though the years have been unkind like a winter clementine

[orestes]

WHO| Enjolras, Combeferre, Venus
WHAT| Introductions and mistress vetting over lunch, probs.
WHERE| The kitschy German-themed café, since they got banned from the French one.
WHEN| ... idek backdated to the Tuesday before the Arena.
WARNINGS AND NOTES| Wow such french. Um no really maybe philosophy babble? But nothing interesting.



Enjolras checked his wristwatch pensively. It would be convenient to say that in the rush to explain everything there was to explain to Combeferre, and the preparation for the new Arena, he'd simply forgotten to extrapolate on Venus as anything other than a notable ally. But that would be a lie, and not merely a fiction, but one that had the capability to hurt everyone involved in it. In truth, he hadn't known quite when, or quite how to go about it, and thus, had kept pushing it off to a more appropriate or more convenient time.

Alas, the hours were ticking by, and every minute brought them closer to the Arena. If he had learned one thing from his row with Marius and Courfeyrac, it was that he didn't like beginning death scenarios with any of his friends on a negative foot. The sooner he managed to clarify things, the better, in that regard. And if he were truly, for a moment, to be honest, he could recognize that a part of him wanted Combeferre's approval in this. It wasn't exactly rational, but then he figured very little that had to do with these things ever was.

The cafe itself is on a less populous street. It's enough to keep the looks in his direction short and reasonably polite instead of lingering and intrusive. He checks his watch again, the midday sun making picturesque patterns on the stylized pavement of the sidewalks as it streams through the trees decorating the quiet street. He's never been a particularly patient, and the sooner the both of them show up, the better. He doesn't need any time to reconsider this.

Comments

[celebrityskinned]

Venus has made a habit out of punctuality while she's in the Capitol, and that extends as much to her social outings as it does to the professional side of things. Azula's followed through on her promise to make the best of the exposé's opportunities, and Venus has been booked for an ad campaign for "Dark Magic" eyeshadows and lipsticks. The head of marketing is a wealthy sponsor of the Games, and she hopes to turn it into a thrift in the Arena.

Part of her imagines it would be nicer to spend the days leading up to the Arena in denial, maybe lounging around reading and spending time with her friends and yes, loved ones. To pamper herself rather than to prepare. The greater part of her, however, approaches this task with the verve and dedication she's applied to all things she's set her mind to, and as such her hours have been spent planning, courting sponsors, and practicing with various melee weapons in the gym.

She's wiping off the Dark Magic makeup with a tissue when she enters the cafe. It leaves her lips flushed from the pressure. She grabs a coffee and heads over towards her closest friend. The rest of her looks a bit gaudy at the moment, made up for camera instead of for viewing in the flesh, and though she's pulled the false eyelashes off and switched to normal clothing, there's still a layer of bright highlighter on her cheeks and nose, and there isn't much she can do about the fact that the creative director wanted 'big' hair. When her hair goes big, it seems to stay that way until the next time it's wet.

She knows only that Enjolras has invited her to meet another ally, someone else from his collective in Paris, and she isn't feeling all that nervous about it. She supposes she might, as there's some pressure to get in well with your lover's friends, but so far only Marius has failed to charm his way into her heart (and it seems he's fared about as well with Enjolras' heart, and as far as her own ventures are concerned, she doubts Marius has room in his to allow anyone but Cosette in). All told, she has a good track record with Les Amis d'ABC.

"Hey," she dips in and kisses Enjolras' temple before taking a seat beside him. "You look antsy."

[philosophe]

Combeferre arrives not long after. He has always tried to make a habit of punctuality, both in the Capitol and at home; a poor guide he would be if he were a late one. Even with his unfamiliarity in this new place, he has taken some time to find himself proper directions to this cafe. (Of course, this may have partially been intrigue at finding that Enjolras had a mistress, of all things.) Enjolras had never had the time nor the inclination for it at home, it seemed, but perhaps things were different here. (Or perhaps it is some sort of ploy for sponsors?) He supposes he will find out quite shortly, in any case.

He is as difficult to miss as he ever is, six feet of tall dirty-blond Frenchman striding towards the cafe in a long blue overcoat. He had received the clothing given him, but for the most part he sticks with what is familiar; very little is out of place in the Capitol, after all.

