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Tweak says, "Baby poop!"

R (vagueambition) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2014-09-13 14:30:00

Entry tags:

grantaire, lagertha

Who: Grantaire and Open or works as a narrative
When: Early evening, after he and Enjy discussed feeeeels
Where: Outside. Out of the inn. Because dnw
What: Idek he does this to me with the feels right now and demands it be written. Carry on

Grieve properly, he'd said. Remember her because she deserved it. Grantaire wondered sometimes for all of Enjolras' intelligence if he really thought about the things he said. Didn't he understand that grieving and remembering her was exactly what he'd been avoiding for years, now? He didn't give a damn what Enjolras thought was fair to her. She was dead. She had left him to face this alone and all he cared about was what was fair to him.

The problem with that, of course, was that he knew just how much of a lie it was. He cared. He still loved her and missed her, and every day he was sober he felt that. How angry he was that she'd gotten sick. How unfair life had been to take his parents and the woman he'd loved from him. How much he couldn't breathe with the thought of her being gone. And he couldn't help but feel bitter when Enjolras talked about fairness, when he had Eponine. She was the first person Enjolras had loved like that, and he didn't understand because he hadn't lost her. God willing he never would. But not wanting Enjolras to experience that didn't stop the comparison when he was feeling this way.

He surprised himself when he didn't walk with purpose to the first place outside of the inn that he could get a drink. Not that he had much chance of that in the inn anyway, with Enjolras locking cupboards and watching him like a hawk whenever he was in the same room. He liked it, he wouldn't pretend he didn't like the caring his friend was showing him. He'd be fooling no one if he tried to pretend he didn't like any kind of attention from Enjolras. But after their last conversation, it had felt suffocating. So he'd taken his chance as soon as he'd left the room for a moment, and slipped outside.

Purpose or not, he'd ended up in the middle of Lawrence without his phone, surrounded by far too much temptation and no way to distract himself. He'd tried drawing once since he'd gotten back. And he'd sworn there and then to never attempt that again sober. The pictures he found in the book were bad enough without trying to draw with a shaking hand. It had only started when he'd picked up the pencil, too. He wasn't particularly interested in trying to figure out what that meant.

Finding himself back near the park where he'd first ended up here, he nearly laughed. Arriving and tripping over his own feet was probably the perfect argument that could be used against drinking. Even without all the other arguments Enjolras had used. That he was a better person when he didn't (he remained unconvinced), that it was better for his health (it had been hard to argue against that one, admittedly).

When he'd done nothing but walked in a circle and found himself almost back at the inn he stopped, sinking down to sit none too gracefully on the curb. He crossed his arms over his chest, fingers curled in the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing. He wasn't going back inside, and he wasn't going to drink. He could do this. He could sit here in the quiet with his completely sober thoughts, with nothing to distract him. He could absolutely be alone and function like any normal person could. Even if normal people didn't freak out and walk out and not tell their friends where they were going and end up sitting in the gutter. No, he was fine. He absolutely wasn't trying to pretend it wasn't all he wanted to find the nearest bar and get himself completely blind drunk and forget everything that had made him start drinking in the first place.

He was fine.

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vagueambition
2014-09-13 12:20 pm UTC (link)

He very nearly commented with amusement on how proudly she defended her fjords against his rivers when she pulled up the little picture and showed him. He set down the coffee between them and took hold of her wrist long enough to take in the picture as she held it up. The artist in him that still longed to draw everything beautiful he saw wished he had a sketchbook in his hand at that very moment. He could see why she spoke of it with such fondness.

"I can see why you would miss it." And he was sure the smell she referred to was very different to the never the same one day to the next smells of Paris. "It's no Pont d'Iéna, but it is very nice," he tacked on, mostly just to tease.

He was grateful for what she was had done, planned or not, though he suspected the former. She was smart enough to have changed the subject intentionally. Perhaps he was even more grateful because she hadn't once suggested they stop sitting in the gutter like street urchins.

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couldntkillme
2014-09-13 12:35 pm UTC (link)

Lagertha watched Grantaire's face as he took in the image she was showing him, a smile lighting up her own visage. She had never known any foreigner who was not suitably awed by the Kattegat. It was beautiful and the more she saw of the world, the more she appreciated that.

Lagertha laughed again at Grantaire's quip, tucking her phone back into her pocket and lifting her coffee cup to her mouth to take another sip. "Be quiet and eat muffin," she chided in response to Grantaire's teasing tone.

