EGALITE ET FRATERNITE [Mylie]

[Deleted]

(OOC: Sorry, in a lot of threads right now so I'm gonna keep this relatively short!)

Today was the day, and Courfeyrac was all but itching with anticipation. (Hopefully he wasn't itching with something else that was less pleasant and more permanent.) He had his wrinkled coat's pockets filled with pamphlets, but he didn't think that he was going to need them – no one easily forgot what they heard the Amis say, especially Enjolras. Still, he had a feeling that he was going to run out of pamphlets; he could imagine people standing together and reading them by the light of the torches, and there was a warmth in his very soul as he thought of it. Standing side by side, standing for freedom.

There was no plan for violence here, because they just wanted to disseminate some information. No one wanted lives to be lost for this cause, especially not here, where there were families present, and no one had come here planning a fight. At least, the Amis hadn't; whether someone else had was beyond Courfeyrac. He was keeping his feet, and keeping his eyes open, just in case there was going to be any trouble. There were a few aristos around buying things, and he noticed that from the dirtier and darker places in the streets, the aristos were being watched by glazed eyes in gaunt faces. There were enough aristos to avoid getting mugged individually here, and he didn't want any trouble, for the sake of everyone. Otherwise, everyone would be blamed. He didn't want there to be any contention; he only wanted equality. Then people might have to find something else to fight about.

The sun would soon be setting, and he knew the place where he, Enjolras, and the others were supposed to meet (whether Marius and Grantaire would be there as well was always something that he left up to chance). For the moment, however, he needed a distraction. There were enough pretty girls in the vicinity with whom he could flirt, but unfortunately, most of them were attended by a gentleman, and honestly, his heart wouldn't be in it anyway; his thoughts were too otherwise occupied.

He remembered that Mylie had told him she would show him some of her friends – where equality still existed, she had said. So when he saw a few street performers juggling, he had to wonder whether those were the people of whom she'd spoken. Curious, he edged closer, watching with a slight smile on his face. From across the circle of people, he saw Mylene, and gave her a wave, then put on a straight face and bowed mockingly as he mouthed a respectful greeting: “Comtesse.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène had kept her promise and returned to the jugglers’ corner later that day, after she had visited the Mystic’s Tent and looked at the other attractions you could find at this very entertaining festivity. Even though she didn’t like it much, the words the Mystic had spoken were still echoing in her head, and she caught herself thinking about the cryptic words more than was probably healthy – and usually her kind. It was not like her to rethink the things she was doing, she was most impulsive in her actions as she was in her witty remarks. So now, the notion of having to rethink her values to find out what was true and what was fake. Did she even have fake friendships in her long line of acquaintances? Did she even want to know? Right now, the answer to that was a firm no, and so Mylène sought out a place where she knew thinking of the future was as disregarded as thinking of the past. She wanted to live in the present, laugh, dance and sing… tomorrow could be tomorrow!

Since the afternoon was coming to a close and night was starting to creep over Paris with the setting sun, there were fewer generalized performances now and the jugglers had started to talk and mingle across themselves. A few were still showing their arts to an insatiable crowd, but already jugs of wine and cidre were passing around, while they started to light a fire, for sociability and coziness’ sake, to pass the time for those who were waiting for the street parade later. After passing through the crowd and nodding at a few familiar faces, she was suddenly called out by a voice and a shape rushed towards her. “Coquine! It’s you, Coquine, isn’t it?” Mylène turned towards the girl and smiled in recognition. “Oh, you’re the girl from before! Sorry I pressed myself into your performance, I just…” “You saved my butt up there and good!” the girl interrupted her, grinning. “For the rest of the crowd it must have looked like a planned thing, thank you!” Mylène made a dismissive gesture, then cocked her head. “You DO seem familiar though, with what group do you live?”

Another voice, booming and rumbling like thunder interrupted her question, and suddenly she felt herself to be pulled into a bear hug from behind. “Tha’s Esti, Coquine, dontcha remember me own dawter? Given she’s been a kid since last time ye shewed yer nose at ours, bu’ serrisly… ‘M woonded!”
“Boucher!” Now it was Mylène’s time to grin and she turned to look at the muscle-bound giant behind her, returning the hug affectionately. “Long time since I last saw yer face indeed! Been busy with life since… since Alain vanished and Estelle left Paris. But let’s not talk about that now, tonight’s a night for fun and music, that’s why I came here, to see you all!”
“Tha’ssa word!” the man she had called Boucher boomed, but Mylène wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes had spied a completely unexpected but very welcome face and she excused herself quickly, a smile tugging at her face as she saw him bow while she approached him.

“Monsieur le Comte, indeed, what benevolent fate graces me with your esteemed appearance?” she quipped, but her eyes shone warmly. “So… you found me then in my natural habitat.”

