tushanshu_logs | Let others rise to take our place

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.]

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[Technically the stranger is incorrect. He has been killed, not wounded.

But that is a petty distinction here, in this place that is between (how had they said it?) life, dreaming, and death. Enjolras offers the man a nod in greeting.]

They were inflicted prior to my arrival, and I am in no current danger. Thank you, though, for your concern, monsieur.

Another of the French, then. It is a pleasure, monsieur.

[Judging by the accent on that last word, he is also French... or close enough.]

Do you know the other two? They arrived only last night, in... similar condition.

If you mean Prouvaire and Combeferre then yes, it is not half an hour since we were reunited.

[He is curious about the accent, unable to match it to a regional accent though it has a very french air about it.] My name is Enjolras. Michel, if you prefer a Christian name.

I am glad for you. It must be a comfort to have those you know from home united with you here. [Especially if you never expected to see them again due to messy deaths. It gives him even more hope that he will see Delaunay again.]

I am Alcuin nó Delaunay- Alcuin, if you like. I think we arrived under similar circumstances.

It is- reassuring. [Comfort is not something Enjolras will associate with this place. He is supposed to be dead for the Republic, that he 'lives' on requires some thought.]

A pleasure, Monsieur Delaunay. Have you also arrived here following some violence upon your person?

Yes. [Alcuin could agree with that. The life after death was not supposed to be so literal.]

Yes. My mentor and I were killed- it was a surprise to wake up here, to say the very least.

[Enjolras sits forward in interest, wondering if he is taking the wrong meaning.] You, too, have no philosophy regarding a state of life after death?

[He himself has long disregarded all though of a 'heaven'. Even if there were one- he cannot count himself worthy to be there after the terrible acts he committed in the name of the Republic.]

Oh... no, I do. The Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond waits for all of d'Angeline blood- though some say we may only reach it after lifetimes striving to better ourselves.

[He shrugs.] But whichever it is, life after death should not involve the back of a giant turtle.

There are myths, on Earth, which tell of a turtle supporting the world, but they are little more than religious tales.

[But going back to what Alcuin said-] Those of d'Angeline blood? Would you be able to tell me what that means?

'Little more'? Then religious tales mean little to you? [That's strange. If there's one thing his world is short on, it's atheists. The gods have always been... prominent, especially for d'Angelines.]

The people of Terre d'Ange, my land. We are descended from Blessed Elua and his eight Companions, who were angels of the One God's Heaven before they descended to Earth to follow Elua.

[That sounds nothing at all like any religion Enjolras is familiar with, though he cares little enough about it that it may be excused.]

If there is a God, monsieur, I cannot myself believe in his goodness. Not if it is his desire that the people's freedoms and rights be subjugated to the will of an oppressive monarchy.

[Alcuin can allow that a monarchy may be oppressive. Terre d'Ange has had pretty great monarchs, though, so he doesn't like the thought that they all are...]

The desires of the gods do not always accord with what those who call themselves their followers will do. Their followers are men, after all, with all the faults and strengths that come with that. At home, at least, our gods are real, but they do not reach out to control our movements, or our governments.

[The distinction between a God and his followers seems a petty one, to Enjolras. What good is a God who cannot make his wishes known, and what good are followers who do not do his will?]

What proof do you have that your Gods are real? The God of my world seems quite unwilling to provide certain proof of his existence.

[It's a different sort of god, perhaps, one who does not so much order as guide and suggest.]

We carry their stamp in our blood and bones. They are not only our gods, but those from who we are descended, after all. [He didn't get to be this pretty by accident. There is divine blood in him.] We have the gifts they have given us. It may be thin, but it is there.

Gifts?

[The rest seems too metaphorical for him to seriously consider.]

[It's not at all metaphorical, alas.]

Our beauty, the knowledge they have given us... more direct gifts, too. Our women do not bear children until they have prayed to Eisheth to open their wombs. My foster-sister was touched by the hand of Kushiel. And we all live by the precept of Blessed Elua to love as we will, which is perhaps the greatest gift of all.

I see.

[How foreign this sounds! Enjolras closes his eyes, taking a moment to consider these things; his mind already tiring from the dramatic events of the day and the input of new information.]

I should like to learn more about your world, once I am more myself.

Oh, of course, messire. [He feels bad. Enjolras does look tired, and he knows how overwhelming it can be to arrive so soon after dying...]

I will be happy to tell you. In the meantime, is there aught I can do?

[A gentle shake of the head.] I am shortly to visit my physician friend, who will look me over and ensure I am in the best of health.

I will look forward to further conversations with you, Monsieur Delaunay.

Then I will take my leave of you, so you can rest. [He bows gracefully and prepares to go.]

I am sure we will see each other again soon.

Let others rise to take our place

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