thecapitol | We might be dead by tomorrow

Entry tags:

We might be dead by tomorrow

Who| Courfeyrac & Open!
What| Avoiding the whole death arena thing for as long as possible.
Where| District 11 Suites; perhaps around the tower also.
When| Before the crowning and the reaping.
Warnings/Notes| N/A? This is mainly set in the D11 suites, but feel free to set an open part elsewhere in the tower!

Courfeyrac was becoming next to impossible to live with. When he wasn't lingering around Cinderella's bedroom door, he could generally be found taking up far too much room on the communal sofas. He'd taken to lounging around the common area of the suite, furiously scribbling away in a notebook. One might assume that, as a compatriot of the illustrious mentor/philosopher Enjolras, he was composing some great political manifesto. The fervor with which he wrote might indicate such a work was forthcoming. But if anyone bothered to read what had been scrawled across the pages in an almost illegible hand, they would find that it was not anything of the sort. It was instead a collection of poorly composed love poetry.

Now, he wasn't nearly as disgustingly lovesick as Marius had been around (or apart from) Cosette, but he wasn't as articulate or artistic as his old friend Jehan Prouvaire, so as a result, his poetry was lacking in both cleverness and beauty. To call it lousy would be a compliment. Luckily, he'd written it all in French and expected that, for the most part, his work would be safely ignored by the other residents of the suite. Aside from Max, who else would bother reading his writing anyway? What he lacked in technical skill he made up for in sheer passion. There was no mistaking the truth behind the words he'd written, though he could certainly use an editor's touch.

The rest of his time not spent with Cindy or writing about Cindy was spent primping and preening in the bathroom, taking full advantage of the amazing modern invention of hot, clean, running water. His grooming habits were in a word excessive, and now that he had a mistress to impress, he needed to look even more dashing than ever. With his broken nose set and healing nicely, he spent even more time caring for his appearance. He seemed to spend hours in the bathroom.

The upside to all of this was that he'd found a way to forget about politics and philosophy and the looming threat of a death arena in the future. The downside was that he was distracted, unprepared, and consumed with trying to forget the terrible things he'd done and seen in the museum. Whatever he'd learned, he'd rather forget, if only so he could enjoy the land of the living once again and cling to the beauty of life and love and Cinderella. In his mind, he could have one or the other, he could not have both.

And so, for now, he chose to live the life of leisure. After all, he had a good thing going, why not ride it out? There would be other chances to think deeply and change the world. Right? Right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Frenchman still sat on the sofa, pondering over his composition with an air of determination about him. He looked up at the visitor lazily, at first seemingly unfazed by the other man's sudden appearance. At least, he was unfazed until the man asked after Cindy.

"She is out," he said, sitting up in his seat, on high alert. "I can take a message for her, Monsieur...?"

Was Courfeyrac jealous? Certainly not! But he'd never met this man. It was natural to be curious about him.

"Ian Chesterton," he filled in. Don't worry, it wasn't important. I'll find her sometime," Ian said airily. It happened to be the truth, but there was something in the way he'd sat up suddenly that made Ian wonder if a message would get to Cindy. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you."

"Monsieur Ian Chesterton," Courfeyrac repeated, writing abandoned for now. "It would be no trouble at all for me to relay a message for her." He raised an eyebrow, then immediately realized he was acting foolishly. He was already making an idiot of himself for all of his suite mates to see, pining after Cindy like some sort of lovesick schoolboy. Acting the part around Monsieur Chesterton was hardly a stretch by now. "I do not expect she will be gone long. You are welcome to wait here."

"Why not." He didn't have anywhere he needed to be, so he might as well wait for a bit, and he sat sprawled on the sofa opposite the Frenchman. "Something important?" he asked, gesturing at the paper the other man had been writing on.

"Not exactly," Courfeyrac replied, keeping his precious manuscript close at hand. "It is... simply an exercise of skill. A dabbling."

He watched Ian closely, sussing the Englishman out, still unsure of the man's business in the suite or with Cindy. He was not suspicious, but he could not shake his curiosity just yet. Ah, the curse of being too catlike for his own good.

"It occurs to me that I have not properly introduced myself. I am Courfeyrac."

Ian smiled. "Nice to meet you." He assumed Courfeyrac was some sort of writer and he wasn't that interested. Not unless it was a textbook or science fiction, which seemed unlikely, but you never know.

"I can't say I'm very good at that sort of thing myself." He nodded at the paper in case his meaning wasn't clear. "I stick to reading, rather than writing."

"That is generally my preference as well." He glanced down at one of his poems, crumpling it up into a little ball. "But I have found myself rather inspired as of late."

With that, Courfeyrac looked over toward Cinderella's door.

The gesture was lost on Ian, being someone who wasn't good at subtle hints. "That's good." Then he looked down at the crumpled up paper. "Or not."

Courfeyrac sighed, mouth twisting into a frown. "Unfortunately, I am not especially adept when it comes to composition. I have plenty of inspiration but not enough talent to sate it."

He chuckled. "I think the best authors have said that at one time or another."

"This would hardly be considered any good at all." But enough about him. "May I ask what it is that you do, Mister Chesterton?"

"Here? Not a lot." There wasn't really much useful to do except for rebelling, and that wasn't something you talked about in the open with people you'd just met. "At home I taught science to teenagers."

Courfeyrac immediately feels a ping of pity for the man. "If your students were anything like I was, I am very sorry to hear that."

He chuckled. "They weren't that bad. Mostly. It was still better than being put in an arena and told to fight to the death."

"Anything is better than that," he said, voice lowered. "But that is stating the obvious. And you are... friends with Cindy, I take it?"

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I am. I hate that having friends means there's someone the capitol can use against me, but not having friends is worse." And he could hardly deny who he was friendly with, given that their every moves were watched.

"Solitude is a hard pill to swallow. Personally, I cannot do it." He liked people too much and relied too much on them for... well, most everything. Courfeyrac could be plenty self-reliant, but he loved people too much to ever want to be alone. "She is a good woman to have as a friend."

"She is," Ian agreed, smiling. "It's not natural for humans to be alone, and we don't have family here. All we have are our friends."

"Yes," he nodded. "Although I must say I am glad to spare my family the horrors of this place. I refuse to think of my poor sisters here in my place."

"Me too," he said with feeling. "I only have the one sister, but I certainly wouldn't want he here."

"It is a shame though, that our chosen families must suffer here as well." He wouldn't mind dying, if that had meant Max and Cindy would be spared.

"We do what we can," he said, including Courfeyrac in that, as he seemed like the sort of man who would. "But at least death means not having to suffer through the arenas any more."

It seemed like only a temporary solution to the Frenchman. "That respite only lasts as long as their disinterest does. You see, I myself was dead before I was brought to the Capitol and the arenas. My peace in the grave was interrupted in favor of renewed anguish."

Ian blinked. He hadn't expected that they could bring dead people here at all. "That's awful." He was a bit horrified by it. "Getting to live again isn't really worth it in a place like this."

"At first, I would have agreed with you." He'd been so dreadfully depressed upon awakening again. Death had been almost a comfort to him. He'd ceased to exist, and that peace was indescribable.

But a few weeks alive again and he'd started to remember the good things in life. There was so much he hadn't even known he'd missed. "I was ready to die, when I died. I died willingly and I was prepared to do it. This world is a horrible, violent, corrupt, nasty world, but it is a chance to experience life again. There are beautiful things here and there are gentle people who need to be protected."

His thoughts went to his friends, to Madame Pontmercy, to Max, to Ian Gallagher. Those people did not deserve to live in this miserable world. And of course, neither did Cindy...

"Besides all that, it is worth it for her."

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