The Pen And The Sword (Tag: Courf)

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Seemingly aimless, Mylène was walking the streets of Paris and while her mind seemed deep I thought, her senses still were highly alert to anything that might happen in her imminent surroundings. She had learned her lesson now, just because she had left the realm of the thieves behind didn’t mean they had left HER behind, as the incident two days previous showed all too clearly. There she had become caught up in a little thief’s attempt to steal a wealthier man’s purse, without even knowing what was happening, since she had not been attentive enough, and since one of the constables in question had recognized her from years long past,she would have almost ended up arrested – if not, and that was the worst part of it, if not for Thénardier who had showed up out of the blue, scaring the constables away with so much but a word. And now she had that commitment on her hand… looking after Eponine. Seriously, herding cats was easier than trying to keep an eye on this girl! But in the end, it only proved that Thénardier was feeling it too, the violent change that might be about to ensue. Right about now, even the sparrows were chirping the word ‘revolution’ all over town, even though no one really know when the powderkeg really would explode. And you could say many things about this man, but he was no fool. Not to mention that he doted on his daughters like a lovesick fool. This man was really hard to comprehend…

Looking around, Mylène realized that her feet had subconsciously carried her nowhere else than near the Rue de la Chanverrerie, and a smile crossed her lips, amused at her own predictability. This was oh so typical for Mademoiselle La Coquine! Since the boys were now starting to turn dreams into serious matters, they had build themselves a headquarter to plan their uprising business. And of course that meant they were spending less time at the ABC café now, which Mylène in return regretted. She loved the company of them, and apparently now her feet had taken matters into their own … hands? That sentence rubbed wrong somehow even in her head, and she had to stiffle a chuckle at the thought of how ridiculous it must look if her feet suddenly went up to her hands in the middle of the street, turning her into some kind of ball, unable to walk further. One thing at least remained, in all those troubled times: Mylène still found enough funny things to laugh about in this world, and that could only be a positive matter!

She stopped just outside the door that would lead to the student’s ‘headquarter’ and leaned against the wall, chewing on her lower lip. Of course she would want to take a look inside, but there was no saying if anyone would be there at this time of day. It was midmorning, and while the boys massed up to become revolutionaries, they were still mostly students. Not for the first time Mylène wondered how that must be like, spending your day filling your head with theoretical things, sitting in a large room and listening to the drooling of a man in funny clothing. Nowadays Mylène’s days were only filled with either working or trying to pursue her own goals – or, like today killing a little time before she had to return to the ABC. Impulsively, she pushed herself off the wall and took a cautious look around, before she slipped through the door. Inside, light was only dim, but enough to see or even read should one want that. At first she thought the headquarter to be deserted like she had thought it would be, but then her eyes fell on a very familiar figure and a mischievous smile crossed her face. Leaning in the doorframe, she looked at none other than Courfeyrac, for now still turning his back to her. “My, Monsieur le Comte, quel honneur!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone, but it betrayed more fondness than actual taunt.

[Deleted]

There was something most romantic about the place that the Amis were preparing. It was here that they planned to build the their barricade. Perhaps it would be erected the night of the parade; if plans failed, then a few days later would it occur. The day would live in history, but which day it was, was not as yet of great import. For now, there was not much here; there were some homes, and that tavern, and the wine shop in which Grantaire seemed to take residence. Courfeyrac had made himself familiar to Madame Hauchelop, and now, more or less with her approval, seated himself at one of her tables with a book. In between meetings, he took to studying the words of his heroes and antagonists.

Courfeyrac was hunched over a textbook, not so much preparing for an exam as he was preparing for a demonstration, when the sound of a voice floated to him from the doorway. Mylie. Despite his familiarity with his esteemed visitor, he did not turn around. “There is no comte here,” he replied in an amused voice, refusing to turn around, because she ought not to be addressing him as such. Aristocrat though he may be by blood, he was certainly not such by his own choice. It was only an accident of birth, one which he believed he could throw off at his choosing. “You are as much a royal as me, mademoiselle, and so, Comtesse, l'honneur is all mine.” Though he was jesting in a way, there was an edge of sincerity to his words; he believed what he said. Every man will be a king, because no man will be the king. He thought everyone had the power to make their own decisions, and that man should be the master of his own fate.

That was why he took such pains to learn, and why he took such pains to teach others as well. He thought that everyone should be equal. And one of his “pupils,” that is to say someone whom he had taken under his wing, was Mylie. He finally stood and turned to greet her. She was beautiful without much knowing it, and they often flirted. If she were not so irritating, he truly would have been in some danger! "What brings you here, Comtesse? Hoping for a lesson, or perhaps something sweeter?" he teased with raised eyebrows.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Of course he would say that. Of course he would once again object to being called out on his blood, just like he knew she would probably do it again next time. She had to dose those moments carefully though lest her jokes were getting old, but every now and again, Mylène would still call Courfeyrac by his nickname. He would protest that every living soul was equal and that birth didn’t matter, and the most peculiar thing was that she believed it when it came from him. He really stood for what he fought for, and it was by no means lip service from his part, and that was why underneath all the teasing and pointing it out, Mylène held Courfeyrac in high esteem. A real, sincere revolutionary amongst those of higher birth was far and few between, most of the time they still liked to cling to their privileges once things got thick and fast.