"Perhaps we will go to Paris one day, so you can show me your Ponty Enna. I will see if I think it impressive." Lagertha had been wondering for a while whether she would like to leave Lawrence and see more of the world, places she had heard of but never thought she would be able to visit, like Frankia, Særkland, Arran and Galicia. The Mikaelsons had explained modern travel to her, the way people could fly through the air in big, metal birds, reaching their destinations in a matter of hours. Ragnar would have been awed at the prospect. Lagertha was awed at the prospect. How had the world become so small, so accessible, so tame? She wasn't sure whether she liked it or not but, while she was here, she thought she might as well grasp the opportunity to explore as far and wide as she possibly could.

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vagueambition
2014-09-13 12:51 pm UTC (link)

He shook his head, the mirth clear on his face as he reached for the bag, pulling out one of the what looked like chocolate muffins. He was dubious still, but today was the first day in many that he'd felt he had any sort of want to eat at all. And if he was going to eat anything, it might as well involve chocolate.

The amused smile turned to a chuckle at the way she pronounced it. "Pont d'Iéna," he repeated more slowly. "It is a bridge that crosses the Seine. One of our poor rivers that pale so against your great fjords. I think I have a sketch of it, somewhere. But perhaps we will. Travel is meant to be easier these days. And it is more beautiful to see in person than anything I can recreate."

He broke off a piece of muffin and put it in his mouth, effectively cutting himself off before he found himself off on another tangent, as was his habit. Though he'd found himself a lot better at placing a filter between his brain and his mouth since he'd been sober.

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couldntkillme
2014-09-13 01:08 pm UTC (link)

Lagertha drank a little more of her coffee before placing it down on the curb beside her and reaching into the bag for the second muffin. She had eaten at lunch time but that had been a good few hours ago and she found herself feeling glad that the muffin looked hearty.

As Grantaire did, Lagertha also broke off a piece of the muffin and ate it, enjoying the sweet taste of chocolate on her tongue. She had discovered rather quickly that it wasn't acceptable to eat like a pig in this day and age. At least, not in polite company. Rebekah had been quick to teach her some modern manners, which had, so far, served her well.

"Pont d'Iéna," Lagertha repeated, sounding out the word as Grantaire had said it. Were two languages not enough for her to know? Was she now learning French as well? "

"People can fly on their travels now, I have been told. In things called aeroplanes." Lagertha gave a little shudder. People were not designed to fly and she still wasn't completely convinced that it was possible. She would have to wait and see what she thought of these aeroplanes when she saw one and had time to study it.

"My people travelled by sea," Lagertha told Grantaire, remembering what Rebekah had said about finishing her mouthfuls before talking. "We were known as great explorers. But, still, it would take us many days to make sea crossings. It seems so strange to me that travel has become so easy. Today, anyone can do it. The world would have been very different if it had been so in my time."

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vagueambition
2014-09-13 01:20 pm UTC (link)

"These are very good," he commented, having eaten another bite of the muffin. "Thank you. For that, and the coffee." And the company, too. That was the most important part.

"It's strange hearing people say words so familiar to me in a different accent. I guess it's the same for you. You'll have to teach me something from your own language one day." He could name every bridge, every river in Paris. But he was sure the words sounded plain odd to her.

"I don't know that I like the idea of it." He glanced upward as he said it. "That is a long way to fall. Then again, travelling by sea means if you fall you drown, and that is just as unappealing." He reached for his coffee again. "If it had been that easy for you, you'd probably have made it all the way over here." A sea voyage to America would have taken a considerably longer time than one to England.

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couldntkillme
2014-09-13 01:46 pm UTC (link)

"You are welcome," Lagertha said with a smile, pausing in eating her muffin to take another sip of coffee. Honestly, it was the least she could do. She wished she could do more but she knew from experience, with her family and friends, that sometimes the best someone could do was just to be there with an open ear and small kindnesses.

"Apparently my people did," Lagertha replied, popping another bit of muffin into her mouth and swallowing it down. "After my time, but they made it across the wide ocean to the place that they now call Canada." Lagertha grinned. "I have been reading my history books."

Lagertha finished off the last of her muffin, tucking the paper wrapper back into the bag she had brought them in. Turning back to Grantaire, she grinned, raising her eyebrows. "I shall teach you something of my language now, if you like?" she said, placing her coffee back down beside her. "Say Þú berð eins ok lítil genta." She spoke slowly, sounding out the words as clearly as she could, whilst still ensuring they sounded right.

