Musichetta (cartomancienne) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-03-15 01:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, courfeyrac, musichetta |
Who: Andre Courfeyrac and Musichetta
Where: Chez Musichetta/Joly/Bossuet
What: Advice. And wine.
When: 3/14
Warnings/Rating: PG for talk of emotional abuse and underage drinking.
Status: Complete
Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if it was the dreams, or the whole Catholic guilt thing that had erupted lately or something else entirely, but he’d been bothered by the fact that he hadn’t been quite truthful with his friends about a lot of things lately...well, EVER, on some counts. He felt especially bad about not telling JEHAN some of these things but he couldn’t imagine telling him about this first, more because he hated himself for lying than because he didn’t trust his boyfriend. Either way though? It was crappy. HE had been pretty crappy.
And it was probably better to get it off his chest with someone who wasn’t as close to the situation as most of les amis, so, Musichetta’s invitation had come at the perfect time. She was a friend, and one he adored and trusted but she also was a little more removed from the situation so she’d be more objective probably. Or something. Either way, he was making his way over to the place where she, Bossuet and Joly lived and knocking.
“Chetta, darling! I’ve arrived!”
Musichetta had been practicing “Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante”, and at first she hadn’t heard the knock. When she stopped singing, though, she heard Courfeyrac’s voice. “Coming!” she called, closing the music stand and coming down to the door.
When she opened it, she saw him looking his normal self, though he looked maybe a bit tired. “Bonjour, cheri.” She kissed him on both cheeks, as she would have in France, beckoning him inside. “Come up here; mon Aigle is still in class, I think, and cher Jolllly is observing at the medical clinic, if I recall. I have some good Bordeaux.” She grinned.
Courfeyrac had noticed that HE did that sort of thing in the dreams, and when he had? He had been reminded of Musichetta and so he hadn’t been all that baffled by it. He’d already been in the habit of hugging everyone after all.
“It’s good to see you!” he said, pulling her into a deep hug. Their paths hadn’t really crossed this semester after all, so Chetta coming to the network had been good. “That sounds really really nice.” he told her. “You always have the best wines after all.” ...And he’d really just started CARING about wines since the dreams, but now that he had had them? He’d gotten sort of a palate in real life enough to have known that what Musichetta kept was good. ...He ought to mention their part to her too. “How ARE you besides what I already know? Rehearsals started yet?”
“Next Monday.” Chetta smiled at him, gesturing to her chair; she’d been sitting on her sofa, while a big armchair lay in the corner. “Joly just disinfected my chair, so it should be perfectly fine to sit upon.” Her tone was indulgent, but she turned to him. “Papa sends me a few bottles of wine - I mean, really, I’m French. Some stereotypes are just that, but we really can’t live without our wine.” She laughed, talking as she got a couple of glasses down from the cabinet in the kitchen. “How about you? What about your sweet Jean Prouvaire, mm?”
That was Joly for you, Courfeyrac thought, amused as he eyed the chair. “You’re sure I won’t get some sort of germs on it he’ll recognize and flee from?” He joked. Really, it was JOLY, you never could tell and it was one of those things about his friend that he found both amusing and kind of cute. After all, they were ALL kind of weird so you just went with it, and after a while it was the best thing ever.
“How could one live without wine?” he asked. “It seems like some sort of tragedy to me. At least now that I’ve gotten an appreciation for it.” As for Jehan, well... “Jehan and I are good. He’s making a hat for LaMarque and a favor for me to wear to the duel so I can put one of his curls in it. It’s so very romantic.” He almost did swoon there. Call it overdramatic and campy but Jehan just made him WANT to do that sort of thing.
“I don’t think so.” Chetta had to laugh. “And even if so, it’s my chair. He won’t sit on it. Unless he sits upon Bossuet first.” She wouldn’t go into some of the things that had gone on in that chair. “I have no problem indulging him, really.” She loved him. She’d fallen in love with Joly first, with his charm and shyness and his want to protect her. And then Bossuet had come into her life, and she’d loved him for his sweetness and optimism, his patience and placidity. Between them she felt like a queen, and she adored them both.
