sirenspull_logs | Times have changed and times are strange

Entry tags:

enjolras,
france

Times have changed and times are strange

Who: France and anyone who wants to visit him at the HoA
When: January 6th, after his reappearance in the Port.
Where: The House of Awesome, in the kitchen of the HoA mostly, cooking
Summary: France is back, back again, France is back, tell a friend~ general action log for party times.
Warnings: Frenchiness, lots and lots of fabulous Frenchiness.

It is with a bit of relief that Francis steps into the House, for only the second time since his disappearance, and catches sight of his old room. The mural of Paris, just as he had left it on his bedroom wall, the furnishings - all of it brought up so many memories. While it brought up the many good memories he had in this apartment, it also brought a few rather... unpleasant ones with it. But he had no time for any misery, instead he had many preparations to make. So, he quickly went to work, making his way into the beautiful kitchen he had grown to love as if it were his own.

A few hours later, the smell of phenomenal food floods all the floors of the complx, and the main lobby of the house seems to be ready to expect numerous guests. In the kitchen the blond is happily setting about his work in the kitchen, flitting from one dish to the next with precise timing, garnishing one and pulling another out of the oven. With him is a pretty calico cat, who is content to sit on one of the tables and watch him as he hums, and curiously looking over any guests who happen to make their way into the kitchen.

Feel free to help yourself to some snacks, or take a look in the kitchen for something a bit more substantial.

(( ooc: Use whatever format you want! If you want your character to meet France away from this house party at the HoA, just shoot me a PM and I'll work with you to figure something out. c: ))

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[Enjolras follows his nose to the kitchen. He assumes that Michael is cooking again, and has outdone himself. Also knowing that Michael cooks when distressed, so he thinks he might offer support as well as eat. There's something familiar in the cooking. Something... well... French.

Michael usually speaks French with him, so he does not hesitate to use it when he enters.]

Hello, mon Ami. I trust that you are well? May I be of any...

[Oh, Not Michael.

He switches to English.]

I beg your pardon, Monsieur. I didn't know that anyone was here. Please do not allow me to intrude.

[He looks at Francis for a moment. He smiles, broad and open, before he even realizes it. It's like he's seen an old friend, one he's been longing to see, and who's company overjoys him.

But... he's never seen this man before. He's sure of it.

And yet...

Suddenly he feels ill at ease. He looks down at the ground and rubs the back of his neck.]

IF you'll excuse me I'll just...

[Being attuned to French cuisine as Enjolras most certainly is, he would be able to detect the smells of several different dishes - the most notable of which is the Coq au vin simmering on the stovetop. With it appear to be homemade baguettes still baking in the oven, which seem to be numerous, enough for several people to practically have a loaf all of their own. But, these seem to be for the other smaller appetizers that are currently being set out on the large serving trays - Francis has just pulled out several servings of Pommes Anna out of the oven, and placed it next to an already-completed Tarte tatin. There's also a large tossed vinaigrette salad sitting in a bowl on the counter, enough to fead at least ten... if they're only planning on eating salad. But who would want to with a spread this nice? There's also a few bottles of wine he specifically picked out for the feast, which complements every taste perfectly.

Francis pauses what he's doing almost instantly as soon as he hears the French come from the other man's lips. He's quick to turn around, smile, and reassure him.]

Non non non, you are not intruding, mon ami! You must be one of my countrymen, non? Michael, he told me you and another were here.

[He takes a moment to examine Enjolras, feeling a swell of... well, dare he call it pride? Still, he is proud to have such a handsome, admirable young man as his own.]

Come in, come in, please! I would be happy to get you something, if you would like...? Or if you still wish to help, I could use an extra hand.

[No sneaking dessert though. He's watching you :T]

[This man speaks French.

Of course he does. A part of Enjolras is not surprised at all, as if it were completely natural. The smile is returned with warmth and welcome.]

Countrymen... yes. They are scarce here, so it is a pleasure. Here, allow me to help.

You are a skilled cook, Monsieur. It would be an honor.

My name is Enjolras. And you are...

[And fluently too, if his accent is to be believed. And the amazing spread he's just put out. And the fact he's picked out several bottles of Merlot.]

