Esmeralda dances to the rhythm of the tambourine (changewillcome) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-01-05 21:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, esmeralda, grantaire |
Who: Esmeralda, Grantaire, NPC!Clopin, NPC!Gringoire
What: Chaos
When: 5 January 2017, late at night
Where: The Court of Miracles
Warnings: Violence against Gringoire
Status: Log | Complete
It was one of those situations where Esmeralda probably should have seen it coming. Then again, she also had a tendency of sometimes not seeing what was right there in front of her. It had happened with Kitty and now… apparently Gringoire as well. She couldn’t even say what had prompted it really. She’d been a bit distracted during the day, though given she was pretty sure she was about to dream of yet another death? Well. It was distracting. Not enough to be noticeable to most, but enough that she was caught off guard when it all came to head.
It was nearing the end of the night, so most of the people still at the Court of Miracles were those who had become regulars, more familiar with the workings and dynamics of those who worked there. Esmeralda was behind the bar with Gringoire, Madellaine picking up some left behind glasses and Clopin keeping tabs on everyone who was there to ensure that nothing untoward happened.
The conversation she’d been having with Gringoire didn’t strike her as anything completely peculiar, just some advice giving really. And that was when it happened. Esmeralda had been about to go see if Grantaire wanted any water when Gringoire stopped her and then… kissed her.
What. The. Hell.
It was as if the entire Court went silent, still. An unspoken but always understood rule broken. Completely rigid, Esmeralda stepped back but before she could even question what had just happened, to let Gringoire down (she apparently had a habit of that), Clopin was behind the bar and between the two with murder in his eyes.
“Clopin, it’s fine, he just misunderstood!”
And now trying to keep Clopin from murdering Gringoire then and there.
***
R was facedown on the bar, coming down from being extremely drunk but getting closer to sober. He considered asking Esmeralda for another round - last one of the night, which is what he’d said about the last one, but she had to know better than to trust him when he said...anything, really. He turned his head and saw her already turning to him - the woman was psychic, he could swear, though he felt that way about many women honestly. Particularly the beautiful ones. But then there was Gringoire, poor Gringoire, suddenly addled in the head because he was touching Esmeralda, then grabbing her and kissing her.
Grantaire had never heard a room as quiet as the Court became, patrons and staff alike staring in confusion, or horror, or intrigue. A few looked positively gleeful as Clopin seemed to appear between them - Grantaire had long suspected the man had some sort of powers; knowing the OC, that was not out of the realm of possibility, but even back in France he had a knack for appearing when needed - and there were a few whispers about the apparent impending fight.
Though his brain was sluggish with drink, even R could see the rage in Clopin’s eyes, and R was not interested in dealing with the police at the moment. He managed to climb over the bar and situate himself between Clopin and Gringoire. “Clopin, mon homme, it is a misunderstanding, non? Ce pauvre vieux, he has lost his sense. The embarrassment of being denied in front of all of these people will be enough, I think, to make him think in the future. Ouais, Gringoire?” he called to the man behind him without looking away from Clopin.
***
Oh, Esmeralda knew Grantaire extremely well, which was why she also had been watering down his drinks. After a certain point, he wouldn’t notice. But let him think she was psychic. She just knew how to hide what she was doing extremely well.
The police were the last thing they needed. If anyone decided to take a serious look at their papers? Romani again would roam. So keeping the police out of this? Definitely a far better plan. Not that they could just say as much when there were customers there who weren’t aware of their particular circumstance. One never knew if someone would understand them even if they slipped into Romani as opposed to English or even French.
It was unsurprising that those who were still at the Court wanted to see how this played out. People who had gotten too fresh with Esmeralda had a tendency not to return after a speaking to from Clopin even if she would have handled it herself before. But the rules were different when it came to those under Clopin’s protection, which included Gringoire.
And there was Grantaire.
Gringoire tried to nod in agreement, however just as he did, he found himself headbutted by Djali, who seemed unimpressed that someone had decided to touch Esmeralda and that there was now tension going on.
