Grantaire has a vague amibition (drinkwithme) wrote in the100, @ 2015-10-31 22:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, enjolras (musical), grantaire (musical) |
Who: Enjolras and Grantaire
When: 27th October, after this
Where: One of the Warehouses
What: Talking, and feels. Internalised feels.
Rating: F for FEELS!
Status: Complete when posted
Grantaire was filled with excitement about the treasures he had found among the warehouses. And, he wanted to share them with his Apollo. He’d been able to tell that Enjolras was not quite himself. He was feeling guilty about leading their friends to their deaths. And, maybe in some part he should. But, Grantaire as usual wanted to be of service to the man he so regularly compared to a greek god. To a statue. And, maybe seeing the beautiful things that humanity had saved from the brink of destruction would help. And, this was why in spite of the impatience that was coursing through him, he was instead leaning nonchalantly against the wall near where he had said he would meet Enjolras. Bottle of the moonshine that was the main thing they seemed to make here, clutched in one hand and subconsciously raised to his lips every so often. Even though he knew this would likely exasperate his friend. Even more than he had already this day. Not that that would make a change. ~~~ Enjolras hated the nickname. He wasn’t a god. He wasn’t marble. He was simply a man who had believed in a free France. He had lead his friends to the barricades and to their deaths and he was unsure what happened now. What came next in a world like this? Who was he without the fight? He supposed that was what he’d need to work out. And what came next would fall into place. For now though, it seemed what came next was viewing paintings with his friend. A man who exasperated him, who wasted his talent. Who seemed to get a great, almost twisted joy in irritating him. The bottle didn't help of course but it was rare that he was seen without one. He knew why of course, in some part at least. He was able to, on occasion see past the cynic. A true cynic would have walked away, let the National Guard believe him dead too and saved himself. Enjolras didn’t know why Grantaire so believed in him but it seemed that he did. “Must you? Surely it dulls your appreciation of the art if nothing else?” ~~~ There was so much that Grantaire knew Enjolras did not see. He didn’t see how or why Grantaire saw him as a god. He thought the nickname a form of mockery. And, while Grantaire always made it seem as such it was far from the truth. Because the truth was that Grantaire did indeed see him as a god, a statue made of cold, hard marble that he could not touch. His unwavering belief and passion in his cause never ceased to amaze the older man. At Enjolras’s words he looked at the bottle in his hand, as if he had forgotten it was even there. Which in truth, he had. As having a bottle was so habitual to him he very rarely actually thought about it. And, with a briefly quizzical look, he actually turned and put the bottle down on a nearby table. “I’ve had enough.” He replied. “Not that it impairs my appreciation at all. Not sure I’d know how to appreciate anything sober.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, before clasping his friend on his shoulder, guiding him out the door. ~~~ “Well, lets see shall we?” he suggested, actually impressed the bottle had been discarded while still containing alcohol. Perhaps his passion for art was one of the few things that outdid his need to drink. Enjolras firmly believed it to be a need more than a wish. But he also hoped one day to figure out a way to help him through whatever plagued his friend so. Now that he had time, no that there was no cause for him to fight for but the defence of this mountain. Grantaire would tell him to find a new passion but he was unsure what that might be. He let Grantaire guide him from the room, the other man knew where the paintings were after all, he’d seen some over the last week of course and knew them to be impressive works of art but he hadn’t really stopped to consider anything more than that. They were paintings to him, to Grantaire he believed they were stories, windows into another life. And it was good to see him happy. One of them should be. “Tell me what you have found then? What paintings? Or must I see them first? Art has never quite held my interest in the way it holds yours. But I am willing to be amazed.” ~~~ Of course, there were many reasons why Grantaire had discarded the bottle. One of those being he could tell alcohol was not unlimited in this future. And, he wasn’t sure how long he needed to make the bottle last. The other being, that the last time he’d drunk himself into oblivion his friends had been slaughtered while he slept. While he knew he likely could not give up his dependency of the so-called devil drink. He felt that perhaps actually getting drunker than his usual state of inebriation was not desirable to him anymore. Still, he kept his arm around Enjolras as they left the Food Hall. The touch anchoring him in some way. He’d always