Freedom is within you

[libertin]

Who| Courfeyrac & Open
What| Post-Arena life adjustments and such. Basically, Max & Cindy are both gone and his world is a bit more dim.
Where| Training room, or elsewhere if you prefer.
When| Forwarded to after Max is killed by Kevin in the Arena, but before she's come back.
Warnings/Notes| Talk of character death? Tag in whatever format you like, just specify location!

Courfeyrac felt numb. Every ounce of emotion had been drained from him, every hope was gone. He'd been almost glued to the television once it got down to the final two. Max and Kevin. Vengeance would be hers and she would win and then he could go back into the Arena knowing that she was safe at least. But fate had other ideas, and as he watched the screen helplessly, his sister was turned to a bloody, lifeless mess.

It was enough to make him sick. It was enough to drain him of every human feeling, and once he felt empty, he was quickly overcome by a second wind of unstoppable rage.

He stalked out of the common area of the District 11 suite and toward his own room, literally knocking things over in his fury as he stormed passed. Furniture was kicked over, mahogany table flipped. If there had been china or glass around, he'd have thrown it to the ground. All he could see when he closed his eyes was her body, bloodied and mangled, with Kevin looming over her like a giant. Courfeyrac hadn't been so pissed off in a long time.

But that might've been it. It could have ended there. A day or two of rage over the injustice of watching Max die and he would have gotten over it. Except the hours continued to tick by and she had yet to return. He'd expected that she would come running to him, or bound up to him and scold him for fretting, at the very least. Instead, she was gone. Vanished. No more. Just like Cinderella.

He was so close to becoming morose over it all. That happy, jovial gent was ready to retire for good and let the sullen, mournful brat replace him forever. He didn't care about anything anymore. He had nothing left. His lover was gone. His language was gone. And now, the one bright spot that he'd cherished had disappeared too. Of course, there were friends and other company, but what good were they when he'd left his dear little Max all alone to die?

He couldn't stand the guilt. So instead, he took to beating the crap out of the available training dummies. He might not get the chance to kill Kevin with his bare hands, but he'd avenge his Max somehow.

Comments

[philosophe]

"We have before. It is probably still better than Corinthe." Certainly their little cafe had been like a home in many ways, but the wine was not one of the fondly remembered things. "You will have to lead the way, I am afraid I still do not know the Capitol nearly well enough."

And, hopefully, the wine would cheer Courfeyrac some. It was always troubling to see him in a bad mood.

[libertin]

He thought back briefly to the little cafe where he and Enjolras had exchanged words and blows, in the weeks before Combeferre himself had arrived to calm them all substantially. Unfortunately, they were all 86ed from that establishment... or whatever that peculiar phrase was. Coufeyrac would need to find a substitute for them, and quickly. Frowning, he scraped his memory for someplace worthwhile to patronize.

"I know a little place that will suffice," he declared, springing back into his normal, animated gate. "Come. I must fetch my hat, and then we shall dine on sausages."

[philosophe]

"You must always fetch your hat," Combeferre replied fondly. "Does it escape you as often as it did at home, here?"

He took a moment to adjust his own hat -- certainly his clothing was nothing fine, but he looked respectable enough, as it were. "And sausages sound wonderful," he added, with a slight smile at Courfeyrac's renewed enthusiasm. "Lead on, then, my friend."

[libertin]

Courfeyrac quickly retrieved his hat, and led the way toward the exit with a hint of a smirk on his face. Odd how quickly he found that he could fall back into a comfortable and familiar part with Combeferre at his side. It was almost normal, to stroll down the streets, side by side with his friend. If not for the overwhelming strangeness of the Capitol, one might almost believe they were back in Paris, what with the ease between them.

"You must forgive my feeling morose, Combeferre. I am too easily distracted. I never had it in me to be as serious as you are, or Enjolras." He adjusted his hat, once the two of them were outside and in the main plaza which led to the tribute center. "I never was able to fully extract myself from the matters of the flesh."

[philosophe]

"Of course it is forgiven, I simply do not like seeing you in such a state. If I may help with that in any way, you must tell me." He couldn't help but smile at Courfeyrac's comment, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Come, you make it sound as though I am a monk. Surely I am not as dull as all that? If I am, I must certainly attempt to change that, here." With a glance around at the assorted buildings, he added, "That should not be too difficult."

[libertin]

"This place has a way of making the most saintly among us into a sinner," Courfeyrac said, referring to Enjolras of course. But that was another tale for another day. Today it was Courfeyrac's time to wallow. "And it has made me a sinner most of all. Have they told you all the terrible things I have done in this place, Combeferre? The lives I am responsible for taking? You see, I have murdered men, and yet I stand here, sorrowful over the loss of my women. What kind of man am I?"

[philosophe]

"We all of us have," he replied quietly. "Perhaps not here, but even so. I saw the picture they painted of you -- of us in that display of Enjolras' life." There was a time and a place for wallowing -- and surely Courfeyrac was allowed some; but even so, Combeferre could not help but to try and comfort him.

"I would say you are a human one. People may be forced to do terrible things, it does not make them less human."

[libertin]

That seemed to strike a nerve with him, and his face went white for just a moment. He'd done his damnedest to forget that horrible broadcast and it's unflattering (and exaggerated) depiction of their lives. There was nothing of value to be found there. Nothing comforting either.

