Enjolras; (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
idealisme) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2013-02-05 09:28 pm
idealisme) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-02-05 09:28 pm
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.]
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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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.
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[Enjolras cannot comprehend 2010. It is as far removed from them as the 1600s and the Renaissance.]
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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]
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[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?
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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.
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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.
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[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.
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[He puts a hand to Jehan's shoulder and embraces him.] I did not call you bravest for nothing.
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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?
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Combeferre has told you how our revolution ended?
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I didn't have to ask.
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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.
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They failed]
A victory for us, perhaps, but not one for France, though I hate to say it.
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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.
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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.
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[Enjolras returns the smile, though his is a little more restrained. Ever the poet, he is aware that Jehan feels the broad spectrum of human emotion much more keenly that he does himself.]
We are none of us ourselves at the moment, Prouvaire. There is much that we will have to talk over and reflect on in the coming days, and I doubt we shall feel fully capable again until all our wounds are healed.
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[He gestures to Enjolras's shirt]
You are more injured than I am.
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I have staggered this far, I shall manage the return journey. Though not yet, I think. The evening is pleasant enough that another half hour sitting and thinking will do me no harm.
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I would love to stay, but I was on my way to my apartment to wash up and, I suspect, fall asleep in my tub. Come and find me, should you need me?
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[He pulls Enjolras into an embrace]
I thank whatever god out there for that, mon ami.
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