He is uncertain what to think of this mistress -- will she be tall, fair, chaste or otherwise? It is a topic he has not seen fit to broach with Enjolras in the past; their conversations were mostly centered around the cause, their hopes, anything and everything except the topic of lovers. His befuddlement is clear enough on his face, (at least to Enjolras) when he sits, giving a short bow to the lady in company before he settles in.

"Good morning."

[orestes]

"No, I'm fine," he affirms to her with very little certainty in his voice, just before Combeferre's tall form comes into view. When his friend arrives, he rises, offers him a hug in greeting, unable to keep a smile off of his face. Enjolras feels an unbelievable amount of guilt whenever he finds himself the least bit happy that his friends are around, but that isn't enough to stop him from being happy all the same. If they have to be dragged into this, he figures, better that he should appreciate it.

With very little to-do, he gestures from one to the other as Combeferre gets settled. "Etienne Combeferre, this is Venus Dee Milo. Venus Dee Milo, Etienne Combeferre."

There's a note of pride in his voice which could pertain to either of them, and he's pleased to note that only the hint of a blush works its way onto his cheeks. It could have been worse, he figures, up until he remembers that he forgot perhaps the most important part: "And good morning to you as well, my friend," he adds, the addendum falling lackluster between the three of them.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus silently mouths the name over again to try and imprint onto herself the pronunciation. Combeferre's name isn't the oral nightmare that Courfeyrac's is, but it's still awkward on Venus' American tongue, and she'd rather not come out the gate embarrassing them both. The shitty French was acceptable when she was just Enjolras' incidentally-feminine friend; now it would be just insulting.

And she raises an eyebrow slightly at the awkwardness Enjolras has adopted; she doesn't perfectly recall if he had the same air when she was first meeting Courfeyrac. (She would like to claim credit for the blush.)

"Good morning. Combeferre? Am I saying that right?" She sits back down, having risen with Enjolras. There's a certain aura that both Combeferre and Enjolras have about them, a sort of distracted harriedness that indicates they're thinking of greater things than the exact moment they're in, and though it presents in the same way as Courfeyrac's rolled back sleeves and unruly hair, it has an evidently different nature to it. Venus hasn't seen it in anyone but Enjolras until now, and the friendship between him and Combeferre already begins to make sense. "Do you want us to order you anything?"

[philosophe]

"I, ah -- coffee? If you would?" He gives Venus a polite smile and settles down in a chair himself. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he adds, a little sheepishly. It is so very different, to be sitting down in a cafe with Enjolras and a young lady, instead of himself, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac.

He cannot help but raise an eyebrow at the awkwardness, too, but it would be remiss to say that he is feeling the same way; instead he decides to continue, attention on Venus. "You are saying it correctly, do not worry. You must forgive me, I am not -- entirely accustomed to having meetings with Enjolras and a young lady."

[orestes]

That sets him on edge somehow. It compels him to clarify her usefulness to their cause, make it apparent that while he cares for Venus, this meeting isn't simply about that, even if it is. Even if it's entirely reasonable to anyone else that it would be entirely about that. He frowns, waving one of the waiters over so that they can begin their lunch. Enjolras suddenly feels restless, and he knows full well the coffee won't do anything to help that. He needs to organize his thoughts.

"Venus is one of the strongest individual fighters currently in the Arena. If one has an eye for the odds, she should have won and not me." Within Five, at least, it should have been Venus or Shepard, preferably Venus. "She's taught me quite a bit in the last year. We read together as well."

All too quickly, he's aware that he's just dominated the burgeoning conversation. He deflates slightly, suddenly finding the tablecloth quite interesting. "That is to say, we have a shared interest in certain thinkers. Though she cannot stand Kant."

[celebrityskinned]

"That seems to be most people's impressions. Courfeyrac teased him mercilessly before we were even together."

It's a good thing Venus' romance with Enjolras isn't centered around the, well, romance. It isn't exactly the sort of thing to make a girl weak in the knees to be advertised for her usefulness first and foremost.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, stirring the whipped-cream chocolate-chip caramel mountain atop her own drink into the coffee with her spoon. "Kant makes you work to stay awake through his work and then his theories aren't even worth it. They have holes and they're impractical. Anyway. I've heard plenty of Enjolras and Courfeyrac both thinking life would be easier if you were here."

[philosophe]

"Courfeyrac teases most everyone, that is nothing new."

