(no subject)

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Spring has come to Milliways, in full warmth. The grass is greening, and the trees are in bud, and so forth. There are even trees in the mountains that are covered in pink flowers.

Were they there last year? Were they, in fact, there last week? Enjolras is not entirely certain on either count.

On the other hand: Milliways. He'll ask Bahorel, or Combeferre or Joly, if he thinks to bother, but he may not.

At any rate, he's sitting at the base of one of the pink trees, on a convenient flat rock. He has a book with him, as usual, but he's currently ignoring it in favor of an abstraction of thought.

Comments

[vive_lavenir]

Jehan, stumbling dreamily in the woods with Marguerite cupped in the crook of his elbow, is looking at the cherry blossoms with sheer delight.

He's even more delighted when he sees Enjolras, clearly deep in thought, sitting underneath the blossoms. (He knows Enjolras has no idea how delicate and elegant the scene is, but that's all right. Jehan knows).

Jehan ambles over, with no sound but Marguerite's soft mews.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras glances up at his approach, and smiles faintly, and lifts a hand in greeting. Hello, Prouvaire! How are you, on this day of inexplicably appearing pink trees?

And your cat. Sure, animals accompanying people, why not.

[vive_lavenir]

Jehan drops down beside him with a faint smile of his own. Marguerite pads onto the grass, where she gives the fallen petals an investigative sniff.

"It's like a Japanese painting," he says, after a moment.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras gives him the inquiring look of a man who's never thought It's like a Japanese painting in his life, even aside from not really knowing what Japanese paintings look like.

"The trees?"

That's what Prouvaire seemed to be dreamily staring at primarily, anyway.

[thewidewideworld]

There's a rather pretty (and deeply androgynous) blonde wondering between the trees, singing softly. The cherry blossoms are beautiful and Sinric can't help but rejoice in them.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras -- being also blond, pretty, and only a little less androgynous of face, even though his clothing is solidly masculine -- is not someone to be disconcerted by Sinric's face. He will be somewhat if he can't tell a clear gender from Sinric's clothing.

(Enjolras is from a society where the gender binary is taken for granted, and he still has that strongly internalized.)

He'll nod politely to the other if their eyes meet, but otherwise will leave Sinric to his own business for the moment.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's clothes only serve to confuse further - closely cut around the chest to suggest feminine curves but softly and billowing from the narrow waist down.

He lifts his head to let the last note soar and smiles, clearly content with the world.

He spots Enjolras and smiles, offering an apologetic bow. "Forgive me, sir. I hope I didn't disturb you with my singing." His voice is pure and beautiful and clearly well trained.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

...Yeah. Enjolras assumes that Sinric's clothes are meant to signal a gender to others from the same society, because that's the kind of assumption Enjolras makes, but he doesn't know those clothes and those signals; he isn't sure. It's a little awkward. He knows how to act towards another man, and he knows how to act towards a woman, but they're different modes. If he had to guess -- and he may have to -- he'd pick woman, between the clothes and the light high voice, but that's not the kind of thing you want to get wrong.

But this answer, at least, he can give either way. "Not in the least," he replies, polite but sincere. "I'd never wish to interrupt another's enjoyment."

It's true. Depending on the enjoyment -- hi, Bahorel -- he might politely absent himself, but a little singing in an orchard is nothing. Especially tuneful singing.

[starrydome]

Elrond has been out admiring the trees as well. He looks quite like an illustration from a fairy tale come to life, all flowing robes in blue and salmon and stately mien and look, a silver circlet on his brow (sorry about that).


When he sees the young Man he lifts a hand in greeting, because you greet people when you come across them in the wild.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

You do, and Enjolras lifts a hand in return, with a small nod. The silver circlet means that he's scrupulous about keeping it a nod with no deference whatsoever in it, but oh well.

They met once, he remembers, but only briefly because this mun dropped the thread like a jerk, whoops. What was his name? Something foreign -- Alron, Elrond, something like that.

[starrydome]

"The trees are beautiful in bloom," Elrond says as he comes a little closer.
"Such fitting harbingers of Spring."

His voice is pleasant. Kind.
And his eyes are ancient in his not quite old, not quite young face.




