milliways_bar | Entries tagged with courfeyrac

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]

pro_patria_mortuus

[Not technically OOM:

Enjolras and Javert run afoul of the handcuffs situation.

Luckily, several of the Amis are there to lend moral support! For some mysterious reason, Javert is less than appreciative.

Millitimed to before Jay's Happy Hour with the key, and preplayed this way because of the number of involved muns out of town or otherwise afk this weekend. :D?]

le_centre

Not long after arrival,

a lost Pontmercy is picked up in the halls.

le_centre

Courfeyrac is a sensitive sort of fellow (at least some of the time) and as such, realised that even Enjolras' and Combeferre's endless patience with him might start to grow a little thin if he subjected them to any more of America's Next Top Model. Even if he was only watching to marvel at the extreme stupidity of the entire thing (no, really).

Anyway, it meant he holed himself up in his room for a while to explore the delights of television. If 'a while' stretched into uncountable days, weeks, nay months, then ~~it's the mun's fault~~ he feels he cannot be faulted. There is a lot of raw material to be examined.

But he is not made for spending too long on his own, and also there are matters of importance to be seen to. Which is why he can be found in the bar this evening, sprawled on a couch by the fire, taking up too much space. An iPad and camera are strewn on the table in front of him, as well as a couple of bottles of red. But he's not using them, nor drinking. He is reading a book. A large book. The book.

Which might explain the sudden scream of, 'I am NOT like Tholomyès!' that vibrates across the room at one point.

If the look of rage is anything to go by, he could probably use someone to tell him to step away from Monsieur Hugo for a while.

street_sparrow

Gavroche pops in and leaves an invitation to a gathering at the House of Arch for Les Amis - and Eponine, if she wants to come, though he knows how she feels about marking that day. He'll be around to take them through when they appear.

[ooc: sorry for the delay, everyone! Tag at will.]

tire_moi_mes_bottes

Oh God, they've multiplied again. The place is now jam-packed with 19th-century French students. They've all come tumbling and elbowing and chattering cheerfully through the door from the grounds, and now the numbers are up to nine. Nine young men--and three cats--and a large quantity of lacy underwear.

But after a certain amount of group hugging and drinking one another's health, they do spread out, some over to the fireplace, some by the bar, some sprawled or perched or just sensibly sitting in the various chairs. Lesgle, for one, is making a pile of his and Courfeyrac's lingerie trove on the bar. From the Hugo Collection with Love, he's starting to write on a brightly-colored piece of paper. Some of the others are quieter--Joly feeding his cats, Enjolras sitting quietly and watching his friends. Feuilly, looking ready to fall asleep, but unwilling just yet to leave their newest arrival: Jean Prouvaire, back among his friends.

((Nine pups, several players, multiple time zones! Coming in from their Labyrinth OOMs, we've got Grantaire, Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel, Lesgle, Joly, and Jean Prouvaire, all entirely botherable--say who you want to tag, or get whoever is around. :D ))

pro_patria_mortuus

[Another clump of Amis OOMs:

Some indeterminate amount of Millitime ago, after the IMDB flu but when there was still some snow on the ground, Lesgle and Courfeyrac got drunk enough to decide that drunkenly sauntering into the Labyrinth was a great plan.

Joly and Combeferre followed hastily after them, partly in the interests of rescuing hapless friends and partly in the interests of Science.

When this inevitably failed to go as planned, Enjolras, Feuilly, Bahorel, and Grantaire set out on a rescue mission. But, of course, the Labyrinth had its own ideas.

Meanwhile, someone else is following his own path.]

[OOC: Enjolras and Grantaire's thread is still ongoing. The link under 'someone else' contains non-graphic violent death; Bahorel and Feuilly's contains some arson and accidental magical drug use; I don't think I need to warn for anything else but uh these threads cover a lot of ground.]

pro_patria_mortuus

[Further Les Amis Adventures In Canon-Puncture OOMs that happened some *mumble* time ago:

5. Bahorel and Combeferre talk history
6. Bahorel and Enjolras talk privacy and public knowledge
7. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac talk further about depictions

After all this, there's been a note for Valjean, under his name of Ultime Fauchelevent, left with Bar.]

le_centre

Courfeyrac, being young and open-minded and clever, has embraced Milliways in several ways. One of these is the use of new technology (which he does not understand, but is willing to press the buttons of). As such, he has learned many, many wonderful things! This thing called television is a marvellous teacher.

