OPEN | We'll drink beyond the boundaries of sense

[cynisme]

Characters: Grantaire and YOU!
Date: February 21
Location: Wood sector, specifically the window of WO-2B
Situation: Grantaire is drunk and commenting out his window.
Warnings/Rating: None yet.

The wine on La Tortue is stronger than what he's used to.  It hits him harder and quicker, despite the amount of alcohol he's had in his system rather consistently since he first discovered the magic of drink.  It must be something in the water or in the way they make it that has him stumbling to the window quicker than he normally would, leaning against the sill with bottle in hand, watching people pass below.  

He can't help but call out at them, whether about their dress or whatever they happen to be doing.  It's the commentary that comes with the street below.

Comments

[virginprice]

{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?

[cynisme]

[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.

[virginprice]

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!

[cynisme]

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.]

[virginprice]

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.]

[cynisme]

[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.

[virginprice]

[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.]

[cynisme]

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?

[virginprice]

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.

[cynisme]

[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.

[virginprice]

[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.

[cynisme]

[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.

[virginprice]

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.

[cynisme]

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.

[virginprice]

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.

[cynisme]

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?

[virginprice]

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.

[cynisme]

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.

[virginprice]

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.

[cynisme]

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.

[virginprice]

[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.