(no subject)

[le_centre]

  
Bar has turned very red today. Courfeyrac had come down for lunch, and received a note asking if he'd mind 'tending later. And of course he doesn't! He's been meaning to give it a go for a while.

But this is not a normal day, and while a small part of him is reflective, even a little sad, the rest of him thinks it's a rather good opportunity to celebrate something that was so nearly glorious. So, he gets busy for the rest of the afternoon. Red flags are hung along the back of the bar. He chalks tiny tricolours around the edges of the specials board, and requests bowls of red, white and blue rosettes to place along the bar-top. Bunting hangs off the outer edge, and music is carefully chosen from the popular revolutionary choices of his day, playing softly from iPod speakers.

Then he cracks out the vodka, and sets to mixing up shot glasses of spiked jelly (he's read about this! Too good an opportunity to pass up!) in the colours of the flag. He doesn't make the cake himself - be thankful, Milliways - but asks Bar. And so, the centrepiece is a giant sponge iced in the shape of a barricade, a blond figure on top waving a flag in one hand, a sword in the other. 

(There is also a carefully made hat lying on its side among the barricade furniture. Alas, good headpiece! Sorely missed.)

CITIZENS

Any friend of the Republic drinks their choice at half price. 
Cake and jelly drinks are free.

Vive la Révolution!!!

He does wonder whether celebrating one's death-day in such a manner could be seen as inappropriate, but it's his anniversary - their anniversary - and remembering the fight is not something he'll feel guilty for. He does dress in the clothes of his time out of respect, but his cheerful grin is undimmed as he takes his place behind the bar, and awaits customers.

(And tries the vodka jelly. SO GOOD.)


[OOC: Here to celebrate the June Rebellion, and the death of Les Amis! Please do chat and thread hop. Open until no one wants to play any more. <333

ETA: *laughing* Y'all are crazy, and brilliant! I'm tapping out for the night, but will be back in the am to pick everything up. <3]

Comments

[not_his_pa]

William stares at the decorations in the Bar and he wonders if at first its July the Fourth but then spots the French.

The cake is impressive and he stops and walks around it, he really needs to find a book to read about where the Frenchmen fought. In time, he makes his way to the counter, "What's in the jelly?"

[le_centre]

'Everything!' Courfeyrac declares, grin wide and arms spread.

(Everything = jelly, and vodka.)

'Everything you need for an enjoyable evening among friends. Bonsoir, monsieur!'

[pro_patria_mortuus]

And here, some time later, is a blond man.

The resemblance to the figurine atop the cake probably isn't all that precise; there's only so much detail one can get in a cake topper. But he is blond, and wearing a tricolor cockade on his eloquently 1830s (and eloquently bourgeois, if a bit well-worn) outfit.

They've met once, but quite a while ago, and William would be entirely forgiven for forgetting, or for forgetting his name. Enjolras, at any rate, nods to him in the amiable greeting of near-strangers who are both willing to be seen next to an extraordinarily tricolor bar.

[cook_the_rude]

"Rather a statement, celebrating your own death and failure in this way," says the gentleman who turns up at the bar to look up at the specials sign.

[le_centre]

'Ah, monsieur. You wound me with forced remembrance.'

He flings a dramatic hand to his heart, and tries not to smile.

'Though if any should consider a display of love for one's cause, and country, a bad thing - well, I should be forced to disagree with him. Over a drink, of course.'

[heartbeneathastone]

Marius slept badly, and felt an entirely unexpected relief when he opened the door and realized that Milliways was on the other side.

...he doesn't know what to make of this display, though. He wasn't expecting the calendars of Milliways and Paris to have finally overlapped. He hovers a few paces away from the bar, unsure if he wants to (ought to? deserves to?) approach.

[le_centre]

'Marius!'

Decision made for you, my friend! Courfeyrac vaults over the bar, walks over and throws his arms around him.

'There you are. Come along, I've made jelly treats with alcohol in them, you must try one.'

[isawit]

Free is a very good word in Selina's world view. Cake is a close second.

"Are you starting something here or is this to do with your home?" She asks taking a seat.

[le_centre]

'Starting something?'

Courfeyrac's grin is wide, instant, and friendly.

'Ahh mademoiselle, we finished something - our lives, I admit - and it carries on without us. And so the answer is 'both', but there is no need to be maudlin about it.'

[not_his_pa]

William's finally getting some cake after singing, his cheeks are red and he's a little tipsy, "Hello, you're Cat, right?"

[onceaviking]

Eric ambles over to the counter and leans on it as he reads the sign.

(Black tank top, black jeans, blond hair combed back. Very pale. Very broad shouldered).

"Well," he says. "I have a king and I really don't like him. Does that count?"



{ooc: tag and run - slows?}

[le_centre]

'It does. Most vehemently.'

Down with kings! All kings!

Courfeyrac grins, takes in the stranger with a casual eye, and completely fails to make any judgements either positive or negative.

