tushanshu_logs | OPEN | We'll drink beyond the boundaries of sense

[When Jehan had heard that the alcohol here was stronger than it was elsewhere, he hadn't thought anything of it. Grantaire had yet to arrive and it wasn't something Jehan was concerned with. When Grantaire had arrived, he had forgotten.

He still hasn't remembered that fact, which is why he is passing by Grantaire's window with the impression that he'll pass by without comment. He's too distracted by his own thoughts to realize Grantaire's even at the window]

[At the sight of Jehan down below, Grantaire puts his fingers to his mouth to emit a loud whistle in his direction. He leans a bit too far out the window, then, wavering in balance..]

Good morning princess, where do you think you're going?

What--

[Jehan glances up at Grantaire and sighs. Of course]

Isn't it a bit early to be so far in the bottle, my friend?

[The shouting into the streets reminds Enjolras of home. He's still not used to the relative quiet of the streets in the Wood area, compared to Paris.

It's not until he draws closer that he realises exactly who is doing the shouting. Graintaire is shouting something down at a young Keelai passing by. Suffice to say he is less than impressed, positioning himself below the window and glaring up at him.]

If you don't stop making a nuisance of yourself, I will come up there and run your head under some cold water.

[The sight of Enjolras, as always, makes Grantaire's heart skip a beat. He hasn't left his apartment much in the healing process, relying solely on however many times Enjolras chose to visit him as his only source of sunlight.

They hadn't gotten to talk like Grantaire had wanted to, when they first reconnected. The moment had been lost, and there wasn't any point in bringing it up again.

He waves and smiles, leaning against the windowsill.]

You are welcome to try, if you want me to thrash so hard I open my stitches.

[Enjolras is not quite convinced that a good ducking wouldn't do the drunk wonders, but the mention of his injuries is enough to keep him from seriously thinking about following through on the threat.

But not will he allow one of the Amis to be a public nuisance in this way.]

Then I shall give you something more entertaining to occupy yourself with. Come and let me in.

[His eyebrows quirk upwards, his mind filling in the gaps in what could possibly be more entertaining. Many things, most of which he can't imagine Enjolras ever wanting to do. Still, he's curious, and he would be the last person in the entire universe to turn down Enjolras' company, so he nods. Not, though, without commenting to himself though, not loudly enough for Enjolras to comprehend from down below.]

Bring me more wine and I'll show you entertainment.

[With another chug from the bottle--he needs to comprehend, somehow, that these bottles are more concentrated, more potent--he heads out and down to open the door for Enjolras. He leans on it as he waits for his Apollo to pass through, eyes never leaving him for a moment.

They never do when he's got his attention all to himself.]

What is it that you've got for me, then? Other than your company, which would occupy me enough.

[Luckily Enjolras doesn't hear the comment, and within moments he is at the door. He doesn't notice his friend's gaze, instead sweeps the apartment with a hard look for signs of Grantaire's drinking. It is a topic he has planned to discuss with the man, and he wonders if now might be the right time.

But first-] Here is a novel by a Frenchman named Huysmans. It was published some years after our deaths. I was lent it by Monsieur Wotton.

[He extends the book to Grantaire, who will know him well enough to recognise when Enjolras is actually interested in something.]

If you have so little to occupy you, I am sure he will not mind your reading it first.

[And how he does like reading. He closes the door behind them without bothering to lock it. He had left the bottle on the windowsill, now preoccupied by Enjolras' presence. This is the first time they've been alone together, since his arrival, since he was operated on. He's very aware of that, even if the wine has gone to his brain and has him stumbling on his own feet.

They had almost had a moment, but the more he looks back on it, the more sure he is that it had been nothing at all. Just his own imagination getting away from him.

He takes the book and flips through it, nodding.]

Oui, Wotton, I met the man some nights ago. [met is one way to put it.] He gave you this? [Grantaire does know Enjolras, and he knows the type of man that Henry Wotton is, from just their...brief experience. The two types don't generally enjoy the same literature.]

[Enjolras nods in the affirmative.] He read an excerpt regarding a turtle. I thought it might be interesting to read more of it, especially during the long nights here.

[Though the nights are only long because he exhausts himself before sleep, in the hopes of numbing his dreams.]

There are activities other than drinking which you should apply yourself to, if you have enough time to put on a show like the one I found you performing.

I would do anything you ask of me, Enjolras. I would wash your clothes and black your boots.

[He says it without thinking, and it rings in the back of his mind that he may have said those exact words before. Well, it still remains true. He looks up from the book then, taking a good look at Enjolras.]

You haven't been sleeping well.

[He doesn't need to ask, for how long he's spent staring at Enjolras' face and mannerisms in the last few years. He just knows.]

[The words sound familiar to Enjolras as well, though he hadn't paid enough attention the previous time to remember when or where they had been said.