We may be scarce, mais, that does make us exquisite, non?

[He gives the smallest of chuckles at Enjolras' observation.] You will find with time, I am more than just skilled! I have already been told my cuisine has been sorely missed.

[... wait. Did he say...]

Enjolras?

[It takes a brief moment for Francis to recover from his surprise, but when he does, he attempts to play it off as nothing.]

That is a lovely name. I am François, François Bonnefoy. Most people who knew me in the Port know me as "Francis". You may call me this, if you like.

I can imagine it would be.

Wait, have you been here before? I...

[The surprise takes him aback. It's as though this man knows his name. This reinforces the feeling he had before. That sense of familiarity and belonging still nags at him.]

Francois, of course. I must beg your pardon but...

Have we met before? I feel certain that we have.

Mais oui, I have been in the Port before. It was two years ago almost to the day that I first arrived - and almost a year to the day when I was sent back to Paris. It seems February is important to me, non?

[He pauses briefly again - this poor dear is making him reflect far too much for his liking - but again, France is quick to dismiss it.]

That is unlikely, I am afraid. I am sure I would remember a lad as handsome as you. [A little smile.] And as for me, well... do you believe you have seen me before?

I learn more about this city each day, it seems. I did not know the core could send us back and fourth like that.

[He sighs. He'd like to think that knowledge is empowering, but the more he learns about the core the more he feels like he's at its mercy.]

Handsome? I... [He knows that people respond to him that way. He'd be ignorant if he didn't, but he never really did understand it.]

I don't know. I feel like I know you. Yet, I don't remember seeing your face before.

This city will always keep us on our toes, I have learned. Mais, I had only heard of this... I had never experienced it myself, until now.

[It's odd to him, too - he had just thought that once you left, you left. Only a few people had ever returned, and even then they weren't anyone he really knew.]

No need to be modest, Enjolras. I am surprised you do not have every girl in the Port swooning at your feet. [His ever-present smile seems to grow into a grin, with a surreptitious wink.] Mais, you would be surprised how far being French gets you in this town, with romance.

Perhaps I am like someone you know? It is possible. Who knows?

People with fevers, on their death beds, injured and dying... they don't all make it to their graves. Some live on afterwards. That could account for a lot of it, I expect.

[He shakes his head.] I'm not blind. People look at me, I am aware. I just never thought it mattered too much. I realize your intention is to be kind, but my face is of no concern to me so praising it gives me no real pleasure. But, I appreciate the kindness anyway.

And romance, In a place like this, situations being what they are... it just seems so trivial. So many things matter more.

[Suddenly, he smiles.]

No, I don't think I know anyone like you.

I have known of many people here, who had died in their home worlds and have come here. I am sure some of them exist in the Port even now. [Knowing what France does about him, it's painful to elaborate on this, but it was Enjolras who brought it up in the first place... still, the discomfort shows, because the constant smile soon fades to nothing but a slight curve of the lips.

He turns back to his culinary work, speaking over his shoulder now as he does.]

Mais, it does not matter much now, non? The important point is that we are here, right now. Carpe diem, and all such pithy sayings like it - even they have their truths. There must be a reason they keep being passed down throughout the years, oui?

[He does give a little shrug of his shoulders at Enjolras' comments about his handsomeness, delicately stirring the coq au vin and sipping at it. Deciding it satisfactory, he delicately pulls out a small piece of chicken from the stew, and offers it to the calico.] Voilà, Liliane! Your treat. [She hops up onto the counter, sniffs at it a few times, before taking it. He gives her a gentle stroke on the head before responding.]

Fair enough. I apologize if I offended you in some way. [But, he can't help a chuckle escaping afterwards.] You would make a terrible poet, then, for the love of another - or lack thereof - is practically everything to one. Though I understand how the Port may make certain things more difficult... we must all be human where we can, je suppose.

Surely there must be someone? I promise I have never met you before in my life - as I have said, I am sure I would remember you. You are most pleasant company, for certain.

[It's then that Liliane, decides that someone needs to pet her. So she hops onto the counter, and meows at Enjolras, before rubbing her head against him.]

[Enjolras smiles a little at the cat, reaching out a long white hand to stroke her head and neck.]

Are you so sure that you do not know me? I cannot explain it, but I do feel as thought we know each other very well. Forgive me for being forward, but I cannot shake the feeling.

[He moves on to scratch Liliane's ears.]

You've not offended me. But, from your face I can see, it seems that I have caused you some pain. Please forgive me.

[He's not entirely positive what he's done to face Francois' smile. He knows that death is not a plesant subject, and yet it seems to be more than that. It's something he can't place but that he knows is there.

He decides to change the subject.]

I only ever knew one poet...

[No, that's no good either. Enjolras takes his break and checks his emotions, still scratching the cat.]

[She seems pleased with the attention, and for now, she sits on the counter next to him, the slightest bit of a purr detectable.]

Where is it you believe I would know you from? [Ha, Enjolras, you hit the nail so squarely on the head that it's almost painful. But Francis is not going to give in so easily, not now. Though perhaps a few more wounds to his bleeding heart will cause him to finally cave in.] It is fine for you to be forward, monsieur Enjolras, mais, I hardly know you at all. Simply your name, and that you are mon nationalité.

Non non non, it is no trouble. As familiar as I am with death... I have never enjoyed its persistent company. [And how untouchable he is by it, sometimes.]

I knew several, throughout my years on Earth. I still do, en fait.

That's the thing, I don't know. My life turned out to be somewhat unremarkable it seems, so there's no reason why you would know me.

[No glory or new future, or even martyrdom had awaited him after the barricades. There was only death. He hand his had simply been cast aside when the barricades fell. No, there is no reason why this man would know him.]

Death and I are far to well acquainted, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I've rather come to hate it, but please forgive me for breaching such an unpleasant subject in the presence of food, wine, and company. This is not the place for it.

[He focuses on the purring cat as he speaks. Yet, something else calls his attention. He raises his eyes from Lilianne and looks up at Francois directly again.]

On earth? I beg your pardon?

[France can't help the little smile that comes onto his face, and he shakes his head a bit.] Somehow I cannot believe that. You are hardly an unremarkable man. I doubt your life would be the opposite.

[France grows oddly quiet after a moment, stilling his movements also.] I am afraid that in the Port, death is a more persistent companion than at home, mon ami... even if you come from times of war, and revolution, and the like.

... mais, you are right, this is all for a different time, non? [He's quick to go back to his work, quickly finishing up the delicious stew, before taking out a spoonful and motioning for Enjolras to come closer.] Try this for me. Tell me what you think.

[Though at the last question, he shows an equal amount of confusion.] ... ahh, pardonnez-moi, I must be more tired than I thought.

(( ooc: So I goobered and made a typo - I meant to say "on this earth" but the this kinda disappeared XD Apologies on that! ))

You know me so well as to declare whether or not I am remarkable, then? You know my life so well? I thought we had just met.

[He gives a sad smile. But then, suddenly, the world "revolution" draws a hard and sharp look from Enjolras. Did this man know something? He stares, statue-like for a moment, but then he shakes it off.]

Yes, a different time. [He steps forward, reaching for the spoon.]

Indeed, forgive me. Tell me, please. I know that many people here are from different times. What year is it where you come from?

I am simply a good judge of character, that is all. And I have learned in my lifetime that remarkable people do not have unremarkable lives.

[He did know, and after he makes the error, he bites his tongue to keep him from saying anymore on that subject. Enjolras has had enough to deal with already, the least of which is his death. Francis makes a mental note to himself.]

Taste it, s'il vous plaît? [France's passion for cooking is quick to show in that one spoonful - it smells like the perfect blend of spices and herbs, complementing the ingredients perfectly. And the taste? Some would argue it's even better than anyone imagined. He watches Enjolras intentively while he waits for a verdict...]

It was the beginning of this month and this year, when I came back to the port.

[Enjolras smiles, shakes his head, and lets it go. This man doesn't know him, true. But he feels like he knows this man, so why can't this man know him? It doesn't matter, he knows it isn't true. Francois is just being kind.]

It is very good of you to say, Monsieur. I thank you.

[Enjolras leans in, putting his lips to the spoon. A smile spreads.]