So. He approaches the bar with a grin, and an air of one about to ask for something he knows he probably shouldn't.

'Madame, I wonder if you might lend me...a camera.'

Without so much as a hesitation, one appears. Courfeyrac snatches it up in delight, wide-eyed as he presses ALL THE BUTTONS and the lens slides out on its own. Soon he has taken a picture of the bar-top, himself reflected in the mirror behind the bar, and half his own face. He is still absently lost in the settings menu, as he mutters, 'I would also like to try zorbing.'

...an hour later, having fought with plugs, a mechanized...thing that inflates a giant plastic ball (and there happens to be a few spares ready to go), an unholy screech can be heard rising over the grounds. Courfeyrac's ball zips over snow like a bowling ball on ice, and he has somehow managed to knock it in the direction of the lake. And there is no stopping it; he flies out over the ice and onto the water and is sure he is going to immediately drown...until he discovers, you can zorb on water.

Well. That's today taken care of. He is panting and happy as he hamster-balls himself back onto land, and then runs back up to the bar to do it all again.

Do come and play. He will race you.

[OOC: Yeeeah, I dunno. Come play! I'm here for about the next fourteen hours, and this'll stay open through the weekend. Yay, ridic French students! \o/]

pro_patria_mortuus

[OOM: Shortly after Combeferre's arrival, more or less at the same time as a certain Weird Talky Argument, Enjolras and Combeferre catch up a little more upstairs. Before too long, they're joined by other friends as well.]

(What's that, you say? Combeferre's arrival was some days before the talky argument's impetus? NONSENSE LA LA LA MILLITIME, okay? Okay.)

tire_moi_mes_bottes

So after Bahorel and Bossuet got locked up overnight, the Amis held a meeting to discuss. Also to fill Bahorel in on how things went with the barricade after he died. Warning for not-very-graphic discussion of street battle and people dying, followed by a BIG GROUP HUG.

And then Bossuet wandered around getting into an argument with Teja about Security business, and Joly got to help in the Infirmary, so they have a conversation followed by a Small Group Hug. (two people and a kitten is a group, okay?)

Meanwhile, much less Group Hug action from Bahorel, who goes for an emotional Romanticism-approved All-My-Friends-Are-Dead walk in the woods to punch trees on a dark and stormy night, and ends up meeting a werewolf. Warning for mildly-graphic werewolf transformation, talking about some sad stuff.

clayforthedevil

((warning for mentions of injury and death and other doomed revolt issues))

The first guard through falls to the only shot in his rifle, a first explosion that seems to set off a chorus. He tries to block the next soldier's bayonet thrust with his empty gun and only feels the slide of metal along metal and a shock through his ribs too sudden to hurt. Bahorel leans his weight onto the soldier's gun, grinning, trying to force him back for another second, fist raised for a last swing, and then there's a dark flicker as his foot slips and his balance fails him completely.

---

His foot comes down on a rather nice bar floor. The weight of his own swing moves him forward a bit, but he's used to punching moving targets and recovers quickly. The noise and air of the place are unmistakeably a bar; voices, glasses clinking, the sound of a door swinging shut behind him. He is, very definitely, in a bar.

Bahorel blinks. It's not the first time he's come out of a fight in a strange place with no memory of what happened in between, but really now--

and then he sees the window.

Either he's having a fairly impressive opium dream-- not his best, but not bad-- or Lesgle really hadn't been talking out of a cracked skull two years ago. A bar at the end of the world is a more interesting idea, almost mythic, really, so Bahorel chooses to believe it for now. He walks to the Bar proper and tries an order, in the way he's been told it works.

"Madame, or Mademoiselle, Bar, whiskey, if you please?" The request is wholly formal, complete with elaborate bow. And up pops a bottle of whiskey and a glass, so it seems to work. He thanks the Bar with equal flourish and pours his first drink. He's quite enjoying himself when he thinks of his apparently not-last moments, and lets his hand stray to his waistcoat.

Which has an enormous hole right over the heart. And is sticky with blood. He immediately takes it off to examine the damage, loudly cursing every king ever born when he sees the whole in the back, too.

