thecapitol | What if I'm far from home?

Entry tags:

What if I'm far from home?

Who| Courfeyrac & Enjolras
What| Escape from sister mountain and also voodoo witches.
Where| A District Five themed restaurant with southwestern cuisine.
When| After Venus' exposé.
Warnings/Notes| Drinking.

Courfeyrac loved his sisters. He truly adored them. He wanted the best for each of them. But he did not want to spend anymore time with them. He'd had enough going on in his head, he wasn't sure he had emotions or thoughts left to expend on the five women who'd arrived and dominated his life for the past two weeks. He'd come to terms with his own mortality, more or less. Facing his sisters, with their faces heavy with hurt, he felt his justifications lost a bit of wind. It had been so much easier to talk of revolution and commit himself to a cause without having to face the girls and explain himself. He could barely explain himself now, he'd hurt them so.

He'd been content to suck it up, though. He'd made that bed, he had to lie in it. That is, he was content to suffer their scorn in silence until he'd seen Venus' exposé. That prompted something else in him. He'd gone directly to Enjolras and suggested they get some fresh air. Fresh air led to a walk in silence, which led them to a strange restaurant with a southwestern "District Five" decor.

"Perhaps they will recognize you, my friend," Courfeyrac said, taking off his hat as they entered the establishment. "You are a District Five victor. Surely that comes with some rewards."

Indeed, Courfeyrac was correct in his assumptions, and within a few moments of being seated, the pair were presented with oversized goblets with frozen fruity alcoholic cocktails. Raising his eyebrows, he raised his icy glass. "Lovely, isn't it."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Enjolras eyed the decor sardonically. Above the entrance, a large, antlered creature mounted on a polished plank of wood seemed to mock him, its glassy eyes staring at him from just past Courfeyrac's unruly curls as he reached for his drink.

"You would take advantage of their generosity." He said, chiding without any genuine investment in it. He had died for District 5 multiple times, they could afford his friend an evening out. Around them, the patrons and waiters alike peered from over their menus and around their bus stations.

"Yes, I would," he said as he inhaled the first bit of his frozen drink, lips puckering from both the sweet and the liquor. It packed quite a punch, one might say. "Generosity is a terrible asset to waste, my friend. I should think you would have realized that by now."

He hadn't asked for Enjolras' company simply to make light of their situations. He wished for guidance, or at the very least distraction, and without Combeferre around to provide it, Enjolras would have to do. Setting his frosty glass down, he managed a serious face. "We've not had the chance to catch up since the last Arena." He meant the maze, of course. "You've been well, I take it?"

"I have been as well as can be expected," he replied obliquely, carefully considering the idea of leaving it at that, and taking a very large drink of his exotic slushy. It would be easier, in a sense, to leave it there, easier to block out everything that was bothering him. But, even if Venus had answered all of questions to a satisfactory degree, Courfeyrac was still his best friend. If he were to discuss these things with anyone here, it would be him. And perhaps the conversation could lend some clarity to his present situation. "Venus and I went to dinner after her return. And you have, no doubt, been watching the news."

Enjolras studied the laminated menu pressed against the table, unwilling to meet his friend's eyes. Even if he was willing to discuss recent events, he wasn't sufficiently gifted enough with social graces to know how to proceed. "Your sisters are well? They do not mind you absconding away from them for the evening?"

Edited 2014-04-30 07:00 (UTC)

Enjolras' refusal to look him in the eye was more telling than he realized. Courfeyrac tutted his friend quietly, but allowed him another moment of not being pressed for answers.

"My sisters are fine, if not somewhat angry with me. I doubt they will ever truly forgive me for getting myself killed." Not that he blamed them. He only hoped that some of their rage would reverberate and transform their husbands and sons the way his own anger had transformed himself. "It has been quite a shock for them, as I am sure you can imagine. I must admit, I am a little horrified that they are here and was loathe to part with them even for the evening, though I am certain my district mates will look after them sufficiently tonight."

"As I have said before, you are lucky to have such a supportive District." Between Cinderella, Max, and even Gabriel, the women would be looked after sufficiently, Courfeyrac was right in that. Moreover, Enjolras couldn't think that women from their time, who were not Eponine, would go specifically looking for problems, and the Capitol seemed to be doing quite well at accommodating its new visitors. Were their situations reversed, Enjolras wasn't sure he would trust the members of District 5 so much. Venus, Kankri, and perhaps Hans, were reasonable, of course, but that still left Shepard, the Initiate, and Azula to consider.

