I ain't much of a poet but I know somebody once told me

[libertin]

Who| Courfeyrac & Open!
What| Resurrected French kid has no idea what the hell is going on.
Where| The Central Common Area + District 11 Suites.
When| The day before the trains leave.
Warnings/Notes| N/A

His head was spinning when he was finally left alone in the suites. It felt like it had been an eternity of listening to those people barking at him in words he couldn't process quickly enough to understand, overwhelming to the point that he thought he might lose face and be sick about it. Wasn't he dead? He didn't specifically recall dying, but he remembered the distinct impression that his own demise had been imminent. If he was dead, was this place hell or heaven? He'd never been a particularly devout young man, but he knew none of this was in the Bible.

Thinking about it hurt, and all Courfeyrac wanted to do was to go dig a hole for himself and return to his time and his sleep. He wanted to wake up from this crazy dream, return to Paris, be anyplace but in this city, in this building, in these wretched rooms.

Depressed, he looked about for a corner in which he could hide and regain his pride, or perhaps fall asleep again and wake up feeling normal.  He felt as lost and tired as he looked, and if not for his last shred of vanity, he might not even care.

Comments

[saisamour]

When Marius's gaze rested on the all-too familiar mass of dark curls, he thought he was still navigating through the haze of a dream.

Only several days had gone by, after all, since he last wished for Courfeyrac to be here. A panic swelled in his gut: Had he said his intimate friend's name aloud, as he had foolishly done in the case of Cosette? Is that how the Capitol knew him, why they summoned him here? But even so, he had been cautious, his words chosen with great care, his displays of adversity extinguished. Courfeyrac was not supposed to be here.

And yet interlaced with the panic was an odd sense of relief, because Courfeyrac was here. He knew he should not have wanted this, but he could hardly deny the joy that came with seeing his friend once more when he thought he never would again. He took a step towards the other man, stopped. The guilt brought about by the thought almost caused him to turn and run away instead.

Perhaps he only did think of himself.

He took a deep breath, clenched his fists to prevent his hands from shaking. Perhaps he was mistaken; maybe this was not Courfeyrac. In any case, it would solve nothing if he were to simply stand there without acting. So he forced his legs to move and strode towards the newcomer, stopping a few feet away.

"Courfeyrac?"

He hated how hopeful he sounded.

[libertin]

The sound of his name barely registered at first, he'd been so lost in his own head. He might have been ignoring it outright, even he wasn't entirely sure. Instead, all he could think about was death, dying, and going home. Not to Paris, even though that had been home. His thoughts were fixed more on the grave than anything else.

But he knew that voice, of course, and the sense of dread that was weighing on him was rapidly set aside by the swelling of familiarity in his heart. He knew that voice, and he knew that foolish hopeful lilt in it better than anyone did. It was a scramble to make himself seem presentable. He didn't want anyone to see him distraught, he still had some pride.

"Marius?"

He hated how broken he sounded. But there was no helping that. One can't see the flash of death and not be left untouched by it.

[saisamour]

Marius's lips parted, but for a moment not a sound came out of his mouth.

He wanted to run, to pretend that this was but a dream, or perhaps more accurately a nightmare. He wanted to claim that he was mad and that he was witnessing illusions and having visions no one else could see. He wanted to run up to Courfeyrac and tightly embrace him in a mirror to his friend's actions when he arrived at the barricades, just to see if Courfeyrac was real, because he wanted him to be.

What happened instead was Marius stepping a little closer and resting a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder, a smile that's mostly elated and mildly troubled taking up form on his face. "I-It truly is you!"

[libertin]

The trouble look on his friend's face did not do much to alleviate the trepidation in Courfeyrac's heart. He wasn't sure he could believe his eyes either, not because he believed it could be an illusion, but because he'd never expected to open his eyes again. Once a soul has made up his mind to die, it's a difficult matter to allow it to consider the living again.

"Of course it is me. Is it truly you, Marius?" The firm hand on his shoulder felt real enough to suddenly force him back into the land of the living.

[saisamour]

Whether Courfeyrac's troubles reflected in his expression or not, Marius hardly took notice; he was drowning in the discordant noise of his own mind. It seemed the Capitol was intent on pulling in the people he held dear in his life. First Cosette, which dealt in him the greatest happiness and suffering of all, but then they also had to summon Courfeyrac. Next, perhaps Abbé Mabeuf? Or his good father the colonel?