So: here is a man in very good (but progressively less--and devil take them all, the undervest's even worse) bloody 1830s formalwear, expounding creatively on the heritage of the kings of Europe. He could be interrupted, and probably should be.

tire_moi_mes_bottes

The future is a wonderful place. Why, a man can make an idiot of himself on a dance floor, hit his head, incur a violent hangover, have an emotional conversation--and still be delighted to find a Happy Hour notification for him from the bar the next day, thanks to the wonders of the infirmary and its painkillers.

It may not actually be the next day. Lesgle's never too sure about that in Milliways. But it's not long after the roller skates experiment.

He stares at the Specials board, unable to think of any clever thematic drinks, scratching his head until he picks up a piece of chalk with a shrug.

Man's Eternal Search for Truth and Knowledge
Tell me two lies and a truth.
If I cannot guess at the truth your drink is 10% off.

((Bedtime over here, but I'll be back tomorrow!))

le_centre

Courfeyrac is lounging in an armchair by the fire, his legs dangling carelessly over one arm. There's a book open on his chest, something about existentialism - but he's not reading a word. He's rather more concentrated on a bottle of wine, and watching patrons go back and forth. He hasn't spent enough time doing that since he's been here, what with one thing and another - but he reasons that no one can object to him sitting around all he likes, what with the dearth of other things to do.

[tiny!tag: Joly]

pro_patria_mortuus

[OOM:

"It's simple."

Or: about three weeks back, Enjolras spoke to Simon Tam. Immediately afterward, he went to talk to Courfeyrac.

(Contains some themes of grief and loneliness, and also minor mentions of epidemic.)]

pro_patria_mortuus

There are notes with Bar for Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Gavroche. They all say more or less the same thing, after the salutation:

He's returned. None of the items he carried were transported with him. For the rest, we must trust to hope and our friends.

Enjolras

Discretion in writing is an old and long-ingrained habit. (As public notes from Enjolras go, this is a relatively long one.) His friends know where to find him, anyway.

pro_patria_mortuus

[OOM: Upstairs, some days ago, the morning after Courfeyrac's arrival:

"Before the word 'revolution' falls from your lips, I think we should find coffee."

Or: in which Enjolras and Courfeyrac discuss Milliways, breakfast, death, friends, and the future. Not necessarily in that order.

Contains some discussion of death and violent acts, but no graphic description.]

le_centre

June, 1832.

Courfeyrac does not so much walk through the door, as fall. Well, Milliways has had more dramatic entrances, and he is not concerned with appearances at present. He sits up, and blinks, and casts his gaze around curiously.

Well.

He looks down at himself. He cannot help but notice that while his clothes are rather bloodstained - and his cravat appears to have stayed bound around Marius Pontmercy's head - the wounds which caused them to be so have disappeared.

Well.

He looks around again. This is...peculiar.

'It is one thing to lack a life,' he declares, mostly to himself. 'But to lack a pithy comment is quite another.'

Well. If there is a time to be found lacking, this may well be it.

[OOC: Sorry guys, my internet's not playing ball tonight, and I'm about to chuck my laptop out of the window. Best call it a night - will pick everything up tomorrow. Thanks for tagging. <3]

fourth-of-three.livejournal.com

It's been a while since D'Artagnan has been in the bar. Assume he's been all soldierly at home, and making new friends.

Having been allowed to leave once, Milliways is no longer a loathed place, but still inconvenient. And so, striding through the door of what ought to be his own lodgings, he is briefly dismayed. But only until a quick glance over his shoulder and a relieved sigh reveal that the door is still visible.

Reassured, he drops into a booth and orders a bottle of Beaugency wine. Bring a glass, it's not been a hard enough day that he would not share.

slayer_fray

Mel enters the bar from outside, drying her hair on an old towel. She picks up cocoa and whiskey from the bar, along with a large Hawaiian pizza, and takes both over to the fire.
playground school bell rings againWhen there, she produces a notepad and pen, and starts writing, thoughtfully.
rain clouds come to play againYellow - lots
Red - medium
Black - medium
White - lots
Bullet vibrators
has no one told you she's not breathing?Occasionally she pauses, tapping the end of the pen against her teeth. After a few minutes she turn a few pages and appears me drawing something.
hello i'm your mind giving you someone to talk toMel's plotting something. This is never good.
hello

hanild.livejournal.com

Hanild is sitting at a table, eating dinner and watching the bar at large.

She's still a little wary of the place, but feel free to chat. Though if you have dark hair, be prepared for initial suspicion.