He purses his lips, not liking the implications of what Grantaire is suggesting. Grantaire is not some kind of servant, do be relegated to menial chores.

As for the mention of his lack of sleep - he shifts his weight at the comment, though doesn't look away - Enjolras will respond to that later. Possibly.]

I do not want you to do either of those things, nor is that what I think you fit for.

[The fact that Enjolras has not been sleeping well is only confirmed by the silence, and it's all that Grantaire really wants to talk about. It's this bubble of concern and care that came with this flood of emotions the moment he became the moth to Enjolras' flame. He can't understand it properly, no matter how much he tries and no matter how often he tries to reason it away. It persists, because that's what true love feels like.

On a normal day, in a normal situation he might keep that feeling to himself, but the alcohol is stronger here, and it bubbles out of him--with a few other words that is.]

Humor me, what do you think me fit for and why haven't you been sleeping well?

[He sits, picking up the bottle again but only cradling it against his legs, book still in hand.]

[He pauses, studying Grantaire as though weighing all his uses.]

You are an intelligent man. You are well read. Your knowledge may not be as deep as mine or Combeferre's, but it is broader. And when you capable of it, you are able to apply that knowledge clearly to problems and plans which we have drawn up.

[He says nothing of the man's inability to believe in anything. No man put himself in the path of a bullet without purpose, so there must be something within Grantaire- some ember which can be built up into some semblance of belief.

He would say nothing about his inability to sleep, but he does not like evading outright questions without any reason for doing so.]

As to my sleeping habits- I suppose I have found myself too active during the day, too alert for signs of injustice. I have found it is hard to relax in the evenings in order to fall to sleep.

[Grantaire hadn't expected so many compliments--or what would qualify as compliments from Enjolras. In all honesty he expected Enjolras to blanch on his uses and realize how absolutely worthless Grantaire was and would continue to be, again, and storm out to never return. But to be appreciated by him, to be considered intelligent (and he knows he is, and very well read, and more rational and able to think outside the box than quite a few of their friends, at least by his estimation)...that warms the depths of Grantaire's heart. It would be impossible for his gaze to be anything but soft, when regarding Enjolras. Soft and melancholy, but not lacking for that spark of hope.]

You underestimate my capability, Enjolras, and yet all the same, you are right. For you, though, I would pour my soul over your plans and problems.

[He sighs through his nose, knowing that the intent doesn't always match the action itself, and takes the bottle in hand again, extending it towards Enjolras.]

Prouvaire is having his own trouble sleeping, but he's found that the right company as helped. Have a drink and rest here, I've no need for my bed until the night.

[The bottle is ignored. It will take a more important occasion that this to tempt him to drink in the company of an alcoholic.

Instead he is concerned for their friend,]

Prouvaire is troubled? He has said nothing about it.

[He holds the bottle out for a second, as if waiting, but with the blatant rejection he goes for a sip himself, again. His eyes never leave Enjolras, not for a moment, as he shrugs and continues to talk.]

Prouvaire is always troubled, that is the nature of the poet. They are troubled by the wind, by a smile, by the lack of a smile or a misplaced flower. I've a mind to never take a troubled poet too seriously, lest I want to find myself at the receiving end of an endlessly over-dramatic speech about nothing at all. He is troubled though, none the less, and has been sleeping here when he sees fit. Apparently my drunken fits and inability to decide whether or not I prefer the company of others or the company of no one at all do him good. How much more harping must I do before you lay down and go take a damn nap?

[Nita has friends in Wood Sector, so she's a regular visitor. As Grantaire is settling into his window to heckle the passersby, Nita, dressed as revealingly as ever, is leaving the building across from him. Waving to whomever she's taking her leave of, she says something with a laugh before strolling out into the street proper.]

[He doesn't notice her, his eyes focused directly below his window. Should she come into range he might smile at her and comment about her state of undress, but for now? His faculties aren't focused quite enough to widen his field of vision.

[Wood Sector's not good for flying unless she wants to either dodge pedestrians or tree branches, and she doesn't feel like running an obstacle course today, so like a normal person, Nita uses the sidewalk, which, in an amazing coincidence none could have foreseen, will take her right past his window. At least try to be a charming drunk, Grantaire?]

[Charming and drunk don't usually go well together. So, when he sees her, he recognizes her and her distinct lack of clothes and puts his fingers to his mouth, whistling for her attention.]

Good afternoon, mademoiselle dessous.

[It's a pun, desous. Too bad the island would only translate it as underwear. Shame of all shames.]

Edited 2013-03-01 07:57 (UTC)

[Alcuin hears the calls from the window before he quite comes in view, and he is undeniably curious to see what's going on- why is there shouting? When he does reach the window that's the source of the noise he looks up and spots Grantaire. He can't help a laugh.]

Messire Grantaire, is it not? What are you doing?

