To Marius it was an uncontested matter; never did it occur to him to approach anyone else, not even Enjolras. The abrupt, inexplicable fear whenever the idea of the rebel district flashed in his mind had waned considerably. He understood little of why this was so, but he supposed it was not something to complain about.
The elevator chimed when it reached the 11th floor, and his gaze swept across the area, lips pressed into a thin line and brows furrowed. He was a man on a mission, and that mission was to disseminate information as fast as he could, regardless of (because of) the danger involved.
Occasionally, his other district-mates would cross his mind. He had never known them deeply, nor had he made an attempt to know them, what with the disastrous whirlwind that was his life, but periodically he found himself wondering about them. Today was such a day.
It was late afternoon and the skyline outside the window looked like it was on fire. Inside the common area, however, the artificial lighting kept the room in bright, daytime glow. Inititally, Marius had been stunned and confused by it all, but by now the novelty had worn off. He barely even noted it as his eyes darted across the room, conscious of the absence of several tributes and mentors. People who disappeared without warning, without a goodbye, just like Cosette.
The names of his fellow tributes ran through his mind and he remembered Eponine. Last they talked it was about Sigma's betrayal, and he did not know how she fared afterwards. His eyes searched for her small, thin figure even if he had little intention of actually conversing with her; he simply wanted to know if she was still alive, still there.
She's curled up on a chair, her feet tucked right under her. Her long, straggly hair's arranged in two plaits, tied with mismatching bobbles at the ends. And she's reading a book slowly, laboriously, following the words with her finger. She can read them, decode them, but understand what it all means? That's what Eponine struggles with. Her hand, resting on her cheek, partially hides the Capitol brand, though the manacles afixed to her wrists are in plain view.
When she feels Marius' gaze on her, she looks over , and smiles at him in a vague sort of way. She looks exhausted. So many deaths of people she loves has shattered her.
Courfeyrac had been quiet as of late. He was tired of feeling confined, tired of the sadness that seemed to seep into his daily life whenever he thought of the women he loved, gone for good, whenever he thought of Enjolras, still not revived from the Arena, whenever he thought of home. He thought of home a lot recently. He longed for his homeland in a way he hadn't in the months since his arrival. It felt strange, to experience such pining after so long had passed, but there it was all the same, a pit of sorrow in his stomach.
More selfishly, he missed the beauty that had been his face, too, but he did not want his vanity to be on constant display. Instead, he stared at his reflection in private, sometimes letting himself become moved to tears when he'd inspect the mangled mess that took up most of his right side. He looked like a monster, like the devil himself. Gone was any trace of beauty. It made him feel sick.
But he was still himself, still smiling when there were guests about in the suite, still playing the role of libertine as if his life depended on it. There was wine to drink. There were other women to pursue. He wasn't yet ready to pursue them, but he felt free to observe them. And while he wasn't yet ready to accept that Enjolras was gone-gone, his mind was already churning with ideas of how they would all get by without him. He'd never been the leader, and he couldn't be that now. But he could be pragmatic, and he could make a plan come together.
All of these thoughts, and more, were on his mind when he noticed the visitor at the suite door. His face lit up at the sight of Marius, though with the scars and his unshaved face, it was not so easy to tell that he was happy.
"Marius, my dear friend! What brings you up to see us?" He meant himself and Combeferre, who was in and out of the suite, as was his custom.
His head tilts to one side, almost imperceptibly, as he stares at her wrists. He considers asking, then doesn't, simply because it's incredibly rude. He doesn't smile in response because he hasn't for a long while but he does blink at the statement, eyes grown a little larger.
"I do remember." Although he is never certain any longer, who dies or not, who is and still is not.
"And so happy you look, too." She snorts a laugh and closes her book, going to stand in front of Marius instead.
"Bet it were me you wish were dead. Not your precious Cosette. Well, perhaps soon, you shall have that wish. I am not much longer for this world or any other, I shouldn't think."
Marius gave him a nod in greeting. He would have smiled, maybe, but he couldn't find the heart to even when faced with this dearest friend from Paris. It was difficult to smile nowadays. He rushed towards him, however, ignorant of everything else in the room, his mind fixed solely on the long-withheld information he harbored inside him, just to keep Cosette safe.