'And so good evening, citizen. Cake? I can recommend the jelly also, it has rather a lot of alcohol in it.'


[OOC: Fo' shizzle! Catch ya on the flip side. :)]

[tu_vas_triompher]

...that's not something Feuilly expected, exactly. But then again it doesn't surprise him, exactly, either. He stands and takes in the flags, the tricolors, the rosettes, the music, the cake, the--jelly drinks?

Well, that sounds harmless. And he's an independent-minded man who doesn't need to ask permission, so he helps himself to a fresh rosette and a red wobbly jello shot.

There's nothing in those, right? (Don't tell him, Courfeyrac. Feuilly could use an unexpected encounter with vodkas.)

[le_centre]

He has absolute no intention of telling him. He will tell strangers, but not his friends. He knows they can take it...or they're Feuilly, and could do with the experience.

'Feuilly.'

Courfeyrac is his usual grinning self, but there's no need to be so dramatically exuberant with his friends. There is, after all, a sombre side to today.

'I had hoped to see you today! Cake?'

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras, of course, smiles when he sees Feuilly, faint and very warm. Hello, dear friend.

(Dear and likewise violently dead friend, but it's not as if any of them are ever unaware of that.)

Whether this is before or after Feuilly has encountered mysterious jelly drinks is entirely at the discretion of Feuilly's mun!

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel's been in mourning black since Halloween, but today it is, somehow, even blacker. He has a certain professional curiosity about the fabric, which seems to be doing something to the light. But it looks like he won't get to ask Madame Bar about it right now.

He makes a Very Serious face as he regards the barricade cake. "A monument to the irreplaceable, I see." He is, of course, talking about Courfeyrac's hat.

[le_centre]

Courfeyrac's hand presses to his heart.

'My sorrow knows no end, citizen. It cannot be borne.'

Hi, Bahorel.

[street_sparrow]

As if summoned - or possibly just because he knows what day it is and suspected something would be afoot - Gavroche appears from behind the painting of dogs playing poker.

"...Courfeyrac, you've surpassed yourself."

[le_centre]

'Gavrocchhhhhhhhhe.'

He sings it across the bar at him, hand to his chest like an opera singer.

(It's possible he's indulged in a jelly or two; also that having fun is simply a better prospect than the alternative.)

'There you are. And I should hope I have not surpassed myself yet, or there will be nowhere left to go. Say only it is a good attempt, citizen, and we shall try for greater heights on another occasion.'

[pro_patria_mortuus]

Enjolras, today, is sober and thoughtful (as he often is on any day), but not overly so. Of course the date is on his mind. But France, and the fight for the Republic, and the events of June 5 and 6 which brought himself and all his dearest friends here to Milliways from 1832 -- all those are on his mind on any day, too, and the anniversary only heightens that a little bit. And he's dressed in the clothing of his own day because he always is, except a newfound tendency to not bother with a hat, though he did take care this morning to wear the blue waistcoat Bahorel made for him, and to affix the perpetual tricolor cockade with even more reverence than usual.

But the sight of so much tricolor and bunting makes him smile as he comes down the stairs. The sound of the music makes the smile deepen, when he's near enough to hear it.

(He hasn't noticed the cake yet.)

And then, of course, there's Courfeyrac. Dear always. He settles onto a barstool, regarding his friend rather than the mysterious jiggly cubes in shot glasses for the moment.

[le_centre]

'Enjolras.'

Excellent. Good. He is glad to see him downstairs; he would have come to his room later in any case, but it is better to find him here, among people, today.

'Another glorious June. Would you like a drink? I recommend one of these glasses most strongly, even though they come close to starting a revolt on their own. The epitome of revolt, one might say.'

He is going to speak a lot of nonsense today, most likely. But Enjolras will understand.

[1stwitness]

[ooc: still figuring out what to do with this guy in the wake of canon falling into a pit of terrible, but for the occasion...]

"I will gladly call myself a friend of any good republic", Ichabod declares, approaching the bar. "But what are the jellies?"

[le_centre]

[OOC: Allgood!]


'They are a mystery of science, citizen. All I can tell you is that they come in packets that almost, but do not quite taste of fruit, and currently contain alcohol.'

Which is surely all that matters! Courfeyrac grins, and pushes a tricolour rosette towards him - allegiance! - followed by a tray so he can try for himself.

[merryeccentricities]

Joly grins at the display of bunting and tricolor, and grins even more at the display of tricolored drinks. "I claim being a friend of the Republic, always and eternally; but I will trust your guidance in the matter of drinks for a round , all the same." He reaches out to hug Courfeyrac the best he can over the top of the Bar, out of good spirits rather than any sudden poignant emotions. Joly is not the best acquainted with melancholy.

[le_centre]

And neither is Courfeyrac! He catches Joly in a rough hug, uttering 'Jollllllyyyyyyy' like he hasn't seen him in years.