When he called her comtesse in return, Mylène couldn’t help but let go a merry laugh, throwing her head back at the amusing thoughts that now started to sprout in her head. She might be many things, and had been given many nicknames over the years – La Coquine only being the one sticking best because it fit best – but no one had ever compared her to a noble lady, not even jokingly. “Mon Dieu, if that really were true, I would have to work on my language and manners big time. Comtesse Mylène… seriously…!” again she had to force back a chuckle, her eyes sparkling with mirth. In all honesty, the life of a noble lady did not appeal to her in the slightest, not from what she had seen so far. Of course, you got to wear pretty dresses and never had to worry about going to bed hungry, but then all the … things you had to observe, not only in behaviour. Mylène loved the freedom she had, in a way, the possibility to spend her day not sitting around doing embroidery, but to actually be on the streets, talking with the students and other that came to the ABC café… it might not be the best life possible, but it was a good one.

Courfeyrac really seemed to be in a good mood and Mylène was glad about it. Recently, they all had become very serious, striving to develop their thoughts into true action and facing the grim reality. Change was about to ensue, and there was no much room for jest and laughter anymore, something that Mylène herself frowned upon. Life for her was far too serious already, and she would hate for the ABC friends to turn into sombre, hard-boiled revolutionaries only. She was ready to meet him tit for tat, and a mischievous smile crossed her face as she took a step forward, eyeing him closely. He was truly a handsome fellow it had to be said, and not for the first time she wondered what might happen if she answered more distinctly to his flirting one day. But so far,it seemed, that day had not come.
“Ah, now my dear Courfeyrac, what could be sweeter than a lesson given by you?” she winked, playing innocent. “You’d really have to explain that to me!” Her eyes trailed past him towards the papers he had been studying and she cocked her head. “What are you reading there?”

[Deleted]

“Never fear, mademoiselle – I have been able to enlighten even the stupidest pupil. Take Monsieur l'Abbe, for instance.” Dear, distracted Marius... would the boy ever master the English language? Courfeyrac was only kidding, of course; Marius was very intelligent, in his own way, but there were certainly different kinds of intelligence. He was a law student, and he was good with books, but when it came to wooing women, for example, he was utterly hopeless. Thank God he had Courfeyrac around to help him. Speaking of thanking God and speaking of God... “For instance, he would be absolutely affronted that you took the Lord's name in vain, were you truly a lady,” Courfeyrac continued. Growing up in an aristocratic family, not that he would ever use this opportunity to remind Mylie of it since she already saw fit to tease him so much about it, he knew all the rules of etiquette. Thankfully, Mylie was not a lady, and he could flirt with her shamelessly. Well, not shamelessly; Courfeyrac had his own code of honor that he kept, after all. He didn't want to be an aristocrat anymore, but that didn't mean he had lost his nobility of character even if he ignored his nobility of blood.

Of course, his code of honor did not keep him from some flirtatious teasing. That was what he and Mylie often lapsed into, when things were not too serious. And of course her playing dumb about what sweetness he playfully proposed, why that was just the opportunity for it. “Ah, mon cher, this is the sort of lesson that is better shown than told,” he teased back with a meaningful waggle of his eyebrows, leaning closer. But as she spoke, he followed her gaze to the book, his offer forgotten. This lesson would be just as enjoyable as any other, though enjoyable in a different way. His passion for egalite was, in fact, larger even for his passion for women. His favorite woman was Liberte, Liberty leading the people. Nodding towards the book, he moved to take it up.“That,” he began reverently, “is a fine work by a Monsieur Rousseau.” It was the same book that Max had noticed him reading earlier. "The Discourse on the Origin of Inequality Among Men." Rousseau was the man praised by most of the students; those who could read him did so voraciously, and those who did not had still heard of him and what he said in his books, discourses, and treatises. Many considered France the mother of her people, and Rousseau the father of her revolution.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Another merry chuckle, almost with a conspiratorial undertone, escaped Mylène’s lips as she heard Courfeyrac call Marius ‘Monsieur L’Abbé’, the abbot or the priest. He was studying law as far as she knew and not theology, and yet the name was so fitting as anything Mylène herself could have thought up.For Marius was absolutely unable to even look at a girl without blushing, let alone talk to her. Even Mylène, who thought herself not much to look at, was no exception to that rule, and she loved to tease him about that. He was surely tender-hearted and sensitive when it came to a lot of things, including swearing, and he avoided flirting and speaking the Lord’s name invain like he truly had taken holy orders and had to defend his virtue. “As much as I broke His commandments already, the Lord should be happy I DO even still carry His name on my lips”, she retorted flippantly and shrugged with a sassy grin. “Though I doubt even you could teach me manners. I might have grown up as a carney, but the role of a noble brat – pardon, girl – is something I doubt I could ever pull off. Too restricting” It would be a challenge of course, and Mylie loved challenges like the next person. Though for what purpose would she ever want to appear a noble? They knew their kind, even for a spying trip she might not be able to get into the circles that really mattered – since men didn’t exactly speak of matters of importance once a woman was around. Another thing she found ridiculous about the aristocratic world. You just HAD to end up stupid when everyone treated you as such!