“Djali!”
Who responded by sticking his tongue out at Gringoire. Oh good lord.
Meanwhile, Clopin really had no interest in being stopped.
“He knows the rules.”
***
Grantaire liked the goat, when the goat wasn’t being a shit to him. The goat was a surprisingly pleasant thing to get from the dreams. But the temporary humor of watching a man be mocked by a goat was lost when Clopin spoke again.
“The rules can be forgotten, when it is so late. And it is easy to forget yourself when you are in the presence of a beautiful woman. I have been so guilty in the past, I will be in the future. Is there a man - or woman, perhaps, if she is so inclined - who has not? They say things about glass houses, you know. Gringoire has learned not to let himself slip now, I am sure, but I will take him outside and let him breathe, he is too hot - perhaps he is sick? His brain is addled, we do not know why. Let us all calm down and then he will tell us what happened.” Grantaire dropped his voice, whispering in French, “And you can deal with him once the customers have left. Do you really want someone to call the police on you? What will happen to the others if you’re jailed, or worse? Vengeance can wait for when there are fewer eyes to see it.”
Hopefully the potential threat to the other members of the Court would be enough to sway Clopin away from doing anything stupid. For the moment, anyway, and hopefully given enough time to calm down he wouldn’t be doing anything stupid in the future either. Still, R raised his hands - placating, on the surface, but also to grab Clopin if he made any moves. Clopin was a good deal thinner than Grantaire, but R knew that he would only be able to hold him for so long. The man was slippery and all too happy to go for potshots to the groin and face.
***
Esmeralda really would prefer the ground just swallow her and she not have to deal with this. She felt bad for Gringoire, she did. How was she supposed to have known he’d been talking about her when he had asked her advice? And she certainly hadn’t said just kiss the person. The tension remained in the air, even as she shot Gringoire a warning look to agree to what Grantaire was saying if he wanted even a chance at surviving the night.
Grantaire was correct that the risk to the others was enough to give Clopin pause. He was still livid and one wrong move on the current bartender’s part was likely to make him lose his temper and actually do something drastic.
“Yes. I’m just feeling hot. The air is good.”
All of them knew in that small group, Madellaine as well as she’d come to try and get Djali away from the chaos, that it wasn’t him feeling sick or hot, it was still cool out this late in the night even as the snow had stopped. However it was an excuse and if it let him keep his head? Gringoire would take it.
“Let him go outside, Grantaire will speak to him and I can cover his shift at the bar.” And as tended to happen, Esmeralda was willing to give him that opening, to help him if necessary. For his part, Clopin remained still, eyes still murderous on Gringoire but no longer ready to strike.
“Bah. Splash some cold water on him while you’re at it.”
And the tension (mostly) broke. Gringoire was at least getting away with his life in that moment. A chance to get outside though it was clear he was meant to be watched.
“And Esmeralda, make sure your goat doesn’t make a mess of things.”
“Of course.”
***
“Will I bring the goat too?” Grantaire asked dryly, inching away from Clopin until he hit Gringoire and could lead him out, keeping his eyes on the other man. Just a few feet and then they’d be out, the possibility of having his face clawed off by Clopin significantly reduced. Also Gringoire probably wouldn’t be murdered for a few hours at least, but R didn’t particularly care about him at the moment since he was the entire reason R might get his face clawed off.
“You owe me a drink,” he murmured to Gringoire as he shoved him out the door, finally turning around so that they could flee into the night, Grantaire dragging Gringoire after him. “You owe me many drinks, and anything else that you can think of. I know that you know people, you will treat me well.”
They finally stopped a few blocks away when Grantaire deemed them, loosely, safe, and pulled out his phone to text Esmeralda to tell him when it was alright to return. He didn’t doubt that they had a few hours to spare, so he clapped Gringoire on the back and said, “You are a man who was just rejected. You need a drink as well. We will start to repay your debts now.”
