tushanshu_logs | There Is A Flame That Never Dies: Enjolras Catchall!

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There Is A Flame That Never Dies: Enjolras Catchall!

Characters: Enjolras and OPEN
Date: The Month of June
Location: Various. Turtle's Head, A Tavern, The Streets
Situation: Enjolras uses an anniversary to mourn, celebrate his friends, and tries to gather Foreigner stories and information about how the common kedan view them.

Warnings/Rating: Grief, Talk of Death, Alcohol.

I.

There's A Grief That Can't Be Spoken. There's A Pain Goes On And On:

(Turtle's Head: June 5th, All Day and Night)

Enjolras is seated at the turtle's head starring out at the water the best way that he can, a hand on his soul gem, which is warm to touch. His thoughts now turn toward, not Taraja, though he'd come here with her often, taking the long trek because she enjoyed it. Today, he's thinking of the others who have slipped him by, of how Combeferre and he started something two...three mid summers ago, in the midst of the awful memories of the barricade and the love he'd learned not to deny himself. Now, he is alone, just starring out at the depths of the ocean, thoughts of those he's loved, and lost, floating through his mind.

IS he condemned to watch them die, then see them vanish in another world? Enjolras supposes he deserves it, but could it be a lie of Malicant's he's taken to his heart? Could it be corruption of his soul? Either way he's at the head, pacing back and forth from time to time and tossing rocks into the water as he tries to look under control, or at least, to have a private place here, where he can break down with the memory, not of their deaths, but of their lives, and the hard truth that this year, he's on his own; dread anniversaries causing him to think in such a way or not.

"At this time in 1832..." He muses, not quite under his breath. After all, who could not think of home, today?

II.

Drink With Me To Days Gone By:

(June 6th, A Tavern In Keelaiai)

He died today. Enjolras died today, holding the hand of Grantaire of all people. Grantaire, who loved his taverns, and his absinthe and whatever drinks that he could get his hands on. Grantaire who had loved...no, He's putting that thought firmly away. It's hardly for tonight, for blaspheming the men who died with and for him. Tonight is for honor instead.

It only feels right somehow, that he is sitting here, in this tavern, taking up a large table with a shot of this establishment's strongest lined up for Grantaire. And a glass of wine for Combeferre, of the kind they often enjoyed bringing back to their table here, a fruity mixed drink that he thought Bahorel would enjoy, brandy for Courferac and Eponine. All in all, there are several drinks lined up around a round table in the corner, and one Enjolras, chastely sipping at a glass of water, ignoring the filled wineglass by his side for just a while still. He's sitting silently, occasionally studying a slowly burning candle, a look of devoted, almost peaceful contemplation on his face, the candlelight catching on his earrings as he waits, for God Knows What.

III.

Let Us Take To The Streets With A Jubilant Shout:

(June 7th and Onward, Streets of Keelaiai)

"Would you like to talk about your life here, how you feel about the Foreigners?" Enjolras asks a keedan girl outside one of the shops and then a boy who don't seem to shy away so quickly from him. "What's it like for your family now?

From time to time, he's also spotting willing foreigners and darting over, notes in hand to learn what things he might. Books promoting Foreigners as normal can't be written alone, and finding out what image they have to lose is quite important after all! Enjolras is willing to grab anyone he can to tell their stories, whether they really wish to speak with him or not. This could be a problem.

IV.

They Will Come One And All, They Will Come When We Call!

(Choose your own!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Ah, then I've not managed to get to nuisance and thorn in their sides yet." Enjolras eyedarts a little. "Good. More time to work. But sadly, I've not managed that just yet. I've made a few 'friends' of sorts..."

That was putting it rather exaggeratedly, but it was something he was doing, anyway.

"of sorts?"

"That should come with some sort of clarification, shouldn't it?" Enjolras asks, expression turning wry. "A few people haven't sent me away asking that I never return." It...was something.

"Thought so," Zelgadis said. "Most people don't like to be pestered when they're trying to get things done."

"Rather not."

Enjolras has to agree there. The only real reason it had worked in Paris was because there had been eight, sometimes nine of them and lots of people who, sadly, had nothing better to do than watch a student rally, or take take flyers they may or may not be able to read.

"That IS why I'd thought to get them younger and the word at least out. Something more in depth would take more planning, naturally. Gauging these results so far, though, there seems a lack of interest I ought to have suspected."

Edited 2015-06-12 17:52 (UTC)

"You could always try offering something in trade," Zelgadis said. "People are willing to do a lot more if they think they're getting paid for their troubles."

"THERE is an idea." He muses thoughtfully. "Hard to say what skills of mine are in use THESE days that they might trust but worth attempting all the same."

"Weren't you the one with medical training, or am I thinking of someone else?"

"A little." He nods. "I assisted in a clinic here, for a time when I first arrived, and they put me to work in the hospital after the explosions. And I've learned a spell that does some minor healing work. Not quite enough to hang out a shingle, but if I see someone with a scraped knee?" There's a smile. "That IS the kind of thing that could earn someone friends."

"Especially since most people wouldn't want to bother a doctor for that, but it's still enough to hurt."

"True enough." Enjolras laughs. "I know that I was grateful enough to have medical students as my friends. It certainly made it easier to avoid official notice of some things, particularly embarrassing ones. There's something about going to a doctor for awkwardly placed splinters that never quite seems like the best idea. And I can at least soothe pain. Does it seem to you that the small cuts that do not require anything to treat them sometimes are the most annoying?"