Enjolras' remarks on her usefulness, however, make him quirk his lips in a smile. It is just the same as ever, perhaps things have not changed so very much.

"Have they?" He looks a bit amused, sipping at his own coffee -- just black, plain and simple. "Perhaps they give me too much credit. I will, however, help in any way I might."

[orestes]

"Courfeyrac and I seem incapable of managing ourselves," he replies with a humorless look at his own drink. He lets the thought settle for a moment before amending: "No, that is not entirely true. We manage each other well, but we resent ourselves and each other for it. We had a visible goal in Paris and here we run in circles. I know he blames me for not doing more against them before he arrived, and I blame him for being so quick to judge things that he doesn't truly understand."

The coffee's still too hot when he lifts the cup to his lips. It's bitter and burns all the way down which seems like a fitting punishment for the cold and analytical way in which he'd just described the tensions between them over the past few months. The sip leaves him wincing and blushing again from the heat. At least now he has a reasonable excuse. "We fight often and badly, usually about nothing that matters. I suppose we both think that you can correct us in some way. You always could before."

[celebrityskinned]

Throughout their relationship, Venus often finds herself playing a similar role to Courfeyrac for Enjolras; there's a buoyancy to her attitude that balances out his tendency to be, well, dour. It's surface-level, not an accurate gauge of each of their individual levels of happiness, but it isn't superficial, and she falls into it rather easily now.

"I don't think our goal is so invisible now, but then again it's not as if I'm all that experienced with these sorts of things." In the fields of combat and celebrity, she's brimming with confidence; with politics and philosophy, she has to disclaim every statement she makes with a comment about her own insufficiencies, as if managing expectations and softening her missteps.

"Maybe you can get the two of them to hug it out. Anyway, you can probably guess that the way relationships of all sorts, friendships and everything else, work here is a little, ah. Warped by the nature of the Games."

[philosophe]

"Well, surely he must know these things take time. How long had you been here before he arrived?" He purses his lips a bit. Perhaps he will need a word with Courfeyrac, once this conversation is over. It should be easy enough, considering the other young man is only a few rooms away from him. "I shall try and correct you, of course, I certainly intend to speak to Courfeyrac as soon as I might."

He pauses and gives Venus a small smile and a nod. "Yes, I can puzzle out that much. It is an ...interesting, if slightly bloodthirsty way of considering things."

[orestes]

"Slightly less than a year," Enjolras relies, though he lacks a certain conviction. The time displacement is difficult enough to account for, and, now that Courfeyrac is around, he can hardly imagine life without his friend. It wasn't so much that he wanted Courfeyrac corrected as that he needs them, urgently, to come to some sort of proper consensus. At the moment, they seem to be fractured in a way that they were never in Paris and he doesn't know what to make of it. If Combeferre has the patience to sort through it all, so much the better for him.

And, speaking of his friend's patience, "Your knack for dispassionate analysis rarely fails and yet here I wish that it would. Better these games be disgusting and disinteresting than we find something even passingly of merit about them."

[celebrityskinned]

"Better we hate them, maybe, but it's not true. Back home for me, people would kill for a national platform and here we waste it when it's shoved at us."

This - media, celebrity - is one of her areas of expertise, and there's a stiffness to her lips that betray all the confidence of a human success. She raises an eyebrow at Enjolras, then looks back to Combeferre. She leans back into her seat, hands cupped around her mug of sugary coffee, mouth semi-fixed into a pout. "It's not even like we're scripted."

She treads dangerous territory, she knows, finding anything of worth in the Games that have so chewed him up and spit him out a winner, but Enjolras doesn't care for her for the times she's tentative. She sees no need to mask her competence, the shrewd mind lurking behind girlishness and wide smiles. Furthermore, she sees no need to affect pessimism for Combeferre; he doesn't seem the type to appreciate those airs.

[philosophe]

He shall certainly try his best to, he does not intend to give up on his friends as easily as all that. He appreciates Venus' candor as well, that is clear enough in the little nod he gives her, as he sips his coffee and considers.

"At home, we would never have dreamed for such scrutiny as this. I can certainly see where it might be useful, but we must tread carefully." Perhaps it is unnecessary to point out the obvious, but it helps him think a little better.

"I shall have to get used to this new way of looking at things," he continues, half to himself. "It feels somewhat more permanent, to know that both enemies and friends alike may be watching and listening, whenever they please."