At the Shrine of Friendship ( Enjolras )

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Combeferre left his apartment in a huff, annoyed at the fact that he had forgotten to go to the market that afternoon to pick up more food. He was surprised to come home and realize that he had neglected restocking the cabinets because he had been so immersed in his studies. This was not an unusual occurrence—often he would neglect to eat because he was so busy working, only realizing that he had not when his stomach started growling. It was a habit he had hoped to break but it always crept back up on him without fail. Instead of going to the market, which was no doubt closed at this hour, Combeferre decided to go to the Café Musain. That way he could still study and get a bite to eat.

The café was not the quiet place he preferred to do his studying in, but for now it would have to do. Hopefully Grantaire was passed out in a corner and would offer no distraction, or better yet, would not be there. If the café was relatively empty tonight then he could study for his exam in peace while getting nourishment. He knew that forgetting to eat was not at all healthy, being a medical student, and he did feel guilty every time he did it because he was not practicing what he preached so to speak. How could he possibly offer medical counsel to others without following it himself?

A gust of wind smacked him in the face as soon as he stepped outside, and he had to button his long cerulean overcoat and pull his brown flat cap down over his ears. It was cold but perhaps if he walked quickly enough it would not bother him. His pace was brisk as he lugged his bag of textbooks through the streets of the Latin Quarter, walking the path he had so many times to the Café Musain. His time there was not restricted to just meetings of Les Amis de l’ABC, the political society he had formed with two of his friends from school. He often came there whenever he wanted something to eat before or after classes, just like he did now. There was a homelike feel to it, even though he had grown up in a mansion and this was anything of the sort. His friends were here, and that was what made it home. So many discussions had been held here, and so many friendships had been forged and reinforced within these walls.

He pushed open the door to the café and promptly shut it behind him, exhaling in relief as warmth finally began to fill his body. He set his books down at the table at which he usually sat. He took out his medical textbook and began to read quietly as he waited patiently for his pot-au-feu and cup of tea.

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[/b] He said softly. Enjolras won't admit to many needs, but his friends never have to ask, it seems, to provide the few things he does need, support and companionship, brotherhood that Enjolras has never had before.

"Courfeyrac was studying with me earlier, but he left me to chase after some pretty grisette he has his sights set on this week." He said lightly, offering a shrug of his shoulders. Enjolras, despite what some of his friends encouraged him to do, wasn't interested in seeking out such company for himself. Though he wasn't in the habit of judging his friends who did. After all, such decisions were a part of social liberties that everybody ought to have. [/ul]

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Combeferre was surprised to find Enjolras at the Musain at this hour. Then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised—he had probably come here for the same reason. He was even more diligent than he was—Combeferre at least believed in sleep. Then again, that was probably because he was a medical student and he knew firsthand the effects of overworking oneself. He had done it several times in the past, but he was trying to cut down on it. “Enjolras—bonsoir.” he met him with a smile as he took a seat at his table. “Yes, I was actually—but then I forgot that I was supposed to go to the market to pick up supper. I think I’m getting to be more like you.” he stated teasingly with a chuckle.

“Ah, how typical.” he commented with a disapproving sigh as Enjolras explained what had happened to Courfeyrac. He did not approve of his friend’s…activities, but he was not one to judge. As long as his trysts did not distract him from the ABC Society’s activities, Combeferre could care less what he did with his time. That went for every member of Les Amis. They were all his friends and he did not dictate to them how to live their lives—the only time he had a problem was when they were distracted during meetings.

“I have two medical exams tomorrow—one just on general anatomy and another dealing more with chemistry.” Combeferre announced, looking up as the barmaid brought his tea. “Thank you.” He took a sip and then sighed. “I wasn’t sure if the café would be quiet enough but I really had to eat.” he clarified, sitting back in his chair. “Did you need any help with your studying? I was just going to look over mine once or twice and then leave it until morning. Perhaps we could test each other?” he suggested. If they studied together, then the work would go twice as fast, wouldn’t it? Then they would not have to suffer from sleep deprivation.

“How have you been in general, mon ami? You look tired.” he observed. He surmised that it was from the studying, but Enjolras had a habit of overloading himself with work—either with his studies or with their planning of demonstrations. He tried to look out for in that respect since he often suffered from the same thing himself, and knew the symptoms.

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[/b] He asks him softly. "We could each be our fathers, too caught up in their own business and lives to dedicate themselves to the greater good."

