milliways_bar | (no subject)

'A horse!?'

He's moving before he finishes speaking, and grinning before he starts.

'But of course there is - where have you been Joly, you're quite behind the times.'

Breakfast food be damned; Courfeyrac flings his arms around him with a laugh of pure delight.

"I wonder if it's the same one that landed on my head when I was taking a walk." Having invited himself to Courfeyrac's wine, Bossuet now helps himself to a pastry. "Speaking of behind the times--before the times--have you tried the crescent rolls yet? It seems the croissant will be considered quintessentially French by the 1850s. What a world we might have known."

Maybe he should find somewhere other than draped-over-the-back-of-Courfeyrac's-chair.

Joly's return embrace is rendered a little awkward in the interest of Not Spilling Hot Coffee On Everyone, but is just as enthusiastic. "So I see,this is clearly where the finest society gathers now." He manages, with a little complication, to transfer the cups to the arm of the chair and holds tighter.

'The absolute finest of society!'

He laughs, lets go, and slouches back into his chair. Coffee is passed over in favour of more wine, and he has no problem whatever with Bossuet draping himself over the back of his chair.

'Now, first things first. Bossuet, did a horse fall on your head? You really should find a way to make it shine less; it seems to attract all manner of unwieldy objects. And I'm sure Joly has better things to do with his afterlife than stitch it up for you. And next-'

He picks up a crescent roll, and examines it with all the consideration it deserves.

'...yes, this has the Republic positively stamped all over it.'

The only thing to do is devour it whole. Obviously.

"My head was protected by my hat. My hat was protected by nothing at all, and became entangled with a gorse-bush. My dignity...well, that succumbed to exposure ages ago and does not figure in the story."

He watches the hugging with benign good cheer, and reaches out to ruffle everyone's hair.

Enjolras's room is no longer a place of inevitable solitude; the main bar is no longer a café full of strangers, acquaintances, and two who are friends in complicated ways and to complicated extents. Instead, both are likely at any given time to contain dear friends and brothers.

It makes an astonishing difference.

When Enjolras comes downstairs it's primarily with the thought of returning a book and an empty coffee-cup to Bar, and obtaining food. But he sees the collection of figures by the fireplace -- all three of them, clustered around cups and plates -- and his small smile starts, and stays.

He pauses by Bar only long enough to trade his cup for a fresh one and his own breakfast, before he goes to join them.

"You had a horse fall on your head? I would chide you for not telling me, except the reason for your forgetfulness seems clear." Joly leans over to check for bruises; he would have noticed by now, surely, but it's always best to check again with head injuries. If that requires him to drape over Bossuet's shoulders and nuzzle a bit, well,sacrifices must be made for science and professionalism. And such.

He grabs Courfeyrac's discarded book with his free hand. He looks at it.

... He uses it to wave to Enjolras before dropping it again.

'Be careful, Joly. I have told Bossuet you will read that for me, and inform me of all pertinent arguments.'

He grins up at Enjolras, and pushes Joly's plate towards him. Because Joly is clearly about to become busy with reading. Or examining Bossuet for more injuries, one of the two.

'I have to wonder whether we would notice if Bossuet became any more forgeful, but I suppose there is only one way to find out. Go and walk in the forest Lesgle; a tree is bound to fall on you, and then we may examine the evidence.'

See? It's science!

"I hate to tell you all, but this was in my earlier stay here. When I had already been knocked on the head with flowerpots. It was just after I was treed by hellhounds. And now that I think of it, I must have muddled my account, because I had already lost my hat at that point. --Yes, yes, what a hilariously droll idea, Courfeyrac. Laugh at my inevitable misfortune, I don't mind. Jolllly, do you see how these people treat me? You can understand why I was so glad to have you here. And now Courfeyrac has stolen your plate. Which, I note, takes it out of my reach as well."

Edited 2014-08-18 01:00 (UTC)

Or something, yes.

