(no subject)

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Since the disappearance of his room, Laigle has essentially lived at the Bar, tucked into a corner that gives him a good view. He's watching for his door. Watching for his door and feverishly studying: there are a thousand ideas to bring home, practical and abstract, ranging from particulars of the weather in Paris in June of 1832 to advanced radical analyses of class warfare.

On his left he has a stack of books not yet read, a bottle of wine and a glass, and a pot of coffee. On his right he has a stack of books to re-read if he gets the chance, and a collection of empty wine bottles. In front of him, a notebook divided between extracts from readings and commentary thereon, and miscellaneous reminders. --Demon invasion from another universe 2001, 2023 --GAVROCHE --Germs, sanitation: cholera a micro-organism. alcohol? boiling --Tell Jolllllllllllllly about the cats --Charles Jeanne --Hugo unreliable in '48 --motor cycle, vélocipède, draysienne --Tell Combeferre about fountain pens, ball points --Cobol, Koballe, something like that? --Women's suffrage? --Mystery stories, criminal investigation sensational --Learn German, Russian

He has a system: after every other page that he fills, he switches between wine and coffee, stretches, and looks again for his door.


--

And he's gone.

On the floor of a Paris café, Bossuet blinks up at a square of newsprint: The rule of law is interrupted, that of force has begun. In the situation in which we are placed, obedience ceases to be a duty. Next to him, someone begins swearing in a tone of profound relief. "Christ, Lesgle, I thought you were dead. You were dead, I'd swear to it. --No, I wouldn't, not to Combeferre, he'll shoot me on the spot for falling asleep when I was watching the wounded. Don't tell Joly either, will you? My God, I was sure you were dead, don't do that again..."

((And I'm out of town for a few days, so it seems like a good time for Bossuet to skip back to Paris and 1830. Will he remember his Marx and his germ theory? Will all his friends think he's gone mad? Who knows! Tune in to next week's Brief Days of our Revolutionary Lives...))

Comments

[street_sparrow]

Gavroche shamelessly reads the notebook over his shoulder.

"...why do I get capitals?"

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Because you are such capital company, of course." Bossuet grins over his shoulder at Gavroche, then clears a little space if he wants to join him.

[street_sparrow]

He's always happy to join a friend, and sits down readily. "You've been keeping busy."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Mmmm. I am attempting to plan ahead and act prudently for future success. It doesn't come naturally to me." He hasn't shaved lately, and not to put too fine a point on it but he hasn't hopped in the shower as recently as someone from a later century might consider correct. "Coffee?" There's probably a cleanish cup somewhere.

[street_sparrow]

...he lives in the Underside. There are Sewer Folk. Bossuet smells fresh as a daisy compared to them.

"Coffee's good." He scrounges for a moment and finds one of those cleanish cups.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Lesgle would be astonished if Gavroche minded. He still thinks of Gavroche's natural setting as the Paris street, gutters and all.

He pours out some coffee. It's not especially hot any more. "I'm trying to pack my head as full of ideas as possible. Returning to Paris will be rather more significant an examination than anything I've taken before."

[street_sparrow]

Gavroche nods, and squints at his notebook again.

"Ideas on all kinds of subjects, looks like. What's that about Joly and cats?"

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Monsieur Joly is an admirer of the feline. I met a particularly charming example of the race the other day--she and I made conquests of one another. And I've seen quite a few others about the place lately..." But mostly, Joly likes cats so Lesgle has become an admirer as well.

[street_sparrow]

"You're going to tell them about Milliways, then? Or make something else up about where you saw them?"

[makesthings]

Since the end of Cubefall, Sameth has been feeling big and clumsy, going from a small frog to his normal size is odd. Today he's simply dressed in a not too dirty linen shirt and his normal breeches.

He has a book he found in the library about mechanics and almost trips over Bossuet, "Oh sorry."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Ah, no, likely my fault." Bossuet rescues the book he'd been reading, nearly dropped in the near-collision. "I'm taking up more than my share of space."

[makesthings]

"What are you working on?"

The way he has his books feels familiar and Sam leans over to see some of the titles.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

The titles are all in French, but many of the books are translations from other languages. It's mostly history and political theory: Blanqui, Marx, the Paris Commune of 1871. Likewise, Laigle leans over to see what Sameth's reading.

[makesthings]

Sam doesn't know French so the titles don't tell him much and he shows his book, which is about the mechanics of flight.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Lesgle is just as much in the dark about the mechanics of flight. He studies the diagram on the cover, though. "What is it?"

[makesthings]

"Its about planes and various ways to make them fly. I'm working on improving a mechanical frog with wings that I made a few years ago. What are you reading?"

He knows he can do better now.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Bossuet whistles silently. "Ah, this is all beyond my time. Flying frogs, flying machines? I'm sticking a little closer to the ground here--history, political thought. A little medicine..."

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Familiar footsteps, and a familiar shape approaching; Enjolras settles into the seat next to him.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Bossuet clears out some space among the books and the bottles--a familiar gesture. "I am applying myself."

[pro_patria_mortuus]

"So I see."

It's not as if he had any doubt, anyway. Bossuet and Enjolras may be very different in a number of ways, but on some matters they're entirely in accord.

"How's it going?"

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Ahhh..." He waves a hand. "I'm reaching the point where it all swims indiscriminately in my head." Surely not on account of the steady diet of wine and coffee and no sleep. "Karl Marx, riding a motor cycle, will avert the cholera; in 1871 the Paris Commune shares cat stories while re-shaping the nature of property."

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Based on Enjolras's experience with revolutionary societies, that latter might be about how it will in fact happen. Nonetheless.

He rests a hand on Bossuet's shoulder briefly. "It'll be fine." Or, as he actually says, Ça ira; the same thing, but with a few extra layers of meaning.

With half a smile, "Shall I get us lunch?"

Enjolras is much better at remembering to feed friends than to feed himself. Especially when they're looking unkempt and worn around the edges amidst a pile of books and notes.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Ça ira. --Oh. Lunch. That sounds suspiciously like the voice of Reason." He's known it to speak in various different voices, but have you had anything to eat and when's the last time you slept are common refrains. "I've discovered that the bar has a wonderful notion of crèpes. Savory and sweet, there was a sort of...chocolate and hazelnut spread..."

[pro_patria_mortuus]

That does sound good. "I'll investigate."

And thus, he rises to do so.

Enjolras sees no problem with subsisting on wine and coffee -- well, largely on coffee alone in his case, but most of his friends alternate the two quite frequently. Bar may elect to provide lemonade (sans rum) along with the assortment of crèpes she produces, however.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Revolutionaries need no long-term liver and kidney function!

They may possibly need Nutella, though. At least, that's what Bar seems to think, and Bar may have a point.