been good at putting on the false facade of happiness and joviality. It was partly what the alcohol was for. Keeping the world at bay. Stopping people from expecting too much from him. But, his moral back-bone and beliefs had been attached to another for too long. That when Enjolras wavered, he wasn’t sure what to do. So, he was sinking himself into the beauty of this place. The only thing allowing him to believe it was real was the fact that it was nothing he ever could have imagined in a million years. “It would take many poets greater than I to properly describe what I have found. You would have to see it to fully appreciate. And even you, mon amis, will find some appreciation in it. Even if it is just the appreciation that humanity took such effort to preserve such beauty in the face of such destruction as has been wrought here,” He began, “But, as we have a brief journey through the mountain, I will endeavour to do my best to prepare you for the wonders we will see.” And his best he did, his mouth barely stopped moving in his descriptions of the various things he had discovered. Not that he understood half of what he’d found. The technology aspect of it, anyway. Those things were far beyond his experience. It was almost like in the second chance, he was determined to keep Enjolras’s new found faith in him. The faith he only seemed to have discovered when he gave his life for him. With him. ~~~ It was comforting to see his friend so passionate about things again. Perhaps this place would be good for Grantaire. Perhaps here he could finally find something to focus him. It was something he had long hoped Grantaire would find at home. Listening to him describe the various ‘wonders’ as he named them did actually make Enjolras look forward to seeing the various things. And he’d never really cared about art before, he’d always been more interested in literature and political history. Stories of great leaders, stories of struggle against seemingly unwinnable odds. But now he wasn’t sure if he could read that kind of thing again. He was no great leader. Truth be told since coming here he had sunk into somewhat of a depression. He wasn’t sure what his next move was. He’d never been without a plan, without a fight, and though working with the command structure was good for him and interesting work. He wasn’t sure if it would be enough to content him. He couldn’t change anything. Or lead. For once it seemed he was the cynic. But it wouldn’t do for Grantaire to see that in him. The other man seemed to have such faith in him, and he’d done well in the short time he was here. So for Grantaire he would pretend that nothing had change. He’d found on the barricade that he was able to show a front of hope, of strength he had not altogether felt. And he would do that now. “I think that I will enjoy it. You describe it all so expertly after all. And you were always a good poet. You the poet, the wordsmith. I suppose I was more the orator. Able to speak from the heart. But I couldn’t craft words and pictures as you do. It’s a talent. It's one you have time to nurture here and I hope you might take that chance. I have faith that you will.” ~~~ As on the barricade, Grantaire could tell something wasn’t right. But, unlike on the barricade, he didn’t broach the subject. They weren’t going to die here. Or at least, not any time soon. And, he wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with his Apollo. He almost wondered if he should start an argument with him. Not that he’s know what about anymore. Back home they at least could argue about how the entire idea of revolution was pointless. But, here. What was there for Enjolras to….and there it was. The thoughts clicked into his head. His Apollo didn’t have a cause, a fight to believe in anymore. Because, however much he played the fool, he was not as dim-witted as he would occasionally let people believe. Just drunk most of the time. “I’ve always had time to nurture it. I just. had other things I would sometimes rather do.” Although, the compliment may well have gone to his head. That was at least two in a week. A rare thing indeed. “Poetry, art, orating. All of those things are better when you have passion behind it. When you feel what you are giving to the world. I didn’t have that for a very long time. For all my skill, what I accomplished was trifling at best.” “Ah, here we are.” He held the door wide for Enjolras to enter behind him, gesturing at the rows and rows of shelves full of paintings. ~~~ Other things indeed. Drinking and women. He’d hoped Grantaire would make more of himself. But there was darkness in his friend’s past that he did not like to talk about. And who was Enjolras to push it. “Those things weren’t exactly the best distractions” he suggested, trying to be as delicate with the topic as he could be. “But if my cause, if...I was something you could believe in then I am glad I could help you. But really, less of the Apollo. You know how I feel about it.” That was of course the problem. He knew exactly, and seemed to enjoy his exasperation far too much to be normal. “The poetry was good. If