Enjolras (capable d'être terrible) (revolutionary) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-05-01 07:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !delivery, !log, enjolras, simon grantaire |
Who: Enjolras & Grantaire
When: Backdated to Monday Night
Where: Grantaire's Room
What: Dinner
Rating: Low
Enjolras stood with one hand on the corner of the sofa, examining the fact that it had been pulled out from the wall to allot for enough space for a stack of pillows, a blanket and a few boxes of crackers to be tucked in behind. He wondered if he ought to ask what the business behind all of that was, even if he decided the answer might be more odd than the rearranged furniture. Grantaire's flat was a mystery of strange goings-on and alcohol smells that stained themselves into the walls like tobacco smoke. Denis took a deep breath, shook his red jacket from his shoulders to splay it across the armrest before settling down into the corner of the sofa and pulling his knees in close so Grantaire could walk past the small space between where he sat and the coffee table. His friend sat in the very middle, setting down the bags of food, the glasses, the wine all in front of them. While Grantaire unsheathed white Styrofoam containers and served, Enjolras slid closer, letting the side of his knee rest against Simon's, and reached for the wine bottle and opener to cut off the seal and open the drink. "I've thought, perhaps, I ought to find a place to work or -- or extend the class I'm taking with Combeferre into something more permanent and return to school in this place." He said, fighting with the wine bottle. He was, he felt, slowing beginning to absorb New York and the 21st Century. It hadn't been easy and there were still a number of ideals or ideas that weighed on or frustrated him. He hadn't yet read the book he was from -- had not attempted the film -- but he did allow himself the chance to listen to a recording of the musical, now that that was brought to his attention. That had been all right, but it was not the past that puzzled him. The future and the now, Grantaire's flat and the warmth of his knee, the changes in France and strange insistences on the Tower network -- these were all concepts and concerns that seemed far more pressing than a book about a part of his life; particularly when he already knew the ending. "But I don't know at all the avenue where I ought to begin. I'm not quite sure if I feel less or more lost than I did when I arrived. The more I learn about this place, the less everything seems to -- " He paused because he realised it all sounded like a complaint when he hadn't meant it so. When he discovered new concepts or truths, objectionable at times, it was nearly unnerving to see how unconcerned Grantaire was by any of it. He knew, of course, who the man was and hoped he knew what that meant -- but he had no idea at all how he managed it. He knew it wasn't the wine only, because he'd drank enough now to realise that he did not become more complacent or smooth with an over abundance, but louder and more rigid. "Well." Enjolras sighed and reached across Grantaire's lap to fetch the wine glasses off the table. He rested one along the groove between his knees as he poured for his friend first. "What might you suggest I do?" |