“Shown, hmm…? Interesting…” she murmured lowly, for a moment feeling VERY tempted to just let things proceed from there, feeling a familiar itch in her fingers. It was the itch to venture where she was not allowed, whether it conveyed to picking someone’s pocket or touching someone… but no, she reasoned with herself. Something always held her back, and even though she did not know what it was, she had never crossed that particular line with him. Therefore she was almost glad she had distracted him with asking about his reading, since she knew these lessons to be truly more innocent than anything else he might want to give her. The name Rosseau rang some bells within her, since it was a name most frequently spoken amongst the ABC friends, and they loved to discuss his work. He must really have been a great man, since almost everyone of the boys only dared to voice his name in a reverent tone, but Mylène had yet to make a coherent picture out of the puzzle pieces she had snapped up.

When she heard the title, Mylène couldn’t help but letting go a little amused snort. She couldn’t readily believe that someone would try to delve into a subject that seemed so complex, but then, if you did thinking for a living – as she suspected most students to do – then you probably came up with such topics sooner or later, if your thoughts didn’t have to center about how to survive the next day without any food to spare. “Does this Rosseau fellow really think he can find the source of Inequality? Hasn’t it simply always been like that from day one? Those with money have the might?” she asked, truly interested in his opinion, even though she already suspected most of what this Rosseau said too high for her to grasp. Preparing for an explanation by Courfeyrac, she lowered herself on the table, half standing, half sitting now and looked at him expectantly.

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac good-naturedly shook his head at Mylie's comments. “The Lord'll be 'appy when all 'is children are free,” he decided, “an' they all 'ave their just reward.” No, no more teasing, not about her upbringing or his, and not even about her proposal. No, he had a different lesson to teach her today.

“Thought, not think,” he answered gravely. “'e's dead – much to Enjolras' chagrin.” He ran a hand through his hair before continuing, “ 'e said, 'owever, that from 'day one,' there's not always been money. 'e talked about the state of nature, before governments, before currency, when men just existed. Rather pre-lapsarian, I think. You know, before Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden.” Or whatever it was that Rousseau had thought. Rousseau was a bit unconventional that way; he didn't let the Bible do the thinking for him. He rather came up with his own ideas. Though some of them were baseless, he had certainly created a wide base of supporters.

He seated himself on the table beside Mylie, looking at his hands, then looking at the book he held. “The question now is, 'ow to get rid of inequality, now that we 'ave it.” He let this statement sink in for a moment before sighing heavily. A glance to his right revealed what looked to be a regular case of wine, but had been gutted and reformed inside to hold a gun. On impulse he got to his feet to check it, opening the case with care and gingerly weighing the gun in his hands. Good – still heavy with powder. They might have to conserve it if things got rough. “I 'ope this isn't the way,” he continued, “but if it is, I'll be ready.” Slowly, he glanced to Mylene. “An' you should be too.”

The gun was returned to its case, but he left the case open for a moment. He disliked the idea of Mylie having to fight – she was just a kid in his head, though he supposed he was still something of a kid himself – but if worst came to worst, she should be able to defend herself. It would be better if she could just hide, but with a revolution coming, that wasn't an option; history drew people in like a tide. "Somethin's comin', Mylie. Somethin' grand. An' things afterward won't be the same."

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Oh, right… she had momentarily forgotten that simple yet important fact. Rosseau of course was already rotting away in some grave, and yet his words still could incite people and make them want to start a revolution all over again. If anything could be proof of the power the written word had, it surely was this, and it convinced Mylène that pursueing her first feeble attempts on writing lessons Courf had patiently given her were not at all wasted. Not that she thought anything SHE could put on paper would ever have an impact at all, but it felt nice somehow, to learn something she might have never needed before, but surely recognized to be of some value. She knew she might still stay a street girl in her heart of hearts, but at least a street girl that could write and read a few things… you had an awful lot of freetime, if you didn’t have to constantly steal to stay alive.

“Sheesh, yeah Enjolras surely talks of him sometimes as if they’re best buddies and he’d walk through the door any second to recommend him for one of his grand speeches”, Mylène teased, but with a fond undertone. She had quite some admirance for the enigmatic leader of Les Amis, even though she sometimes thought he liked to hear HIMSELF talk a little too much. Then she bit her lower lip, thinking about Courf’s reference of Adam and Eve. “You know… you don’t need to go as far back as paradise to experience a kind of astonishing equality. It was like that for me for the time I spent amongst the jugglers and carneys of Paris.” A certain gleaming, a spark ignited suddenly seemed to flicker in her eyes as she talked about that time. If she wanted, Mylène could be as passionate about something than any of the students. “In the Cour des Miracles, where the beggars and poverty reign, there is always someone who leads and terrorizes the others, not much equality there at all. But at the places where the jugglers meet… there it doesn’t matter who you are, where you came from or how much money you have, just that you are alive… cause that is all you need to be. Alive. You have no past, and you might not have a future, but that doesn’t matter either. You have the present, and you don’t need more.”