But first, Courfeyrac. “It is all very romantic!” Chetta laughed, pouring the wine and bringing the glasses back in. “Will Jehan swoon into your victorious arms, should Enjolras be the one soaked?”
“Then that’s probably safe. Possibly.” Courfeyrac snickered. “I don’t know, I can imagine somehow that this chair will pose a safety hazard for your poor eagle somehow and someday. As it is?” He climbed into the chair, literally, into, and was hugging his knees comfortably, “I rather like it. Disinfecting doesn’t do it any damage certainly.”
He accepted his glass with a little nod of thanks. “I should hope so. I’d love to carry him around the quad during my victory lap.” He was put out with Enjolras for converting what he had seen as a chance to seriously show off with a really blunt blade, but he was also willing to go with it. Enjolras had been weirdly testy again since he’d gotten back from DC. Who knew, right?
“Everything is a safety hazard for mon Aigle, Courfeyrac.” Chetta grinned, sitting on the sofa across from the chair. “That chair is from my room in Paris. Papa took some furniture with him when he was posted here, so I asked him to bring that. Just that.”
She crossed her legs, taking a pull of the wine, smiling. “Mm. Magnifique. But you are well? The papal election seemed to upset you. And not just because of the man’s human rights record.” It was to Ambassador Beaulieu’s everlasting sadness that Musichetta had sworn off being a Catholic, but she still kept abreast of news.
“It did a bit.” Courfeyrac admitted, sipping the wine as he curled in the chair a little. “The confirmation things aren’t likely to change, I suppose. It makes things difficult again, really.” he didn’t know how to put it into words exactly, but, “It reminds me of some things I’d rather not consider, perhaps. That Jehan and I are obviously not about to go to mass together any time soon.” He laughed a little then, idly swirling and watching the wine in his glass.
“Not that we WOULD, I don’t think. But the option to have that exist would have been nice. “ And it wasn’t so much just about the Catholic church being the Catholic church. He’d have been being unrealistic if he had thought differently. “It brings other factors into play I guess, that I’m not welcome there unless I change completely. “
“Is that all that worries you?” Chetta looked over at him. “I know you are a religious man, Courfeyrac, but I would think it less about religion that it is about God. No one has a monopoly on what le bon Dieu thinks is right. Though I would take issue with the idea that you would have to change completely. Your relationship with a man is not what defines you.” Or did he mean there were other things he would have to change?
“Of course it isn’t, and God and I are all right, really. I don’t need a church to confirm that I love him, or that I fall in love with beautiful people no matter what their gender is. Or to tell me that it’s wrong. It isn’t. The church is more like...a reminder I suppose. It’s depressing, sure, but it’s something that only makes me a little sad sometimes.” God had come through when Enjolras and Joly and Marius had gotten better, he reminded himself, so obviously it wasn’t a matter of God disapproving of any love.
“It’s more the reminder that, I don’t know. There are places I don’t belong. And I don’t even mean because of Jehan. I didn’t belong there before him.” Then he shook his head a little. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting this on you. I’m incredibly maudlin right now.” He took a long sip of wine, partly to steady himself.
Chetta cocked her head to one side. “Courfeyrac, you’re not making any sense at all. You belong wherever life allows you to go. Which certainly includes my front room.” She went over to ease onto the arm of the chair next to him. Her first instinct was to touch and hug, and he could refuse if he didn’t want it.
Courfeyrac leaned into the hug, resting his head on her shoulder a minute. That kind of
hug was the kind that Joly and Bossuet couldn’t possibly object to, right? It was more like clinging to one of them might have been if he had done it ever and certainly was less involved than how he clung to Jehan more and more these days.
“It just reminds me, all of this of, I don’t know how to put this, home I guess.” And then there came the part he’d basically admitted online, where he had lied about most of his family life to his friends, for as long as he’d known them. “Well, not home. Home’s here now with the kitten and with Jehan, even though he doesn’t QUITE live there right now.” And you know, his roommate too, but not in the same way at all. “But what used to be home anyway. The church wouldn’t take me now, and I don’t think they’d take me either.”
