhaps, after all, it will happen.

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