Her eyes followed him and narrowed as he revealed the wine case to be a secret stash for a gun. These guys were tricky, you had to give them that. But weapons? Yes… in the last few weeks they slowly had started to talk about weapons, but weapons meant bloodshed, could mean open war. And there was always only one winner to every war. Madame La Mort.
"Why is it that sooner or later, words always get replaced by weapons?” she asked with a sigh and shook her head. Courf really had a way to turn her into quite a thoughtful being sometimes. “Those who have more than others never want to share, and so if you want more,you have to take it by force. I feel that something is coming, too… and I hope we both will see the good changes that will occur after the storm is through.”

But it was not likeMylène to stay somber and sincere for long, and her eyes strayed back to the gun in its case, while an impish grin tucked at her lips. “Never even laid hand on a gun before… but I’m quite handy with knives. How does it feel to shoot one?”

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac didn't expect the average person to know a whole lot about Rousseau, at least not the small details like the time of his life or death. Most people referred to him in abstraction as their reason for hoping for change. He had to mean something to them, though, or they wouldn't be agitating. Rousseau was admirable, yes, but in the end, he was just like everyone else, a sinful man. It would take a mass in order to get anything done; he was no worthy of being a king than anyone else. It made him laugh, then, to hear Mylie speak of him in such casual tones. “Hush now – don't let Enjolras 'ear you say such things. 'e weeps sometimes to think Rousseau's gone,” he said, his smile a little more faint now. He was teasing, a little bit, but in truth, they had all lost something and they grieved over it. They didn't grieve over Rousseau's death as much as they grieved over the death of his ideals. Well, those thoughts were being revived now – resurrected, even. He heard them on the lips of the people. Equality could yet exist. And not just in death.

On that note, he perked up to hear Mylene speak of the jugglers. Though she had mentioned them in passing a time or two, he had never met the fellows. He watched Mylene become animated as she recounted her experiences, and he felt a glow of hope begin to spark in himself as well. “You are right,” he agreed, nodding slightly. “Ah do not think we'll ever return to Paradise – not on this side of life in any case – but we may yet return to equality.” He sighed. “But it won't be easy to take it back, ah can tell you that much.”

They were going to have to fight for it – whether with their words, or with their weapons. Or both. Already they had been distributing pamphlets, giving demonstration. The people were restless, they were hungry for change. Some of them were hungry for blood. He was not in this for the violence; he was here because he wanted things to change, and he would follow through whatever path was necessary to get there. His face was grave, and he did not meet her eyes when she sighed. “Liberte, egalite, fraternite – ou la mort,” he quoted softly. The rallying cry. Liberty, equality, brotherhood – or death. “Oui, a storm there will be indeed.”

He did not recover quite as easily as she had, and did not immediately answer her question. Courfeyrac held the gun carefully. He'd hardly used it; never had much reason to. He could only hope that he never would, and that Mylie was right – but they had to be realistic. Hope for the best and expect the worst. “Not like you might think,” he said finally. He didn't want her to need to use a gun. He didn't want to have to use one himself. But if she did have to use it... well, she had better know how. There would be enough guns for her to use one, but the question would be whether they had enough powder. God help them if the fight ran on long enough that they ran out of powder. But they had everything to gain, and everything would be made a weapon – they would fight tooth and nail if they had to, they would fight to the death. “For one thing, it kicks back. 'specially if you're not careful. 's like it's tryin' to remind you that you're hurtin' someone else.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

So what if Enjolras heard her, Mylène thought with a shrug and a sassy grin. She was by no means afraid of the leader of Les Amis, and she thought that he well might use a taste of his own medicine from time to time. It sounded odd to her ears that he would have cried over the death of a man he had hardly known, but then Mylène’s heart had secretly hardened long since. She could not remember the last time she had cried… or yes, she remembered it very well. It had been the day her parents had sold her off to that cruel, profit-ridden man and she had pleased them not to. The two following years had taught her very precisely that crying would get you nowhere, because no one cared for anything but their own affairs. Like Louis would say, it was a world where the dog eats the dog, and she had long since found a better method to deal with things than tears: If you couldn’t cry, then you better laughed and sought to find every ounce of hilarity in life. She didn’t know whether Courfeyrac would understand her take on life, but then as much as he hated the inequality in the world and strived to help the poor, he hadn’t lived through what she had. She wasn’t exactly parading these things after all, so most of the boys knew little to nothing about her history, especially not the bad parts.

Courf might be right in this, that equality might not easily return to them on a larger scale, but it was truly good to experience it sometimes in a smaller scale, like on these meetings with the jugglers. It had been them giving her this first nickname, and most of the jugglers had their own names, given to them by what described them best, as if almost they were being reborn, with a new chance, the moment they stayed with this group for a while. Alain had been the Crow, Estelle had been ‘Cygne’, the swan, because of her elegance, and of course there were Sebastien Pepier, the Piper and all those others. And Mylène had seen the flicker of hope in her friend’s eyes just a few seconds ago. It was a hard time for them, with their ideals slowly having to face reality, and she somehow wanted this little flicker to turn into a spark kindling a mighty flame. “Alors…” she started, a challenging gleaming making her eyes sparkle, knowing full well that she was once again approaching the line they usually only toed with her following words. “Would you mind to spend an evening in paradise, once, Monsieur? I can show you this world of equality… I gladly still have access to it.”