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Courfeyrac couldn't help but grin as Mylie came towards him. He had noticed her talking with her friends, and he had not meant to tear her away from them, but he could not deny that in his anxiety and his excitement about the events of later tonight, he was pleased to have something of a momentary distraction. “I 'ad a free moment,” he answered with a slight shrug. “I do apologize for tearing you from your colleagues.” Glancing towards the large man, he hoped that he would not be squished to death for his interruption. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind. “You are going to introduce me, aren't you?”

He could feel the pamphlets in his pocket, as if they were itching him, begging to be given out. He would be sure to hand out a few of them to the jugglers, as Mylie had mentioned that they were all supporters of egalite. Surely it would be good to have a few more hearts devoted to the Amis' cause, more officially. Just to show that it was actually possible to live together without one person making all the decisions. Granted, a bunch of circus performances were not entirely indicative of the life that an everyday person would leave, but... it might help, all the same. If people trusted them. Many performers were treated as gypsies. Even the poor had their prejudices, Courfeyrac supposed. But with enough people standing with them, how could it feel like anyone was against them?

Anyone except the National Guard. He could only hope that they did not cause trouble tonight. He had hopes that with so many people bearing torches, and standing peacefully, it would be single out anyone person, or to cause mass panic; cooler heads would have to prevail. That was the point of a republic, after all! He would put his faith in the masses. And those masses, he wished to have Mylene's "carneys" as a part of. "I am afraid I cannot stay for long, but I do 'ope that your amis can meet mine," he added pointedly. It was no secret that he was going to be at the torchlight parade tonight; just what he would be doing there was not known to everyone, but surely Mylie had some hint of it.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène was throwing a quick glance over her shoulder and saw Boucher and Esti eyeing her curiously, just being approached by another juggler with a shawm in hand. Then she turned back to Courfeyrac and gave a light shrug and a smile. “Oh, they won’t mind as long as I don’t vanish again for the better part of two years.” It felt a little peculiar to have Courfeyrac still refer to her friends as ‘colleagues’, as if she really still belonged to them, even though Mylène didn’t quite know anymore where exactly she belonged. She just had lived too many lives. That, again however wasn’t something she wanted to think about tonight. She was here, now, and that was all that mattered. “And of course I am going to introduce you… if your precious time allows that much that is”, she teased, seeing very well that his mind was currently elsewhere. Hmm… given half a chance, she and her friends could change that, at least she hoped so. He didn’t pull off worry creases too well.

“If you’re talking about the parade, yes I do think we’ll all be there.” She didn’t know in detail what the ABC friends were planning, but she guessed it would entail a mingling of different groups. Make their first public appearance, get people to stop and listen, to see that there was a group of young men not agreeing with how thigns were. But… that was then and this was now! Impulsively, she grabbed for his hand and pulled him towards the waiting group. “Don’t worry, they’re like me… no biting… at least not hard”, she quipped, then stopped in front of the three people, soon attracting the attention of others, though they only perked up their ears and didn’t approach yet.
“An’ who did ye bring us, Coquine?” Esti asked curiously, looking between the two. “That’s Courf”, she replied, “he’s a good friend of mine, and he wanted to meet you.”

“Well, gladly!” Boucher called out in his loud and rumbling voice and brought one of his massive hands down to pat Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Bring ‘em on, Coquine, friends o’ yours are friends o’ mine! Name’s Boucher”, he explained and suddenly started to laugh as if it were the funniest thing. “She started tha’… Butcher… indeed!”
Mylène chuckled as well, but was well aware that Courf was not very well in on the joke. Therefore she explained, more of a street accent in her voice now than usually when she talked to him: “Ye see how ‘e looks like, right? Strength of a bull, bu’ faints a’ the sheer sight o’ blood. I’ve seen it! So… quite the butcher!”

“Quite the butcher!” Boucher agreed, his eyes still twinkling from tears of laughter that had gathered there. “’Ave you been the one keepin’ Coquine from us so long?” he asked with a fake angry undertone, but his daughter gave him a hefty dig in the ribs. “Dun’ scare ‘im, papa. Do ye want a cup o’ cider, Courf?” She was using the name Mylie had given them without any hesitation, just as if they had been acquainted for years. Such indeed was equality amongst the jugglers.

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“Two years! No wonder they're glad to see ya,” Courfeyrac answered. He had no intention of taking Mylie away from her friends, as he had his own business to attend to – but as long as the big man understood that as well, all would be well. He wasn't truly afraid, but this wasn't the first time today that he'd had to stare down a big man. It was good for him, in any case; he considered himself brave enough, when push came to shove. He'd have to be, if he was going to end up facing the National Guard and their cannons. However, when the time came for that, he hoped that there would be the rest of Paris standing beside them. They would have to wait and see what happened after tonight. “Mah precious time,” he repeated with a smile, “will allow me to linger for a moment, yes. Don't ye worry your pretty little head.”