A chuckle escaped him, short and dry and perhaps still slightly disbelieving. It took a substantial amount of effort not to break into a fit of demented laughter. "Yes, it is I."

But he had to gather himself together. And if he was to regain control of his sanity, he must focus on a singular emotion. The joy won out, and he drew Courfeyrac towards him into a tight, almost desperate embrace.

[libertin]

He almost wanted to scold Marius, chide him for such a melodramatic display. But Courfeyrac's heart was not in it. He was moved by that same emotion and warmed by the sheer humanity of their reunion. His heart was heavy, his mind was wrought with worry, but he had his friend, his dear fool of a friend. And for the moment, he could appreciate that and cling to Marius just as desperately.

"You are alive. How can it be that we are both alive?" His voice was muffled into Marius' shoulder, face purposely obscured so as not to show just how shaken he was by it all. "I should not be alive."

[saisamour]

Marius's shoulders tensed at that; even now, after playing Lazarus for the third time, hearing it said aloud jarred him. Perhaps he will never be used to it, like how he will never be used to existing in a world so different, so distant from his own.

He leaned back, pulling them slightly apart, and placed both hands on Courfeyrac's shoulders in a gentle grip. The silver band on his ring finger momentarily caught the light of a chandelier. "There..." He paused, his brows drawing together slightly. "There is a sorcery in the Capitol that I cannot begin to comprehend, that allows for these things to happen."

He wanted to say something more, but what else could he say? Materializing the words from thin air and wreathing them into jesting reassurances was Courfeyrac's talent, not his. It was his turn to help his friend and he failed miserably.

So he simply averted his eyes, staring at his the ground as if it could present the right words for him to say.

[gardienne]

His was one of those faces that Eponine vaguely recognised, a man she had seen plenty of times, but one with whom she never spoke. He was a grand man, she remembered that much - Marius' friend, and Enjolras'. But she didn't know his name.

Quite frankly, she didn't care.

From her corner of the common room, she looked up from her mug of tea, sweetened, as Eva had ordered, with two spoons of sugar to 'put fat on her bones', and looked back down. Another soul here to be made unhappy. Another reason for Marius to be tortured a little bit more. She should tell him that the others were here, Marius and Cosette and Enjolras. People he was friends with. That he wasn't alone. How was that fair? He arrived to friends. A year and a half later, Eponine was steadily losing hers. So she glared at him again, bitterly eyeing his clean face, his soft hair. But perhaps she could hurt him, just a little.

"He is not here, Monsieur. There is no use in looking."

[libertin]

If he had any recognition toward her, it was all but shoved away for now. If he had really known her face, he was in no state to recall it just yet. Besides, she looked rather different than she had the last time he had laid eyes on her. And the strange way her words at present echoed his in the past was lost on Courfeyrac. If he had more sense, or if he knew her by sight, her parroting might have carried more weight.

As it was, he was simply confused, though admittedly grateful to hear words he could understand more readily.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle. I do not know what you mean."

[gardienne]

"Monsieur Marius. You are his friend, no?"

She pushed her greasy, matted hair out of her face to get a better look at Courfeyrac. Oh, Eponine had been through so many changes since Paris. New hair. New clothes. New teeth. Things in her eyes to make them shiny. Even a different body. But she had begged and begged this time, to just be left alone. And so there she was, a street rat from Paris dressed in a plain purple pinafore dress, curled up on a Capitol seat.

Her expression didn't change. She wanted him to struggle, just a little bit. Everyone else did. Perhaps he ought to as well.

"Well, he is not here, so there is no use in looking."

[libertin]

Courfeyrac almost spit out his response, "Marius? Why would he...?"

A sense of melancholy struck him then, gobsmacked him. He hadn't even thought to look for Marius, for Marius was alive and Courfeyrac was most decidedly not. Perhaps this was a sign from the great beyond that he was indeed in the afterlife and that he would not find his living companions in this place.

"I am not looking for Marius, Mademoiselle. I'm not looking for anyone."

[gardienne]

"Oh." She sipped her tea again, nibbling at the edge of the mug, rat-like.

"Then that is well. You will find him in the arena soon enough, anyway."

She looked away, apparently uninterested in Courfeyrac. She wished she had something she could read, so that she could show she didn't care if he was lost. But she didn't. So she picked at the bits of fluff at the waist of her dress, where a thick belt was usually wrapped to show off her shape.

But her glances back at him perhaps betrayed her interest more than her words.