They have talked a lot, and not all of it is on the topic of politics and the ideas of improving society, and not just them but all the men like them. The students who were young and smart and brave, and wanted to see and effect positive change upon the world around them. They have also talked of their lives a bit, the personal things that come more slowly to the both of them it seems.

"Though I admit, I am still waiting for your practical qualities to rub off on me and temper me a bit." Even Aurelien can admit he is a man of strong personality, and he often can stand to be tempered a bit. Maybe it is not meant to be, maybe he is supposed to always have a little hint of the fierce in him. He knows there is something in him that can be harsh, that can be terrible. Sometimes it worries him, what he thinks he may be capable of.

He shrugs a bit when Combeferre says that Courfeyrac is just being his typical self. Enjolras agrees, but he thinks sometimes that for Christian, chasing girls is rather something he does as a stress relief. Besides, he cannot be in charge of anybodies studies but his own.

"I know the feeling, I have two left. Ah, the quest for knowledge never ends, does it?" He asks softly. It's true, he has always pushed himself in pursuit of his goals and in pursuit of learning. He knows that he does, sometimes press too much on himself, drives himself to lengths when he should let himself have a bit more slack. He doesn't know how to stop though. He has his nose always at the grindstone. He doesn't know how to pull back, hot to give himself a break.

Aurelien thinks about it a moment before giving a nod. "Yes, we could do that. I still have a Philosophy examination to sit. Though it is nearly impossible to study for."

He gives a look at the question. He's tired, he is. He is sometimes so weary he doesn't know how he always finds a new well of energy, but then he thinks about his cause, their goals. And he knows, knows down to his bones that all of what he does is for a cause, that it is all worth it. He doesn't know what to say though, but after a moment, he realizes it must be the truth. Anything else would be deception and Blaise has not earned lies from his lips. "I am, a bit." He admits with a careful sigh as he touches his forehead, pushes back flyaway hairs. "It is nothing worth worrying over. Just a headache, I can certainly endure it."[/ul]

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“Touché.” Combeferre answered with a slight grin. His father and him were not on good terms by any means. He knew that Jacques was his favorite son, which was to be expected, since he was the eldest. But they had been on such good terms when he was younger. Now he was sure that he wanted nothing more to disown him since he refused to take up the family business. He would not make a good lawyer for a plethora of reasons, which was why he had chosen medicine and philosophy instead.

“It wasn’t always that way. He was the one that started me off handing out alms to the poor, you know.” he mused quietly. He didn’t talk about his father much—there was really nothing to talk about concerning him. They had had a normal, good relationship, which had fallen to pieces when he went to university. Thankfully he knew nothing about Combeferre’s political views. If he had any idea of the kind of people he was friends with, he would disinherit him regardless of what his mother said.

The sad thing was that his father was part of the reason why he had joined their group. He wanted to do something for the poor, for the people that didn’t have any of the resources or opportunities that he had been given. His father and his mother had raised him to care for others, which was what attracted him to medicine. He had thought that they would be happy, proud even—but his father had been disgusted and his mother was proud.

His mother was more concerned about his happiness than the family legacy, which he appreciated. She kept his father civil toward him, though they rarely talked. The only thing he didn’t like about his mother was how she was always trying to set him up with one of her friends’ daughters.

Combeferre chuckled at Enjolras’s comment. “And I’ve yet to wake up and discover that I have a silver tongue.” he quipped back with a smile. “Maybe tomorrow.” He didn’t know the first thing about rhetoric, and to be completely honest, he envied his friend for his skill—not in the negative sense. He admired his talent.

“Indeed.” he agreed with a nod. The pursuit of knowledge was a thrilling thing to be sure, but the university certainly never let up. He was not too worried about either of his exams, but he knew how stressful they could be. Enjolras was living proof. They both were very hardworking and unrelenting men, but the difference was Combeferre stopped when he was exhausted. Enjolras often did not. He wanted to make sure that he didn’t wear himself out—no matter how important the exam was, it wouldn’t do well for him to be in poor health due to his tireless studying.

His eyes brightened at the mention of philosophy. “Yes, yes, I could certainly help with that.” He wanted to teach the subject after practicing medicine for a few years. Many men dreamed of making a fortune, marrying a pretty girl, and raising a family. Combeferre looked forward to becoming a silver-haired professor with horn-rimmed glasses. His legacy would be the people he taught.

“You know, I tend to do better on exams when I’m well-rested. It’s a proven fact, really.” Combeferre observed after Enjolras gave his answer. “Don’t strain yourself too much over it, Enjolras. I’m certain that you’ll do fine.”