She didn’t like him talking about death, but she could somehow understand him, understand them all. There was a point in life and in certain situations and when it was reached you only had two possibilities: something had to change or you died. Just that she sometimes still wondered why them of all people where the ones starting the fight, encouraging everyone to take up arms. Had they ever spent night after cold night in the sewers, or woken up with the thought daily whether you might still return to your sleeping place with all limbs and something to at least halfway fill your belly? It occurred to her suddenly she had never really asked, but like often, Courfeyrac’s presence made her more thoughtful than she usually was. “Why do you do this? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to talk down your efforts, I… just would like to know why you don’t go the easy way while you easily could. Why do you care so much about the people at your feet? You’re a rare exception… so, Monsieur, what went wrong in your brain?” As always, she finished it off with a joke, uncomfortable with any sincere mood, but she still wanted to know.

His deep thoughts often amazed her, and she wondered if that came from spending your days reading the old and new philosophers. Mylène herself would have never connected a soulless thing like a gun with a conscience. “I’ve seen that, it’s a jolt you have to be prepared for, or you get injured yourself. So… in effect you have to know how it works to prevent that. You have to be prepared to hurt and kill.” She shrugged. “Somehow I always was lucky enough to escape having to do it.”

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac wasn't entirely certain where Mylene was going with her suggestion about showing him an “evening in Paradise.” He might have started to get a little hot under the collar if she hadn't clarified that she meant the world that the jugglers lived in. She wouldn't be talking about anything else that way. Flirt though he may be, the sensual pleasures in life were hardly Courfeyrac's first priority. His primary aim was equality. And with that in mind, he gave a firm nod to affirm that he did want to see what Mylie was talking about. “'ow fortuitous,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips when she mentioned that she could still go there, and could take him with her.

He raised an eyebrow. Did he want to go? “Is my name Courfeyrac?” he asked, as if him wanting to go were that obvious. Aside from the small technicality that his name wasn't Courfeyrac – well, it was, just...missing the “de” in front of it – he knew that she would understand. It would be interesting to see what it was like in another group. He did not know that there were other people organizing for equality, but it did not surprise him. He knew the sentiment that resided in the breast of the French, the desire to be free. It manifested itself in different ways in different people, but it was present everywhere. Who knew who else would rise to take their place with the Amis when the day to claim their rights came?

“Tell you what – to return the favor, you can come to one our meetin's,” he decided. That wasn't too much of an extravagance, however – soon enough, all the people in Paris would be at their meetings. The time was near. Their demonstration at the street parade was drawing nigh. It was there that they would make their voices heard. Not their muskets, not yet, but certainly their voices. It was going to be a peaceful demonstration, just to let everyone there know that change was coming. What would happen next, he could not say, but he knew he would welcome it with readiness.

He was caught off-guard by Mylene's more serious question. Even though the conversation seemed headed in such a sober direction, she had never asked him why it was that he did this. The answer seemed obvious to him: he wanted equality. But why was he fighting for equality when he was already privileged, and he had nothing to gain from changing things, in theory? It was a question his father had never bothered to ask, he had only scolded the senselessness of it, but Courfeyrac knew the answer anyway. “Because if we don't, 'oo will?” he asked seriously. “The suffering poor... they've got no voice. No one listens to 'em, no one thinks of 'em, up where Ah'm from. That's got to change.” It was true that most of their rallies, most of their pamphlets, had been given out to commoners on the streets, because he knew that if he tried talking to most aristos, the words would just fall on deaf ears. There at the street parade, however, as aristos poured out of the masquerade, he knew that all the city would be there. And they would all hear what the Amis had to say. If they wouldn't listen to one beggar at their door, they would listen to Fraternite et Liberte. That, or more starving and sick people would have to listen to the demands of La Mort.

Though he tried to smile at Mylene's joke, he couldn't quite manage it. “According to me father, a lot's gone wrong.” He tapped his head playfully. “But the Amis and Ah, we 'ave to believe that the world is wrong. Otherwise, we're just fightin' for nuthin'.” He may not have been starving himself, but he'd seen the people who had. Philosophically, it just didn't make sense that such poverty could exist at the feet of such extravagance. Starving children huddled outside the palace gates.