But she was gone and there was no reason to remain silent any longer. He stopped before Courfeyrac and was silent for a moment, his brows drawn slightly. Then, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on his friend and hoping he could lead him some-place safer, if such a place even existed anymore,
In that moment, Courfeyrac's heart sank into his knees. Any delusions of cheer that may have accompanied Marius' arrival disappeared and he was left feeling anxious and concerned. Whatever his friend had to say to him was certainly not good, if his demeanor was any indication.
He tried not to let his worry and disappointment show as he took Marius by the hand in greeting. "What is it? What has happened? Is something the matter?"
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no subject
To Marius it was an uncontested matter; never did it occur to him to approach anyone else, not even Enjolras. The abrupt, inexplicable fear whenever the idea of the rebel district flashed in his mind had waned considerably. He understood little of why this was so, but he supposed it was not something to complain about.
The elevator chimed when it reached the 11th floor, and his gaze swept across the area, lips pressed into a thin line and brows furrowed. He was a man on a mission, and that mission was to disseminate information as fast as he could, regardless of (because of) the danger involved.
no subject
It was late afternoon and the skyline outside the window looked like it was on fire. Inside the common area, however, the artificial lighting kept the room in bright, daytime glow. Inititally, Marius had been stunned and confused by it all, but by now the novelty had worn off. He barely even noted it as his eyes darted across the room, conscious of the absence of several tributes and mentors. People who disappeared without warning, without a goodbye, just like Cosette.
The names of his fellow tributes ran through his mind and he remembered Eponine. Last they talked it was about Sigma's betrayal, and he did not know how she fared afterwards. His eyes searched for her small, thin figure even if he had little intention of actually conversing with her; he simply wanted to know if she was still alive, still there.
no subject
She's curled up on a chair, her feet tucked right under her. Her long, straggly hair's arranged in two plaits, tied with mismatching bobbles at the ends. And she's reading a book slowly, laboriously, following the words with her finger. She can read them, decode them, but understand what it all means? That's what Eponine struggles with. Her hand, resting on her cheek, partially hides the Capitol brand, though the manacles afixed to her wrists are in plain view.
When she feels Marius' gaze on her, she looks over , and smiles at him in a vague sort of way. She looks exhausted. So many deaths of people she loves has shattered her.
"So you remember I am alive, Sir, at last?"
no subject
More selfishly, he missed the beauty that had been his face, too, but he did not want his vanity to be on constant display. Instead, he stared at his reflection in private, sometimes letting himself become moved to tears when he'd inspect the mangled mess that took up most of his right side. He looked like a monster, like the devil himself. Gone was any trace of beauty. It made him feel sick.
But he was still himself, still smiling when there were guests about in the suite, still playing the role of libertine as if his life depended on it. There was wine to drink. There were other women to pursue. He wasn't yet ready to pursue them, but he felt free to observe them. And while he wasn't yet ready to accept that Enjolras was gone-gone, his mind was already churning with ideas of how they would all get by without him. He'd never been the leader, and he couldn't be that now. But he could be pragmatic, and he could make a plan come together.
All of these thoughts, and more, were on his mind when he noticed the visitor at the suite door. His face lit up at the sight of Marius, though with the scars and his unshaved face, it was not so easy to tell that he was happy.
"Marius, my dear friend! What brings you up to see us?" He meant himself and Combeferre, who was in and out of the suite, as was his custom.
no subject
"I do remember." Although he is never certain any longer, who dies or not, who is and still is not.
no subject
"Bet it were me you wish were dead. Not your precious Cosette. Well, perhaps soon, you shall have that wish. I am not much longer for this world or any other, I shouldn't think."
no subject
But she was gone and there was no reason to remain silent any longer. He stopped before Courfeyrac and was silent for a moment, his brows drawn slightly. Then, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on his friend and hoping he could lead him some-place safer, if such a place even existed anymore,
"I must speak with you as a matter of urgency."
no subject
He tried not to let his worry and disappointment show as he took Marius by the hand in greeting. "What is it? What has happened? Is something the matter?"