Enjolras presses a hand to Joly's shoulder in greeting, and then Courfeyrac's in turn -- Bossuet's shoulders being currently occupied by a Joly -- and settles into the nearest free chair. A little rearranging gives him enough of a free corner of the table to rest his breakfast on.

This bickering and nonsense and clamor is a comfort like coming home after a long absence, to a lit fire and a warm room after January rain. He sinks into it gratefully.

(This has been a common sight for years: Enjolras in reserved, affectionate silence, smiling faintly into a coffee cup and listening without contribution to the tumble of conversation around him.)

Joly stretches out to grab two of the pastries and leans back to his established perch. "--There. We are saved from the dire specter of starvation. Courfeyrac, I absolutely promise to undertake your studies the very day I finish my own. If you want to speed me along, you may join me in my research. Today I intend to run some simple establishing tests on Milliway's magnetic field; it seems the question has gone completely unaddressed."

(If Courfeyrac wants to wait for Joly to finish all of his studies, it will be a very long wait. But possibly they have eternity, so it might happen, someday.)

Courfeyrac pulls a face that is more than a little horrified - though if his help were actually needed, he would certainly sacrifice himself at the altar of higher learning - and reaches for the wine.

'But we are in space. Are there magnetic fields in space? And surely the fact there is magic everywhere will cause things to be...different.'

Yes? No? Does anyone know?

His look of wide-eyed innocence may be a little exaggerated. Forgive him; Joly speaking this way reminds him of who is not here. They all know who the ideal partner for Joly's endeavour would be, and it seems cruel that he should not have found his way yet.

Yes. Probably they're all thinking it for a moment; Lesgle is. Even though this merry little group is more like home than it used to be, there are still too many gaps in the conversation. Sometimes you can almost hear the voices that should be there.

Bossuet clears his throat and launches the conversation along a nonsensical vector. "Now, you will have heard Joly complain that I still don't know a magnetic field from a poppy field--most unjustly, I say, most unjustly, as I know perfectly well that a poppy is naturally red and a magnet is only red if you paint it thus, so it stands to reason that growing in the field, the magnet would show its natural iron color--but even I can tell you that these fields are not found in space. Not among the stars, that is, if by 'space' you mean stars; certainly they are found in the physical realm, they have volume, they take up space. No, Courfeyrac, you will never make an Academician at that rate, rattling on about magnetic fields in space. Why, how would the farmer till his land among the stars?"

Edited 2014-08-18 19:16 (UTC)

Perhaps counter-intuitively, Enjolras is likely the one who misses Combeferre's voice least in that moment when it should have been heard.

Of course he misses him still. Of course. But there have been so many silences, over the months; seven voices' worth of them. At every turn, silences.

Now the gap where Combeferre should have spoken up comes after Joly's enthusiastic voice, and Courfeyrac's, and the thread is taken up by Bossuet rattling forth nonsense to distract his friends.

"Perhaps an opportunity would crop up."

Unlike most of his friends, Enjolras is not much gifted at whimsical wordplay. His talents lie elsewhere. Every time he does manage a pun, therefore, he has a faintly satisfied look of which he is wholly unaware.

Joly frowns at the obvious deflection, and opens his mouth to explain, or protest, or both-- they're law students, they clearly don't understand the incredible importance of being able to maybe construct a galvanometer-- but is cut off completely by Enjolras'...comment.

Joly does not laugh, but he does grin in approval (and a touch of sympathy. He may not be as pun-impaired as Enjolras, but keeping company with Bossuet could make nearly any man feel a little slow-spoken by comparison). and pushes the plate with its remaining pastries over to Enjolras.

"Indeed. One never knows what we may find when we go rooting around."

No, he doesn't know. There are worlds of things to discover in the library, if Enjolras and Bossuet are correct. Maybe he can find something better than a galvanometer to start with. He'll keep quiet about it, for now.