[libertin]

He watched her with her teacup, watched her even as she turned away from him. Normally he had a mind to pay rudeness no mind, but it was unsettling that she should know him, and more so that she should know Marius. Who was this girl? And why did he feel so uneasy in her presence?

"Is that all you have to say to me? That he is not here? That I shall find him soon enough?" Courfeyrac's voice took on a different tone then. He suddenly sounded disappointed or angry, though his expression displayed something more along the lines of desperation. "I feel that we may have met before. Tell me, how do you know me? And how do you know Monsieur Marius?"

Courf and Venus, then Enj can jump in?

[celebrityskinned]

Ever since her last conversation with Enjolras, Venus has been spending a little bit less time in the common area, if only because looking at the now garbed statue seems a little rude to one of the few people she would call friends. Instead, she's been spending more and more time training, working on her skills with the weapons she never needed to use as a superhero. Knives, swords, even a bow and arrow. She's only passing through right now.

She's still in her workout clothes when she passes Courfeyrac. It's not as if the sight of a Tribute looking sad and tired is terribly uncommon in these halls, but Venus' newfound empathy for the situation makes it hard to ignore him.

"You know, if you ask one of the Avoxes, they can bring you a drink or something. Warm cocoa always helps me."

bien

[libertin]

He wasn't sure what she was saying, let alone if she was even speaking to him. He knew English, enough of it so that he could read it and write it, but hearing it uttered aloud and so quickly was still foreign to his ears. And even once he parsed through what the woman had said, he was still left in the haze of trying to formulate a verbal response, all the while stealthily admiring her and pretending very intently that he was not.

"I do not," he began, in heavily accented and stilted English. "I do not know."

Frustration and pride mixed in his eyes before he finally opted to respond in French. "Could you please repeat that more slowly, and in French?"

[orestes]

It's the sound of his mother tongue that pulls Enjolras from his normally quick stride through the common area. He glances over, expecting to find Marius entertaining some curious soul or another but instead his eyes fall incredulously on Courfeyrac. After spending ten months in the Capitol, Enjolras is more than at peace with a limited amount of selfishness, and feels no shame in his happiness at seeing his friend. He half-jogs over, not bothering to hide any of his enthusiasm. How could he? Why should he?

With a brilliant smile on his face, one that puts the grandeur of even the ridiculous statue to shame, he pulls Courfeyrac bodily into a quick hug. In his rush to find a greeting suitable for the occasion, it actually seems easier to dispense with it all together, and instead of anything proper or appropriate, he simply answers the eavesdropped question. "She can't speak French, my friend, but you know at least a little bit of English."

With a jovial slap on the back, Enjolras pulls himself away, warm smile firmly in place. It's the first time he's smiled like this in a very long time, probably since before the barricade, even. Glancing between Venus and Courfeyrac, he continues, this time in English. "I am happier to find you here than I should be. Regardless, there are introductions to be made. Venus, this is my friend Courfeyrac. We were students together in Paris. Courfeyrac, this is Venus Dee Milo, she and I share a District."

[celebrityskinned]

"In French?" Venus blinks, trying to dredge up something from her conversations with Enjolras that might make some sense and then deciding fuck it, she'll probably have an easier time communicating in sign language. "Je ne parfait français la la, croissant debutante chartreuse."

She nearly flushes from embarrassment when she realizes Enjolras is walking - nay, jogging - over while she butchers his mother tongue, except that she's willing to stand firmly by her assertion that French is needlessly hard to pronounce or learn and she's also distracted by his demeanor. She has not, in memory, recalled Enjolras hugging anyone, much less doing so while smiling. This is, after all, the man who spent most of Marius' wedding looking as if he'd be more at home at a funeral.

Still, mirth has always been an affliction Venus is susceptible to, and she's glad that Enjolras' happy and that this poor lost soul has someone who can teach him the ropes in that confounded language. She holds a hand out to Courfeyrac. "Enchantée. That's right, isn't it?"

[libertin]

There's no desire or chance that Courfeyrac will hide his enthusiasm at seeing his old friend, though even he would admit it takes him by surprise to be pulled into an embrace. He'd expect such a display from any of the others, even stuffy little Marius, but not from Enjolras. That welcome, it seems, is a warning all it's own.

"Enjolras. I cannot believe you are alive," he says at first, in French, to Enjolras. Then, turning to Venus (and politely ignoring her hideous attempts at speaking his language) he takes her hand to kiss it as he searches his mind for a proper English greeting. Even after kissing her hand, he does not immediately let go. "It is a pleasure, mademoiselle."

