rabbit heart [Enjolras]

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May Day, Grantaire thought, was the silliest of holidays. And not the silly sort of amusement from April 1st-which, coincidentally was also his birthday, but he very much liked to forget that fact and focus on the enjoyment of pulling pranks rather than remembering his years spent 'celebrating' his birth with his parents-during which he was always skittering about, trying to leave paper fish where his friends would find them. No, May Day was a day that held all sorts of irony for the Amis to even acknowledge. The very custom of presenting loved ones with the iconic lily of the valley bunches stemmed directly from King Charles IX-Grantaire knew this, he looked it up-giving those flowers to the ladies of his court. Probably the ones he was fucking. Either way, it was foolish and not worth a scrap of his concern.

He wouldn't have even attended the parade if it weren't his duty as part of Les Amis....alright, he wouldn't have been there at all if it weren't for Enjolras, and that certainly required no further explanation. So he had been there, off to the sides with pamphlets. He avoided the festivities, having celebrated enough beforehand, keeping to the outskirts, but he had actually talked to several people who had taken at interest in the cause. It wasn't much, especially compared to the work of his friends. But, for Grantaire, it was astounding. Perhaps he might have even done more, if he hadn't become transfixed by Enjolras's interactions with the citizens.

When the fighting broke out, he lingered only long enough to assure his Apollo was safe, then quickly retreated back to their head quarters, lounging throughout the meeting. The leader's eyes had burned every time they fell on him, but for once, he couldn't fathom why. He had done no wrong that he was aware of. So, he countered by opening a fresh bottle of wine and curling into the far corner, which was where he remained even after the others had long since dispersed.

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[/i] cynical, which was something nearly impressive in a pathetic sense. Enjolras has never encountered somebody who seemed so very against the idea of hope. The man is, make no mistake, quite infuriating. They have nothing in common.

Where Enjolras is a revolutionary- Grantaire is a cynic. Where Enjolras is sober, Grantaire is drunk. Where he speaks to inspire and lead, Grantaire speaks to mock and to make jokes. There is nothing in the world that Enjolras can think of that they share or agree on. Enjolras is quite sure the man only stays around because he made friends with a few in their number. (Clearly the men among them who have more patience for his nonsense than Enjolras has.) To be honest, Enjolras thinks it's mostly because Grantaire doesn't seem to keep much company in general.

To be honest, Aurélien found that to be, well, a little bit sad. Even serious, and as usually preoccupied as he himself was with his goals and the thought of revolution now close at hand, Enjolras has made friends. They are very good friends too. Enjolras may not see the benefit of romance, but even he could not discredit brotherhood.

Enjolras grew up lonely, he had very few close companions, beyond his books and horses and tutors. None of those were really his contemporaries growing up though. He was verging into manhood already when he met Combeferre and Courfeyrac and made fast friends of them. So, Enjolras still remembers what it is to be alone.

Grantaire was many things, frustrating and obnoxious, and cynic and a loudmouth and drunk far, far too often. Even Enjolras knew though, that Grantaire was not a bad person. Perhaps a hopeless one, but even his cynicism was kind and he was often friendly. Sometimes more than Enjolras was frankly comfortable with him being. However, Enjolras didn't wish ill on him, and even Grantaire, annoying though he was, didn't deserve to be truly lonely.

In any case, Grantaire knew enough to keep his mouth shut and Aurélien knew that the man was loyal to them, even if he was not loyal to the idea of revolution or justice of the people. So really, he's never made much action to try and remove him from their number. (Though he has moments of being severely tempted to.)

Tonight though, he is tired, and though he speaks hope, and plans with his brothers, after they are gone, he feels himself a bag of winds dangerous close to being empty. He runs too close to empty too often these days, he burns the midnight oil as well as the daytime oil. It is no great burden, not one he cannot bear, but there are moments that even he finds himself weak, tired, and feeling utterly human.