“Do you mean your parents’ house?” She wrapped an arm around him; if either of her boys complained she’d yell. This was platonic in the extreme; this was comforting a dear friend who had something very wrong, even if he wasn’t telling what it was. Chetta looked down. “I’m glad you at least know that your home is with Jean Prouvaire.” Someone who loved him as much as Jehan seemed to, at least from what she’d heard. Courfeyrac was a gentle soul, as much as he liked to joke and tease.
“My family, yes.” Courfeyrac shook his head again, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say about this, since he’d gotten up the guts to go ahead and...confess. Maybe it was the dreams where he had dropped the participle, which he’d been having on repeat for a bit lately or the newfound desire from the dreams to be completely open and honest and free. It was all terribly, terribly Romantic period of him really, when it came to the personal matters of his life, and the revolutionary matters were another story, but maybe those contributed too.
Either way, he wasn’t going to be free in any sense until he’d stopped lying, and hiding behind them. Until he started getting REAL, he guessed. “You know all those hilarious stories about how I’m always letting them down somehow, and they just sigh and go along with it? That’s not exactly the truth there.”
And it felt stupid to be saying this while he was sitting here wearing boots that had cost two thousand dollars that could have paid Feuilly’s whole RENT for at least a couple months, and while he didn’t exactly have to worry about money for anything. It felt like self indulgent whining and he’d always tried avoiding that for real. “It’s, I don’t know, all kinds of fucked up with them.”
Chetta didn’t move, instead just looking at him. She hadn’t known, but honestly, she wasn’t surprised, and she said as much. “My dear Courfeyrac. The happiest, the funniest and kindest of men often have the most pain to hide. I mean.” She shrugged. “The most important thing to remember is that while your problems may be less than someone else’s, it does not mean they are not problems for you. Oui?” She looked down at him. “You are educated, you are clothed and fed, eh bien, okay. You still may have emotional pain, even if physical pain is absent.”
“I guess that’s true.” Courfeyrac said, trying to force a smile. “I mean if they’re there, I can’t do much but deal with them, I guess, since they’re...real to me?” He tried, thinking it was put into perspective now a little. Chetta was kind of...good at that. “I don’t know if I...emotional pain doesn’t feel like it should be a thing when there’s nothing horribly wrong, maybe? I mean, nobody’s dead, nobody ran around shoving me down stairs or anything like that, but...” How to say this in a way that didn’t sound completely horribly stupid or whiny or...anything else.
“I don’t get the impression anybody really wanted me either?” He tried. “There were...” It wasn’t like his parents had ever given much of a shit. “As long as I did what I was supposed to do, they pretty much left me alone. But if I fucked things up, even a little...” he cringed, remembering the looks he’d usually gotten, how he’d TRIED to get attention by doing that, and failed pretty miserably when all it did was get his parents pissed off and screaming or slamming things around. “I guess I always knew what a failure I was. I haven’t even told people this before. It never felt right. I don’t think Jehan or Joly or anyone else would have freaked out about it. They’d have been supportive but...maybe I was trying to distance myself from it?”
He took another long sip of wine, his hands definitely shaking now.
Her heart ached for him. Musichetta hadn’t exactly wanted to be right. She took his free hand, just wanting him to feel that someone was there. “Cheri. Emotional pain is still pain.” And it sounded like it had been eating him from the inside. “Any pain can be destructive and lay you flat. And if this pain is enough for you to consider yourself a failure, my God. It is a horrible pain.” She wished fervently that he spoke French; she could still be much more expressive in that language.
Still, she tried in English. “I know enough to know that my telling you that you are a marvellous success is not enough to break that thinking. But it is still true. I think perhaps it is true that you tried to get distance on it, if only because we do not see you as a frightened little boy.” Chetta pursed her lips, trying to look for words. “You are both, I think; the little boy and the fine man, but you must make your own peace with that.” The next time this needed to happen, she’d make Joly stay home and translate.
Courfeyrac had picked up what some phrases meant now. Not very many, but the ones connected to the cause in dreams, what Jehan had said at his death, the important words of the barricade, but they were words and phrases that wouldn’t fill a chapter of one of those stupid tourist guides to France, so he wouldn’t have been very good with what she’d said here, no.