None of this provided him with any more sense of solace regarding his present situation, however. A strange acting Enjolras and a scantly clad young lady did not do much to ease his mind. Looking to his old friend once more as he releases his hold on Venus' hand, he speaks in French, "I hope she will forgive me. I can barely understand anything she's said and I do not mean to snub her."

[orestes]

Even after backing up to a more polite, reserved distance, Enjolras can't find it in his heard to stop smiling or do anything to conceal his enthusiasm. It's easy for him to miss altogether Courfeyrac's lingering glances, or the fact that he's just a bit slow to release Venus' hand. For a moment he wonders about the prudence of being so open about his happiness in so public a place, but it passes quickly. He does not care, the Capitol be damned.

"She will. Venus is a particularly generous young woman, though she likes to pretend otherwise." There's a fondness to his tone, despite the rudeness of speaking about someone as if she isn't standing right in front of them. Her French isn't good (after that last display, he has evidence to prove this supposition), but she probably knows enough to catch her own name in his response, and Enjolras smiles in her direction, as if to assure her that it's nothing bad. "When did you arrive here? Has anyone explained our situation?"

Part of him wants to ask about the others at the barricade. What had become of Combeferre and Feuilly? Of Bossuet and Joly and Little Gavroche? Of Bahorel? At the same time, though, he knows the answer. If Marius had been surprised to find him alive, and Courfeyrac is how questioning it as well, then his initial conclusion is probably correct. Their defeat had been inevitable, which was more of a cold and logical summation of events to him at this point, as depressing as the realization had been initially.

[alonelikeme]

Cosette didn't find herself wandering any differently than she had before she was married. She still had given into her stylist's insistence that she dress more "modern" for her potential sponsors... And at the moment? That's all it felt like she was doing. The wedding, while wonderful because of what it had been, felt like it had been more for the Capitol than it had been for Marius and herself.

Still, she tried her best not to worry over it so much. It would only drive her crazy to think of it like this. So, she sat in the central area and read a book she had picked up to pass the time when she was not concerned with the training area. Looking up every so often to see who was around, a nervous tick that had befallen her after her death in the arena, she pressed a finger to the page she was on when she saw him.

There was something familiar about him, but even more, there was a part of her that hurt for him. He looked so lost and upset, something she couldn't ignore. "Monsieur, would you care to join me?" she called out softly.

[libertin]

Her voice was so soft that he wasn't quite sure he'd heard anything at all and was pleasantly surprised to see the young woman staring back at him. She seemed pleasant enough, though he did not immediately place her. It was nothing against her, more that his mind was simply elsewhere.

At once certain that she was speaking to him, Courfeyrac left his lonely place of vigil and crossed the room to her. Unlike some others, he did not need to be asked more than once.

"Thank you, mademoiselle. This room is a large and unspeakably lonely one." He stood before her, wondering vaguely if he knew her from someplace, realizing that perhaps, in fact, he did. "I hope I'm not intruding on your peaceful solitude with my melancholy company."

[alonelikeme]

"We're all a bit melancholy here," Cosette assured him with a gentle smile. She moved over a little, allowing him a seat next to her, patting the spot to invite him to sit. "You're new, aren't you?"

Folding the page in her book, she set it aside and turned to face him with her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry you've been pulled here... It's not something I'd wish on my worst of enemies."

You know... If she had any.

[libertin]

Courfeyrac did not hesitate to oblige her. It had been a long time since he'd felt this sort of welcoming kindness from anyone, which made sense considering he'd been dead for quite some time.

He immediately sat down beside her, at once feeling at ease in her presence. "New is not the word I would have used to describe myself. Reborn might be more apt." There was a sad laugh which threatened to escape him at that.

[alonelikeme]

Cosette smiled sadly at him. Reborn... Such a concept would have seemed impossible if she'd been told this when she had first arrived, but now it didn't seem so far fetched. He had experienced that gruesome fate before even arriving here, and she didn't know if that was better or worse for him in the long run. "Something else you will become used to here, unfortunately."

Pressing her lips together, she fidgeted with her wedding band for a brief moment. "It's a frequent thing in this place."

[libertin]

He was having a difficult enough time with his resurrection at present, he didn't think he could face the idea of it becoming a routine. "That is most unfortunate."

His eyes then fell to her hands, to the ring on her finger. He did not feel alarmed or intimidated by its presence in the least, but he did make the switch in his head and speech. "Where is your husband, Madame?"