He stiffened unwittingly when Mylene said that he had to be prepared to hurt and kill. There was no witty answer to that. He held the gun, thumb tracing over the safety. “That's because you're a mademoiselle, for one thing,” he said quietly, “and because no one 'round 'ere's taken matters into their own 'ands yet.” But now, that's what they were doing. Whether because they were the only ones brave enough or the only ones foolish enough remained to be seen. He only hoped to God that they weren't the only ones when this was all beginning to take its course. Beginning a movement was one thing; perpetuating it alone was entirely another. “You've seen it work, then,” he asked her, meeting her gaze before nodding towards the gun. “You know this is 'ow you remove the safety, and all that?”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène was glad he agreed to her suggestion, a part of her had worried he had already become too serious and focussed to even consider an evening amongst funloving and carefree people as the jugglers and carneys. She hadn’t thought he would say no because of his status – he made it pretty clear he’d like to forget that as much as possible – but the serious factor had been one of her worries for sure. The boys all were getting too serious these days, and maybe rightfully so, since a rebellion or a revolution or whatever you wanted to call the change they wanted to achieve, WAS a serious matter. Still, on the day they all turned as gloomy as Grantaire, they would get a right piece of her mind!
“Oh, it might just be”, she grinned, “but my memory of names has become a bit rusty… must be my now almost biblical age.”
She was positively surprised by his offer in return and couldn’t help but smile. Ever since the Amis had set up this headquarters, they didn’t really hold their official meetings in the ABC café any longer and so she had been excluded as of late, even though she would have liked to know what they were doing and deciding – and maybe get a word in edgewise. Therefore, she put the joking aside for a moment and instead put out her hand as if for a shake of agreement. “Conclu! I shall think of a good time, maybe with the oncoming May Festivity everyone’s been talking about. There will surely be a lot of jugglers there.”

Someone like Thénardier might have met such an assumption with scorn, telling Courfeyrac quite frankly that the poor could fend for themselves if they only wanted so. But he was of a different type,he probably didn’t even want anything to change, so he could keep on being the king of his little world. If the poor really got a voice, they would probably overthrow him as well; if everyone was equal, he couldn’t play the boss any longer. But Mylène yearned for these things with every fibre of her body, she had heard too many stories about how the first revolution had started and they all knew what had come of it. And the boys had fed her with enough material from the philosophers who dreamed the world like it never had been but maybe could be one day, if only the people cooperated. Equality… everyone treated for what he had made of himself, instead of for what he had been born as. Every man would be a king… because no man would be a king…
“And what got you to listen in the first place? How did you get together with Enjolras, Grantaire and the others?” she asked further, her curiosity not yet quenched. “I know most of you are students, but…” she shrugged with a grin, “it’s not like I really know much of that world and what it all entails.”

Mylène nodded understandingly, agreeing with him fully, at least on the aspect that they really would be fighting for nothing. “I can assure you the world is wrong on so many accounts, Courf. On more than I can count. And your father… he is an idiot”, she snorted. “I might hardly remember mine, but I know one thing: Fathers seldomly understand their children, and there’s little difference in social classes concerning that.” Had she been a different person, she might have added that in her eyes he was not mentally afflicted, but a special soul. But that sounded far too sappy even in her own head, and so she held her tongue for once.

What she couldn’t hold back though was a little amused snort when Courfeyrac stated she would not have to worry about these things because she was a woman, a mademoiselle. It might not show often of what world he came, but in these little moments it was blatantly obvious and almost funny. “Down here there is no much difference between a boy and a girl”, she explained. “Not in matter of life and death anyway. We die the same, and we both have to fight to stay alive.” But she stilled eyed the weapon with some wariness, only having seen it used against people, and what damage it could do. Then she looked at Courfeyrac, squared her shoulders and shook her head. “Show me. I’ve only ever seen it being used, never held one myself.” Maybe now was the time to learn it… even though she’d still rather fight with her tongue only.

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes good-naturedly when Mylene insinuated that she was getting old and couldn't remember people's names. “It'll come,” he answered. Honestly, he wasn't too worried; he had a feeling that he was going to be too busy to spend too much time with the jugglers, for one thing. But it would be helpful to see what a society might look like when equal; perhaps that would be encouraging to some of the people who had taken an interest in the Amis' work but were not entirely certain that a republique could be successful. Besides, Courf was good with names and faces generally, so if he met them and the introductions would made on his account, that would help jog Mylie's memory as well. Taking her hand, Courfeyrac raised it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles before gving a faint, cryptic smile. “Oui – there'll be a lot of people that night, alright.”

Maybe the poor didn't want anyone's help, but enough of them were dying to make Courfeyrac certain that something wasn't working. In theory, having a more egalitarian government would lead to more egalitarian distribution of wealth, since it often seemed that those who had the power in government also had purchasing power. It might have just been a correlation rather than causation, but it was a risk they were willing to take, because whatever they had now was a failure leading to many deaths. With a republic, everyone would have a say; the poor would get to demand policies that did not just favor the rich. Taxes could rob an honest worker blind to pay for kings' opulence.

Once again, he was shaken from his thoughts by Mylie's voice. “'ow did it 'appen?” he repeated, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “'ow could it not? The Fates threw us together.” He tossed his head. “Discussing a certain charter in class one day. After that, Ah 'aven't paid too much attention in class.” There was much more to learn on the streets, and that was free. Of course, Courfeyrac was against the wasting of money, so he tried to attend, but sometimes other things were just more important. The academic world was hardly as exciting.

He huffed as Mylene spoke of his father. She did not know him. His father was generally good, but... he was wrong, it was true. “Well. We've all got the same Mother, I know that, anyway,” he began, speaking, of course, of France. Of course he cared about familial relationships, more than Enjolras did in any case he supposed. It was not altogether beside the point.