Papercuts? The worst. Enjolras was shot eight times, has had his spleen removed after damage, in a time and place where pain medicine was minimal and surgery invasive and he'll still contend that much.

"It establishes me as something of a friend too."

"I don't tend to get those as much as I used to," Zelgadis said, flexing a hand. "If something is serious enough to break my skin, it's serious enough that I need to treat it."

"But, that strategy has worked for me. People who would close their doors against a mercenary will at least be polite to a healer."

It was weird. Zelgadis had mostly done it because he didn't know much about steady income in towns where he couldn't outrun a bad reputation. He kept telling himself he'd get back into other things, but the lure of a steady paycheck and people being grateful was powerful.

"Ouch." Enjolras commented, not quite cringing at the thought, unpleasant as it was. Stitches were never fun, were they? Even when he was the one doing the stitching they had never been fun. Worse, in a way, because the people usually were in pain or tried to move around and...He'd had interesting times with putting them in, anyway.

And the staple things he'd overheard people talk about at the hospital seemed worse somehow. You had to get them IN somehow, right?

"Then they may do the same for a reporter. I'm never certain here, but it makes something to offer. Though it seems you may have had greater experience with it."

Enjolras was glad his shifts at the Welcome Center had a small stipend that came with them anyway. It gave him time to pursue things like this a few days a week anyway, while making sure he didn't outright starve or freeload very much. He ought to look for something better, at some point soon, but for now, it worked. And helping people...he couldn't deny it did feel good.

"Mostly I happened into it by chance. I learned a bit of white magic back home, and was doing construction. I figured I might as well get some use out of the spells, and the hospital just snapped me up full time. That was back when Mrs. Reyes was running it."

"A very long time." Enjolras nods. "I came on after the explosions because it felt like the right thing to be done. These days, I'm hardly qualified for anything major but I may take your suggestion all the same. It IS a good one."

"Even having a talent for it is handy, since the kedan don't have those abilities," Zelgadis said. "Back home, what I can do would be what any priest or priestess would learn during their studies. You'd have to live in a very small town to not have someone who knew a basic healing spell."

"That," Enjolras smiled, "is amazing. Just to think of people who could heal so quickly as all of that. I love my country as I loved my mother, once, but France, Paris especially, is ill, with some sort of...social cancer. Not the least because so many poor are left to die, instead of being treated for their own ills. There is the free clinic, and the children's hospital, but they are so overworked and understaffed. Imagine how people like that could help. Remarkable."

"It's not perfect. People who can cast the big spells, the ones that can save lives, are few and far between. And tend to be of interest to kings and such. The spells I know would be worse than useless on someone who has a life-threatening injury, or who just isn't healthy -- they work by using the body's resources to speed up healing, which means you need power to spend. As for epidemics... it can takes teams of sorcerers to find a cure for epidemics, and then the country has to get the supplies."

Zelgadis's last memories of his homeworld were of an epidemic and the massive amounts of fallout from it.

"I guess what I'm saying is that magic doesn't make humans not human, just changes the scales a bit."

"Ah, but the best efforts of many could not do so either, in those cases." Enjolras could see the point of that, and the body having defenses besides. "Something more in the line of a broken arm could be healed, then, using your abilities, yes?" Injuries like his own at the barricade could never have been healed under that case. It only made sense when you considered it deeply enough.

As for epidemics...yes that sounded like the way of it. "Doctors in our case, at home." he said, to the last bit there. "The Cholera has taken over and no one is quite sure why, but everyone has been trying, every hospital and doctor are quite overworked and people have started to consider the root causes. More than one person has voiced that the government may be poisoning the water of the poor, but enough rich men have started to fall as well.

I can see where any situation would be cause for more investigation and prevention." He added. "And human is not so bad, usually. I would change the sleep requirements if I had any say, but other than that...helping put us get back together or to get over something that is deadly...it certainly sounds as though it helps. I admire that people try."

"Yes," Zelgadis said. "Basically doing what natural healing would do on its own, but faster. It's a strain on the person, but someone who has studied white magic more than I could could transfer that strain to the environment."

"Transferring it as well?" Enjolras found himself surprised, but also relieved by the idea. It made more sense for the negatives to be able to be put somewhere else, to allow a healer to keep working.

"I would assume there is a darker form of magic in your world as well?" It stood to reason, right?

"Black magic," Zelgadis said. "Most black magic spells are destructive. Not necessarily evil, but there's easier ways to destroy things. There's a few summoning spells that are benign, and some spells that are just nasty."

"Black magic, then." Enjolras nods, noting that he does not describe it as evil entirely, and it does make sense. "There are times destruction can be useful. I can only imagine the care that one must take to wield them with wisdom, instead of out of other reasons."

Zelgadis nodded. "I've seen plenty of not-so-wise uses of it."

"I can only imagine, though," Enjolras frowned a little. "I am not sure I would like to." He's reminded of Malicant's presence, and some of the things he had done,though he knows too, that there are times a bit of support is needed. "I suppose it is a weapon as any other. Potentially used for either good or ill, and requiring a lot of care."

He'd learned that about guns in something of a hard way, when he'd still been young, and his father had attempted to take him hunting. No one had died, but a gun going off in the house when you move it, does give you a bit of healthy respect for them. The hole he'd left in the wall, and his father's resigned sigh had also helped contribute to it.

At least, after the fact, he'd learned.

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