{ooc: not to worry :) also, Daylight Savings here, so I'm off to bed. Slowtime?}

[pro_patria_mortuus]

[OOC: Slowtime's good with me! Sleep well. :)]

"It seems like they appeared all at once."

He's a little bemused by that, but mostly just making friendly small talk back.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Enjolras.

In another mood, Feuilly would hail him with a friendly shout; today he just joins him quietly, trusting Enjolras to notice his approach, and sits down with him. For all that Enjolras is taller, neither of them takes up much space, sitting neatly on a rock under a tree.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras smiles briefly in greeting at his approach, because of course he does; it's Feuilly. But the expression fades fast in response to Feuilly's clear mood.

He doesn't say anything for a few moments. Just shifts over slightly to let Feuilly join him, and lets the silence lie comfortably between them.

[tu_vas_triompher]

It's good silence. It's Enjolras silence, which is familiar, and comforting, and uncluttered. It gives Feuilly space in which to look down at his hands, which are still smeared here and there from the charred wood of the burned stable. He's just come from working there.

"Enjolras," he says, suddenly and without preamble. "Do you remember how we had to argue with the married men at the barricade--fathers, men with families--how we had to argue to make them leave?"

[pro_patria_mortuus]

"Yes."

Of course he does. It took all the eloquence any of them could muster -- him, and Combeferre, and Marius, all layering arguments and persuasion atop the others' words -- to get even a few to leave instead of dying with their brothers.

He's looking at Feuilly now; listening, patient, waiting to see where this is going.

[heartbeneathastone]

Marius is about as interested in the flowers as Enjolras, though as he passes by and greets him with a nod, he asks (brushing a petal or two off of his shoulder with a bewildered expression), "Have these trees been here all this time?"

[pro_patria_mortuus]

"I was just wondering that."

Enjolras sounds amused, and resigned. Milliways is so weird.

"I don't think so."

He may not notice nature much, but he does notice his surroundings, for practicality if not for beauty. The pink blossoms weren't here a week ago, fine, that's how spring goes, but he's pretty sure the trees that bear them weren't either.

[heartbeneathastone]

"Oh." He frowns up at the nearest tree. "Does that-- happen? Often?"

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck wanders out of the bar, bouncing the -- it's not a basketball, but it's basketball sized. It's vibrant blue, and hatch-marked, and bouncier. It has the Striker Eureka logo (a cartoon bulldog holding a missile in his jaws) on it.

It doesn't quite bounce as well on the dirt, but well enough to keep on bouncing it down the path until it hits a rock and goes askew into the cherry trees.

Chuck chases it.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

An extremely bright blue ball -- bright as any of Bahorel's outfits -- comes bouncing across the grass, and Enjolras blinks.

Then Chuck Hansen comes into view, and things are clearer. He grins and leans sideways. The ball has just bounced off a tree root and veered towards his rock, losing momentum as it goes; it's easy to scoop it up.

"This yours?"

[andinfluencepeople]

"Yeah, I guess," Chuck says, grinning as he snags it. "Thanks. Bar gave it to me. What's up?"

He takes a step back, and drops onto the grass. (He might still be bouncing the ball.)

[pierregringoire]

Enjolras isn't the only one out appreciating the spring growth today--though Djali is appreciating it in her own way, as a person might appreciate a very good meal. And also as anyone might appreciate a good frolic!

...But she is a very well trained goat, so when she sees an actual human, she settles down a bit and only wanders over for the sake of that very rich grass he's so clearly wasting by sitting on it.

[pro_patria_mortuus]

...It's a goat.

Okay!

Enjolras considers goats a perfectly reasonable metaphor on occasion, and otherwise a perfectly reasonable agricultural thing for other people to care about. He watches the little goat approach long enough to make sure she's not going to be a nuisance, and then turns his gaze back to the middle distance and his attention back to his thoughts.

[pierregringoire]

Nope, she's just a goat! She's not going to do anything except eat some grass, over here.

...And then a little closer.

Maybe, on second thought, as afternoon wears on, a little closer.

...Look, human,if you're not going to pet her and make fond noises at her, you could at least not have your coattails right over the best grass. (You can tell it's the best grass, because it has coattails on it). So what happens now is really your own fault.