He braved a sip of the brightly colored drink in front of him. It had been described to him as rum-based, but between the light color, and the slices of fruit floating awkwardly in the slush, it was hard to really tell. "And I should count myself lucky that the Capitol has not seen fit to bring my father, or some other distant relation, here. I do not envy the conversations to which you allude."

"Luck is relative in this case." He winced at his own stupid pun and sipped his ridiculous drink through his ridiculous straw. "I made it a point not to talk politics with my family, especially not with my sisters. Now that they are here, the topic has been unavoidable."

It was such a mess, feeling like he ought to justify himself to his sisters, all the while truly believing that he needn't explain anything at all. His actions had spoken volumes, it was simply a matter of the audience being willing to listen.

He was about to explain as much to Enjolras when a waiter arrived with their complimentary appetizers; deep fried calamari and buffalo wings. Courfeyrac's nose wrinkled. "What in God's name is this?"

"Buffalo wings," Enjolras supplied blandly, recognizing the sauce covered chicken from his time in District 5. "I do not know what that other plate is."

The problem he took from barbecue as an abstract concept was that there was no possible way to eat it with any sort of grace. That wasn't to say that, having been raised in a college more than a proper household, Enjolras was so much of a stickler for manners or propriety. Rather, that the entire genre of foods seemed to be created as a purposeful scorn to the very idea of manners. "The chicken is not bad, if you do not mind the mess. Your sisters would likely approve of it about as much as they approve of your politics, however."

Picking up his fork and knife, he soon realized that they would be useless in this struggle. Courfeyrac was not above eating with his hands, though he did find it somewhat distasteful. He was a man of manners, after all. He liked to look good, and there was no way for him to look whilst eating sauce coated chicken with his fingers. Still, an attempt ought to be made. After meticulously rolling up his sleeves and arranging his napkin just so, he plucked up one of the dripping wings and bit in. "Not bad. There is something strangely enjoyable about the spices. I cannot say what it is. I am sure Combeferre would know the precise combination of flavors by taste and smell alone."

"And then we would be held captive as he recounts the history of the spices used, and the way in which they were likely discovered, and the peoples who traded them." Enjolras replied as he coolly contemplated his own manner of attack upon the dish between them. The words are phrased derisively, but the intonation is all fondness. The truth is that they both miss Combeferre, both feel, at least on some level, incomplete without him there to round out their perspectives.

He poked at the chicken with his own fork. There was no dignified way to go about it. "Spices like these are typical to my District. The tradition of this sort of cuisine precedes the formation of Panem, or so I have been told."

"I wonder what else precedes the formation of Panem." He looked about the room, suddenly taken in by the oversized sculpture of a bull's head on the wall above them. Between the opulence of the decor and the abundance on their platers, he had a rather bad taste in his mouth all of a sudden. "Scratch that. I wonder if the people in our districts are eating as well as we are tonight."

That caused Enjolras to lay his fork back down, giving up the fight against the sticky chicken. "Most likely not. Better in my District, worse in yours." Best in Mindy's.

The division of rations offended the egalitarian within him on a deep and almost personal level. It was personal because he, and the other Tributes, were being used as pawns in a system that redistributed everything, but not in a way that offered any benefit to the people. He took a sip of his sweet, overly complicated drink.

Courfeyrac found that he could not shake the scowl from his face, no matter how he might try to think of something more pleasant. He was never the serious type, and yet here he was, forced to face the sinister truth, to accept it, or to not.

"The people are starving, yet they haven't risen up." He kept his eyes low and his voice lower.

"Until recently, their children were systematically murdered every year as a show of force. It is one thing to be starving, it is another thing entirely to live in constant terror." The drink was starting to have an effect on him. Enjolras could feel it in the way the buzzing of the conversations in the room seemed to reverberate off the walls and just behind his ears. It made his eyes sharpen, higher than Courfeyrac's even while his tone was similarly low.

"They talk in my district. They speculate openly about the the wisdom of the Games, of the Capitol, but they don't have the means for rebellion. They are also better fed and better educated. They have the ability to hope that their situation might be improved somehow."