Still, it was nice of her to be considerate. Of course she knew that he had business at the parade tonight. He gave a sharp nod as she said that she and her friends would be there. “Excellent.” That meant that he didn't have to give them the spiel about a republique here, if they were going to hear it later – though sometimes it was difficult to keep his enthusiasm in check. Apparently, Mylie was zealous, too; she suddenly grabbed his hand and he followed willingly to the group, only able to give her a curious look at the mention of biting before they were with her friends.

As he was introduced, he offered a boyish smile. “Enchante,” he spoke up, though the voice was drowned out by the booming voice of Mylie's friend. Though uncertain about why, he laughed along with the man as he introduced himself. He was glad to have Mylie explain, and laughed again, all the more heartily. “Well! 's a pleasure to meet you, in any case, m'sieur!” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “'m Ah can't take credit for keepin' 'er away, no. And Ah'm not just saying that to get a cup of cider.” He grinned and took a cup that was offerd to him, raising it to Mylie before sipping. He was glad that Mylie had a community, too, though different than his. Much less serious, in any case. “'s good – thank you,” he said of the cider, licking his lips. “Almost as good as your juggling.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

It took Mylène a few seconds to realize that some short wary glances of Courf had been directed at Boucher, and for a confused moment she thought why, until she told herself to see him with the eyes of the stranger. He DID look menacing, yes, and he was extremely strong, using this strength in his shows all too often, but as someone who had known him for years, she now only saw the gentle giant he was, and not the dangerous man he might be able to be. The realization made her grin, somehow feeling smug about the fact she had witnessed a small weakness of Courfeyrac’s, however minor and silly. It wasn’t exactly an advantage she had over him and she didn’t even strive to have one, just… maybe in future days it would work out for one or two small inside jokes, and that was never a bad thing. At the moment however it was him who teased her, and she gave him an affectionate dig in the ribs, growling playfully: “I give you pretty little head!” It was one of the phrases she was irked by, since, however jokingly sounded, it always conveyed a little ounce of ‘your head’s only there to show a pretty face, not to think.’ Not that she accused him of actually wanting to convey this meaning… but it still triggered this reaction.

The ice seemed to be broken immediately between the jugglers and Courf, and Mylène was glad to see it happen. A tiny prick of fear had still remained, that it might be awkward somehow, but she should have known than Courf could win hearts easily with his charm. This should be a fun encounter, for however long it lasted. At his remark, Boucher gave another rumbling laugh, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Yer a’right, lad! Yer really are! Honestly, was wondering a bit wha’ kinds o’ people our Coquine was dealin’ with up there in the ‘workin’ world’” he airquoted it merrily, “but if half o’ those are as a’right as ye, I’ll nut say ‘nother word ‘bout it!” Mylène groaned and buried her face in her hand for a moment, before wailing: “Serrously… Boucher, stop! ‘E wasn’t supposed t’hear tha’! ‘E should get a GOOD impression!”

Esti beamed as Courfeyrac complimented the juggling, and Mylène could almost see the halo that was suddenly forming around his head. No doubt of it… he had won himself another heart. “Ye think?! Ye shed see one o’ our great performances. An’ ye should ‘ear Pépier strike it up for dancin’” The man with the shawm in hand gave a mocking bow and winked at Esti. “Tha’d be me, Pépier name an’ profession. One o’ “Les Rois Du Monde”.”
Mylène almost winced when she heard the name of one of the biggest juggler groups in Paris being spoken, since she well knew Courf’s aversion to the sheer term of ‘king’, and so she hastily explained : "There’s a reason they call ‘emselves tha’. They always say tha’ dun ‘ere everyone’s a king, an’ far better off than those poor kings up in them lonely castles.” “Mais oui!” Pépier stepped in and grinned at Courf. “I mean… wha’s the reason for bein’ on earth, if it’s for spendin’ it on our knees before some guignol wi’ the same blood as ours? If ‘e’s a king, why aren’t we all, an’ even more?! We’re ‘avin’ fun at least, dance all night and get to kiss the lovely ladies!” Cheer and laughter errupted from those jugglers in earshot, while Mylène's gaze flickered towards Courf, wondering what he would make of it.

[OOC: so that's actually based off a little song from a French Musical, I can give you a link with English subs in case you're interested xD www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gh81PYERlM ]

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Though Courfeyrac had a feeling that Mylene would be irked by the statement, that was exactly why he had used it. Their relationship mostly consisted of teasing one another, but she also knew, in his brief flashes of solemnity, what he thought of women. He treated them honorably – unless they didn't want to be treated honorably, if you know what he meant – and he believed that while they should be spoken to with delicacy and respect, they also had thoughts and opinions which deserved to be expressed. As Mylene nudged his ribs, he gave a soft 'oof' that ended in laughter. He grabbed her elbow lightly to prevent it from happening again, raising an eyebrow. “Oy! see if Ah give you a compliment again,” he joked.