"You say I am a human now, but I sometimes think that I am a monster." He reached up to adjust his hat, elegant and seemingly unaffected by the hollowness of his words. "I still cannot understand why I killed those people, Combeferre. There was nothing in it for me. I had no desire to win, and yet I still played their game."

[philosophe]

So had Combeferre, it was all uninformed conjecture, but he had thought it at least a little relevant to the topic. They were not the monsters the Capitol had made them out to be, nor the innocent schoolboys who'd never held a gun, but it was a bit difficult to prove that.

"To stay alive, then," he suggested. "Even with the -- tools they have here, you could not have known that when you first arrived. I can stil scarcely believe it myself. I submit that the need to live, to stay close to the ones you care for -- that desperation perhaps moved you to do so. Man is not quite as good as the church makes him out to be, we all have our baser instincts."

[libertin]

It all seemed a rather clinical analysis of what he'd done, but coming from Combeferre it was actually rather comforting. He'd not acted with malice, not once, and he'd only really acted when pressed to do so. When his life had been at stake, or the lives of those he loved, only then had he lashed out in violence. It was justifiable, in that sense. It was natural. It was not a sin.

"I've no desire to win still. I've only the desire for revenge." He cast his eyes upward, toward the heavens. "I am in danger of embracing my own selfish tendencies, I'm afraid."

[philosophe]

Clinical and comforting. That's what he strives for. Not really, but he was pleased to be at least some form of comfort for one of his dearest friends. It made sense, and it was what Combeferre would do in that situation.

"Perhaps," he allowed, with a slight nod. "But we might be able to motivate the desire in another direction."

[libertin]

"And what would you suggest?" Courfeyrac asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "I should do anything to overcome this debilitating malaise."

[philosophe]

"Revenge, possibly." The word sits entirely too calmly in his mouth, but --that is what he does well. All sorts of plans and plots, but on the surface, he's as innocent as anything.

"Not upon the tributes, of course," he added, wishing to make his point entirely clear. "But the system."

[libertin]

"I do like the sound of that," Courfeyrac said. The people trapped here with them weren't to blame for what had happened, but perhaps there would be a way to sabotage the system as a whole. Unfortunately though, he recognized that he couldn't be the one to craft the plan. The last time he'd tried that, he'd gotten Marius and Cosette killed.

[philosophe]

"I thought you might," he agreed. "Of course, it will take a great deal of planning -- and speaking to others, perhaps seeing if there is anything in motion -- but we are well-accustomed to that." Crafting plans was one of his specialties, but it would likely take the help of Enjolras and the others to go through with this one.

"It sounds quite selfish to say it, but I do wish we had some of the others here. It would make things such as this much easier."

[libertin]

"Would you believe that I've felt that same shared sentiment myself?" He was loathe to admit it now, but he too had wished for fellowship. He'd wished for Combeferre to join them specifically. Looking back, it seemed so wicked to wish this world on anyone, let alone his own dear friend. "We might look outside of ourselves for assistance. I assure you, we are not the only ones here who are so moved by these circumstances."

[philosophe]

"I would, yes." It would certainly make things easier -- after all, Courfeyrac (and perhaps, Joly) were the only two present who had the happy talent of making friends and acquaintances easily.

"Of course we are not, I cannot see how anyone would tolerate this sort of thing. I just have not met the others, yet."

[libertin]

There was a spark of something fresh and excited on Courfeyrac's face. A recognition, perhaps, that this was a problem to which he held the solution.

"Then allow me to rectify this on your behalf. I have friends. I shall make the necessary introductions."

[philosophe]

"Please do!" There was a warm smile in answer. "You have always been much better at that sort of thing than I."

[libertin]

It was true, wasn't it. He'd always had an ease about him which his friends seemed to somehow lack. He'd never put much thought into it, accepting them as they were, but it was there all the same.

"Ah, excellent. And perhaps we will even find you a mistress while we are at it." Courfeyrac said with a twinkle in his eye.

[philosophe]

That was generally because Combeferre tended to retreat into his own head, or his books, or whatever thoughts he might be having. Once he knew someone well, he would warm to them, but early days of friendships were not the easiest to get through. (People usually ended up being put off by his odder tendencies, unless they somehow found them charming, as his friends seemed to.)

"Perhaps," he allowed, with a nod and a small lipquirk. "I would say that we've more important things to concentrate on, but --" There was a shrug. "In this place, there are so many things to think of, aside from the cause."

[libertin]

"If Enjolras found time to pursue a maiden, then it would behoove us to fall in line, no?" Courfeyrac gave a wink, though he quite agreed with Combeferre. There were more important matters than girls, even if he sometimes forgot as much himself.

[philosophe]

"Well, I suppose. It may also add some -- I don't know. Recognition, I suppose, is the word I'm looking for." Recognition that he didn't really want or need, but even so. It was still a competition, he supposed.

"It may end up doing some good. Or at least find us some useful allies."

[libertin]

Recognition would be good, Courfeyrac could concede as much. His own star had only taken rise when he'd stripped down to nearly nothing and publicly promised Cinderella he'd give her the night of her life. Combeferre might have a tougher time with matters such as that one, but it would be worth a shot.

"Leave it to me, my friend. Your success will come yet. Just you wait."

[philosophe]

More than likely. He was never one for grand gestures such as that, but perhaps Courfeyrac could give him some pointers. It certainly couldn't hurt, at any rate.

"I suppose," he replied, with a bit of a wry lipquirk. "I do not know if I could count it as a success, considering the situation -- but I have all faith in you, my dear."