He is sad, even though that woman was no relation or nobody known to him, he aches for her. He imagines how her family must be shattered with grief. It is all so senseless, the killing of innocent people. They are tragedies with no true cause or purpose, and those people who commit them are rarely punished. That woman, and the countless others like her that die and suffer, they deserve justice. Not just deserve, it is their right to have it.

Tonight, he is tired and Grantaire is only grating on his already fragile nerves. The man had begged and bugged and pestered at Enjolras to give him a job, so Enjolras had given him one, even after the rather disappointing result of Barriere du Maine. (That one still stings him, to be honest.)

So Enjolras had submitted and had given Grantaire a stack of pamphlets the same as he had to the other lieutenants for the Parade, with instructions to hand them out and to educate people to their cause and to help drum up support.

The pamphlets are gone, and Grantaire had never even shown at the parade in the first place. Then he had had the gaul to show at their meeting after, at least he has not spoken out as he has before. So Enjolras can be grateful for that much, if nothing else. He sits in his corner and drinks and every time he looks at him, he feels slightly inflamed.

He goes over to him now that the rest of the Amis have made for home, he takes the bottle he has open and in hand and looks at it disdainfully. "Honestly Grantaire. Have you no greater purpose in life than drinking and making a nuisance of yourself?" He asks, brusquely.

"If you've no ambition to be useful, you could at least keep yourself out of the way of those that do possess it." Enjolras says, fire in his blue eyes, as he stares evenly down at Grantaire whom is curled in his chair.[/ul]

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Grantaire kept plenty of company of which Enjolras was not aware. Rather, he had kept plenty of company, but those numbers outside of the Amis had dwindled since he first found himself bound to the Musain and its fiery fixture. Grantaire was never content to be stagnant. He indulged in the sins of the city of light as many other young men of his age, but he also kept his body trim and strong. He was a kick boxer, and a fair one at that, certainly one to put money on in the ring, and a fencer when running in higher circles of society as he tended to flit between.

He was friends with many, close to few, in and out of bad circles with the legality of his activities. These activities decreased over the years as his imbibing increased, but one thing that never ceased was his dancing. He kept social, he now tried to keep himself out of trouble, and for that he had left behind many of his former acquaintances. His image was one thing that he had complete control over as far as the company he kept, and the Amis would certainly have never wanted him about given the types he previously ran with.

Yes, it was still sad. Because for it all, Grantaire had still never found himself someone who he could call a brother. He had grown closer to several of the Amis, so far as to actually meet up with some outside of meetings. He was trying. He liked these young men. A few, he thought, liked him as well. Enjolras, not so much. He did try, he most surely did, but Grantaire would never earn his leader's respect. So he contented himself to earn his attention in whatever way he could, positive or negative. Sometimes, when he was truly lucky, he earned half a smile.

He provoked arguments from Enjolras not simply because he was often half out of himself with drink, but because he lived for the flames that flared behind his God's eyes at the provocation. Tonight though, tonight he had remained quiet. It was not the right time for his snark, for his needling to push Enjolras's thoughts just that bit further. Someone had died tonight, and he felt the remorse, even if it was dulled by alcohol.

He hadn't expected such scorn. But he was the drunk, he was the scapegoat, and so he accepted it during the meeting. Now though, with the bottle snatched from his hands, he would not take more abuse. "I live to serve you, my great Apollo.

The following words give him pause, and he looks up at Enjolras, face straight, eyes quizzical. "My deepest apologies for not doing the vast amounts of the others, but it was your own words that claimed even small tasks should not be looked down upon."

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[/b]He mutters, disapproval in his voice, but the tone is not overly sharp.

"It was not the size of the errand that earns my ire, Grantaire. It is your-- your incessant and willful failure at even the most menial of tasks. I have been patient, I have been as patient as I can find it within myself to be with you." He says in a measured tone, but there is an anger there and building.

