Dᴏᴍɪɴɪǫᴜᴇ ᴅ̶ᴇ̶ Cᴏᴜʀғᴇʏʀᴀᴄ。 (
libertin) wrote in
thecapitol2014-01-08 07:49 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Entry tags:
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.
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.
no subject
no subject
Or he very much wanted to, at least. Could he still be wounded? Of course. But he could try to rise above it, not let the brutally enslave him. It frustrated him to no end that she would stay fixated on their destinies in Paris. He held his own very close to his heart, but his whole sense of sanity hung on being able to find serenity with his life, death, and choices.
"You are trying me on purpose. Does it amuse you to push at me? Do you want me to push you back?"
no subject
no subject
no subject
"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."
no subject
"Then you are lost," Courfeyrac proclaimed. "If you refuse to care, why should anyone care for you? I tell you, your Papa and Mama do not control your destiny. There are surrogate mothers and fathers, if that is what you need. That man who doesn't love you is not the only one in the world. There are other men who could love you, and more still who could respect you. There are possibilities beyond what you have seen and what you see right now.
"You will be lost and alone if you treat people this way. You will become even more bitter and it will make you ugly from hate. Is that what you desire? To hate and to be hated? To tear apart the hearts of others because your heart has been broken by people who ought to have known better? Do you wish to be pitied? I will pity you if that is what you wish, though I think you are better than that." He wiped his hand on his pant leg, though some of the disgust in his demeanor had been replaced by something else, some yet unnamed emotion. "I shall say it again, have some pride. Do not shrink. And if you are going to strike at me, do it like you mean it."
no subject
"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."
no subject
Keeping very calm, all things considered, he took one step toward her, just close enough that he could impose a little. "That's good, Eponine. You can use that rage. Do not let it consume you. Don't let it go to waste." And with that, he bowed his head to her and turned away. "Until we meet in the arena, my dear."