Dᴏᴍɪɴɪǫᴜᴇ ᴅ̶ᴇ̶ Cᴏᴜʀғᴇʏʀᴀᴄ。 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
libertin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-01-17 01:35 am
libertin) wrote in thecapitol2014-01-17 01:35 am
Entry tags:
And I know there must have been some kind of sorrow
Who| Courfeyrac, Marius, & Enjolras
What| Bros talk strategy
Where| Some public place
When| The day before the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Nope
It was the eve of their destruction, and for the second time in as many weeks Courfeyrac found himself facing the inevitable realization that he was standing at the precipice of his own demise. It was a heavy situation to find himself in again, though this time he found the anticipation more difficult to deal with. Before he'd felt so sure and right about what he was doing and how glad he was to lay down his life for the birth of the republic. This death would have none of the glory, none of the significance. This battle would be remembered by no one, forgotten just as surely as their victor had been crowned.
At least he had coming back to look forward to this time. Except, that in all honesty, he wasn't convinced that he would come back. Of course he'd been told of this predetermined fact, listened to friends and mentors swear it up and down, but some small part of him was convinced that this time his death would be a permanent one. If it lost the meaning, it would gain it's lasting effect.
As suicidal as he had been at the barricade, Courfeyrac now found that he was markedly less so as the hours ticked by and their entrance into the Arena approached. Had he found something to live for? No, but he hadn't found anything he cared to die for either, and that was incentive enough for him to set his initial idea of immediate suicide aside for later. There would be time for that, if it came down to it. It would stand as a resort-- perhaps not even a last resort, but a resort nonetheless.
That decision did little to calm his nerves. He was not an anxious man by nature. He was generally jovial, calm, witty. In the barricade he had remained one of the cooler heads, sure and committed, not shaking or afraid. He was not shaking now, but he was afraid. The barricade had been comfortable. It was known to them. Whatever the next day had in store would be foreign and terrible, and the anticipation might kill him before anyone else had the chance to. But there was no sign of that fear in his expression. He wouldn't allow himself to seem afraid. Courfeyrac could appear to be sure, even though his heart was racing. He could pretend he had no regrets, even though he was desperate for something meaningful to which he could attach this incarnation of his life.
Alone, with Marius and Enjolras, he confessed to them in an unnervingly serious voice, "I don't know that I can kill those people. What incentive do I have to harm them? I do not know them. I do not know what any of them stands for. How am I to choose a target if I am blind?"
What| Bros talk strategy
Where| Some public place
When| The day before the Arena
Warnings/Notes| Nope
It was the eve of their destruction, and for the second time in as many weeks Courfeyrac found himself facing the inevitable realization that he was standing at the precipice of his own demise. It was a heavy situation to find himself in again, though this time he found the anticipation more difficult to deal with. Before he'd felt so sure and right about what he was doing and how glad he was to lay down his life for the birth of the republic. This death would have none of the glory, none of the significance. This battle would be remembered by no one, forgotten just as surely as their victor had been crowned.
At least he had coming back to look forward to this time. Except, that in all honesty, he wasn't convinced that he would come back. Of course he'd been told of this predetermined fact, listened to friends and mentors swear it up and down, but some small part of him was convinced that this time his death would be a permanent one. If it lost the meaning, it would gain it's lasting effect.
As suicidal as he had been at the barricade, Courfeyrac now found that he was markedly less so as the hours ticked by and their entrance into the Arena approached. Had he found something to live for? No, but he hadn't found anything he cared to die for either, and that was incentive enough for him to set his initial idea of immediate suicide aside for later. There would be time for that, if it came down to it. It would stand as a resort-- perhaps not even a last resort, but a resort nonetheless.
That decision did little to calm his nerves. He was not an anxious man by nature. He was generally jovial, calm, witty. In the barricade he had remained one of the cooler heads, sure and committed, not shaking or afraid. He was not shaking now, but he was afraid. The barricade had been comfortable. It was known to them. Whatever the next day had in store would be foreign and terrible, and the anticipation might kill him before anyone else had the chance to. But there was no sign of that fear in his expression. He wouldn't allow himself to seem afraid. Courfeyrac could appear to be sure, even though his heart was racing. He could pretend he had no regrets, even though he was desperate for something meaningful to which he could attach this incarnation of his life.
Alone, with Marius and Enjolras, he confessed to them in an unnervingly serious voice, "I don't know that I can kill those people. What incentive do I have to harm them? I do not know them. I do not know what any of them stands for. How am I to choose a target if I am blind?"
no subject
That wouldn't prevent Courfeyrac from leaving, however. He waited the few moments it took for Marius to catch up with him before he continued on his way. "Come, Pontmercy. You and I must catch up. I've met your wife at last."
And with that, he was ready to abandon Enjolras. For now.
no subject
He did manage to catch Courfeyrac's, and while all was not entirely forgiven (he wasn't certain there was anything to truly forgive in the first place), it was at least compartmentalized. But that didn't move him to get up and follow them.
With a nod small enough to keep the blond curls on his head from bouncing, Enjolras acknowledged Marius' departure. He'd known full well where his not-quite-friend's loyalties would lay.