"You were the one who came to me. You were the one to insistent that I make a use of you. I entrusted you with a job for the parade. Not only did you fail me, you did not even deem it- you did not even bother to show up and make an honest effort at it. Why would you request a job if you had no interest in even trying to fulfill it? I was relying upon you, you and all our brothers. I put my trust in you, and you could not even try." He says and there is something of shocked outrage in his voice. How could Grantaire make him feel this way? He felt like the fool for believing that Grantaire would do this for him. He had invested a trust in Grantaire, and Enjolras did not like to be proven wrong in anything, and certainly not when it came to a clearly misplaced trust. It is not that he was wrong even, though that certainly grates on his nerves, but- it hurts.

He may not admit to it, but it hurts to be disappointed in this way, as though Grantaire were playing at some sort of Brutus and killing Enjolras' trust in him before it could even truly take a root. [/ul]

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'Who are you to question another man's religion' The words are half formed on his tongue before he bites them back down. Instead, he stares up silently into the scorn, allowing his praising nickname to be tossed aside as something foul and mocking. Enjolras will never hear him right, he has long since realized and accepted this fact. Where he calls the other man a God, he sees him as his beacon, the one true thing he can believe in despite everything he has seen. What Enjolras hears is a taunt, a jab at his demeanor or hint that he holds himself above others. To Grantaire, he is leagues above kings, but that is never what his words suggest. That part is kept to his thoughts, and his thoughts alone.

"Failure?" He echoes back beneath Enjolras's words, his voice soft and confused. Enjolras was harsh, held all of the men to high standards, but it was not like him to belittle even Grantaire's small job for the day as to label it a failure. He frowns, an unfamiliar pull of his muscles and his brows draw down over his glassy eyes. For the moment he doesn't even bother to argue, still trying to puzzle through exactly what has caused their leader to rail so violently against him, but then it's all spelled out. He looks up at Enjolras suddenly, shaking his head so his curls toss back and forth atop his head.

"I was there, Enjolras, I walked over to the parade with Lesgle from the fair by the river." His voice does not raise as it normally does when he argues. The bit of fight that rose up at the accusations has subsided, and instead he seeks to quell any ill temper. He speaks evenly, his words smooth despite the near empty bottle that Enjolras holds. "I handed out over half of the pamphlets. The rest are still in my bag." He says this last bit as if Enjolras might want proof, proof that he did all that he said. But really, his words were truthful. Grantaire was many things, but a liar was not one of them, especially faced with the man that he adored. "I failed you once before and took full blame for it, I swear that I have not done such again."

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[/b]Aurélien repeated slowly, carefully enunciated as though speaking to a small child, after all it was impossible to say how much Grantaire has had to drink this evening. The man isn't known for his self control, in fact he doubts he has ever had the pleasure to witness such a thing from Grantaire. The man was weak, simply put, he gave in to whims and vices when he could chose to fight them. Grantaire believed in nothing at all and from where Enjolras was- it was simply no way to live your life.

The point was- he hadn't seen the man all day and he could only assume that he had been up to his usual manner of time wasting. Enjolras had learned that when dealing with Grantaire- to was better all around for Enjolras to set his standards low. Like the incident concerning the Barriere du Maine. Aurélien had not expected for Grantaire to go and do as he said, he had mentally prepared himself for one excuse or another. It was not that he thought Grantaire was incapable- no, hardly that. Aurélien knew from countless comments from Grantaire and arguments and discourse on various topics, that it was not a lack of intellect that led Grantaire to the life that he had more of a lack of will to use it or any of his skills to better the world around him.

It was easier not to care, but today he did- he needed at least a scrap of good news after the mess that had been the parade. It was all the worse to know there was blood on his hands and it was not the blood on his hands that bothered him- no he had been mentally preparing himself for the act of killing for the greater good. He knew it was a necessary evil, something Enjolras abhorred but would use for the sake of progress. It wasn't the blood but the fact that innocent blood had been spilled, not blood of the National Guard, nor Revolutionary blood. No, just an innocent elderly woman out for celebration. It weighed on his soul more than he was willing to admit- though he remained optimistic for the future.

