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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I have seen the shell and stared into an eternity I had never before imagined. I do not understand it, nor how we have come to be here, but here I am, and here I will live out the live which has been given back to me.
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Quite the philosophical point of view.
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I lived and died once under the banner of Liberté, Égalité, and Fraternité. These goals are universal, and so - though I do not understand why or how - I will live under their banner again.
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I lived in Paris for quite some time. Went to school there.
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