[Grantaire just smiles at Alcuin from up above, leaning his hand against his hands against the windowsill with a degree of languid bliss. He hasn't been quite this drunk in a long time, or at least it feels like such.]

Oui, you remember my name I see. I can't say I remember yours but your face is far too pretty to escape me. I'm drinking and watching the people go by, that can't be too unusual on La Tortue.

{Alcuin laughs, amused by his response. He can tell how very drunk he is, he's not blind.] Oh, perhaps not, but the commentary is perhaps slightly more unusual. Do you find us all so very interesting?

[He snorts, nursing his bottle.] Then you've a distinct lack of the French here. We've perfected people-watching to the point that outdoor seating faces outwards not across the table, which I hear is a thing that people do, in Germany and England. Sit across from each other, rather than watching people go by.

And no, I don't find you all so very interesting. I do find the walls of this room boring though, and this is better than nothing.

There are four of you- and two of us who are near-cousins to it, I think, though perhaps we keep our people-watching under better wraps. [He laughs. He's definitely good at both watching people and not yelling at them from windows so they know they're being watched.]

And if the walls of your chambers are so dull, why do you not go outside? Surely there is somewhat better to do than this!

Unfortunately, I'm under doctor's orders not to exert myself, lest I want the stitches to pop open or something inside me to start bleeding profusely. Feel free to come up and tell me all about this near-cousins world of yours. Consider me bored enough to be interested.

[Though the truth of it is that he's very interested, but can't simply read about it on his own time.]

Ah. [Yes, the French boys did arrive in worse shape than he did- his wounds had closed.] Well, I cannot refuse to entertain an invalid, if you are certain you would not be bored by it. I shall come up. [He bows and goes to the door of the suite, wondering if it is locked.]

[Whether it's locked or not Grantaire doesn't know, but he goes to check anyway. He drinks his wine and opens the door to let Alcuin in before returning to his nook in the wood by his window. His suite is already a bit of a mess, but is more space than he knows quite what to do with. There are charcoals and paints lying around unused, papers with sketches crumpled, bottles here and there, clothes...but not enough to clutter such a vast space.

He hasn't inhabited a space like this since he lived with his parents, quite some time ago.]

Welcome. And to be clear, I'm certain I will be bored, but it's better than nothing at all.

[Alcuin looks around, but doesn't comment on the mess- it would be impossible to miss it, of course, but he doesn't want to be rude. Grantaire is his host, even if he's a very unconventional one.

He can't help a laugh, hidden behind his hand.]

You are very gracious, messire. I hope I can overcome your lack of confidence in my storytelling abilities.

[Since Grantaire seems to distracted to invite him to sit, he does anyway, finding a chair that doesn't have anything on it.]

No one hopes better than I do, otherwise I'll be in for a bore that puts me fast to sleep when I could be doing many other things.

[Which isn't, strictly speaking, true, but he gives Alcuin a drunk little smile, cradling his bottle to his chest.]

I'd offer you a drink but I'm already comfortable, you can get up and get one yourself no doubt, should you want one. Either way, you were going to tell me about your home? One that isn't quite Paris?

Such hospitality. I find myself quite moved.

[Alcuin shrugs and makes himself comfortable, adopting an unconsciously graceful pose in his chair.]

Well, our country began with Elua, who was the grandson of the One God, born of the blood of Yeshua ben Yosef and the Magdalene. He wandered the earth for a long while before being arrested and thrown into prison in the court of the King of Persis. Eight angels were moved by his plight and- in defiance of God's orders- left Heaven to save him. The eldest sister, Naamah, bartered one night with the king for Elua's freedom.

[Despite his almost constant state of being soaked in alcohol, Grantaire is much like a sponge. He absorbs what he sees and hears and commits them to memory, long enough to dwell on them later when he's alone, should he find the moment (and he usually does). It's how he manages to know the best places, the best people, the best courses of study without ever showing so much as an ounce of effort.

Because the fact of the matter is that he does pay attention, no matter how it seems or how he acts.

So he listens, slouching and cradling his bottle, eyes glazed over a bit from the muddled state of his brain. Maybe if he weren't muddled all the time, he could be worth something. He listens and he looks, because Alcuin really is beautiful. Stunning, really, and if he had met Alcuin years prior he might look at him differently.]

It sounds to me that your religion is simply an alternate version if Christianity, but with different names. Tell me that it gets more interesting than this, s'il vous plait.

[Alcuin is far too nice to be put out by Grantaire's seeming inattention. Of course an attentive audience is nice, but he is pretty sure that Grantaire really is listening.]

Then you are not listening. Christianity is not the same at all- it is your world's Yeshuism, I am told- worshipping the son of God, not the grandson. Elua is quite another matter, nurtured in the womb of the Earth. I do not deny there are ties, but it is not the same.