((sparing everyone the wikitrawl-- galvanometers were critical components of the sort of telegraphic tech that was very cutting-edge in 1832. They rather depend on knowing some things about the local magnetic field. There really isn't any reason the law students should know about them. ))

Courfeyrac, momentarily silenced by the fact that Enjolras said that line, responds by lazily tossing his wine cork backwards into the air, vaguely aimed at Bossuet's head.

'Space is what they call it in the future - you see, I have listened and learned things, so clearly there is a hope for me in academia yet. But no. No! I am naught but quarry to you, Bossuet; you prospect me for inadequacies, burrow into every flaw, root and rout me for your own amusement. Ah! It is a sad day when one's friends become miners, and exhume every misspoken word of this poor man's wine-soaked carcass. You excavate me. I am depressed.'

Albeit with a wide grin breaking through the utter tragedy of his situation.

Of course the cork hits Bossuet's head. Everything always hits Bossuet's head.

He had murmured Oh, Enjolras, no at the crop line, and sighed at Joly's rooting around, but now with Courfeyrac's contributions he looks like a cat sitting down to dinner. "Why Courfeyrac, I'm hurt that you should think I look to you for inadequacies; it would be a most uncharitable friend who would even mention such things. Whether a man has been wine-soaked or no. (Although, parenthetically, I recommend against the strong liquors when it comes to inadequacy; many a man and woman have come to grief through whiskey.) And then you say that I prospect you, burrow and root and rout--and you complain? You are depressed? Courfeyrac, it is you who are the uncharitable friend. Surely it is you."

Enjolras accepted one of the pastries -- some sort of chocolate bread thing with egg? -- and has settled back contentedly in his chair to eat it, and sip coffee, and bask in his friends' presence.

He suspects there's some kind of innuendo somewhere in what Bossuet's saying, based on that grin, but Enjolras isn't going to put in the work of figuring out what it is. You guys have fun.

His suspicions are probably helped along by the fact that Joly's now half-choking on his croissant and about to fall on the ground laughing.

Yeah, you two go on, Joly's gotta administer emergency breakfast wine to himself here.

Lesgle thumps Joly's back supportively (and affectionately) while he waits for Courfeyrac to formulate a response. Let's not actually damage Joly, please.

Courfeyrac needs no time to formulate a response. He laughs roundly, and looks up to closer display his grin to Bossuet.

'Ah, Lesgueles, the man of Meaux - this! From a man who wear his inadequacy so clearly on the top of his head, for all to aim at. A fine eyrie you present! And after all, I have heard it said those who speak so beautifully do so to please the ear, and draw the eye and mind away from what may be lacking. What are words after all, if action proves them otherwise? Speak on, dear friend! Depressions are necessary for a man to rise again; never let it be said I have need to execute a rant on the frailty of a friend in order to hide one's own.'

"Lesgueules, is it? Now your complaints turn towards my powers of oral persuasion? For shame, Courfeyrac. For shame. You are the last man who should complain: as if it were wrong for a man to turn to his strengths in the service of his friends."

He pauses. It would be very wrong to enlist Enjolras's support for that last point. Very wrong: beyond the limits of their usual games.

Edited 2014-08-19 00:33 (UTC)

Enjolras is having a sip of coffee right now, ignoring all insinuations and sputtering going on around him.

This is between you and your conscience, Bossuet!

"Well! It shouldn't be news to anyone that the eagle is everyone's good servant --" A hand reaches up and raps Bossuet's bald head. "-- a true domestique," with a heavy emphasis on the dome.

"Everyone except mine," adds Grantaire, belligerently. "If you're handing around oral gratification, Bossuet, then where's my glass?"

"Why, if I thought you ever came out of your room I might have attempted something; but as for coming in your room, why, you would have to--" He pauses, long enough to let possibilities multiply, and then finishes with a serene anticlimax. "--clean the place up a bit. Good God, Grantaire, how do you even find your bed to sleep in?"

They are short of glasses, though. Bossuet fills his own and passes it over; if necessary he can always share Joly's. (Speaking of Joly...he's just going to take a moment and check that Joly has not actually choked on his croissant. Breathing, we're all breathing, yes? Good.)