Though the setting was a bit different than with his own amis, Courfeyrac grinned easily as Boucher declared him to be “alright,” knowing it was likely the best compliment he was going to get. How comfortable it was to be among Mylene's own group of amis! Courfeyrac could make himself comfortable around nearly around, but it was done with all the less trouble around people of such amiable nature. “They are making a good impression,” Courfeyrac promised, speaking to Mylene, though his warm dark eyes remained on Boucher.

His gaze was then turned to Esti as the other mademoiselle spoke. “Ah'd love to,” he said sincerely, offering a nod to Pepier as he was introduced. The last sentence of the man's description did in fact pique his interest, but not necessarily with the anger with which Mylene was concerned. “Don't worry, Ah understand,” he assured her with a smile. “One day soon, ev'ry man will be a king, and 'e'll know it.” Though his countenance hardened slightly with resolution, as he was determined to effect this change himself, he managed another grin as the others around him cheered and laughed. He couldn't afford to spend the whole night dancing, but he did offer his hand to Esti, and looked to Pepier. “Well then, Pepier, let us dance!” Tossing a hapless grin to Mylie, he bowed low over Esti's hand to kiss it before swinging her into a dance.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène just let a merry laugh tumble from her lips as Courf complained about her dig into his ribs and he threatened he would just never compliment her again. Oh, he probably would, he was far too eloquent and gentlemanly to abstain from it for too long, she had no doubt of it. Not that she was fishing for compliments, but it always was a nice side-note to knew at least some of it would be coming, even though she warded most of them off with teasing. After all, even a girl like Mylène appreciated once in a while to be called pretty, even though she didn’t think much of it. She was just a serving girl after all, and couldn’t compete with any of the fine demoiselles always on parade with their costly dresses and delicately painted faces. At least she had her freedom, to run, to climb, to get her hands and feet dirty… it was such a far better life! “Sorry, out of blushes for today, so digs will have to do”, she quipped.

It really seemed like Courf was enjoying himself, and Mylène felt herself relax. There, she had kept her end of the bargain, and now hopefully soon he would see to it that his end was put in motion. He had promised her she could be present at one of the next meetings after all! Then again, she hadn’t even expected to be repaid in kind, and that just made this little favour all the sweeter, knowing that she was getting more out of this than just the simple pleasure of seeing a few less tense muscles in her friend’s face.
“See, Coquine… e’s fine wi’ it!” Boucher grinned and pulled a grimace at her. “An’ anyway, if e’s used to yer sharp tongue, I doubt we can do much t’offend ‘im.” Mylène returned the grimace good-naturedly, thinking that he was probably right.

Pépier cocked his head in interest as he heard Courfeyrac speak this way and a certain gleaming came to his eyes. “Ye lad…” he started slowly, eyeing Courf from top to bottom. “Ye seem ter know what ye speak of… or a’least think so. ‘Soon’ ye say… wha’dye know wha’ I dun’? Streets are abuzz wi’ things, bu’ I haven’t heard someun yet tha’ speaks so openly ‘bout it.” Boucher seemed far less impressed, and just gave a shrug, grinning. “As long as there be good change for us, let there be change… though… if ev’ry man ends up a king… do they all end up jugglers, too? Mighty competition I say!” With that joke, the matter seemed to be settled for Boucher for now and he gave another booming laugh as he watched his daughter being led into a dance so elegantly. Esti herself beamed and blushed, giggling with glee at that suprising turn of events.

Mylène bit her lip for a moment, but then stuck out her tongue at Courf’s fake pitiful expression and watched the thirteen year old girl’s enthusiasm with a fond smile. She had promised him a fun evening and now he would get one. Pépier took up his shawm, called out: “Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre!” and then started to play a fast, catching song, to which Boucher started to sing with a surprisingly sonorous voice, giving a line which the rest, Mylène included, repeated.
“|: Dessous le pont de Nantes, il y a un coq qui chante
|: Il y a un coq qui chante le jour, vive la jeunesse, vive l’amour! ¹

Someone slipped a tambourine in Mylène’s hand, the round wooden frame adorned with several brass bells that jingled with every move, and she started to accompany the song with a flir of fast moving fingers, tapping a difficult and intricate rhythm. She had never been able to play a real instrument, but she loved the tambourine, and already swayed in the fast rhythm, ready to dance by herself and with the tambourine.

-
¹: www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1qA34Fqrjw for reference and feels

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“Out of blushes?” he repeated, with feigned shock, though he couldn't quite keep a strained face as a smile threatened to come. “Ah s'pose Ah'll jus' 'ave to try again tomorrow, then.” He had compliments enough, after all; the smooth-tongued flirt always had something to say, even if he didn't always choose to say it. He was fond of Mylene, and he enjoyed making her blush, not only because he knew he could do it, but because he thought that Mylene deserved it.

And he supposed he deserved to have a bit o' fun before the night came. Not that he wouldn't enjoy himself at the parade, but it would be different. He would be disseminating information and rallying for his noble and beloved cause. He would be standing with the Amis and together telling the crowd about what they cared about most. That was not to say that he did not also care about Mylene, but it was a different kind of caring. He cared deeply for people, and that was why he cared deeply for The People as a united body.

So he grinned and laughed along as Boucher pointed out that Courfeyrac could handle anything if he could handle Mylene. If only everything were as easy and comfortable as his relationship with Mylene! Ah, he could only hope that the Amis could woo the rest of the city of Paris as well to their cause. Brotherhood must be attractive to Patria, to Liberty.

If he could not even convince Pepier, though... Courfeyrac drew in a breath expectantly, his gaze unflinching as he returned Pepier's stare. He thought he knew what he was talking about? Why, o' course he did. “Ev'ryone will be speaking openly 'bout it after tonight, Ah can tell you that much,” he returned proudly. And he could also tell that Boucher was not too concerned about it – nor was Boucher concerned about his daughter falling head-over-heels for Courfeyrac after the jig to which he invited her.
Courfeyrac hardly pitied himself, getting to dance with the lively child; if there was anything he enjoyed more than dancing with a beautiful woman, it was dancing with a fun-loving child. He had befriended many a gamin and gamine, and would never tire of children. Still, he could not pay attention only to Estelle. He laughed with the girl and danced with her joyfully; this was certainly not like the stiff balls that he would have attended had he returned home to his parents' aristocratic circle. Then he spun Estelle neatly, releasing her, before moving his jig over to Mylene and catching her merrily around the waist. He had been smiling at Estelle rather than watching Mylene dance, but he had liked what he'd seen.

As he twirled with her, moving his feet in time with the rhythm and dancing with and around her, he murmured, “Thank you. For showin' me this.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

(OOC: again, excuse the length *shifty eyes* You don't have to match that in the least, I just got carried away by the song ^^)

So he would try again tomorrow? Now that he probably would, and Mylène would have to fight again to not blush, it was a little game they had been playing for some time now. Why it was Courfeyrac could make her blush, she did not quite know, but she guessed it was because he was one of the few people who could actually match her in wit, and was also using the slightly unfair tricks of his eloquent wording. She just wasn’t used to that. But she would be damned if she still didn’t accept that challenge every single time, and maybe the more she was exposed to his charm, the more she would be used to it and therefore able to keep her blushes at bay. “Lookin’ forward to see ye tryin’”, she declared boldly and gave a decisive nod. “Tomorrow then!”

With interest she watched the little confrontation between Pépier and Courf, wondering who of the two would give in first. Pépier wasn’t an overly distrustful man, just sceptical sometimes and very sure of himself, and he probably felt challenged by Courfeyrac’s knowledge of something he did not know. He considered the streets of Paris ‘his’ streets in a way, but in a far less dangerous and brutal way than for example Louis Thénardier and the Patron-Minette. Mylène just leaned back inwardly, smiled and decided to enjoy the little show. “Likin’ yer secrets, don’tcha Courf?” Pépier replied, but his eyes now sparkled with something like reluctant respect. “So whatever yer sayin’ will be talk o’ the town… somethin’ ‘bout the parade then? Might be somethin’ ter do wi’ wha’s stuffed in yer pockets?”
Boucher interrupted him decisively, smacking him fondly across the back of his head. “So wha’s it te ye, Pépier? Ye can’t read them things anyway!” Even Pépier joined into the ensueing laughter, giving Courf a mocking bow to announce his gracious defeat.

Then it was time to truly live in the present and give way to merriment and the true merit of sans-soucis, the ‘worryless’, like the jugglers sometimes called themselves. Esti seemed full of esprit and joy, and Courfeyrac likewise. Mylène wasn’t keeping an eye on them all the time, since she soon was caught up in the rhythm of the song herself and immersed into her own dancing, but to see him laugh and smile like this, carefree like she hadn’t seen him ever since the talks about the possible rebellion had become concrete, made her feel like she had done the right thing and it gladdened her heart. Wholeheartedly, she joined into the following verses that were now tossed between the jugglers. Another man had taken up a huemmelchen, a small bagpipe, and joined into the melody, while a woman suddenly grabbed erely prepared iron chains that had been souzed in petroleum so that they started to burn brightly as she swung them around, also singing.

“|: On sait ce qu' il demande: Des mains des filles à prendre
|:Des mains des filles à prendre le jour. Vive la jeunesse vive l'amour!

“|: S'il veut qu' il en prenne? L' en manque pas ici.
|: L’en manque pas ice le jour. Vive la jeunesse vive l'amour! »

And it was true, wasn’t it ? There were enough young girls already laughing about the fitting verses and started to make eyes at their accompanying friends, wanting them to dance with them too. There was hardly a song that could convey the carefreeness and overall outlook in live of jugglers so perfectly. Long live youth, and long live love!

|: Des petites et des grandes, des brunes aussi des blondes
|: Des brunes aussi des blondes le jour. Vive la jeunesse vive l'amour!

Mylène had varied the rhythm of her drumming throughout the verses, getting trickier and trickier with each passing line, as she felt the old practice and love for it come back to her. her feet were moving in harmony with that and she closed her eyes, feeling both her hair and her skirt fly through the air. This was life… and she wanted to savour it to the fullest tonight. Reality could wait just a little while longer…
But just then she suddenly felt an arm sneak around her waist and as her eyes snapped open, she found herself face to face with a grinning Courfeyrac. Again he had taken her by surprise! Her heart leaping in both surprise and joy, she altered the steps of her dance so they were now dancing together, while her eyes quickly searched for Esti. The girl had rejoined her father, laughter still in her eyes and her young, clear voice joined the singers with the next verse, while she jokingly pointed first at her blond locks, then at Mylène herself and gave a thumbs up.

|:Prenez donc pas ces blondes, Prenez de ces brunettes!
|: Prenez de ces brunettes le jour. Vive la jeunesse vive l'amour!

Don’t take the blondes… take the brunettes ! Myléne just had to laugh at the sheer irony of Courfeyrac’s timing, changing his dancing partner from a blond to a brunette just in time for this verse. Then she heard his murmured remark and quickly searched for his hand, giving it a short squeeze. “My utmost pleasure, Courf, I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself!”, she replied sincerely, then boldly twirled underneath his arm. Long live the youth, long live the present!

[Deleted]

“Tomorrow,” he repeated with a smile, before letting the topic drop. Just the thought of tomorrow made something within him stir with joy. Tomorrow, things would be different. Not necessarily in one day, but the more philosophical, abstract concept – that the night would end and the sun rise. Things would be better for Mylie, for all of them, and not just because of compliments, as true and deserved as those compliments were. Yes, they would have what they deserved most of all: their rights.

Intrigued by Pepier, Courfeyrac only smiled gravely in response to the question. “It is no secret, monseiur; the streets of Paris belong to ev'ryone. Tonight, and they shall forever after.” He gave a decisive nod to reaffirm himself of this, as well as to approve of what Pepier guessed about the parade. It was certainly no secret that Courf's pockets were full of pamphlets. In fact, he would do well to better secure them before he started dancing – since Boucher had effectively ended the conversation!

There was a buzz in the air as the music was struck up. There was something sumbolic about the way that beautiful and harmonious music could be made even without elite instruments like a well-crafted pianoforte. Everything around them was alive, rather than stiff and formal. Oh, if every night could be like this--! Courfeyrac's heart thrilled to think of it. He laughed merrily along with the words of the song.

His dark eyes sparkling merrily at the sight of Mylene dancing, so carefree and natural, Courfeyrac almost regretted it when he pulled her out of the spell in order to dance with her. “That I am,” he replied, when Mylene expressed her gladness at seeing him enjoy himself. “I always do around a beautiful mademoiselle.” He gave a wink, drawing her close again as she completed her twirl. He hoped Esti's envy was not roused by the sight of him dancing with another, but he was not too concerned. As the song ended, he dipped her, chest heaving with breathless excitement. “Vive l'amour!” he crowed in agreement, smiling and laughing before righting her once more.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène could see the intrigue and interest in Pépier’s eyes, even though he was one of the few that seemed genuinely concerned with what Courfeyrac had said. But then… it was a start. With the mindset of most jugglers it would be difficult to rouse them, she had known that before. They were equals amongst each other and followed only the leader they trusted and saw as apt – people like Boucher or Alain had been with natural charisma and diplomacy, who you could trust to solve a conflict without personal gain and who was a figurehead, also respected outside your own group – but they were very unwillingly to put their head too far out of the figurative window, for fear it would be chopped of. The jugglers valued their life and independence, and they seldomly wanted to get involved in any trouble, since there was a common saying: ‘The juggler will be the first to hang’. But now there was Courf, and she could see that Pépier started to think. Maybe there was hope after all, to get them join the cause of Les Amis? They would have to see, probably. Already a murmured ‘Hear, hear!’ rippled through the crowd… it was a start indeed, perhaps to be pursued later.

She didn’t think about politics and changes at all right now though, as she was dancing, feeling Courf’s arms holding her close. It felt natural in a way, and at the same time heightened the exhilaration to a point when she thought to burst any moment. Only the fast rhythm of the song could be an outlet for this exuberant energy she felt coursing through her. If there was any being feeling more alive than Mylène in this very moment, she could not imagine it. For too long, she realized, she had not lived in the moment and had become a victim of every day routine, no matter how hard she had tried to prevent it. And the best thing of it all was that she could share this little breakout with someone else. Whenever she searched Courfeyrac’s gaze during their dance, she found her own joy mirrored in it, and it magnified her own. This was the ultimate proof she had needed. All throughout the beginning she had been wondering whether Courf could really fit into this kind of world, a world she had never shown any outside before. She had wanted him to see the world through her eyes for once… and apparently he liked what he saw.

Her eyes flickered to the crowd for a moment, wondering about Esti. She had been standing there a little forlorn, even though she was singing, but just now, Mylène caught sight of a lanky sixteen year old from the crowd, a worker probably who approached her and pulled her into a dance. Her mind at ease, Mylène returned her attention to her own dancing partner.
“So so…” she murmured, a little breathless from the dancing, as he gave her that typical flirtatious remark, and put her arm quickly around his waist as he drew her close for the dancing. “No wonder you’re enjoying yourself then all the time… lots of beautiful filles in Paris!”
Far too quickly the song was drawing to a close, as everyone joined into the last verse, which was basically repeating the first one: “Dessous le pont de Nantes, il y a un coq qui chante…” and it ended with the joyful last confirmation of ‘Long live the youth and long live love!’ while once again something happened Mylène had not imagined in the slightest, but she could gladly trust her quick reflexes. When Courfeyrac dipped her low, Mylène, realizing her held her firmly and securely and trusting her schooled balance, let go of him and threw her arms over her head in a graceful pose, letting out a sound halfway between a breathless laugh and a jubilant shout.

Then she let herself be pulled up and placed her hands on his shoulders, her eyes throwing sparks and her chest heaving with both exhaustion and excitement. “Et vive la vie”, she agreed breathlessly, searching his gaze. “Thank you… this…” she broke off with a slight start, realizing for the first time in maybe her entire life, she could not find words for her feelings right now. Maybe there were no words, it was too overwhelming.

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac just smiled mutely, too much expressed in the gesture for words. He did not enjoy himself all the time, and though he did enjoy himself with the ladies, and had not made a secret of it, he had not bragged about it to Mylene other. It hadn't used to seem like a matter in which Mylie held any significance, whether she might care either way. She still shouldn't.

For that moment, frozen there, him holding her, her trusting him, Courfeyrac was not aware of much else besides Mylene, her lithe form resting in his arms. He was suddenly aware of her, the feel of her, the sight of her, everything from the way her dark wispy curls hung above her brow to the way her her collarbone fell and rose with breath as she arched backwards. Though she was not one of the painted ladies of the upper crust of society, she was a piece of artwork. This was one of those flashes of creation that made Courfeyrac believe particularly in a magnificent Creator.

The moment did not quite end when she put her hands on his shoulders, perhaps to steady herself after the dizzying spin and dip; he hardly cared for the reason. Her brown eyes blazed as they burned into his. “Ye don' 'ave to thank me,” he murmured, lips parted slightly as he could feel her warm breath on them. She didn't have to say anything. Courfeyrac was rather good at reading people, or so he liked to think, and even though he couldn't quite know what Mylie thought about him all of this time, at the moment, the tension between them was palpable. It seemed to crackle in the air.

Still, he was also conscious of the fact that they were not alone. With a sheepish smile, he bent to press a kiss to her cheek and then offered the wide grin to her friends. “Vive la jeunesse!”

As the music ended and he pulled away more fully from his fine partner, gravity struck him once more, weighing down his broad shoulders before his coat. He stooped to pick up the sacred pamphlets which had been flung from his pockets in the frenzy of the dance, and returned them gingerly to his pockets. “Vive la jeunesse,” he sighed again, his smile fading somewhat. God, he could only hope they would all live through this revolution. One that he was supposed to help make people aware of tonight. He was not supposed to be here, idling away the hours. He must say goodbye for now. There would be merriment elsewhere, but for Patria, not only for its own sake. He was an idle aristocrat no longer.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, going to over to Esti, taking her slender little hand gravely and brushing a kiss across its knuckles. He lifted his head and gave a nod to the other jugglers: “Monsieurs.” He stuck his hands in his pockets boyishly, a glance sliding to Mylene. “Thank you, for the cider and for the excellent company. Ah'm afraid Ah must be goin', but what a pleasure it's been to meet all of you. Truly.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

They were frozen... frozen in time while heated up towards an unbearable point at the same time, and it was the most peculiar feeling Mylène had ever experienced. Was it this odd combination that seemed to make the air between them sizzle, like there would be a stroke of lightning in the next few seconds? She could feel, see and smell everything like a hundred times magnified,as if now only she had been awakening from a deep slumber and saw the world in its true, colorful light. Overly clear she could see every fine line in Courfeyrac’s face, could see the sparkle in his warm dark eyes, and she saw the wind tugging playfully at his locks, which awoke in her the peculiar impulse to reach up and do so likewise. And she could feel his hands on her waist like burning thongs, and his breath on her face, but while it was so prominent, it did not hurt. It made her ache though… but for what exactly she did not know. Finally, she could smell his distinct odour as they were so close… that odour that did not reek of dirt and sweat like that of the men she had grown up with, but of something else… just that she had no name for it. It made her think of him sitting at a table, head bent over a big volume, and she smiled in reminiscence of that day when she had caught him in their headquarter.

Oh yes, she DID have to thank him… even though she did not know how that moment could be any more of his making than it was of hers. Maybe, hopefully, he was as confused as she was right now, but then… as such a flirt, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing right now. She didn’t… she just knew that something ought to happen to clear the air of this ever mounting tensions. Something… anything…
‘SQUAWK!’ It felt like this sudden noise ripped at her guts and then the world was spinning in its normal pace again. All eyes and heads around Mylène darted towards the man holding the small bagpipe, who held up his hands in an apologetic gesture, which caused most of the bystanders to laugh. Mylène was still too dazed to join in, but she knew as much as Courf probably knew as well that whatever spell they had meen momentarily under had been broken. And it was typically Courfeyrac to be the honorable man and take that same old step back.

He kissed her on the cheek and then stepped away, leaving Mylène to fight the sudden impulse of bringing her fingers to that spot to see if she had been burned. A kiss on the cheek… it meant nothing, it was friendship… Wake up, Coquine…! Indecisively she stood for a moment, then squared her shoulders and as she saw a few stray pamphlets lying around Courf had not reached yet, she picked them up, slowly approaching her friends again.
Meanwhile, Boucher was laughing and cheering again with those that had observed their dance, and he wiped his face, chuckling: “Vive la jeunesse indeed, Courf… Ah! Ter be youn’ again once more! T’is sad ye have to leave us so soon! I see two dainty girl’s hearts crushed by it! Clearly, the pleasure’s been theirs!” Esti gave a giggle and blushed deep red once again as the dashing older man showed her this kind of courtesy. Mylène watched it with a smile that was slightly strained by Boucher’s taunting. The community and companionship of jugglers had been a beloved home for her, but she had almost forgotten the well-nigh complete lack of privacy.

Pépier stepped in then, either trying on purpose to swing the the conversation onto a different topic, or just being interested. He, too, had gathered one of the pamphlets and approached Courf now, lowering his voice. “Ye friends wi’ Scaramouche by any chance? He’s sprouting them same ideas. Called him a dreamer more than once… but I’ve been there two years back, ye know… I saw wha’ could’ve been…ye really want te try again?”
Mylène had overheard his last few words, stepping next to Courf and adding her pamphlets on the little pile in his hand, feeling an odd little shock as her fingers accidently brushed his while doing so. “Jus’ be there an’ see, Pépier… the parade ternight… it’ll all be clear then, right?”

[Deleted]

He laughed, albeit a bit stiltedly, even a bit belatedly, at the squawk of the bagpipes. “Tha's what 'e thinks of youth,” he chuckled softly, glance sliding to Mylène with a slight smile. She seemed dazed, as was he, but he was typically better at hiding these things, if only because whenever he felt particularly nervous or thrown, he was particularly inclined to make witty jokes... though they were not all that witty, especially to those who knew him and knew this as a tell of his anxiety.

The jugglers, however, did not know him, and the comment had been muttered so that only himself, and pehraps Mylene, could hear it anyway. As they picked up the pamphlets and restored them to their places, Courf offered a half-smile to Boucher. “These matters must be treated with great delicacy, m'sieur, and Ah shall miss them terribly.” He bowed, perhaps in a way that was slightly mocking, but his words were sincere. He had to go; he wanted to go. He must be a part of what they had planned so long. However, that did not mean he had not enjoyed this brief moment. It was something of a respite, if not in the sense that he had actually gotten to sit down and rest, but the cider had restored him in one sense, and the music and the dance had restored his energy in another.

All the same, he was glad of Pepier's intervention, and the seriousness of his task was made clear to him once more by the question. Though his words were merry, his face was grave as he murmured off-handedly, “Wha', the puppet?” Less seriously than he actually felt, obviously, and no doubt Pepier would catch it. He had heard of Scaramouche; Courfeyrac made it his business to hear about everybody. He blinked as Mylène's fingers brushed his, using the excuse to stack the pamphlets together. “Ah might.” He met Pépier's gaze meaningfully, then gave a nod. “Come to the parade. Won't be a puppet, but we'll represent 'im well enough.” He gave Pépier a nod, then pressed Mylie's hand, though distantly – these expressions of affection and affirmation were common among the Amis. “An' you, Ah'll see you tonight, won' Ah?”