[Reproof sweetly delivered, he returns to the story. Hey, if Grantaire falls asleep at least he's getting the rest he needs to recover.]

The King of Persis released Elua as he had promised, in exchange for his night of pleasure, but he was frightened by the beauty and power of the Companions and Elua and got them drunk. When they fell asleep, he set them adrift on the sea in a boat.

[He scoffs a laugh, with another sip from his bottle after he had been twiddling with the paper label around it in his drunken state.]

Perhaps it's not like Christianity at all, like you say, but boundlessly better. If you're going to dedicate yourself to some state of disbelief it may as well be one where being a courtesan is a spiritual experience and drinking heavily is communion.

[He gets up then, looking around his things.]

Keep going, I'm listening.

I would not say if one religion is better than another- I know that following Blessed Elua suits me, and I doubt Yeshuism would. I do not know if Christianity would either.

[He watches Grantaire move around, continuing.]

When Elua awoke, he sang and dolphins came up from the depths and guided his boat to shore. After that, he wandered for many years, until he finally reached a gentle, fertile land with people that welcomed him rather than turning him away. He and his Companions made their homes there. The first seven Companions divided the land between them, each ruling a province. Only Cassiel remained at Elua's side as he traveled the land.

Christianity has the gift of suiting everybody and nobody at once, therefor allowing for numerous and varied interpretations, each which contradicts the last. You would do well to never find yourself in a room with a Greek Orthodox and a Protestant.

[Once he finds what he's looking for--fresh paper and a blunted pencil, he returns to his seat in a slouch and starts sketching.]

That sounds exotic.

It sounds as though it could be an exciting combination. I have no objection to a spirited debate, after all.

[He doesn't ask what Grantaire is drawing, but instead tries to think of where to continue the tale.]

Let's see, Elua and his Companions reigned happily in Terre d'Ange for some three-score years, mingling with the people and giving them the gifts and knowledge the angels had brought from Heaven. At the end of that time, the One God looked up from mourning his son and saw what was happening, and he did not like it. He sent an angel to bring Elua up to him.

Religious folk don't debate, they argue, Christians more than anyone else.

[He oh-so-casually adds before he lets Alcuin continue. He's drawing the line of his nose, the soft arch of his neck, his hair that hangs like silk. It's only a ruddy little sketch, and he's far the most talented man to ever study in Gros' atelier, but he's not without some talent, and not without trained skill--even if it took some beating into him for it to stick.]

I thought I asked you to tell me about your city, not about your wild religious fantasies, mon ami. Or is this one tediously long build up?

Oh, I do apologize. I suppose- like all d'Angelines- that I am somewhat too proud of my country.

[D'Angelines are snobs to the bone, nearly every one of them. Even Alcuin can't escape it.]

The City of Elua is named so because it was the only place that Elua would tarry in his travels. It is the capital, of course- no one can be declared monarch unless they are crowned there. It is a very beautiful place. Most would declare its crowning glory the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers on Mont Nuit- the thirteen finest pleasure-houses in the world.

You're Parisian, even under a different name I'd expect nothing less. [He reaches again for his bottle, enjoying his liquid addiction before his fingers find paper and pencil again. At Alcuin's story he chuckles, shaking his head.]

It's like the Orient in Paris. Go on, oh great odalisque.

Are Parisians so very proud of France?

[He laughs at being called an odalisque, but he's staying still since he can tell Grantaire is drawing him and he would hate to mess up the pose.] At the base of Mont Nuit is Night's Doorstep, where you find a great many wineshops and cheaper pleasure-houses. 'Tis, I am told, a haunt of itinerant poets and actors and others of that sort, and a lively place- though you must be careful of your purse.

Of course they are, are you lot not so very damn proud of your Elua? Paris may be a shining diamond of culture and social progress with the most sticky, sickly underbelly to match it's glittering exterior, but it's one of many and the best place we've got. You've happened upon the most patriotic bunch of Parisians you may ever meet, prepare yourself for a lecture should you try and ask any of my friends of Marianne's virtues. Avoid Jehan, he gets poetic.

[Poetic would be an understatement, of course, and he lingers on that word to make that entirely clear. He smudges shading with his fingertip, nail scraping against the paper.]

And this Night's Doorstep sounds my sort of place, with my sort of people.

[Alcuin laughs, covering his mouth with his hand though his dark eyes shine with amusement.]

Threatening me with poetry will do nothing to dissuade me. Indeed, I can only see it as encouraging- I am passing fond of poets and their work. I shall enjoy their patriotism, if it shows around me. It is pleasant to see what others take pride and pleasure in.

[He has never been one to begrudge others joy in anything.]

Yes, I think you would do well there. I wish I had spent time there myself, but I was not permitted to walk the city freely.

OPEN | We'll drink beyond the boundaries of sense

no subject

no subject

no subject

B(

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject