For his part, Enjolras is doing his best not to consider the logistics of just what the Capitol was doing to them. It's easier if he simply avoids thinking of it all too deeply. After all, if he did, the horrors of the Capitol would start to outshine the horrors of the Arena and then there truly would be no escape for them ever.

"I had a... Friend in Paris who insisted that every bottle and every glass produced a different pitch." He stumbles over what to actually call Grantaire. It's awkward, but doesn't last long before he settles on a word. It still seems inadequate and slightly disingenuous, and despite the benign quality of the story, he feels bad for misrepresenting himself to his acquaintance. "I never believed him. Perhaps I should have."