tushanshu_logs | 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

A sigh. A nod.

And...not much else.

"Are you mad?"

She wouldn't blame him for being mad. She'd been expecting it.

"A spy and a murderer walk onto a turtle..." Enjolras said, after another moment of what felt like a deeper than usual silence. "We do know how to choose our company, don't we?" It's not meant to be flippant exactly, closer to ironic, as he studies her, not wanting to rush this or to simply scare her off.

"I think it is...not so simple as it used to seem." He said at last, his gaze a little pained as he tried to meet her eyes. "In Paris, I would have been," And particularly at the barricades. "Here, and now, I find it..."

Heavy. Like a deep weight settled in the pit of his stomach, cold, and unable to be moved, or fixed beyond what time would do. He could not be angered, really, not when he, himself, had done so many things that he abhored, and that were wrong in those hours before his death. And more than that besides, there was a brutality in the way it had all happened that could fill someone with something else than fear.

"...Sad, and devastating." He settled on at last. "No one should have such an existence, or a lack of an existence that makes it necessary to resort to methods of that sort. If I am angry, it is not because of you, but because the work was at all possible and outsourced in such a way as that. A shame that you must bear the scars of it so soon." But somehow not a surprise.

There was a tenseness between them now. She could feel it in the silence, and she could feel it in his choice of words. He was being more cautious now. For a fleeting moment she thought he would get angry.

Then he didn't get angry.

A silent breath escaped her. One she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"If I had been in your Paris..." Where, from the sound of things, there were others who might have been able to help her, rather than resort to the Alliance's promises. "...I might not have had to make that choice at all."

It was a different sort of anger, at least, and he directed it towards those who were actually responsible, and not here. Being angry would not have done Midii any good now, and it certainly would not help Enjolras if he alienated her.

He let out his own breath, nodding as she spoke. "I would hope that you would not." He agreed. "It can be hard for everyone to get help, but anyone who came to Les Amis , or who we came into contact with, we did what was possible for us to do to help them. I like to think you may have found your way to us."

"I found you here, didn't I?"

Granted, different circumstances. And a significantly smaller area of travel. But her point still stood.

"And so you did." Perhaps some other hand than theirs had something to do with it. "I do not know much of fate but maybe in some cases, it has a way of pushing us together. You managing to find me here, maybe we were put onto this path for reasons beyond Eshai. Some things do make me wonder."

"You think somebody set all this up on purpose?"

"In the grand scheme of things, perhaps." He looked rather thoughtful for a moment. "I do not know if I believe entirely in the God I've been taught about, but perhaps this is his work, or the work of some other God along the way. I am unsure why, but it would not surprise me somehow, to find that out."

Midii was well aware that there were many other religions besides her own, though--even with her past--she could never bring herself to accept the idea of there being any other God besides the one.

"It would be...an interesting thing to think about. That somebody above cared enough about us to manipulate the universe in such a way."

Enjolras could accept the idea of others better, simply because they were in such a strange new world, and because, admittedly, of Malicant, of all things. Having been in the presence of a being like that, and the fact that other things had seemed to happen here, because of Asti in the past, or others...it caused him to reconsider.

Jean Prouvaire had spoken of the old gods and their presence at work in the world, and he'd largely tuned those out before. But here, in a place where things pointed toward the possibility, it was easier to think of. Not to worship, perhaps, though Enjolras, in his mind, had long loved and worshiped Republic of all things, and the sprit of that thing itself. Even God had taken a secondary place besides that which had blazed in front of him.

Perhaps God had had the last word after all, at times like this.

"It is, yes. I admit I often thought that we were largely on our own, to sink or swim according to what's been laid out in front of us. Someone's getting the last word in now, if that is true. ...I don't mind the possibility, of course."

There Is A Flame That Never Dies: Enjolras Catchall!

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