To lose yet another of their contracted numbers, particularly one so central to each and every one of them, brought more than a frown to Bossuet's face. It was an even deeper sort of sadness that plucked at his heartstrings than when he had first heard news of Jehan's disappearance just the month or so prior, but he would do his best to retain his tone at 'light and cheery,' and would even hold his sarcasm's tongue when in the presence of at least the few who looked all the worse for wear after the passing.
Courfeyrac had always been the warmth to their motley crew. His laugh had been one of greatest encouragement in a land where so many could not follow the rhythms of Bossuet's speech, and his smile the contagious sort that even L'Inspector must have succumbed to its unearthly powers.
So far be it from Bossuet to sully that last image with a sullen face, for how better to commemorate the man than with a sardonic smile and bawdy tales of the man's pursuits beyond?
"I envy him, I do," one might overhear the Frenchman drawl. "To be sure, the god who has plucked Reynaud from our sides has better deeds for him to perform elsewhere, and provides him his pick of the flock! As though he needs any help in that endeavour...!"
Taking a sip of wine to wet his throat, and pausing dramatically in thought. "Though I will have it be said that if punishment were his crime instead, no doubt it would be due to the travesty of garments that he has bequeathed upon poor Marius in his absence! That I would have the preference, but alas, Pontmercy wins out once more."
.:: 02 | ... IS NOT A HAPPY CAMPER. ::.
Because Courfeyrac had always been such a constant source of comfortable energy, everything seemed a little dimmer without him there, every memory that resurfaced was tinted with a melancholy Bossuet was not sure he had ever experienced before.
"M'sieur Braun, you will have trouble taking that icebox with you if Reynaud could not even take his new fashions with him," Bossuet mumbled to himself as he finally slowed his imbibing and instead carefully nursed the next glass of liquor -- he had lost track of what it was he drank now, and it smelled foreign, tasted strange. It had been refilled once too many, and the man was beginning to fall into that drearier place from which he knew men to descend and never return.
"I cannot recall the last time he had given up such new purchases without a fight, and Death here does not seem to reveal more than the barest of scuffles..."
He could not help but wonder if this was how Grantaire traversed the world always, in this fuzzy haze, without a warm light to pinpoint the way and return the brighter humours to his lips.
Bossuet: OPEN
To lose yet another of their contracted numbers, particularly one so central to each and every one of them, brought more than a frown to Bossuet's face. It was an even deeper sort of sadness that plucked at his heartstrings than when he had first heard news of Jehan's disappearance just the month or so prior, but he would do his best to retain his tone at 'light and cheery,' and would even hold his sarcasm's tongue when in the presence of at least the few who looked all the worse for wear after the passing.
Courfeyrac had always been the warmth to their motley crew. His laugh had been one of greatest encouragement in a land where so many could not follow the rhythms of Bossuet's speech, and his smile the contagious sort that even L'Inspector must have succumbed to its unearthly powers.
So far be it from Bossuet to sully that last image with a sullen face, for how better to commemorate the man than with a sardonic smile and bawdy tales of the man's pursuits beyond?
"I envy him, I do," one might overhear the Frenchman drawl. "To be sure, the god who has plucked Reynaud from our sides has better deeds for him to perform elsewhere, and provides him his pick of the flock! As though he needs any help in that endeavour...!"
Taking a sip of wine to wet his throat, and pausing dramatically in thought. "Though I will have it be said that if punishment were his crime instead, no doubt it would be due to the travesty of garments that he has bequeathed upon poor Marius in his absence! That I would have the preference, but alas, Pontmercy wins out once more."
.:: 02 | ... IS NOT A HAPPY CAMPER. ::.
Because Courfeyrac had always been such a constant source of comfortable energy, everything seemed a little dimmer without him there, every memory that resurfaced was tinted with a melancholy Bossuet was not sure he had ever experienced before.
"M'sieur Braun, you will have trouble taking that icebox with you if Reynaud could not even take his new fashions with him," Bossuet mumbled to himself as he finally slowed his imbibing and instead carefully nursed the next glass of liquor -- he had lost track of what it was he drank now, and it smelled foreign, tasted strange. It had been refilled once too many, and the man was beginning to fall into that drearier place from which he knew men to descend and never return.
"I cannot recall the last time he had given up such new purchases without a fight, and Death here does not seem to reveal more than the barest of scuffles..."
He could not help but wonder if this was how Grantaire traversed the world always, in this fuzzy haze, without a warm light to pinpoint the way and return the brighter humours to his lips.