as you say, once lacking passion, honesty. It changed though. And I’d thought perhaps you found contentment. Happiness perhaps.” There was an unspoken question, had that contentment all been towards him. But it was one Enjolras did not want to ask. Such things were not a topic to broach so soon after everything that had gone between them. And not when Grantaire was finally so excited about something. Besides which he was unsure he wanted to hear an honest answer. “Show me your favourite. I know you have been through most of these already and have found one you prefer to the others. I should like to see it.” ~~~ “They served their purpose. And they were certainly fun.” Grantaire smirked at Enjolras, raising an eyebrow. Well aware of the view his friend had of such endeavours. And, not really caring. “But, if you think I’m going to stop comparing you to the gods, you might have been the one to have had too much wine, mon amis.” He turned to look at Enjolras then, leaving the comment about contentment hanging for a moment, the unasked question almost palpable between them. Grantaire had not always been subtle about the way Enjolras was the one thing he believed in. The one thing that gave his life purpose. But, there were still things left unsaid. Unthought of, except in the dead of night before drifting off into sleep. Things he barely even admitted to himself. Was the reason his life centred solely around the younger man more than he let either of them believe? That Enjolras knew he loved him, was not a question that needed asking, he’d told him so. But, as a brother, as a friend. Those were the things Grantaire chose to let them both believe. It was easier than the inevitable rejection a confession of any other type of feelings would cause. Then, nodding he turned back to the rows of paintings. Flipping through them to try and find the one that had specifically caught his eye earlier that day. He wondered briefly if he would be allowed to take it to hang in his room. Maybe he would ask later. Or, he thought as he glanced up at Enjolras through his eyelashes, maybe he would get Enjolras to hang it in his. ~~~ He decided quickly it was better to just let that question lie. There was no point in pushing the issue and he of course did not know what he could possibly say. In that way perhaps he was the marble Grantaire had often said he was. Conversations about such things were nothing he knew how to answer. He knew it went on, he knew some of what transpired behind Parisian doors. And he didn’t care for a god, any god, so from that side of things... But it was just complicated. In so many ways. He was not as blind as people believed. They had said his Mistress was Patria and so she was. But he knew what love was. He had seen it in the little gamine who followed Marius around. He had seen some approximation of it in Marius that one day even if it seemed beyond foolish. He just didn’t need it for himself. Didn’t feel it would benefit his life to involve oneself in that which made a love last. But his heart was not marble. “I suppose then I should be glad my admirers could accommodate you?” he suggested almost amused. “Godly as I am perhaps they couldn’t cope” Joking about it seemed the easier way to move on from the topic, though he was unsure if Grantaire had ever seen him joke. It seemed he was full of surprises today. He watched Grantaire search for the painting, and when it was finally found smiled softly, it was very him. Colourful yet seemingly tumultuous. At least that’s what he saw. What did he know of art? ~~~ Grantaire stared at him. Was that a joke? An actual real joke? He was unsure if he’s ever seen Enjolras joke, and if he had not for a very long time. At least not with him. He’s always been too wrapped up in the seriousness of his cause. Even if he did crack a smile at Grantaire’s antics, occasionally. He still did not actually make jokes. Then, after a couple of beats, Grantaire laughed heartily. “So, he does know how to joke. I learn something new everyday. Perhaps I should start calling you Gelos now instead?” But, the joke faded as he saw the soft smile on Enjolras’s face. He could count the times he had been smiled at like that by him on one hand. The last time right before they were shot by the firing squad. When he gave him permission to die beside him. The time before that, the night before the final curtain. He had the feeling it meant he was doing something right. But, it also reminded him of those things. Those things he’d been trying to not think about too much, lest he fall into a depression. Enjolras seemed to be doing that enough for the both of them. Still, the painting was forgotten as Grantaire without even thought or consideration took the two steps needed to cross the space between them and throw his arms around his friend. For that brief moment he needed to be anchored. Remember that they were alive, and their friends could join them at any minute, and only one person could do that for him. And then, within a moment, he stepped back grinning. And, continued to show the rest of the treasure trove to Enjolras. |