It's excellent, you have true skill. I haven't had anything so good since before I left Paris. I can see why people missed your cooking here.

[He licks his lips, smiling again.]

So, you come from the same year this... place? this Port is?

It is what I know from my experience, that is all. But you are welcome, nonetheless.

[Oh, Enjolras, you know the way to his heart too well. The compliment to his cooking has France absolutely beaming.]

Ah, merci beaucoup! I am so glad to hear this, mon cher. If I can impress a true Parisian, I know I must be doing something right, non?

[It's then that he tastes it himself, editing only one thing and giving it a big stir, before he proclaims it "ready" and turns the burner to warm. He pulls out two bowls - one for Enjolras, if he should want any, and makes a bowl for himself, before moving toward the tables set there.]

Mais oui, I do. It was early February in 2013 when I left - and here I am, in early February, in 2013.

You must have done a good many things right to result in a stew like that. [He smiles, uncharacteristically warm but enjoying the food and company.]

That is a lucky twist of fate indeed. It was Summer when I left Paris, and a long time ago too. I arrived here in winter in a regrettable position. It was a shock to say the last.

But, forgive me. Let us enjoy this food without my complaints.

You are most generous, Enjolras. merci. [France has only just gotten started, it seems, because once the stew is complete and he's placed a bowl out for himself, he's ready to pull the baguettes out, seemingly at just the right time to make them a perfectly crispy golden color, filling the room with the delicious smell almost as soon as the oven is opened. He cuts off a generous slice from the end for himself, returning to his spot at the table.]

Ah, oui, Michael had told me this - the summer of 1832, I believe, is what he told me. That is a very long time ago compared to this place, non? I am sure Siren's Port must have been a great shock. [The phrase "Insurrection républicaine à Paris en juin 1832" immediately flashes in his head, but there is no way he's bringing up the exact date. Not unless Enjolras wishes to talk about it first.]

Michael was good to me, too, when I first arrived - you see, I came here in the middle of the night, during the Darkness. He was one of the many people who kept me company over the NV. He has been my friend ever since. It does not help that I also practically owe him my life.

[Though that wasn't quite accurate. But without Michael, who knows how many people he would have killed. But that was a story for another day, when it came up again. He didn't want to get into it now, not when this other man was far more interesting to him than anything else in Siren's Port at the moment.]

You are hardly complaining, mon ami. Though if you wish to change the topic, I would not object.

[Enjolras quirks an eyebrow.]

Michael told you? Yes, it was Summer, 1832. June, if I am exact. [He remembers what Michael told him, that he had inspired a future uprising, that they had not forgotten. An overwhelming urge to test this information overtakes him.

His eyes widen at the baguettes, and he cuts himself a piece, while desperately trying to sound quite casual.]

Does the year and month mean anything to you?

[The smell of the food is enough to quell his nerves about bringing it up. Besides, if he does know, it will bring him a lot of comfort.]

Michael was good to me too. It does not surprise me that he saved you and others. He has helped me too. He is a friend to a good many people.

Ah... when I was hear last, I missed France so much... it was almost as if my soul had been ripped from my body. [Ha, foreshadowing. France knew there was no way the other would catch the irony there, but nonetheless he continued.] So much so that I was seeking out my fellow countrymen, when I could. Michael knew this, of course - I am sure he did it so we would not confuse each other, when we met, non?

[Of course the year and month mean something to him - and the flicker of recognition seems to appear in his eyes again. He nods a bit, turning his attention to the coq au vin in front of him, which he suddenly finds immensely interesting.] June of 1832... well, something did happen, then. On the fifth and sixth, I believe. It is called the June Rebellion, in English. It is l'Insurrection républicaine à Paris en juin 1832 in our tongue.

[But he's quick to pass on to other topics. Topics that don't remind him of this poor man's fate.]

He is indeed, and I am happy for it. Were it not for him... well, I would not have had a home, twice. He was kind enough to take me in, again and again, despite my hardships here.

Yes, I think he likes too look out for people. Michael has been very good to me as well. He'd want us to meet, as we are both homesick. I feel the same way, like I can only breath in Paris.

