milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Bahorel had begun the night with a drink, and gone over to a table in a far corner, with a good view of the room, to sketch the Bar and her surroundings in their altered state.

That had been some time ago.

His table is currently covered and spilling over in pages spliced together and folded into each other, sketches of landscapes and buildings twisting across them in a style that's rather more shadowed and symbolic than representative. At some point, he thought to ask for ink, though he hasn't really noticed-- and if Madame Bar's her usual self again, he hasn't noticed that either.

Possibly startleable , if you catch him before his pencils run out.

((OOC: here for an hour or so maybe, or until storms sideline me again!))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I? I think you should talk to your wife. Give her the choice. You're right that you needn't give her all the details; even among those of us sworn to the cause, those are kept secret often enough, for the very reason you've already named. But let her know, let her choose to walk with you in this. Tell her what you mean to risk, and tell her why."

He frowns. "--I think she would not say no. A woman is quite as capable as a man of understanding sacrifice and risk for others--more capable!, for what else do they undertake in being mothers? But for all it would cost us and our cause-- and it might cost much, indeed--if she did not agree to join you in this, I would not have you do it." Others might; but Bahorel has had time to consider it, long before the matter of the Pontmercys, and he knows his own answer.

"Of all causes, the republic can't be built on drafted labor; it cannot be settled on the backs of hostages, chained to the wheel with ignorance. It is worth giving everything--but it all must be given freely."

He laughs a little, without turning in any way less serious. "I do not go so far as Combeferre--the good may well not be innocent, for who can ever be innocent who lives in the world? But the free! The free must not, cannot, make ourselves tyrants. Or we lose all we mean to do, whatever the laws may come to say."

His frown only deepens as Bahorel speaks, but it seems to be an expression of consideration, not disagreement, for at last he says: "Yes. Yes, you..."

He frowns again, down at the table, passes a hand over his forehead. "I will speak to her."

Bahorel grins."That hardly seems like it should be a great burden. Surely you enjoy talking to her, at least--and listening to, I should hope. It's much too early for you to be repenting each other's company, you know!"

"Of course not!" he cries-- and realizes, a moment too late, that it's a joke. Right. "I simply must consider... what to say, and how to say it."

After another moment, he adds, "She is the kindest, cleverest woman in the world. I know she will understand."

Bahorel laughs, and reaches over to thump Marius on the shoulder in approval. "I'm glad you know it! I'm sure you're right. She's a bright young soul. She sings nothing but your praises, you know. Churches wish for bells that ring so true."

Marius ducks his head, starting to blush. "I would not dream of doing anything to cause her pain."

"Ah, of course not. You would not think of it--And yet you turn to the most shameful of professions, letting yourself be called a lawyer!" Bahorel swoons dramatically. He is very good at it.

He's also laughing. It's a joke, Marius, it's okay. (It's not okay, but it is a joke.) "--Whatever put that idea into your head, anyway? Surely you don't need the income."

"Well-- well, that wasn't entirely certain, at first," Marius says, with a touch of that bourgeois awkwardness that comes with discussing money. "But now... no, I suppose I don't. But I do not think Cosette would like to have me underfoot all day."

Bahorel laughs. " Even newlyweds need amoment to themselves, then?-- Oh, I know, I know, you must find a Respectable occupation." The capitalization is definitely audible. " But you have the money, and the time, to find something that you want to do. Why sentence yourself to the law, so young?" Tragic, Marius. Tragic.

"You are the second person to say so," Marius says, frowning still. "I had not thought of it."

Bahorel laughs. "Someone beat me to an argument against the law? How long ago was that first person? --Ah, I know, Bossuet did meet you first. An unfair advantage!--But it must be admitted."

Marius smiles. "No, it was not Bossuet. Well, he made some jokes about it, but-- the conversation I refer to was with an Englishman. Jim was his name, I believe."

"Jim?" Bahorel raises an eyebrow. "Says he's from a couple centuries ahead of us, seedy English sort, about--" he lifts his hand in the air "--so high, nothing about him you wouldn't lose in a crowd?"

