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]

Is this the moment? There isn't time to deliberate; hesitate, and Enjolras must surely guess the answer. It is an instant's decision, and from a flash of thoughts (his own curiosity, a desire to respect Enjolras' privacy, his recent vow to allow Enjolras to name the situation, the wish for a smooth evening, all of this talk of belief and leaving woes aside for the moment), he finds his answer.

"Little enough." A sip of the wine buys a moment to process his thoughts and so advance with greater care. "Useful guide though she was, she seemed to know next to nothing about you. She was, I think, far more interested in talk of lady lessons."

He keeps a casual eye on Enjolras, shielding the purposefulness of his watch. Grantaire doubts that Enjolras can read through the lie--such upstanding souls tend to be equipped with faulty barometers of truth--but he can't be certain until he receives a reaction.

[antinouswild]

But she does know.

That's the problem.

Enjolras is skeptical, but faith gives way to trust. He nods, seeming to accept the answer for now. He too goes for his wine, having no apatite for food anymore. The past few hours he's been both too high and too low. So, he nurses his wine and ignores the plate.

[fitofgrandair]

"It's a blessing she never spoke at the cafe; I've never heard anything more inane. Some people dream of stars, some dream of revolutions, and some dream of ball gowns."

Enjolras reveals no suspicions, but Grantaire still can't feel certain that he hasn't caught on, and his silence could mean anything. For a moment, Grantaire considers letting out the truth of it. But that's what Enjolras had warned the conversation away from. This isn't the time to turn back. Another day, another talk; there will be time.

"She did manage to mention that Marius was here at some point."

[antinouswild]

At Marius' name Enjolras sits bolt upright, his eyes wide. "Marius was here?"

Is that the truth. Could Marius have been here? He'd hoped Marius had survived the barricade. With this knowledge, he has to assume that he didn't.

[fitofgrandair]

"So she said. Before your time, I believe. Here and gone, though the little lady wasn't clear on where he disappeared to." Grantaire hadn't particularly pursued that line of thought, either, focused as he'd been on finding Enjolras. "I find it surprising that she didn't mention him; it was all I could do to steer her away from talk of Marius. This Eponine is a confirmed devotee of Venus, one who has been struck to the core by Cupid's fanciful arrow. All her drifting is ended, and her desires fix on one now-absent point: Marius, Marius, Marius."

[antinouswild]

"If you mean the girl is in love, then say so."

His tone however, is not without amusement. "But what do you mean, gone? Is do you know if there is a way to leave this pace? Or is he..."

There's been too much death, so it's hard for him to even ask.

[fitofgrandair]

"I can no more speak without winding than a fish can travel without water."

Grantaire shakes his head. "She spoke of following him and of dancing with him, but offered no explanation touching his departure. Whether he lives... She did not speak of death, nor did her voice warble with that quality particular to hopeless lovers mourning lost idols. So far as I can gather, he simply vanished."

He has hardly thought on whether it is possible to leave this world. It seems a logical question, having left one world behind, but Grantaire cannot tell how to approach the thoughts related. "Beyond that, I know nothing of how to leave this place, or whether the possibility exists. One only hears so much in a day and a half." The other question, of course, is of what the use in going elsewhere would be, and of whether there could be any good in returning to Paris.

[antinouswild]

"I've been here longer than you, and I look to you for answers. Silly of me. Excuse me."

[fitofgrandair]

"Pardon?" Grantaire has never spoken at such length with Enjolras--past conversations might have been more aptly called dismissals or brief encounters--and he can't help but feel that he keeps misstepping in his speech. "There can be no fault in asking questions. Ask all you like, learn what you can. For my part, I cannot even say whether we have died, or whether death was snatched away."

[antinouswild]

"It is not your fault. You are quite indulgent with me, but I am looking for answers were there are none, excuse me.

I cannot think of another explanation but that we are dead. If this is some kind of hell or trial or purgatory, I cannot say. It would seem that God is not without a sense of irony. Eponine died, and I must assume Marius was not spared either."

He shakes his head, and there is a long dark sigh.

[fitofgrandair]

"And for my part, I cannot believe that there is any god at all involved with this.

"Before I can claim that I am dead, I must know what death is. This death feels little different from life; more amenable, in some ways. Perhaps more inconvenient in others." A shrug as he takes a sip of wine. "I've no answer, though I am certain to expend hour after hour running through possibilities. I enjoy a paradox, even if it must be admitted that living or dying in one is something of an inconvenience."

[antinouswild]

"But Mon ami, we did die. You remember the firing squad. Where else would we be?"

[fitofgrandair]

"Who can say? If we did die, must we now be dead? If I am both dead and alive, I present a rare case, indeed. Do the dead enter upon a new life? Look at yourself, look at me, and we might suggest as much. But I carry still my predilections and my memories. I may act and I may speak.

"I believed in no heaven or hell, but then I expected an end both simple and complete, and have been disappointed. Can you say to me what heaven or hell might be, and why a god should have his hand in this? I find the notion inadequate."

[antinouswild]

"I cannot rightfully say what I expected. I expected to find some peace. But, if my actions had condemned me I could not have said that would not have been unexpected either. But, it would seem clear enough that we have passed from one life to another, and have found it stranger than we expected.

But, that does not explain this place. Or why we are alone here. Perhaps the others were not so guilty as we. I don't know. the more I decide on what the truth must be it seems I get further for it."

[fitofgrandair]

"What we call truth is ephemeral, more unacknowledged invention than actuality. Although that term--actuality--presents a tenuous idea, as well. Does every it exist apart from or because of my perception? I conjure the cry of 'cogito ergo sum,' an utterance that has drifted down the years beyond the existence of its creator (if he may claim existence of a sort; as his brain has expired, we may never know). Descartes is a ghost, his collected debris a suggested guideline. And I, debris in hand, am yet unable to lay claim to understanding or even to any manner of approach.

"As for guilt, I can hardly believe that we are similarly guilty. So far as you or I may be deemed culpable in any way, our crimes are of a rather different stripe, are they not? I would posit that we have not been, ah, displaced based on guilt. I would posit that there is little logic to our mutual arrival" though he might wish, might ridiculously feel that it was somehow fated "and that no force has controlled our arrival.

"But then, I have seen little enough of this world. Perhaps there is more structure here than in the world we once knew.

"And to peace. I begin to despair that there will never be rest, nor peace. Indeed, I shall put forth a truth as I now know it: the depths of drink provide far greater and more soothing quiet than does death. Bibo ergo quiesco."