Courfeyrac's expression hardened. “Per'aps, but that is not the way it should be.” But to have women dressed in rags, forced into prostitution lest they starve, to be hooted at by errant National Guardsmen... it was a slight upon all of France! A lady was meant to be honored (and Courfeyrac was honorable, in a sense, despite some of his exploits). Mylene was not meant to fight with them. To stand with them, yes. Still, he would show her the weapon. He sighed softly, and took her hand. “'ere. 'old it like this.” He guided her hand, to have the gun point at a wall, then guided her thumb to fix the safety. “Don't do it now, but if you were to shoot, you'd just squeeze there,” he indicated, standing close to her as he demonstrated.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

[sorry this is getting so long I try to be better in my next post <3]


Roi d’Enfer… what a flirt! It did not happen often some action or word could take Mylène completely by surprise, but Courfeyrac taking her hand up to his mouth and brushing his lips across her knuckles surely did do the trick! She could feel the breath catch in her throat out of mild shock and even felt a slight warmth rise in her cheeks. Heaven forbid, since when could anything or anyone make her blush?! She was used to the frankest of approaches and could ward them off or answer them with her usual wit and cheek, she could dish out and take as much as any girl that had been used to growing up around men who seldomly masked their thoughts, but… maybe that was just it. Even after two years spent around Les Amis, Mylène was still not used to one thing: manners. Yes, of course, sometimes the jugglers would pull such acts in joking, playing the role of a dashing young aristocrat, but there you could always see the joke behind it. Now, of course Courfeyrac was joking as well, but to him this gesture alone seemed so natural, performed with ease and grace that despite all he had decided to leave behind, you could almost physically FEEL the noble upbringing behind it. And she was not used to this… not at all!

“Many people, hmmm…” she murmurmed and cocked her head, trying to focus on his words and not his actions. “You’re planning something, aren’t you? You and the other boys. You’ve been very secretive as of late, setting up your headquarter here an’ all.” Of course she was curious. If there was to be change, she wanted to be part of it, even though she knew the ABC friends of course would not let her in on everything. They were a sworn in brotherhood… and she was just the girl serving them their drinks. That didn’t have anything to do with different status or ranks… it was a more subtle kind of inequality, and one she could easily live with given half the chance… if it weren’t for her fervent will to bring about changes as well. She did not want to take up a musket and shoot, but she did want to feel useful to their cause and she could not be useful when everything was kept from her.

She couldn’t help but smile as well when she tried to imagine that first meeting of the friends, during a heated discussion that had probably never been intended. “La Charte…” she murmured, an almost reverent undertone in her voice. “That is surely something to discuss over, after all the times it has been disregarded, has it not?” Oh, she remembered them so well, the incidents two years back… the Three Glorious Days… and what had followed after. It was also about that time when Alain had vanished, and she often wondered what on earth he had gotten entangled in that had cost him his freedom and maybe his life. What was left now of the constitutional monarchy that had been established back then? Where were the promised rights of the people?! It could really make you mad!
Nodding, she agreed to his thoughts of them all having one Mother, La France. It was a notion she had heard many times from them, and it rung true, even though it was of course just a metaphor with no real impact on real life… yet. “Time to get her naughtier children to behave, right?”

It seemed to anger Courfeyrac seriously, the things she talked about, and Mylène couldn’t help but wonder for a second. She was angry, too, but then she had lived in this world so long her senses also somehow had gotten numbed by habit. And many people she knew were even more numbed, they didn’t even care to fight. It truly needed people like Enjolras and Courfeyrac to remind everyone again with their anger that it all was WRONG, and therefore had to be changed. “So then… how should women be treated then in our new world?” she asked, a little flirtatious undertone returning. Hopefully he wouldn’t say anything along the line of women being treated with kid gloves. They might not match a man’s strength physically, but certainly mentally! And they could do their share, they didn’t need to be locked up at home and only entrusted with needlework!

This time she was prepared for him taking her hand, at least more than she had been before, and she tried to focus on his instructions, memorizing them for a time she might actually need the knowledge. The safety wasn’t easy to move, it seemed, but with his thumb over hers, it went smoothly. The playful part of Mylène almost wanted to take advantage of them standing so close, hand over hand and his chest almost touching her back as he stood behind her, but the only thing she allowed herself was to turn and crane her neck so she could see his face and grin up at him sassily. “No worries… ‘V been taught better than to attract unwelcome attention to this moment by shooting into the wall. Guard’s a bit fidgety these days, especially when it comes to hear shots, they’d be upon us in a matter o' minutes.”

[Deleted]

It was hardly a conscious choice anymore for Courfeyrac to take her hand and kiss it. She could deny it all she liked, but he meant to treat Mylene like a lady; no one else was going to. He still had some scruples, and he knew just what the mademoiselles liked. They deserved to be treated properly... and not just because he wanted to entice them to do something improper with him. It was not because he was born noble, either; he firmly believed that nobility of blood did not always breed nobility of character. Hence the selfish king.