“I’ve been trying for that a while now.” he said to that last bit, giving Chetta a shaky, tiny smile. “But I can’t do it going on the way I was. It’s good to be the confident bold one. It’s, I don’t know, a role to make me feel better sometimes. Not always but I think I put on too much makeup when I’m off the stage. I need to start letting it go, I think. Not that I have any idea how.”
“I understand.” And she did, God knew. “Being on stage is very comforting, at least for me. But when I come home, I can be fractious, or tired, or even angry, and I am able to trust that Joly and Bossuet will see me this way and accept me.” Chetta kept holding his hand. “You need to be able to do the same, but you must trust that those with whom you let your guard down will accept you.” By that logic, Jean Prouvaire would be both the easiest and the most intimidating person with whom to open up.
She smiled a little. “I very much enjoy when you laugh and are silly, but that is because I think you enjoy it. If you don’t, then you should do what pleases you. I mean. There are those who have called me a whore, to my face, because I have my boys instead of some insipid little American who tries to rule me. I don’t care.” She’d had to make peace with herself and how she wanted to live, and who she loved. And she loved them both.
“I do enjoy it, definitely. That isn’t all an act at all.” Courfeyrac smiled. “I think I amuse myself too much sometimes, but I also like making other people happy with me. Maybe I try too hard sometimes.” The duel, for example? Had been mostly Courfeyrac screwing around because he could and because Enjolras really, really needed to lighten up so challenging him into it had seemed like a great idea. “I try too hard and I forget to turn myself off.” Then he paused, considering that statement for a second there.
“Uh...that was actually not intentional. I should start with Jehan. After you now though.” He added, smiling. “It’s just another performer, you’d understand me best. As for what pleases us?” He nodded. “As long as no one else is hurt, why should we not be happy and love whoever we like? Americans are weird that way, I’m noticing.”
Chetta laughed. “Americans are so odd. And I don’t mean you all, because honestly, you are mostly French. You at least act like Frenchmen. Very relaxed. None of you judge me, and your opinions are all that matter. Papa just asks me which one of my boys I shall marry.”
She kissed his forehead before going back to the sofa to get her wine. “Making people happy is never bad, Courfeyrac. As long as it is not at your expense. Just try to be aware of when it becomes taxing.” She couldn’t help but try to make him smile. “And just think of Enjolras’ astonishment at the times you appear quiet and sober.”
Courfeyrac snorted at that. “Enjolras? He’d have Combeferre and Joly checking for a pulse I think. No, we’ve had a few conversations that were reasonably sober ones. Or soberING, I guess is the better word. It goes back to the...being French that you mention. I don’t know if Joly or Bossuet has said anything to you about this, or if you’ve seen the network posts about people having strange dreams but...Here’s where it all gets interesting. “
“Dreams? I’ve heard a bit, yes. Joly has had a few. I also think L’aigle has, but he speaks less of his.” Chetta cocked her head. “He talks of being a student in France some time ago, but he won’t go into it any more. Why do you ask?”
“Well, the sobering conversations with Enjolras I just mentioned? The two of us are there too.” Courfeyrac wasn’t going to go into details, because the ‘I think we probably all died’ statement wasn’t the best here. And he didn’t know for sure. But even if he DID, he wouldn’t worry Chetta about Joly and Bossuet that way. “So, you aren’t as far off on the French thing as all that. At least THERE we are.”
“So wait. You all have dreams that you are students in France, during the old Republic?” Chetta’s first instinct was to laugh. “How coincidental! Are you all studying the same things? What about the clothes? I bet cher Jolllly looks so handsome in that old style of dress.” But then she thought about what he’d said. “Am I there, too? Or are my boys flirting with cafe girls?”
“Not quite.” Courfeyrac grinned at the idea of the clothes. “Some of us have gotten our things back. My amazing hat? It’s come from there and I have AMAZING waistcoats in the dreams that I hope show up. L’aigle has a coat from there. But yes we’re...much the same as we are here. I haven’t seen you but you WERE mentioned in one of the dreams. Joly was trying to figure out how to attract you to him. He was PINING and it was adorable.” He added, “And no, different things. Mostly medicine and law. But most of us in law aren’t exactly taking it as seriously as we ought. It’s quite the cover, and you’re allowed to stay forever if you really want to. We have a friend in those who’s been in school eleven years now there.” he added, grinning.