'I shall have to insist on you wearing a rosette to prove it, citizen,' he says, with utter solemnity when he straightens back up.

'Or how will anyone know?'

He does not get him a rosette. He gives him three jelly shots instead, on red, one white, one blue. (They are all disgusting, but very strong.)

[harryhotspur]

Wait this looks familiar.

"--was it not in July last year?" asks the Englishman whose expression seems to be floating somewhere between confusino and irritation at feeling confused. "This celebration?"

(You're thinking of Bastille Day, Harry.)

[le_centre]

'I should hope not, citizen! Moving a man's death-day to an entirely new month would be unpardonable, especially if they did not think to notify him. More likely someone got the date wrong, but not last year, as I recall. I was here.'

Was he here? He was.

(He has been partaking of many strange jelly shots. They were delicious! And now less so, but that doesn't mean he'll stop.)

'Anyway, welcome! Call yourself a friend to the Republic, and we may drink together! Call yourself not and we still may, though it will cost you more.'

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre and Jehan Prouvaire come into the bar together. They, too, are dressed in era-appropriate (or, in Jehan's case, era-specifically-inappropriate) clothes out of some sense of occasion.

Jehan looks at the barricade cake--and the little blond figure!--in delight, while Combeferre casts a look of dubious interest on the jello shots. Really, though, they're both hanging around to talk to Courfeyrac and any other friends who turn up.

[le_centre]

'Combeferre! Jehan! Citizens, and friends!'

(Courfeyrac has been drinking. Eating. There was alcohol, okay?)

He rounds the bar so he can hug them properly, all wide grin and ever-so-slightly unfocused eyes.

'Come, let us drink to our attempt.'

[student_of_impossibility]

Tavi had very nearly gone up to the Bar the moment he'd walked through the door--a party, free food and drink, frankly he could use the pick-me-up.

However, it is really just rude to turn up at such a thing armed and in full armor and covered in soot and wax and blood and ichor that substitutes for blood in Vord. So instead when he comes back from downstairs, his face and hands are clean and the armor, at least, is off--though he doesn't actually change into something cleaner underneath. If he had a full bath and then had to get back into icky clothes after, that would just be depressing. So while he might not look presentable, at least he looks less like he walked in from a war.

(To be fair, he did.)

He slides into a seat, eying the board thoughtfully. "I've heard that France is known for its wine," he says conversationally. "I've mostly been drinking Tortallan vintages when I'm here, so I haven't explored it. Any recommendations?"

[le_centre]

Courfeyrac would totally understand turning up at a bar covered in ick! He did much the same the first time he arrived here, and found lots of ready alcohol a decent way to counter all the gross.

But this is fine too. He grins widely, and spreads his hands.

'You may ask a priest to choose just one passage from the Bible, citizen; or a dandy to pick just one waistcoat from all the tailors in Paris. I don't claim expertise in the matter myself; only experience from one end of the country to another. But what is your taste? Red, or white, or perhaps champagne? It is a place to start; the regions and vineyards of France could test your palate for a lifetime before you find just one to please you best.'

He could always try a jelly shot?

(Do not try a jelly shot, Tavi.)

[visible_sariel]

These are not the June 6 observances a certain Starfleet ensign was expecting.

What... on multiple possible Earth variations...?

Sariel's at one end of the bar, gazing in bemusement at the decor (and reading the specials board, which makes things at least a--well, a fraction clearer, anyway.) ... There's no white or blue to be seen, but at least her uniform is red?

"{Any friend of the republic,}" she says eventually, carefully. "{Including those in former colonies?}"

Now independent from does not necessarily mean unfriendly toward, and well. The tricolor rosettes and the music did rather make things plain. Plainer.

That's not continental French she's speaking, for the record. Good luck on a few words, Courfeyrac.

((OOC: Instaslow since I got here after you left?))

[not_his_pa]

(OOC: Would a tipsy cowboy work for you?)

William spots her and comes over, he's feeling warm and rather sad, he thinks they might have met but can't remember,

"Its like the Fourth but not, more like Gettysburg, ma'am. The jelly drinks are dangerous."

[never_shall_yield]

There is not a thing in the world that could make Javert approach the bar. He only came in because he suspected Marius had come. To be faced with what looks like a party, celebrating that date...no, he will not approach. He sits in his dark booth, his eyes following first one revolutionary, then another, watching them laugh and toast and sing, raising glasses to a death they seem to consider glorious.

Even after everything that has happened, even with this being one day from the day he first tried to end himself, he cannot find forgiveness in himself for these people. They remain the dregs of humanity, who deserved what they got. But he will watch, as he always watches. That one there. Marius Pontmercy. That one still lives, and there he is, still counted as one of them.

Yes. He will watch, and follow him again when he leaves. He will not escape; he will lead Javert to more of these groups, who will all meet the same end as these. It is what they deserve.

[heartbeneathastone]

[ooc: WHY WON'T YOU LET THE BOY HAVE A HOBBY JAVERT]