Her words procured only a faint smile, one that was tempered by concerns that he could not share. “It won't be a secret for much longer,” he answered simply, knowing that she'd caught on. “You'll know, an' so will the rest of Paris.” God, he hoped so, anyway. It wasn't that he didn't want Mylie to know what they were planning, and there wasn't a sort of privilege here that should keep her from knowing it, but things simply weren't ready yet, and they had what they needed. If she had the information, that meant that someone else could ask her about it, someone who they didn't want to know.

Courfeyrac's expression changed then as she spoke of the charter in such a tone, his dark brows knitting together. He was considerably less fond of the document, as he had thrown the charter in the fire despite Combferre's reverence; not everything between the Amis was agreed upon. “Disregarded rightly,” he decided with a derisive snort. “There can be no constitutional monarchy; a king is always a parasite, a king believes 'imself to be not only above the law but to be the law.” A quick, adamant shake of his head made his dark curls bounce. “Non. Only a republique will solve the sins of a monarch.” Let the people decide, he said.

As passionate as he was about some things, he was ultimately good-natured. He did not hold grudges and he was not angry at anyone for holding their opinions; he was just insistent upon his own. He thought Mylie was entitled to her own opinions just as much as he was. “Women?” he repeated, taken aback as if not understanding the reason for the question. “They'll be treated like people; that's what they are, aren' they? Everybody has a voice an' it should be heard.” He had heard the flirtatious undertone in Mylie's words, as well, and he added, though as an afterthought, “Why, Mylene? Is there some particular way you'd like to be treated?”, obviously teasing her right back.

Feeling her breath on his face as she turned to him, he smiled weakly. “Well... tha's good, at least.” Now that she knew how to hold a gun, he clicked the safety back into place, lowering his arm but not quite moving away. “You can't do much in a matter o' minutes, can you?”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène made a small sound halfway between a wail and a groan as Courf told her that she and Paris soon would know. That didn’t help! That didn’t help at all! And they oh so well knew it, but apparently that was her lot in life. Having to bite back her impatience and zealousness for the ‘greater cause’ while every fibre in her yearned to be let in on the secrets and the plannings and everything. She sometimes truly was too curious for her own good, and it could eat you up inside. “Argh, but you know mee…” she sighed and tried a pityful puppy-look, even though she guessed it would not get her anywhere. “I want to know BEFORE the rest of Paris does. You know, it might not seem that way most times, but I CAN keep my mouth shut when things are important enough!” After all, she had enclosed most of what she had witnessed while being out with Alain in her heart, never telling anyone the conclusions she had herself jumped to, not even Estelle when they had finally parted ways and Les Corbeaux had left Paris.
They were playing a cruel game with her indeed, and she had never been proficient in standing down.

She wouldn’t have expected such a hefty reaction to her reverent tone of the Charter, but then she reminded herself of a few words she had heard spoken between Les Amis, and that apparently there was hardly a more fervent objector to Kingship than Courfeyrac, maybe Enjolras excluded, but she didn’t know him well enough to really deem that. Then again, Mylène was by no means a supporter of the Constitutional Monarchy, and she didn’t want him to think that. “Never mind that guignol up in Versailles”, she snorted and made a dismissive gesture. “Everyone could live without ‘im, and three times the better! I was thinkin’ ‘bout the FIRST part of La Charte. Our rights! Equality before the law, freedom of press, protection of private property! Wha’ about it these days?! THESE ‘ave been disregarded!” Now, he could not argue that, right?! But if he wanted to argue, she was ready for it! She might not have their expertise in leading debates and finding the right words, but she had listend to enough rousing speeches of Enjolras in the meantime to have a vague idea of what points to bring.

But perhaps now was not really the time for a debate… they had switched to different topics now, even though Mylène still would want to get one point across at least. After all, while the men had started to lay back on their first achievements of the First Revolution, it had been the women not giving in and eventually marching on Versailles. Sometimes Mylène wished she had been there, see the glory of roughly 7000 women march towards the castle and demand the king to relocate to Paris, so he REALLY could be what a claimed: ruling his people while being AMONGST his people, not hiding away in luxury! “Heard yes… but followed?” she asked him challengingly. “Will what a woman says really count as much as what a man says?”
Ah… the teasing! This man could be really disarming sometimes, and he probably knew that all too well! Now, what to respond to that, without getting too obvious and also without losing her point… while still keeping that flirtation going? Quite a task he had set her there, but she was ready! “Why… a woman of course would like to be treated like she deserves it… having a head on her shoulders that’s not just been made to keep her hair in check. Heads can be used for so many different things…”

Careful, Coquine… careful…, a voice seemed to whisper in her head at this last remark of his. Was it only her or had the air between them started to sizzle slightly? They were toeing the line again, and good this time! But why should it always be HER to make the safety step back? Let it be HIM this time or let it be no one at all! “Hmm… ‘much’ is an elastic word”, she murmured, still looking up at him, a smile playing around her lips. “Depends on what you’re plannin’ te do. An’ if there’s one thing I learned from ye students talks… then it’s tha’ nice sayin: ‘Quality o’er quantity’…”