"Meanwhile, in mine they are worked like animals in the fields picking fruits and cotton, sweating and underfed." He didn't have to say anymore than that, he was sure Enjolras understood the images he was conjuring with that description. "There must be a way for them to communicate with one another. If they could see the unrest, or at least hear of it, they could do something with it."

"The government here is very careful about what communication it allows between the Districts. They're very careful about what communication they allow at all." He wondered vaguely just how long it would be safe for them to talk like this. Too many people spoke French already, and it was only a matter of time before it lost whatever small amount of immediate privacy it afforded to them. "I suspect their reluctance to allow anyone to talk at all hearkens back to the rebellion that led to the Games. They have already seen one uprising. Imagine if that sentiment were to spread to multiple Districts. Even if they have the technology to suppress it, can they stand to lose those people from their workforce? And what of the goods they supply?"

"They're fools if they think discontent is isolated to one district." Everyone in Panem lived under an oppressive thumb. Imagination had nothing to do with it, it was reality as far as Courfeyrac could see. But then again, like Enjolras, he had believed that his own people would rise up once they'd seen a rebellion under way. Would the people of Panem sleep in their beds in the face of resistance? Or could they be convinced that it was possible to win their freedom, that the struggle could make it come true?

"Ah, but so long as the people cannot communicate with one another, they cannot have absolute confirmation that their sentiments are shared. The Capitol has become very good at its propaganda, and you know as well as I do what becomes of rebellions when they overestimate popular support." What had begun with flippancy ended on a somber note. Enjolras reached again for his brightly colored drink, feeling the cool liquid somehow manage to make his cheeks and temples burn as it went down. "And until the people have decided that it is within their power to revolt, we are trapped here. Immortals in gilded cages."

Courfeyrac knew there was another option besides immortality. He'd heard whispers about the former Tributes killed outside of the Arena and of how they'd escaped their fates by choosing death over life. He had to confess, in his darkest moments, lying alone in his room, sometimes the option of eternal nothingness was incredibly tempting. How sweet that embrace had been, how permanent, how empty. Sometimes he wanted to go back to that. But he would never say as much to Enjolras, or to anyone. His moments of doubt were his and his alone.

"Then let us drink to our immortality," he said snidely, pointing over Enjolras' shoulder at the looming presence of some eavesdropping patrons and waitstaff alike. "And to our women. I shall drink to my Cindy this time."

"Your Cindy, your Cindy..." He lifted his glass in a toast, but took a brief moment to scoff at Courfeyrac's phrasing all the same. "I wonder what she would think of that."

It was a tease, a good natured ribbing, more than anything else. Enjolras didn't disapprove of the relationship that had developed between one of his best friends and his business associate as much as he pretended. But it made for a good story, and everything in the Capitol was about the story, as evidenced by the waitstaff peering at them from around the cluttered restaurant.

"Very well, then. To your Cindy, and to my Venus, and Marius' Cosette, for good measure."

He knew full well what she would think of it, and truth be told, she wouldn't be pleased. He wasn't the possessive type, really. It was more that he felt a certain affinity toward Cinderella that could not be ignored. Was it love? He thought it might be. he wasn't sure. Either this was love and everything else had been fleeting infatuations, or this was an intense infatuation and everything else had been... well, he wasn't quite sure. It ultimately didn't matter, so long as everyone involved was having a good time. And for now, he had to believe that Cindy was having as good a time as he was, since she hadn't kicked him out of her bed for using possessive terms of endearment or throwing a punch or two in her name.

"She tolerates me, for some reason." He said, taking a drink. "Just as yours tolerates you and his tolerates him. Women are strange in that way. We give them hardly any reason to put up with us, and yet they love us all the same. Isn't it funny."

"Is toleration the best either of you hope for? Venus seems, dare I say fond of me." Another tease, this one accompanied by a sip of his too sweet, still frozen concoction. The alcohol was making him bold and atypically good humored about such things. Courfeyrac was right, however. It was nothing short of a small miracle how their respective mistresses seemed to tolerate and even enjoy their company. Goodness knows he'd given Venus little reason to. Courfeyrac could at least claim to be charming, that was far more than could be said about him after months in Panem.