The coincidence of the dreams really didn’t affect her that much - she’d seen weirder, frankly. And Chetta had always believed at least a little in kismet. She shook her head, smiling. “Well, if he cuts a good figure, he should get me! And darling Bossuet. I have never seen this coat; I have to ask him now.” She did notice how he perked up when he talked about the dreams, though, and she went back over to the edge of the chair. “Whatever these dreams may be, though, Courfeyrac, they are only dreams. This is the here and now, hein?”
“Oh believe me. Given that conversation? I think he is about to cut one.” He was going to get those trousers after all. Courfeyrac was willing to believe that Joly in a pair of trousers that were even sexier than the ones they all wore in the dreams on a regular basis would do it.
He did perk up at the dreams, yes,there was some kind of meaning in them that he lacked here. He had been trying to piece together some sort of meaning for this life but it was harder somehow.
“Of course they’re dreams.” She hadn’t had one so he would go ahead and give her that. Jehan’s death had been real though. So real that he had hidden from it for days, but again, not the kind of thing you shared. “I love them but I can’t exactly send myself back in time to be more meaningful or helpful, can I? I need a way to do that here.” He should probably change his major to something more public oriented but...
Musichetta laughed at the idea of Joly cutting a fine figure. “I almost wish I have that much of your dreams. The idea amuses me.” But when he said that about being more meaningful or helpful, she shook her head. “I really must take issue with that, cheri. The idea that you have to be Enjolras or something to be useful. There is already one of him, thank God.” Two might upset the balance of the universe.
She shook her head again. “Life comprises a fair amount of pain, Courfeyrac. Do we not need people with gifts to help us forget? I may not be able to organize a momentous rally or get elected officials to change their minds, but if I can get someone to forget their problems while they listen to me sing “Ah! Je veux viver dans ce rêve”, I consider that helpful and useful. You must use the gifts you are born with.”
“And it seems that here I have different skills then there.” He mused. “It seems like a strange disconnect, I suppose is the way to put it. Like I have convictions that suddenly want to spring up and appear. “ He said. “More than, I don’t know, what I do here. I guess I want to help people more. Making them forget is important and it’s one thing.”
He wasn’t going to deny, after all, the importance of things like movies or television in some parts of life. But he WAS sort of...wishing there was something else. “I don’t know that I want to be Enjolras. I couldn’t coordinate or lead my way out of a paper bag.” He could convince and pull people into things by dint of being himself and enthusiastic, but Courfeyrac in charge of anything challenging would NOT go well. “So more some sort of...other difference.. I’m not sure. I don’t want politics, I know that, and Enjolras has his writing. I need something that’s ME I guess, that doesn’t feel like I’m falling short in.” He frowned again, but he was more thoughtful than anything now. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Volunteer.” Chetta said immediately. “Find an organization which gives nothing to the Catholic Church, and pour your heart into it. There are some people who benefit by oratory and slogans, and there are those who benefit more by a bowl of food and a kind word.” Enjolras would likely argue that was treating the symptoms, but well, he was wrong about some things. “Or work with children. You are one of the kindest men I have ever met. People listen to those who are kind.”
She finished her first glass of wine, getting up. “Just do not forget those gifts you do have, though, please. I’d hate to see your talent go to . waste.” Musichetta grinned, heading for the kitchen, going to get the bottle. “More?”
“I haven’t been by the theatre group in ages.” Courfeyrac had actually not showed up since last semester. The dreams had started happening and thrown him into a sort of wreck but there was that. “They’d probably be glad to have me come back. I liked some of the kids a lot. They were little shits, but...” He was grinning as he said that though. “There IS a way that art can change the world.”
And Enjolras, well. Enjolras was the one who went around stealing chinchillas and whistleblowing and THAT hadn’t changed much of anything so what was that but treating symptoms again? “And I’d love some, thank you, darling.”
She came back with the bottle of red wine, pouring him a little more. “That may be a capital idea. Passing your gifts on is certainly a way to leave one’s mark. And with the children, well. In French there is a saying: On ne parle que de ce qu’on connait. It takes one to know one.” Chetta laughed. “You really are talented, cheri! I never would have thought you could be a proper Sydney Carton, but you summoned all the brooding you needed.”
“Broody, wrong side of romance...” Courfeyrac grinned. “it was interesting, going against type that way.” It would be wrong to add part of the way he’d prepared for that right now, but...it probably sounded familiar enough anyway. He was just going to stop there now, before it got worse.
“Well, that explains a lot, why it worked out before.” He said, of working with the kids. He’d been...sort of popular there for a while too. They related to him or something. Which was...odd but kind of awesome too. “It’s something anyway. And if it takes them away for just a little while...worth it.” He knew that one all too well.
“Them and you.” Chetta smiled. “Nothing is ever done completely for the benefit of others. You must needs be pleased by it, too.” She sat on the sofa, looking over at him. “Have you talked about any of this bit with your Jehan?” She knew he’d kept his family situation to himself, but the need to do something worthwhile, maybe he’d discussed. “What does he think, if so?”
“I haven’t so much. Enjolras a little.” Courfeyrac said, “He’s found his balance between the dreams and the real world finally, but I think he’s been dreaming just a bit longer. Jehan and I...it’s not so much talking lately when we’re together.” He ducked his head a little, his eyes suddenly sad. “We’re...separated in the dreams.” was all he said, since he didn’t want to worry her over Joly and Bossuet just now, especially when he didn’t know. “It means I spend a lot of time here now just holding him.”
Musichetta wasn’t thinking about her boys when he said that, only Courfeyrac and Jehan. Her face fell. “Courfeyrac. Why didn’t you say so.” Of course he didn’t want to think about things like emotional issues when he’d lost the man he loved, even in dreams? For all she knew he could have had the cholera, if they dreamt of so long ago. It was all very romantic and sad, but she knew it felt very real to him. “If anything, if I can suggest it, I think you should be as open with him as you can stand.” She sipped her wine. “I’m sorry that you had to see that, but has it not cemented truth in your mind that he is the love of your life?”
“It has.” Courfeyrac smiled at that. “I knew it before, but this just...adds more proof I think. I’ve told him about how. That it happens and things. He’s actually been around when I’ve had the nightmares so it had to come out, kind of.” It was more real than anything else had been. “The rest of this, I haven’t said yet.It’s hard to focus on other things when I’m around him, I suppose. I just...remembering. If we can call it that. Enjolras is pretty convinced this is all real, and it certainly FEELS as if it’s been lived but I see where others would assume it’s crazy.” He didn’t think Chetta would assume it was,somehow but...
“That or we get silly and forget about the whole thing.” He added, grinning because this part was amusing. “Two boyfriends discussing their cats and making hats for them.” Okay so HE hadn’t made a hat for Cherie. But he was so going to get pictures with her wearing one before his party.
Chetta giggled at the idea of making hats for their kittens. “You’re so odd. But I don’t know. Just ... if I can make a suggestion, darling, I think you should speak to Jean Prouvaire before you do anything else. He is your rock.” She smiled. “Get him on your side or at least tell him how you feel. Then go from there. If I have such dreams, Joly and Bossuet will hear of them. Though I hope I dream of Joly in such fine clothes. I may giggle myself awake.”
“We all are so amazing there.” Courfeyrac said to that last bit, grinning. “It makes me wish cravats were a thing I could bring back. Trust me when I say it’d be amazing having those around full time.” He could think of so many things to DO with them too. Not even sexual ones. More... it was like how you were always supposed to have your towel really. Arthur and Ford would’ve been even cooler with cravats, he privately thought.
“But yes, you’re right. I do need to. I”m not sure how I’ll start but...” he bit his lip. “I don’t want to lose him by covering this up and exploding someday either.”
“So you wish us all to dress like your Tale of Two Cities wardrobe?” Chetta laughed. “I think you men would look wonderful, but I refuse to be squeezed into corsets!” She was happy the way she looked, thank you. “Maybe if I could refuse those, it might be acceptable. And I don’t know Jehan very well, but what I do know speaks of him as a kind and gentle soul. Gentle souls forgive.”
“Which is why you are right and I’d better bring it up before something unforgivable happens.” Courfeyrac smiled. “I would hate to drive him away because I’ve let this build to being frustrated enough that I explode.” Courfeyrac exploding was probably not going to happen but he’d seen explosions, knew that they were possible and he knew he didn’t want that to be him. He shuddered at the thought, and at a memory of it.
“But yes I think that we would all look good in those. And I could see you in the waistcoats instead you know.” He grinned at Chetta. “Historical cross dressing. It’s kind of hot.”
“Mm. Now perhaps you are on to something.” Chetta laughed. “Perhaps Joly would like it if I showed a bit of leg!” She drank more wine. “I don’t know, Courfeyrac, you do have a very trim waist. Maybe it’s you who should don petticoats.”
“Hmm.” Courfeyrac tapped his cheek a little, contemplating. “I could see this in the right circumstances. If I ever were to dress up, I think I WOULD like a big skirt. Completely different.” And then he grinned. “You know, women’s clothing has so many DIFFERENT options nowadays. It’s kind of boring for guys.”
“Nowadays? Yes.” Musichetta grinned. “You should at least go rut in the costume trunks. You would find petticoats and cravats.” She wondered if she could find him one. Or even find all of them one. It would be a nice gift, if she could manage it.
“Mmm I should.” Courfeyrac agreed, “I’m pretty sure I can tie the basic kind now. Jehan probably knows the others. He just...knows that kind of thing.” Courfeyrac didn’t question how he knew that sort of thing anymore. It was just...you associated weird historical clothing movements with him. Then again, considering he was making a stovepipe hat for LaMarque, maybe that wasn’t SO far fetched as all of that. “And petticoats would just be fun.”
“I think you should look for them. Perhaps a good project for you and Jehan together?” Chetta smiled. “You are a friend, cheri, and a good one. My boys consider you a friend as well as myself. Trust us. We will carry you.”
“Possibly.” He laughed at the idea. “I don’t think anyone would have to twist his arm for it. “ Jehan and costumes. And then things that they could do while wearing the costumes... “Thank you. I....that helps.” He sort of wanted to say he didn’t need to be carried but...maybe that wasn’t true. He’d tried not doing it for as long as he’d known most of them and look where it had gotten them. Maybe this was a better way.
“You know that as long as you need it, you can come here and have the wines of Musichetta, the company of Bossuet, and the fussing of Joly.” Chetta smiled, going over to hug him. “And if for some reason, Jean Prouvaire takes leave of his senses and is angry with you, I shall give him a talking-to he will not forget.”
“I can’t see that he would be.” Courfeyrac said, hugging her back tightly. “But that’s good to know, just in case.” He wondered if he could get this to apply to Enjolras, who was angry about EVERYTHING he was doing lately. He could probably play it up later, he decided.
“I mean it, too.” Chetta stuck her lip out. “No more wine, though. You are so thin, and if you drove I will not have your injuries on my conscience.”
“No more wine.” Courfeyrac promised, since, yes, that did make sense. He didn’t want to end up in some kind of horrific accident and hurting someone here. Injured would suck for him too, but he really didn’t want to be that guy that gets other people hurt or killed. So yeah. He could handle that. “Thank you, Chetta. Seriously. You’re a really big help here. I...a comfort.”
“You are welcome, Courfeyrac.” She kissed both his cheeks again. “You boys have been wonderful to me. You make me feel accepted, not only mon Aigle and Joly.” What could she do but return the favor?
“How could we not have, hmm? “ He asked her, quite serious about that. “You tolerate our antics and our strangeness and everything else. And some of us? We’re pretty strange.” He wasn’t going to name names here, but then again, did he really need to? Were any of them actually fully sane? Combeferre and Feuilly maybe. Other than that though? Yeeah.
“So am I.” Musichetta laughed. “You could say pfft, that odd French girl is not fit for our compatriots.” But her tone was fond. “No, you love me, and I love you all. Even stuffy Enjolras.”
“Of course we love you. You’re our Chetta.” Courfeyrac told her, quite seriously. “You save Joly and Bossuet from themselves, dispense fine wines and advice and are generally amazing.” Those were good enough reasons for him at least.
“Get out of here before you make me cry, you rat.” Chetta shooed him, laughing and smiling. She just wanted him to be happy. It was all she wanted for any of them.