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

[poeticverses]

[Jehan is leaving Combeferre's suite when he spots Enjolras. He needs a bath and food and possibly something to drink and most certainly sleep. After that, he would feel much better.

Of course, as soon as he sees that familiar golden head and that red jacket (always with the red jackets), his plans go out the window. He heads over, stopping just in front of the man and kneeling to make sure he's seen before speaking]

M-Michel?

[Because this is worthy of first names]

[idealisme]

[With the foreknowledge that he is here too, it is a little easier seeing Jehan that it was Combeferre. But not much.

Usually he would protest at their situation, refusing to speak to anyone kneeling at his feet. For now, however, he will let it pass.]

Etienne said you were here also.

[His smile is gentle, and he places a kiss to the crown of Jehan's head. Jehan had been the first, and it was easier to think of his death than the rest (caught up in madness and blood).]

Hello, Jehan.

[poeticverses]

[He's here. Enjolras is here. Combeferre is here. Jehan isn't alone.

And, really, out of everything that's happened today, being alone in this strange purgatory was what scared him the most. He can face down the National Guard and not bat an eye, but...well, it's been a rough day.

Jehan pulls Enjolras into as tight a hug as he dares, a little teary-eyed]

[idealisme]

[The embrace is quickly returned, Enjolras every bit as relieved to have a familiar face to greet int his unfamiliar place.

He gently pulls Jehan up to sit beside him on the bench, equals now and forever.]

Oh, my bravest of brothers. It is good to see you again.

[poeticverses]

[And Jehan goes, of course. He quickly wipes away any sign of tears, but it doesn't really last]

And you.

[Even if it means they failed. Combeferre told him about what happened after his death, so he won't ask Enjolras. Not yet.]

Are you staying nearby? Combeferre is in a tree not too far from here, and my suite is a short walk away in the other direction.

[idealisme]

My apartment is in the same building as his, we believe. [He indicates it nearby through the trees.

He does not mention the tears, and his own eyes have so far remained dry. Enjolras will not cry, will not feel sadness at their deaths. He cannot allow himself to.]

I will go to him, once I have had a little more air, and our physician will set me to rights.

[poeticverses]

[He doesn't expect Enjolras to cry. He never cries.]

Are you certain you shouldn't go to him now? I feel awful saying that, for I think Combeferre might be in worse condition than either of us, but for all that I've been told of other doctors and healers I've yet to actually speak with one.

[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.

[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.

[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.]

[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]

[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?

[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]

[Enjolras has never been one to express affection through touch. He's never really needed to express much affection at all, to be honest.

But as with Combeferre earlier- it does give him a little peace to hold his friend's hand and reassure himself that this is not all a dream.

He wonders if he should tell Jehan that they were going to exchange him for their prisoner, the inspector.]

Do not regret it, my brother. To never have seen our Amis again would have been a fair price to see France liberated.

[poeticverses]

True but...I would have liked to die alongside our friends, instead of held prisoner. Silly, I know. We died for France--how and where we died is unimportant.

[Still, Jehan can't help but reach up and rest a hand over his heart. There's no bullet wound, just a cut, but he knows he was shot there]

They wanted me to betray you, and---well, Combeferre told me you heard me, at the end.

[idealisme]

You were our vanguard, Jehan. Your words roused and reaffirmed the hearts of those of us who remained on the barricade.

[He puts a hand to Jehan's shoulder and embraces him.] I did not call you bravest for nothing.

[poeticverses]

[He returns the embrace again, clinging a little]

I am glad of that. What else does a poet dream of but his words having an effect on others? What else could a friend want but to encourage his companions to fight on, except perhaps to join them after the end?

[idealisme]

[He nods, affirming the sentiment.] I can think of little else.

Combeferre has told you how our revolution ended?

[poeticverses]

[Jehan falls silent, shaking his head. When he manages to speak again, he's just a little choked up]

I didn't have to ask.

[idealisme]

[Enjolras is a little taken aback, though he is certain Jehan means only that Combeferre's presence after his death will have implied all their deaths.]

Take it as a victory, my friend. A victory against the complacency which would have us give up our rights to live under an oppressive monarch.

[poeticverses]

[He does. He couldn't think of any other outcome, if Combeferre was dead. And then Enjolras showed up and sealed it.

They failed]

A victory for us, perhaps, but not one for France, though I hate to say it.

[idealisme]

No! [He cannot help the cry. Both hands now grip Jehan's shoulders firmly. This is important, and his voice grows impassioned. He becomes more himself as he speaks, regains some of the fire he has been lacking so far.]

Do you think we fought for ourselves? Think that no longer! We died in the name of the Republic. A state which will allow man to flourish as he should, free of oppression. 'Long live the Republic?' That is what we cried in our deaths, so that the people would continue to cry it in their lives.

Every man who dies for the Republic is a victory for the France that is still to come; a blow to the Monarchy which is even now in it's death throes. It cannot last, my brother. The people did not join us, but they will not sit in complacency forever.

[poeticverses]

[Everything today--from waking up to finding his friends--had been starting to sit on Jehan, make him sick and feel depressed. He knew he'd snap out of it, eventually, like he always did when he started feeling like this. Melancholy was just another emotion, a mood, something he flitted through given enough time. Seeing Combeferre so injured and Enjolras so...extinguished hadn't helped.

And then he spoke to Enjolras. It's easy to see why he could ensnare even Grantaire, when he got going. His passion bleeds over into Jehan, and the poet sits a little straighter on the bench, smiling]

You are right, of course. I knew that before and I know that now. Forgive me, Enjolras, for letting my black mood overtake me, even just for a moment. Today has not been the kindest on anyone--I was being swept up by the confusion and the pain of it all. I am sorry we will not see a free France, but I am not sorry we died for her.