Grantaire (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
permets_tu) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-11-19 07:08 pm
permets_tu) wrote in thecapitol2014-11-19 07:08 pm
it's a divine comedy! [open]
Who| Grantaire & OPEN.
What| Grantaire tries to adjust to not being dead, and probably more importantly, being alive in a place that certainly is not 1832 Paris.
Where| Tribute Center; Central Commons.
When| Some point shortly after his arrival.
Warnings/Notes| Will update as needed.
Initially Grantaire mistook it for a hallucination, elaborate and strange, yes, but surely a product of his own drink addled mind. He was asleep at that table still, drowning in the drunken miasma of his wild dreams, and soon he would wake and this would be forgotten, as dreams always are. However, the longer it persisted, the clearer his mind became, and the painful clarity in which this reality assaulted his senses eventually forced him to reconsider his earlier assumption and accept a new truth.
This was real.
If he accepted that then he must also accept that he had died, just as he remembered, standing beside Enjolras and showing himself capable of not only dying but dying as well as he knew how.
Yet apparently it hadn't took, which was troubling for a number of reasons he'd rather not dwell upon.
Instead set out to gain some bearing on his situation, which was how he had come to this point, standing in a great open lobby. He did not know precisely how he had done so; he had followed people, there had been a strange static journey within a box that closed on one place and opened at another, and now he stood here, feeling at once both awed and cruelly cheated. He reacted initially with unnatural silence, so struck was he by the outlandishness of his situation.
"A drink!" he cried abruptly, as suddenly as enlightenment strikes the puzzled intellectual, and he looked around wildly for any place that might provide him one.
What| Grantaire tries to adjust to not being dead, and probably more importantly, being alive in a place that certainly is not 1832 Paris.
Where| Tribute Center; Central Commons.
When| Some point shortly after his arrival.
Warnings/Notes| Will update as needed.
Initially Grantaire mistook it for a hallucination, elaborate and strange, yes, but surely a product of his own drink addled mind. He was asleep at that table still, drowning in the drunken miasma of his wild dreams, and soon he would wake and this would be forgotten, as dreams always are. However, the longer it persisted, the clearer his mind became, and the painful clarity in which this reality assaulted his senses eventually forced him to reconsider his earlier assumption and accept a new truth.
This was real.
If he accepted that then he must also accept that he had died, just as he remembered, standing beside Enjolras and showing himself capable of not only dying but dying as well as he knew how.
Yet apparently it hadn't took, which was troubling for a number of reasons he'd rather not dwell upon.
Instead set out to gain some bearing on his situation, which was how he had come to this point, standing in a great open lobby. He did not know precisely how he had done so; he had followed people, there had been a strange static journey within a box that closed on one place and opened at another, and now he stood here, feeling at once both awed and cruelly cheated. He reacted initially with unnatural silence, so struck was he by the outlandishness of his situation.
"A drink!" he cried abruptly, as suddenly as enlightenment strikes the puzzled intellectual, and he looked around wildly for any place that might provide him one.
no subject
"I did not think he would be moved by her, no." His answer was curt, but honest. There would be no way to disguise it, so why bother wrapping his feelings with ribbons and bows? "I never expected that he would reach such depths of despair that he would take up with anyone so..." He trailed off, unsure quite how to phrase it. Venus was beautiful, that much was easy to admit and plain to see. But she wasn't serious. She was frivolous, flighty, obsessed with stardom and fame in a way that was baffling to him. And while good hearted, she had a certain instability that made him somewhat uneasy at times. "They were not equals. It seemed to me that he was little more than a fashion accessory. And if he was stimulated by anything besides her body, it was never apparent to me, and I was his confidante. But then, I perhaps misjudged him. Perhaps I did not know him at all, for I had always presumed that were he capable of such emotion, it would be focused entirely on one who sought to challenge his mind, not on one who sought only to satisfy his body."
Enjolras wasn't Courfeyrac, after all.
He took the bottle then and drank straight from it, practically pouring the liquid down his throat and only wincing slightly once he was done. Another, yes, they would need another bottle. "I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised that you recognized me. Many people here find my appearance unfamiliar, or too terrible to warrant a second glance."
no subject
"Recall Paris. I remember it better than you, for it was only yesterday that I woke and walked her streets. In Paris he was succored by the faith in the people," he said easily, smiling faintly at the memory of one who stood before the people and believed with an impossible ferocity. His lips twisted wryly. "He spent his passions upon them, and rejoiced in the hope of their rising. Did he find that same satisfaction here? Look at you, how you have been reduced, and you doubt him for succumbing to the wiles of a pretty girl? Unfair, very unfair, Courfeyrac, where is your sense of equality? You, who charmed ladies so well now speaks out against them! Ugly as you have become, are you seeing a future for yourself in the papacy? Celibate and bitter, critical of any other who might seek to satisfy himself, for who would want you now? It is difficult being ugly, is it not? It feeds contempt, jealousy." He laughed mirthlessly, straying from his point and seeking to regain it. "No, my friend, I do not think you misjudged him, but what do you care for what I think? You have been here longer than I, you spent time with him, you witnessed his downfall and failed to protect him, or even do him the service of dying with him." He had done that much, at least. He had roused himself at the last and been able to achieve that one little thing, for all that it now meant.
He set his chin into the cup of his palm, looking at Courfeyrac with such a sensation that he never expected to feel for him.
Pity.
