Let others rise to take our place

[idealisme]

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.]

Comments

[idealisme]

[A frown appears, concerned that he had not picked up that Combeferre might be in a worse state than he seemed. Perhaps he will return sooner than he had planned.]

How long have you been here?

[poeticverses]

Not long at all. Time enough to meet the most interesting people over the...box in my apartment, to let Combeferre doctor me, and to wish for fresh clothing. I take it you've not been here that long.

[philosophe]

[He did not, but he would gladly do so, if he ever got the chance.] I know. I will still say it. I would never have left you, nor France, nor the République. Very likely not even if you ordered me to do so.

[He brushes a thumb over Enjolras', smiling a little.] I do not regret it, you must not think I do.

[squint]

[ 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.

[idealisme]

[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.

[idealisme]

[Combeferre's words stir him, and he feels more himself again than he has since arriving in this strange land.]

What is there to regret? We are now martyrs for France, like so many before us.

[idealisme]

An hour or two at most, though I cannot say for certain. Arrival here is... disorienting.

[Jehan you may not be rid of your clothes, they are proof you died for revolution and therefore grander than those of any king.]

Tell me, though. What are the people here like? I have seen many pass me by and they seem quite different to the people of Paris.

[poeticverses]

[He just wants clean ones to wear out. He's not getting rid of them]

The locals appear to be vaguely Oriental, if one ignores the blue skin or gills or extra fingers, and the...guests, for lack of a better term, seem to span many different times and places. I've spoken with a young woman studying architecture in Paris in the year 2010 and Combeferre was tended to be a woman who he described as comparable to a field surgeon. I'm afraid I haven't found anyone who might be well-versed in the politics of their home, however.

[littlecousin]

[Nita flies practically everywhere. It's faster and frankly more fun than walking. She's cruising home after one of her many social calls, intentionally flying at a level where she has to perform acrobatics to avoid the massive tree limbs that crisscross Wood Sector a few stories above the street, when her sharp eyes, adapted to the ocean depths, notice someone sitting outside. Someone who isn't blue, and is wearing the same style of archaic clothing she'd seen on Combeferre earlier.

So naturally she swoops in for a graceful, soundless landing on the street in front of him, pointed ears, green scaly bathing suit, tiny white wings sprouting from her ankles, and all.]

Hi! Are you new?

[idealisme]

[The flying, ears, scales and wings startle him into standing. He has been trying to avoid anyone coming across him without his knowledge, and her descent from he heavens has set his heart pounding within his chest.

He puts a hand to his heart, attempting to calm it, and covering by giving her a small formal bow.]

Pardon me, mademoiselle. Your- you startled me with your sudden appearance.

[philosophe]

There is nothing to regret, I would not change it. We made our choices and so did everyone else. [His voice is soft and musing, but it warms a little when he comes to his next subject.]

And -- perhaps the rest of us will come.

[littlecousin]

[Oh, jeez, now she feels rude, and has the grace to look sheepish.]

Not a lot of flying people where you're from, huh? Sorry I scared you.

[idealisme]

[And though Paris slept and allowed them to die- they cannot rest in their apathy forever.]

It is possible. From what my guides would tell me, I understand that this city is large, it's population around [population size]. They may not have ventured beyond their rooms yet.

[idealisme]

Have you been at the local vintage already? For a woman to claim she is from the year 2010 is more than a little ridiculous.

[Enjolras cannot comprehend 2010. It is as far removed from them as the 1600s and the Renaissance.]

[idealisme]

None that I have ever heard of- [...Are those wings?

Enjolras cannot help but be fascinated as his shock wears off. He only wishes the lady was a little more... modestly dressed, so that he would feel at ease looking anywhere other than her face.]

To answer your initial question, yes. I am but recently arrived here.

[poeticverses]

[He's slightly hurt by that question, but it's understandable]

I swear, I am as sober as you are. But, Enjolras, how can you say anything is ridiculous when we are in a city on the back of a giant turtle, alive when we should be dead? Compared to that, I should think anything is possible.

[During all this, Jehan has kept his hand near Enjolras's, almost close enough to touch. He's still not believing that the other is here]

[philosophe]

Perhaps not. I had thought to, but -- [He moves to shrug, and winces.] I feel I am not entirely fit for walking long distances at the present.

[littlecousin]

["Modest" clothing creates drag underwater. Check your surface-dweller privilege, gosh.

Also she knows she's hot as hell--look all you want, dude.]

Welcome to Keeliai. I'm Nita Prentiss.

[With an absolutely genuine smile, she extends one arm, bare but for an archaic-looking bracer made of a golden metal in an offer of a handshake.]

[idealisme]

Forgive me- I spoke too quickly. My mind still rebels against the impossibility of this place and it's people and our own presence here.

[Enjolras has already planned a trip to the edge of the shell to see this for himself.


And if Jehan makes a move to take his hand, Enjolras will grasp it firmly.]

Tell me, then. This woman from the future? What does she say regarding France?

[idealisme]

[His brown creases in concern again. It seems Combeferre's wounds are more serious that he had thought.] If they are here we will find them. That is my promise.

[poeticverses]

[He does, eventually. He can't resist. He needs to touch right now.]

Everything has been going so fast since I awoke that I am afraid I never asked. So many new places, ideas, technology, so many strange people...to be honest, I don't believe I've truly accepted a bit of it.

[Jehan smiles a bit]

Except that you and Combeferre are here. That, I accept willingly. I never thought I would see either of you again.

[idealisme]

[... w h a t]

I am Enjolras, my Christian name is Michel. It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance, Mademoiselle Prentiss.

[Another of the amis might have kissed her hand. Their leader takes it and gives it a firm shake.]

[littlecousin]

Hi, Michel.

[Hint, hint, call her Nita.

She mimics his pronunciation of the name reasonably well, but she's obviously not a French speaker.]

Your clothes are pretty beat up. Are you okay?

[That all the Frenchmen seem to have arrived immediately from a battle doesn't strike her as the least bit odd.]

[idealisme]

[A brief expression of insult crosses his face at the familiarity of this woman.] Enjolras, please.

I have- am dead, mademoiselle. [It's the first time he's said it out loud to another person, and he his is both so proud to say it and so amazed again that he is here at all.] Thus I find myself in far better condition than I had expected.

[philosophe]

[Bayonets are nasty things, as 'Ferre has recently come to learn. He has been bandaged and stitched, but even so. Healing will take time, which is somewhat annoying when all he wants to do is explore.] Then I have all faith that we will. [It's almost playful, this smile, and he gives Enjolras a very small nudge.]

I am pleased you are here, it would -- be very strange without you. That is not to say it is not very strange in itself, Jehan tells me he saw blue-skinned people. I am not certain if I did, I was -- not present for most of the journey to this city.