Enjolras isn't a statue, really (solo_patria) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-01-04 23:29:00 |
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Current mood: | sick |
Entry tags: | !complete, enjolras |
Who: Enjolras
What: A dream and waking up sicker
Where: his new place/Paris 1832
When: Friday Night
Perhaps it had been the reading lately, or the NyQuil Enjolras had started gulping last night when his chest acted up, and his lungs had started in with the burning, but either way, once he had fallen asleep, he found himself in the same clothing he'd been wearing that day he and Courfeyrac had walked with Marius discussing Rousseau and bastards.
Today, there was a larger crowd around, and it was him and Marius who stood discussing, not discussing...singing...having a singing discussion about the angry crowd around them, the teaming of life surrounding them, the poor and downtrodden needing help and needing it now.
"Where Are The Leaders Of The Land, Where Are The Swells Who Run This Show?" Enjolras demanded, as he and Marius strolle through this mess, books in hand, and angry for the sake of the poor, angry that no one who COULD do anything was doing it. It angered him, and it ached like a wound somewhere deep down inside of him, the kind of thing that he would fight for and soon, even before he'd passed the bar.
Marius answered him back, also in song, something about General Lemarque, who was near death already and the last support of the people outside of Enjolras, Marius, and the others (others? Which others?) and it could only lead to one all important question.
As Enjolras looked again at the people around them, beggars, whores, workers, children running nearly naked through the streets and starving and waited as the general suffered illness, it lead to one and only one question in his mind.
"With all the anger in the land, how long before the judgement day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size, before the barricades arise?" He asked, sang, and sang his heart out apparently, enough that he sat bolt upright gasping for air and still in the blanket fort he'd only left to grab the essentials. What the hell had that been? What the hell was this THING he'd managed to pick up? He went for the bottle of medicine and a glass of water, hoping they would help to calm his lungs down, even as the urge to claw at his throat and open up a hole the air could get through got even bigger.
This was impossible to deal with, and he didn't have the time to be sick, not with the food drive coming, and the semester, his first since he'd gotten arrested, starting next week, and the articles he'd promised due in a few days. He wasn't going to BE sick, he decided, not now. Instead, since he was up already, Enjolras made his way toward the shower thinking steam might help and then wake him up enough to get some writing done. If nothing else, he'd manage that, he thought, even as he forced himself to keep on stepping forward.