[Enjolras falls silent, looking wistful]

So it is true. We weren't forgotten. [He speaks more to himself, but a faint smile spreads on his lips.]

Thank you! That is very good to know.

[And for a brief moment his arms are around Francis' neck. He pulls back, his expression more serious.]

Please, I beg your pardon, but you don't know what it means to me.

Oh, he does. And I am glad he has been good to you... though I did not expect any less of Michael. He has always been protective of those he has taken under his wing.

[Despite the grave subject before, France can't help the corners of his lips curving upward into a smile.]

Which only goes to show just how remarkable Paris is! Although I am sure you would be surprised with just how much Paris has changed, in my time.

[He doesn't seem to mind the hug, in fact, he seems perfectly willing to wrap his arms around Enjolras in return, though he does follow the younger man's cues about pulling away.]

There is no need, Enjolras. You didn't offend me. [Another friendly smile, with a few claps to his shoulder.] I am happy to tell you about the future, if you would like. I believe you have seen much of it in the Port as it is.

I saw the tower. I can't say I liked it much. [He says with a quick shrug.]

It becomes the city, before long; the more you see it every day, the more you grow to like it. [A small smile. Ah, yes, he wouldn't have seen la Tour Eiffel.] I am sure seeing it for yourself would be more impressive than simple drawings or photographs.

[Deadpool was glad to have more people who liked being in the kitchen around. He was no stranger to it surprisingly, but bad ass mercenaries should spend less time baking. Though muffins were awesome.]

Comment ca va, Francis?

[He takes a bite of a pastry as he sits down, his mask slightly unfurled as he sits casually leaning back in a chair chewing away]

[Well thankfully, from the smell of sugar and apples wafting through the kitchen at the moment, it seems that badass mercenaries are going to have plenty of time freed up to eat said baked goods.]

Ainsi qu'on pouvait s'y attendre, je suppose. [He looks over his shoulder with a bit of a grin, responding in French when the other asks. But, he's quick to return to his task, also making sure to return to English.]

It is all so... sudden, non? Not that the Core has ever been predictable, mais...

[He sort of trails off as he gets a bit lost in thought.]

[It is one of the few things that make him happy these days]

C'est la vie.

[There is a bit of a shrug, it was Sirens Port after all. A city in shadow]

Core is a nasty piece of work thats for sure. No real method to who stays and who goes.

[He misses a lot more people then he lets on]

Oui, c'est la vie. Mais, ma vie a toujours été un peu étrange.

[He's not disagreeing with you on that point. But he does sigh a little bit before continuing what he was doing.]

I simply thought... well, when the Core sent you back, you left, and that was it. I did not think after a year that the Core would bring me back.

Naw, way I figure it, the Core likes to create a giant soap opera out of our lives, with a horror twist to it.

[He can't help it - that comment draws a laugh.]

Is that why I have returned, then? For some sort of dramatic reveal to the audience? Ah la la, I really should have been given a script beforehand!

Oh of course. Either that or to head the French version of the Sharks. I'm not sure I know. I'll be playing the role of wild card. Just make sure to practice your jazz steps.

[He takes another bite of a pastry, baked goods were awesome]

Three years ballet, two years jazz to be part of the gang.

Wild cards are always needed. Mais, the dancing, that will not be a problem. I dance as well as I cook. Both ballet and jazz.

[And as if to reiterate his point, he sets down his cooking implements for a moment, in order to perform a few tap dance steps, which even without tap shoes seems to be quite practiced and well done. At the end of his last stamp, he pauses, shoulders moving into a shrug as he grins.] Jazz was very popular in France at one point, you know.

[But he is quick to abandon the current topic and move back to the stovetop - as much as he loves showing off his dance moves, making everything perfect for tonight is more important. He has certain people to impress... most notably two Frenchmen whom he has yet to meet.]

Regardless of why the Core brought me back... I am rather glad it did. It seems I am needed, or so Michael has told me. [He pauses, looking up at Deadpool for another moment.] He has told me a great many things that have happened since my disappearance. It seems there are... some of my countrymen here, now?

[His tone suggests that he knows. Not all the details, certainly, but Michael's given him the basic gist.]

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Times have changed and times are strange

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