libertin: (white chick on that pac shit)
Dᴏᴍɪɴɪǫᴜᴇ ᴅ̶ᴇ̶ Cᴏᴜʀғᴇʏʀᴀᴄ。 ([personal profile] libertin) wrote in [community profile] thecapitol2014-01-08 07:49 pm

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

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.
gardienne: (hiding against a wall)

[personal profile] gardienne 2014-01-13 11:27 pm (UTC)(link)
"What? Are you mad? I am not dead!" She shrugged. "Soon, yes. Soon, my Papa will have me struck down in the street. He won't do it himself, the coward." She spat over the side of her armchair. "But he will have Claquesous and Babet do it. Or Montparnasse shall slit my throat, and they'll find me, half eaten by dogs, and they'll throw me into a pit. Or the winter - oh yes, I should have died, if I were in Paris, Sir... oh yes. And I die here as well. Over and over. Oh yes. You will soon feel dead, Sir. Empty, as if the air should blow you away, empty, like so many bellies in Paris."
gardienne: (desperate arguing)

[personal profile] gardienne 2014-01-13 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sir, you tell me I am dead, and I tell you no. What is so trying, so pushing about that?" She shook her head. "Push all you like, Sir. Say as you wish. You cannot hurt me. I have heard it all before."
gardienne: (resentful)

[personal profile] gardienne 2014-01-14 12:27 am (UTC)(link)
She blinked at his words, and slowly, almost as if she was waking from a dream, or a nightmare more, she uncurled herself and stood, shakily.

"And why? Why should I hope, Sir? To think of a better life? To dream of a dress or shoes or food for my belly? To hope for a Papa who pats my head instead of wholloping my arse, or a Mama who cuddles instead of pushing me to the streets? Should I hope for someone to love me? Well, Monsieur, do you know what I think of your hope?"

She hoiked up what she could, and spat, hard, at Courfeyrac. She didn't care if it missed or not. That done, she seemed to shrink somewhat in demeanour, almost curling in on herself so her shoulders were hunched and her knees bent a little. She shook her head, and stepped back, just one step.

"There is no hope. No hope at all. And it is crueler to think that there is, to make me think it, when the opposite is true."
gardienne: (screaming)

[personal profile] gardienne 2014-01-14 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)
"FINE." She roared her reply, her hoarse, croaking voice cracking as she finally, finally released a little bit of the anger building up inside her. "FINE." Her hands balled into fists and she rocked forward on one foot. "Fine. I am lost. I am ugly. I am bitter and hated and broken and - OH, Monsieur! How I loathe you - all of you, thinking you know, thinking you stand for the poor. No - you know NOTHING. You know nothing of what it is like for any of us, and you are so ignorant, you cannot see it, and OH, how I hate you for that. I hate you, Sir, I do, truly. I hate all of you. You are all the same - how can you stand there and tell me how to feel? Have you paid for women such as i? Well, imagine standing to see the other women chosen - even though you don't want to be. Imagine knowing that you can't go home until you do it and get your Francs. How many men -" She shakes her head.

"There is NOTHING in this world for me. Nothing. So do not tell me to hope and dream because I shall not do it. And do not tell me that you shall pity me, for I do not want that either. I will have none of it. Can you not see that it burns my heart every time? It is as if a knife has been dipped in snow and plunged through my lungs. So you might keep your hopes and your dreams and your pity, for I want none of it. Now, Sir, LEAVE ME. Go on your way. Find your friends. Make your way, and die your death in the arena, for I do not care."