"Perhaps we shouldn't dwell too heavily upon it. They tolerate us and we should be grateful for their oversight for as long as it endures." He glanced around them. The staff continued to observe keenly, apparently just as interested in talk about women as they were talk about rebellion. It figured. "The moment they realize that they are each capable of doing far better is the moment that we must all truly despair."

"Unlike you, I don't dare put words into my mistress's mouth nor emotions into her head. If Cindy does care for me, I should prefer to hear her say it instead of saying it for her." He knew her well enough to know better than that. Unlike his former flames, he recognized the distinct independence of Cinderella and was loathe to reign her in. Part of her allure rested in that she was her own person and that whatever happened between the two of them, they could stand on their own without each other. They were dynamic together, but they were just fine apart. "But I shall state for the record that I am rather fond of her. There must be a God, Enjolras. Clearly there is and He is looking out for me to lead such a woman into my life.'

"This is how I know the drink has gone to your head. You've said that same thing to me about at least three other girls, two of whom you never mentioned again." It wasn't that Enjolras doubted the sincerity of the sentiment, exactly. It was more that Courfeyrac seemed to fall in love easily and often. Too often, sometimes. The trouble was that Cinderella wasn't like any of the women from their time. Modern women were a different breed altogether and his friend could easily find himself over his head with this one.

He leaned back in his seat, fixing Courfeyrac with an appraising look. "What makes you think God will not simply use her to teach you a lesson?"

First of all: wow, rude. Secondly: totes not true, boyo. Courfeyrac may have been in love before, but that didn't mean his feelings for Cinderella were misplaced of any less valid. If anything, his experience in the romantic department ought to be proof that he was sincere in his affections. He knew what love (or infatuation) felt like. His love for Cindy was beyond all of that. And what's more, he still wanted her, months after the fact. That had to account for something.

"God has taught me a lesson." Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes at Enjolras just as their waiter placed another round of frozen drinks before them. "He's taught me that even a roué such as myself can find happiness with a singular woman. Consider it, my friend. I've never wanted to actually settle down before."

Enjolras studied their drinks, uncomfortable at his friend's admission. It was one thing to banter about their respective love lives, as meager and confusing as they were, it was quite another to have harmless banter suddenly lapse into seriousness. Courfeyrac seemed determined, one way or another, to keep their conversation heavy when Enjolras was quite content to stubbornly avoid such topics.

"And what would settling down here entail, I wonder." His eyes cast around, leaving the fruity drink only to note similar colors in the patterns on the wall. Everything seemed muted in a vague golden haze. He sighed. Talk of settling down wasn't for them anyway. They'd given that up long before Panem. "It doesn't matter anyway. Cinderella does not seem the type to settle, and before you start, I do not mean that in a derogatory way. Rather, I admire her free spirit, but I expect that she would be unhappy as a housewife. That may very well be part of why you find her appealing."

"I would not marry her either way, Enjolras, even if she were the type to settle. You are right, of course. She is free, and that is why I love her." He plucked the cherry garnish out of his drink and popped it into his mouth. The liquor was beginning to affect him in a more pronounced way. His words slurred slightly, taking on an especially heavy souther accent. "I should like us to stay as we are now. Together as we please, but not bound by some hideous, unsentimental contract. Nothing legal. Nothing religious. Just the two of us. It is far better this way."

He pulled the fruit from the stem then. "Besides, she already has a husband." And let's face it, even if Courfeyrac has his doubts, he is still a Catholic.

Enjolras' expression turned skeptical at that. They are both Catholics, certainly, but the Revolution had seen the benefit of allowing the institution of divorce, particularly for situations like Cinderella's. He didn't necessarily see the problem with it. Besides which, her husband, however current he might be, was trapped in another world. There was hardly even a logistical problem. "I suppose," He swirled his own drink, watching the pureed ice swish around, half-melted into the hot pink liquor. "Though I wouldn't advice you tell her that. She seems to consider the matter of her husband to be quite settled."

Revolution and reform was all well and good, but Courfeyrac still had a bit of the old faith in his heart. He was his mother's son, even if he had given up most other attachments to his family. Like their beloved particle, for example. "She very well might say such things, but she and I are different creatures. Another reason she is so highly appealing. I do not expect you to understand, my friend, and I do not begrudge you for that."

He looked up from his beverage, a look of mischief about him. "Now, tell me about you and Venus. How are things between the pair of you?"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

What if I'm far from home?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject