Etienne Combeferre (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
philosophe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-01-09 10:11 am
philosophe) wrote in thecapitol2015-01-09 10:11 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who| Combeferre, Courfeyrac, assorted French dudes possibly, maybe YOU!
What| A wake for Marius and also an excuse for Combeferre to meet people!
Where| District 3 suite
When| Sometime a few days after Marius' death
Warnings/Notes| French sadness/anger
It was very odd to be properly mourning someone. This death hadn't come in the Arena, nor had he seen it -- but somehow it felt more final. In the Arena, you knew there was a way to return; you were stuck in the endless cycles for as long as it pleased the Capitol, it seemed. Combeferre was not particularly saddened by Marius' death, they had never been terribly close, at home or here. He was the little brother most of them tried to keep an eye on, generally -- and yet, they had failed him. Certainly he felt some guilt regarding that, but he would not admit it.
Somewhere underneath the numbness that came with all this, there was a steadily growing certainty that they needed to act, and quickly. He would be damned if he let this happen again, to any more of his friends. Joly's reaction alone was proof that if he, or Courfeyrac, or someone else were to die outside of the Arena -- well, it simply could not happen. There, too, was the trouble -- he had never been particularly adept at making friends. So this wake of theirs was partially an effort to honor Marius -- he did deserve it, fool though he tended to be at times -- and a way to make connections. Hopefully something would come of it, whether it was planning or some respite from their grief.
They had agreed to meet in the common area of District 3, and so that was where he awaited his friends, settled on a chair in the general middle of things. There was not terribly much he had brought with him -- a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine -- but it would likely serve their purposes. If anything, they could get some more should Grantaire arrive.
What| A wake for Marius and also an excuse for Combeferre to meet people!
Where| District 3 suite
When| Sometime a few days after Marius' death
Warnings/Notes| French sadness/anger
It was very odd to be properly mourning someone. This death hadn't come in the Arena, nor had he seen it -- but somehow it felt more final. In the Arena, you knew there was a way to return; you were stuck in the endless cycles for as long as it pleased the Capitol, it seemed. Combeferre was not particularly saddened by Marius' death, they had never been terribly close, at home or here. He was the little brother most of them tried to keep an eye on, generally -- and yet, they had failed him. Certainly he felt some guilt regarding that, but he would not admit it.
Somewhere underneath the numbness that came with all this, there was a steadily growing certainty that they needed to act, and quickly. He would be damned if he let this happen again, to any more of his friends. Joly's reaction alone was proof that if he, or Courfeyrac, or someone else were to die outside of the Arena -- well, it simply could not happen. There, too, was the trouble -- he had never been particularly adept at making friends. So this wake of theirs was partially an effort to honor Marius -- he did deserve it, fool though he tended to be at times -- and a way to make connections. Hopefully something would come of it, whether it was planning or some respite from their grief.
They had agreed to meet in the common area of District 3, and so that was where he awaited his friends, settled on a chair in the general middle of things. There was not terribly much he had brought with him -- a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine -- but it would likely serve their purposes. If anything, they could get some more should Grantaire arrive.
Eponine open
Grumpily, she slammed into her room. She hadn't even noticed Combeferre. She was more interested in showering and changing her two week old jumper. It was only as she dropped the apples on her bed that she realised he had been sat there.
She poked her head back out. Yes, definitely them. She came back out of her room, dirty jumper forgotten.
"Surely this is not to celebrate my release?" She couldn't think why else they'd be there.
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"We are having a gathering here to ...remember him."
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"Is he dead? Executed? What did he do? How - is it because of me? Of what I have said?"
Now that is an awful thought. She would go and declare her allegiance to the Capitol that very minute if it meant saving her Marius from death.
"God, Sir -" she reached for his hand - "Sir, I am so, so sorry. So sorry."
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"I... I thought I loved him, a long time ago. Even here... I wanted him to love me. But never, not once, was he kind to me. No. Once. He gave me five francs. But even when they brought my Pa here, that idiot didn't notice that my Pa was knocking me about. I weren't looking for nothing... But you'd think he'd ask if he heard a girl he knows screaming bloody murder, and her Pa screaming back until one kills the other."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, though. I think he did like you, though."
Jessica Wakefield ; open
She sat quietly in one of the chairs, eye makeup running as she dabbed herself with an elaborate handkerchief. Every so often, she found herself overcome with uncontrollable sobs. She didn't even like Marius all that much, but losing another person was so utterly unbearable. Everything was so unfair.
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"I take it you were a friend of Pontmercy's as well, mademoiselle?"
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"I guess. I mean, sort of." Her voice hitched in her throat and she coughed a little. "I'm his mentor. Or I was. I used to force him to go jogging. Oh god, I can't believe I'll never get to force him to jog with me again!"
And with that, Jessica began crying even harder.
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"I mean, it won't -- ah, he wouldn't like you to cry like this over him, I'm certain."
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"Oh, Pontmercy. I am sorry." He was sitting alone, biting his lower lip to keep from openly crying. He was a man with some dignity left. Not much, but some. "Cosette, lovely one, wherever you are, I am sorry for you too. I have failed both of the lovebirds."
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"I am, too," he said quietly. "Pontmercy and I may not have ever been -- as close as you two were, but he was still a brother and a friend. It is odd to think that he will not be returning to us." It was not quite the same at home -- yes, they had lost friends and brothers, in 1830, and he had accepted it then; but Pontmercy was one of their constants.
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"What are we to do now?" He asked, perhaps more to the glass than to Combeferre. Cosette had vanished, Enjolras was gone, and now Marius was dead. Courfeyrac was lost, aimless, and in more despair than he could fathom. Was such misery possible? He knew now that it was. And what a pitiful recognition that was.