Under the Sea (Open)

[poeticverses]

Characters: Jehan, Grantaire, Byrn, and everyone who wants to join them!
Date: April 23rd, midmorning to late evening
Location: The edge of the turtle!
Situation: Swimming! A picnic! A party!
Warnings/Rating: I'm going to rate this PG-13 for naked/nearly naked people, alcohol, and smoking. Also R's mouth. And apparently terrible mythological comparisons.

[Jehan has never been this happy, he doesn't think. The ocean. The blue, warm ocean. He gets to see it again, gets to swim in it with his friends, gets to enjoy it. He's so happy.

Of course, he's taking a long moment to shed anything but his coat once the group gets to the edge. It's a beautiful shade of blue and he can't not admire it.]


((ooc: go crazy!))

Comments

[cynisme]

Why yes, I would say that you do. [If you think your logic is going to faze Grantaire now, when he's actually in a good enough mood to rebuttal and drink some more, you are mistaken.] I have yet to meet a poet who hasn't dreamed of reforming the lost and depraved. I cannot speak for why you do what you do, but I may just postulate. Perhaps, oh perhaps, dear Jehan, you keep my company and visit because you are terribly bored on this turtle, or because you are willing to be a martyr for yet another cause, that of my immortal soul.

[poeticverses]

[Jehan actually snorts at that]

Why on earth would I want to be a martyr for your immortal soul? I am a Romantic, Guillaume, not a priest. I am, in fact, the farthest from a priest one can be without going into a native's religion.

[He rolls over]

As for boredom, well, I would have to be a very sick sort of man to find enjoyment in a friend's despair.

[cynisme]

All of you Romantics are priests of something. Not of Christ, maybe, but of love, hope, sublime nature and the world that beats like a bleeding heart. It is in your blood and bile, this need to be passionate and devout.

[When Jehan rolls over, Grantaire shoves him lightly with his foot. For emphasis.]

And yes, you would have to be. It's funny how I pick my friends, or how my friends pick me I should say.

[poeticverses]

I hardly consider myself a priest of anything. Worshiper, perhaps, but not a priest.

[He kicks back]

It is a good thing, then, that I am not a sick man at all. Lovesick, at times, but otherwise I am perfectly healthy both in body and in mind.

[cynisme]

And is a priest not an worshiper impassioned to the point of preaching into the abyss? i would say that fits you well enough. As for your health, I would beg to differ. We are all sick men, simply by nature of being Parisian youth.