tushanshu_logs | Let others rise to take our place

Characters: Enjolras, open
Date: The evening of his arrival
Location: Sitting somewhere around the Wood sector, near his suite.
Situation: Enjolras is alive and doesn't really want to talk to anyone on the magical talking box yet.
Warnings/Rating: None? Talk of martyrdom, injury

[It was strange here, but peaceful.

Peaceful was what Enjolras needed at the present moment, with his thoughts so very tumultuous. It had not been a day, in his estimation, since the barricade around the Corinthe and their revolution had been cut short. It was hard to believe, sitting on this bench in the evening sun, that the past few hours were not all a dream of violence and passion.

He was grounded by the state of his clothes. The ocean had washed most of the blood away and something had staunched the bleeding, but the bullet holes were there on his vest, and there were marks on his skin beneath which could only be caused by musket fire.

He should see a doctor, he knew. But he did not wish to deal with the after yet. For now he simply wanted to sit, in the late evening sun, in all of his wretched and bloody state, and think on this:

He had died for the Republic.

But should anyone come along and wish to talk, then he would welcome that also.]

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[ Cobb has no reason to be in the Wood district. Not really, no--but he's taken to walks. Partially to take in the gorgeous architecture, partially to assess the situation. Once an extractor, always an extractor.

And, if he's being honest, a lot of it is to pull his mind away from things. Everything was a strange in-between of sense and being stripped of everything he knew. At the very least, he had to keep it together for Arthur and Ariadne.

He recognizes the look in the other's eyes as he passes by--just a glance is enough--and when he doubles back, he has a small cup of green tea for each of them, taking a seat and offering one to the blonde.

He doesn't ask the other for anything. Doesn't feel the need to. Silence is better. ]

[It is disconcerting to be so wary of strangers. Enjolras' eyes have followed each person to pass him, not because he fears they will be revealed to be a member of the National Guard in disguise, but for the simple reason that he cannot bear for anyone to take him unawares while he is not entirely himself.

So he tenses when he recognises someone returning and approaching him.

The kindness of a simple cup of drink takes him entirely by surprise.]

Merci, monsieur. That is most kind of you.

[ I recognize those eyes. They remind me of my wife. Of myself. Instead of saying that, he simply takes a sip of his drink. Looks down at the blood. ]

Rough day.

[Rough? Enjolras shakes his head. There are many words he would use to describe the events of his last forty eight hours. He does no think that would be one of them.]

It is easier to die than one might suspect. Next to the pain of seeing your fellow citizens oppressed, and with the assurance that the Right is on your side, it is nothing at all.

And what would be--[ Ehm... ] "the Right?"

The Rights of Man and of the Citizen, naturally. [Those founded at the end of the French Revolution. Enjolras holds them as dearly as any Clergyman might hold his Biblical Creeds.]

Firtly, that Men are born and remain free and equal in rights. Social distinctions may be founded only upon the general good. [He can quote them all if required.]

Sounds familiar. [ The wording, he means. And lifts the cup to his lips, sipping slowly. ] Secondly?

Secondly, that the aim of all political association is the preservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of man. These rights are liberty, property, security, and resistance to oppression.

[His tone borders on reverential.] There are fifteen more. They are the rights of all men, completed in 1793, as a basis for a Constitution for the République of France.

[ Time differences. Right. He takes a moment, listening to the other and then asks cautiously. Very, very cautiously though his accent is damn good: ]

Do you speak French?

[ Cautiously, of course. But he spoke it every day courtesy of his wife. Was even teaching it to the kids. ]

Monsieur, we are speaking French.

[And as far as Enjolras can tell, Cobb's accent has just markedly improved from that of an American to that of a native.]

[ Cobb raises his brow and--well, perhaps. It's possible, at least. After all, there's a giant turtle we're all on the back of.

His smile twists--just slightly. ]

I've never been much of a history buff, but I'm from 2010.

[A slight frown.] I have just departed Paris, 1832.

A friend told me such incongruities in time were possible, but I did not believe him.

There's going to be a lot more you're going to find unbelievable. There are still some things I can't wrap my head around.

Such as?

[Time differences seem to Enjolras to be the biggest hurdle in believing this place to be more than a strange dream. It goes against the very laws of nature!]

Point blank? That we're on a giant turtle.

It is easier to believe when you have seen it for yourself. I recommend the journey to the shell, monsieur. It is quite a sight.

I've seen it. [ His voice is still somewhat quiet, and he clasps his hands together for a moment. Contemplating. ]

I'm just not sure what's real and what's not anymore. [ Surprisingly honest. ]

[Enjolras is not quite sure what to make of the statement.] You believe this to be- some kind of illusion? A trick to make us think we are on a turtle when we are elsewhere?

[ He pauses. It's not quite hesitation, but he's certainly choosing his words carefully. ] I believe the mind rationalizes situations like this very different ways varying from people to people.

How do you explain, then, that we have all rationalised our circumstances into a city on the back of a turtle which swims through space?

I can't. [ It's another surprisingly honest answer. ] Not yet, anyway.

Then I wish you luck finding an explanation which suits you, Monsieur.

I have seen the shell and stared into an eternity I had never before imagined. I do not understand it, nor how we have come to be here, but here I am, and here I will live out the live which has been given back to me.

[ This is enough to crack a small smile from the other blonde, and the American leans back, sighing slightly. ]

Quite the philosophical point of view.

If you wish for philosophy, my friend Combeferre will no doubt be able to give you a thorough insight into our circumstances here. [Enjolras shakes his head.]

I lived and died once under the banner of Liberté, Égalité, and Fraternité. These goals are universal, and so - though I do not understand why or how - I will live under their banner again.

French Revolution, I'm assuming?

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