He sighed, his tone gentling. "You called my name, remember? I was forced to look upon you and seek the truth of your identity, but if we had passed one another in the street and you had remained silent? Who can say if I would have given your passing any note." He shrugged, not intending for these words to hurt, only speaking them for what they were, a sad little truth.
no subject
"Yes, look what I've been reduced to, Grantaire. Look at me now. Look at what this world has made me. Have you forgotten the man who wandered the streets of Paris, enjoying life as none of you cared to? Was your focus so narrow that you've neglected his existence? No matter, it is unsurprising if that is true. And in that case, it is unsurprising that you should think something so insignificant as a scar would drain me of my lust for life. I am a sinner, Grantaire. I am ruled by my lust and my vanity, that I cannot deny. But I aimed for better."
He snatched the glass before Grantaire away and downed it's contents quickly, before the other man could say a word in protest.
"I am sure you are satisfied to have died with him, but did you ever consider that you might live with him? Did you ever consider what that would have entailed?" Courfeyrac scowled, waving for another bottle to come their way. Whether or not it came promptly didn't matter. He was spitting mad and ready to fight back. "It is a standard I doubt you would have met. He could not even meet it himself, you know. No. No, you don't know. You weren't here. You didn't see what he became. It is not that he fell in love that makes me sad for him. It is that while in love he lost his way. Not every man is a juggler. I could handle it, and I have. The rest of you lot are useless. Throw a fair face and a bosom at you and you all fall to pieces, Enjolras included. But not me. And maybe not you. Maybe. I cannot say. I've not seen pretty girls falling at you, I've only heard your tales. Not that any of it matters now. You think me bitter. You think I am a hypocrite. That is well and good, that is typical. My charm has nothing to do with this mug, Grantaire, and it never has. I was never the handsomest one of us, and that is a fact. And I too have taken lovers here, even with this hideous scar. The taking of lovers is hardly the problem. The trouble of it is that he devotes himself wholeheartedly to one thing at a time. He is a monogamist through and through. His love can extend to one and one only, whereas I can love whatever and whomever I please, be it human or task at hand. That is why I am angry with him. In taking that woman to his bed, he let his love of liberty, freedom, and the republic slip away."
A waiter appeared then with another bottle of wine, staying long enough to pour them more glasses before disappearing again. "Now. Do you understand what I say to you, or shall I pepper in a few references to the classics?"
no subject
"Well said, Courfeyrac, you have made your point. Do you regret it already, asking for my help?" He took his cup and stared down into it, his image reflected in murky maroon as he turned the words over. Living with Enjolras? Yes, the consideration had occurred to him, but it had been a flimsy dream, couched in impossibility. They had all been working towards revolution but in so doing had been flirting with the awful price they all risked paying. Living was a nice unbelievable little dream, but he had been ever skeptical of their success and had been expecting dying. He had been struck by the faith that burned so perfectly within Enjolras, enraptured by something that was so painfully absent from within him.
He did not wish to share with Courfeyrac how much it scared him that that faith had been finite.
"An allusion or two to the classics would have been pleasantly noted, it could only have improved your well shaped rant. Lysistrata or Melpomene would have served you well. Despite that, no real criticism sits on my tongue for it as a whole. I submit myself to the superiority of your rapport, you knew him well and I--"
He silenced himself, swallowing the thought and it sat like a stone in his stomach. Instead he raised his cup. "Among the words Plato ascribes to the naming of Apollo, redemption is one of them. The other two; simplicity, purification." He drained the cup and looked to Courfeyrac. "If I am troubled by the shade before me it is only because my memory of you is likely clearer than your own but look, Courfeyrac of Les Amis still lives and breathes. Chastise me further, you are good at it." The last was an attempt at levity and his eyes slid from Courfeyrac as he uttered them.
orz am so late
Enjolras. Courfeyrac chuckled under his breath at the thought of him stumbling upon this scene. What would he do? What would he say? Quickly, Courfeyrac decided he did not care.
"There. It is done. I have purified him, simplified him, and redeemed him. His essence is all that is left, save us. He has been distilled" He raised his glass, an homage to the dead man sitting at the table between the living. "Drink up, Grantaire. Drink for he who can no longer drink. And then let's not mourn him any longer. We have an obligation, you and I, the others less so because they are not here and were not witness to our exposition. But you and I owe him something. We're going to live for him. Do you know my meaning? You loved him well. I did too. And I will love him despite the frustration and the agony of watching him stumble. The ideals he fought for cannot be left to rot. I owe it to him to carry on. And you. You are a cynic. You, so cutting with that tongue, you who called him Apollo, you fanatic, you must carry on, too."
Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows and drank his wine. "Or no? He is not gone if my heart is beating. Will you keep the memories, no, the promise alive in yours?"
aaaahahahahhaaaa, right back atcha! ;;;;
"They are painful to recall, the best pierces most sharply, the grief is made worse. Maybe I will drink them away, drown them, the inebriate's tongue is softened, the remarks dulled, memories are hazy, sweeter and harder to focus upon. Maybe, maybe I will do that." He sighed. "I see your meaning, Courfeyrac, and I comply, I promise, and we drink to him but oh, grant me Enjolras' portion of the cup and we will sit here sober 'til morning." He raised his cup. "I pose we drink for him, and for ourselves, and all the rest who are not here to share in the misery. We may get somewhere then."
\o/
"To Enjolras, then. I would die for him a thousand times more. And I will, if I must." He raised his glass, red liquid sloshing around, spilling over to stain his fingers. "Raise your glass, you animal. Say something kind of the man. You loved him well enough."