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vagueambition
2014-09-13 02:06 pm UTC (link)

He set the rest of the muffin down. He'd eaten about half, and was fairly impressed with his efforts since a few days ago and he probably wouldn't have managed to keep it down. He was happy to avoid a repeat of those few weeks.

"That's a long way for them to have traveled. Very impressive." He nodded at that. "I've seen a few documentaries, on television. It's strange, seeing all the things that have happened." Between his time and now. For her Lagertha it was even more of an extreme.

He brushed the crumbs from the muffin off his jeans when she said the short phrase in her language, smiling. "Why do I feel like I should be asking what it means before I say it? No laughing when I butcher your language," he smirked. He thought back over what she'd said before attempting it.

"Þú be - berð eins ok lítil genta" The words were slow and halting, compared to the way she had said them, and his own accent was still thick enough that his English sounded different, let alone what he'd just attempted in her language. But it had sounded similar, at least.

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couldntkillme
2014-09-15 11:04 am UTC (link)

Lagertha's grin grew. She wasn't going to tell Grantaire what the phrase meant until he'd tried it out, although it certainly wasn't as incriminating as some of the things she could have got him to say.

"Very good," Lagertha said honestly, once Grantaire had made his attempt. People here seemed to struggle with the pronunciation of words in her language but, although Grantaire's accent made the words sound strange, by copying her, he had done a good job with the phrase.

"Now what do you think it means?" Lagertha had been surprised by the similarities between her own language and some words of modern English. She supposed it made sense, considering the history books she had read which said that her people had settled in England, made possible by the Great Heathen Army led by Ragnar's sons. It was hardly surprising that the languages had merged to create the English people knew today. She was sure, if people put their minds to it, they wouldn't have too much trouble understanding her if she spoke only in Old Norse. Still, people here were lazy - they didn't like having to think too hard - so it had been easier for her to learn English than to expect too much of people.

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vagueambition
2014-09-15 11:17 am UTC (link)

"I have the feeling you are being very generous in saying that," he returned easily. He had for the most part gotten the words right, but they had sounded beyond strange to his ears. Then again, so had English, when he'd first arrived. And now it was what he was mostly speaking. Not necessarily by preference, but by necessity.

He honestly hadn't been expecting the question. Though given what he now knew of the woman sitting beside him, it was probably naive to imagine she would have made it that easy. "I may have studied literature, but that does not make me a linguist." Nor had literature been the preference, over art. Still, he couldn't help but consider the words and see if there were any he could figure out. "I would assume litil is small. Genta...sounds like it should be gentle, but these are not particularly intelligent guesses."

There was also the simple fact of concentration not being his friend, of late. It was yet another mark against attempting this for Enjolras. What point was there in not drinking if he could not even hold intelligent conversation?

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couldntkillme
2014-09-15 11:31 am UTC (link)

Lagertha smirked. "Perhaps a little generous, but you should know me well enough by now to know I do not lie." Lying only clouded people's judgement and gave them false impressions. Where enemies were concerned, she could see the use in lies and subterfuge, but, with friends, she found it was far more beneficial to communicate openly and honestly. Honesty was all she asked from her friends.

"You are right about lítil. Genta is perhaps not so close to English. It means girl. You said, 'You fight like a little girl.' I thought it might prove useful to you at some point." Lagertha smiled, almost cheekily, picking up her coffee again and taking a sip. "It is one of my favourite insults to use on the battlefield. Men seem to take great offence at being likened to little girls, although some of the little girls I have known have been stronger in mind than even the greatest warrior."

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vagueambition
2014-09-15 11:42 am UTC (link)

"I had an inkling, yes." His expression closely mirrored hers. Because honestly, who could miss it? And as with their earlier talk of being pathetic and whiny, he appreciated it more than if she had sat there and told him lies about how strong he was being, or some nonsense. He wasn't strong. He wouldn't be in this position if he was, and he hated that enough to want to simply ignore the thought.

"I'm not surprised that they do," he replied without trying to hide his humour. "Particularly from a woman. No offence intended," he added perhaps needlessly, because it was clear from the way he'd said it alone he was being more ironic than anything else. Grantaire didn't hold any particular stereotypical notions regarding what the fairer sex could do. Spending enough time with someone as focused on equality as Enjolras ensured that. Not to mention the women he knew. Had known. It was impossible to think of people he thought of in such high regard as anything lesser.

Realising his thoughts had taken a melancholy turn again, he forced a humoured smile. "I'm sure I'll find a use for it, at some stage."

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