Well, Marius probably wouldn't have thought to describe him quite like that, but...

"Yes, that sounds like him."

"Ah, you are keeping dangerous company, then-- that's the fellow who set fire to our stables here not long ago." See, Marius, this is why you talk to your friends! Important Gossip!

"What!" he cries, quite alarmed. "I had no idea!"

"Ah, well, you've very rightly had your thoughts elsewhere." Really, Marius. It's all right. "But it's no secret; the news was posted on the main notice-board, by the head of Security. And I've never met her, that I could rely on her word alone, but Feuilly confirms it, too." And Bahorel has risked his life and interests on Feuilly's word before, and would again.

"I had no notion such things happened here," Marius says. He hardly liked to think of Cosette here alone before, but now...

"They mostly don't-- it's amazing how much they don't, with everyone who comes through. You're safer here than the streets of Paris." And oh how it drives him mad.

"But that fellow seems to have taken a dislike to some of the other patrons, and set about to strike at them without any concern for anyone else who'd get caught in the way." If it weren't for that carelessness, Bahorel wouldn't think terribly of Jim--Harry and Hal are grown men and skilled fighters, and they have a right to their enemies. But the poor panicked animals in the stable, anyone else who might have been injured in the effort to put it out-- that was rotten. "--And he's happy to use other people to do his dirty work for him, without their knowing." Which makes him no better than any prosecutor or policeman,to Bahorel's thinking.

"Well! Then I shall give no more thought to anything he said, and will avoid him if I can." He frowns. "Is there anyone else-- or anything else-- I ought to know about?"

Actually asking for more information, Marius? Good for you! "There's a fellow named Hannibal Lecter who it seems used to be a doctor in his world-- Joly will tell you more about that if you ask him, I'm sure, but it seems he was responsible for some rather lurid horrors. There's Security--they're less trouble than our officers back home, and the cells would rent for more than any honest man could pay as a Paris apartment, but do look out for a weaselly Englishman in a bad coat--that's Gene Hunt, and he's free with his fists. And he doesn't llike Frenchmen." This obviously amuses Bahorel a good deal.

"And oh, there's magic and what not--There's a fellow who calls himself Death-- I don't believe him, but he does have a bit in the way of flashy powers. There are quite a few of those here-- people with powers or magic or what have you. They're mostly no trouble." He grins. "And I could tell you of enough of them that you'd think I had lost my senses, or was inventing stories like any fireside talespinner; but ask Courfeyrac, or Enjolras--you know he's not given to fancies--there's very little of our storybook creatures you won't find here. Leave them to be themselves,and they leave you to be yourself, in the main, and that's all anyone has business asking of a stranger."

Marius nods, his brow working its way into a deeper frown. He's tempted to take notes, though of course he doesn't: Jim, Hannibal Lecter, Gene Hunt. Well, he can remember three names well enough.

"I little like the thought of Cosette having been here alone amongst such things-- though I know it is too late now."

"Alone!" Bahorel laughs. "I like that! Her father's here, as often as not; her mother's here, now, and has been for months. What better company do you want for her? For that matter, we're all here, and do you think we'd let anything happen to her that could be prevented? How many legions do you think she needs?"

He looks at Marius a little more seriously. "It is safer than Paris, you know. There's less chance of attack--and less chance of gossip, too. No one here would speak against her--or if they have poison enough that they would , they can't, not to anyone who can possibly matter on your side of the Door. There's only us--and that spy, and he's less threat here than there."

Marius ducks his head, blushing.

"Yes-- yes, of course. Only you make it all sound so-- strange, and dangerous. And I suppose it is, in its way. And yet, safer than Paris. Yes, I do believe that."

"Fair! Fair enough! It's strange, I can hardly deny that; and I'd hardly be here if it weren't, would I?"

He looks at Marius a little more seriously. "It's strange, and no one could expect you to trust the place entirely. And I wouldn't be pinned here for choice. But if I could live in our world, and come and go here of my own will--damn! Ask Joly what it could mean; ask Combeferre! It's not a place to be dismissed."

(no subject)

heartbeneathastone - 2016-05-21 05:01 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only