***
Clopin grunted in annoyance at the question about Djali before waiting until the two were out to let people know that all was well, no need to fret, and things of that nature. Even, as much as it pained him, a drink on the house. That done, he seemingly disappeared, to cool off or plot murder, no one could really know for sure.
As for Esmeralda, she was just relieved there was no bloodshed that had gone on before noting the text on her mobile. For now she was just going to keep a tab on everything and pray that Clopin would see reason. Especially since he trusted so few people that he would ever think of hiring outside those of them who had travelled to America together.
And while Gringoire wasn’t completely sure he should let Grantaire get drunk (Esmeralda would give him a look), he also knew he did owe the man so just let himself be dragged along. And getting drunk after the fact he was rather humiliatingly rejected (though Esmeralda could have just said what she did to spare him Clopin, ah perpetual denial), a drink wasn’t so bad.
A few hours did go by and soon it was closing time and Clopin seemed less homicidal than he had been. Which okay, seemed wasn’t completely a positive. And even if he wasn’t homicidal, whatever punishment he decided to dole out was sure to be harsh. Even so, Esmeralda waited until it seemed Clopin was in for the night before sending Grantaire a text to let him know it was safe to return.
***
Gringoire did not let Grantaire get drunk, unfortunately, but they did share some drinks together and the night seemed better than it had seemed like it was going to be before. When he got the confirmation text from Esmeralda, he paid their tab (“You are a man who has been denied, I know that feeling, I will not make you pay for your drinks if you promise not to make me pay for mine the next time I am rejected”) and then dragged Gringoire back to the Court. Everything was dark and quiet, the customers gone for the evening and the other employees tucked away in their own corners of the building. Hopefully Clopin was securely tucked away as well. He started leading Gringoire down to his rooms, not trusting the man not to do something incredibly fucking stupid like try to seek Esmeralda out again, and also not trusting Clopin to not be sharpening an axe in his bedroom either.
***
As wounded as his pride was, Gringoire knew better than to try anything. He was already going to need to figure out how to appease Clopin, which at the moment was undoubtedly going to be a feat unto itself. He also agreed to the terms set, to pay for the drinks should Grantaire get rejected. He just wanted to get to his room and wallow, and pray.
Clopin had passed the murder stage. Livid, yes, but no murder. He was well aware of when the two men showed up and Grantaire was leading Gringoire to his room. He could hear their footsteps. He also knew Esmeralda had been keeping tabs on everything as she tended to do, even being the youngest of those there.
And Esmeralda? She was awake, Djali having gone into her room to sleep while she remained waiting to make sure the two got in and weren’t going to kill themselves because of how drunk they were. Yes, she was sitting in the dark, head against her door until she heard the two coming down the stairs, which had her stand up.
Even in the darkness, Gringoire could sense Esmeralda there and he could feel himself getting hot in the face again. Oh humiliation.
“I can make it from here.” It was clear why Grantaire was coming all the way down here. To keep an eye on him. Well, he just went into his room after that.
Sighing, Esmeralda shook her head some.
***
“Non, non,” Grantaire tutted, “I am your guardian. Also you might be holding me up. I drank more than I should have, I think, but we will not tell anyone that, hein?” He shook his head. He would prefer to be even more gone, and he had a flask in his pocket that he was going to put to good use when he got to the room they’d all but given him - vodka, only drunk when he was feeling particularly low, as it was his mother’s poison of choice and it tasted and smelled like bad memories. It was just the way that he was feeling these days.
He, too, sensed someone in the hallway, tensing up and clutching Gringoire’s arm a little harder, just in case. But no, he could just barely make out a small figure, long haired - not Clopin, but Esmeralda, and he lessened his hold. “Things are well, ma cherie?” he whispered to her, just to make sure that the coast was entirely clear.
