thecapitol | 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

"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."

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully. "Where there's life there's hope, after all." All the same, he wasn't sure he'd like to be in that position. Spending arenas dying and coming back to life made him appreciate dying with nothing after it.

"Who's her?" he asked. There were a lot of women around here.

He gestured toward Cinderella's door again. "Why, Mademoiselle Cindy, naturally."

"Oh, naturally," Ian said, although his raised eyebrow contradicted his easy answer. "I suppose she is someone to live for."

"She is, indeed. I have never met anyone quite like her." And there were plenty of women in his past, rest assured.

"I haven't either." Not quite like Cindy anyway and not so flirty, although that was probably not a good idea to mention. "She's a very confident person."

Courfeyrac laughed in agreement. "Her confidence is contagious, I think. When I am near her, I feel as though I could do anything."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's good," he said slowly. "As long as you're not overconfident and get yourself killed."

That shut him up pretty quickly. After all, wasn't it misplaced confidence which had led to the tragic end of the barricade? Of course there were other factors, but poor judgment regarding their support could not be ignored. Cautiously, Courfeyrac said, "It would not be the first time for that."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "At least they bring you back to life after each arena, so you can learn from your mistakes."

"That is a theory. However, in practice..." He shook his head, looking quite sheepish. He'd never been too good about keeping out of trouble. If he had, he wouldn't have joined a group of radical republicans and gotten himself killed. And he likely wouldn't have gotten his nose broken by his best friend in a bar fight a week ago.

He grinned. "I definitely haven't learned from mine, as far as they're concerned." He'd just got worse and intended to keep on that way.

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