***
“Of course not.” He didn’t need Esmeralda to be any more mad at him which she would have been if she knew just what the drinking had entailed of, even if he hadn’t let Grantaire get completely drunk, he knew that she kept tabs on it because she worried. The tightening hold on his arm caused him to wince, even if it was meant as a way to be able to move him should Clopin have been the one in the darkness. Then the grip loosened and he just hung his head because he really just wanted this night to end.
As for Esmeralda, she understood the whispered question. How could she not with everything that had happened? Men had been kicked out for far less than what Gringoire had done.
“They are.” In a no one would be dying way. At this point though? It was probably going to be a fate worse than death, but without the risk of drawing unnecessary attention from law enforcement.
***
Grantaire nodded and patted Gringoire on the back. “I will release you then, monsieur, to lick your wounds. The sun will rise and everything that they say to people in your situation. Bonne nuit.” And he released him into the night.
After Gringoire departed, Grantaire sighed and slumped against the wall. Excitement was never a good thing in his book, he never had the energy for it and actively avoided it if he could, and at the moment the night had worn him thin. He felt weary down to his bones, and yet his job was not yet dawn.
This was why he didn’t do responsibility. It was too difficult.
So instead of falling asleep in the hallway, or finding a room and drinking himself to sleep, or maybe even heading back to his apartment, he turned his head towards the shadow of Esmeralda. “And you, ma cherie, you are well? It has been an evening for you as well.”
***
Watching as Gringoire disappeared into his room, Esmeralda turned her gaze to the where the outline of Grantaire was and noted he was coming towards her. That was the question, wasn’t it? She hadn’t really put much thought into everything that had happened earlier in the night. Of course, that had something and everything to do with how fast it went down, the need to keep Clopin calm and then just worrying. But was she?
“Aren’t I always?”
Which was a typical Esmeralda response. She never really took the time to examine how something personally affected her. There was always someone else who was suffering more. In this case, because of her rejection. That would undoubtedly bother Gringoire more than the looming threat of whatever Clopin would come up with.
***
“What is the phrase? ‘You cannot bullshit a bullshitter.’ The Americans are so expressive, non?” Grantaire chuckled. “But you do not have to speak of it if you do not wish.”
He watched her for a moment, in the darkness. “Do not worry for him. I am a man who is rejected every day, and who has been rejected by most of the people in his life. You were far kinder to him than most would be. Quiet your thoughts, ma cherie, and leave them for the morning. Pretend that you are me and forget all of your cares and about everyone else.” He smiled at her, a little bit bitterly, but in the darkness she couldn’t see. That suited him fine.
***
“That they certainly are.” There were a lot of different phrases the Americans had that she was still learning, often complicated because of the dual meanings of some words depending on the context. And she was given the reprieve of not having to discuss just what had happened. She was used to it from customers, often more lewd in nature. But for someone she did care for? It was harder to accept to know she had caused them pain even if she were being honest.
And just as she might not be able to see the bitterness in the smile, Grantaire would not be able to see the look she was giving him when he said that he would forget his cares and about others. She knew that he did care, he just tried not to. He didn’t like admitting it. So instead she just took his hand to squeeze and went on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“Still. Thank you.”
For helping with Gringoire. For the quote unquote pep talk to calm her own concerns.
***
“De rien, ma cherie,” R said, touching her waist as she settled back down. “Take me to my room, it is too dark and I do not know how you can see. I will hurt myself if I try to go there on my own.” He wanted to ask her to sit with him a while, to talk and distract him for a little bit, to not leave him alone with his thoughts, but if he did then she would worry and she had her own needs to attend to after that evening. So instead he let her lead him down the winding hallways and to the spare room, bid her goodnight, and flopped onto the bed to stare into the darkness. By now he welcomed it like an old friend, albeit the type of friend that always asked for money and favors and never paid when its time came due, and who talked him into doing things. Still, it was a friend, and Grantaire did so care for his friends. It was one of the only good things about him.
He kept his ears open for any commotion until he finally settled enough for a few hours of restless sleep.