He was frustrated and all too human and perhaps it wasn't fair, but Grantaire was there. Enjolras doesn't like this side of himself- the side he knows is capable of being cruel, of lashing out terribly. He is about to go one when Grantaire speaks, his voice not trying to verge into arguing- just a soft spoke murmur.

The thing is- that Grantaire has never lied to him, never spoke anything at all that the cynical thought less than honest. Even his opinions about the future, he knew were meant as warnings. He knows Grantaire cares for all of them even if he doesn't support their hopes for the future and- well Grantaire is many many things. Not all of them are good, most are not, but he has never been a liar and he has in the past been nothing but forthcoming when he has let Enjolras down in one way or another.

He doesn't question Grantaire's words when they come, a soft defense of his own actions. He knows the drunk wouldn't speak false to him so he can only cut off any speech. He has jumped to conclusions, and in doing so has done a disservice to a friend? Well, a sort of friend.

Aurélien lowers his head and allows himself to feel a rush of shame, he had assumed to quickly. Instead of yelling at him, instead of being angry, Grantaire just looks sad and eager to prove he is indeed telling the truth. Enjolras is- he's not used to being wrong and he's not used to having to apologize, he's not very good at it. Still, Grantaire deserves one.

"I believe you- I," He reaches up a hand, rubs at the back of his neck, his eyes down. "I apologize." He says awkward, stiff.

"I assumed based on prior incidents, which is both unfair and wrong of me." He adds quietly, he supposes he could have missed Grantaire. It had been dark and things had turned chaotic in a rush.

"If I could have the extra pamphlets back, I would appreciate it." Aurélien said softly and slips down into the chair at the head of the table. He pauses a moment before he tries to speak again. "It's only that- I had expected to see you and I did not." [/ul]

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Weak, despite everything, was not an appropriate descriptor for Grantaire. Yes, he drank himself to a stupor almost daily, stumbled his way about and landed himself in fights, but there was very little that could affect his will. Above all things, Grantaire was determined, or rather, stubborn. Really, it should be said that he had little to use his strength on. He had no desire to fight the temptation of vices, for he saw no apparent need for such actions. But when he did put his mind to things, he could never be dissuaded. His devotion to Enjolras, for example, was unfaltering, even when it came to fighting Enjolras himself for it. He could never be convinced to leave the group, just as he could never be dissuaded from arguing his opinion. His will was strong, when he bothered to use it.

Grantaire expects further accusations. It would be Enjolras' right to rage at him, for all that he had done in the past and for all that had transpired that day. A fight is not something that he wants, but it is something that he is prepared to give should the need arise. If Enjolras needed to sling harsh words and lay blame, then Grantaire would meet him word for word. Taking it quietly would give his leader no peace, and after the day that had transpired, he would give Enjolras anything to release any of the tension that must have been building. Besides, he wouldn't have taken false accusations quietly no matter the day.

Sharp words are not unfamiliar to his ears, so he blinks several times up at his marble Apollo when he hangs his head instead of responding. The wine slows his processing, delays his comprehension, but it is also in part that he has never seen Enjolras look so...apologetic, ashamed even. While he is thrilled that his words are believed, the expression disarms him. He was more familiar with the cruel side of his god. He isn't certain how to respond, so he simply shrugs and offers and few words. "Any other man would assume the same."

It takes Grantaire several moments of casting about, a bit unsteadily, to find his pack. But when he does, he triumphantly presents the remaining pamphlets to Enjolras. His mood sobered by the encounter, he does not offer any snark. "I preferred not to be...in the way. I would have thought you'd rather not see me. I know at least that Combeferre suspects that I will only do harm to any of your work or that of Les Amis."

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[/b] He says- softly. He knows he's different- he's not ashamed of that fact but he's never thought it made him fundamentally better or worse than anybody else. It's means only that- he knows he doesn't fit people's ideologies of what a man is supposed to be, or even, what a revolutionary is supposed to be. He's always been a bit too pretty, a bit more feminine, a bit too serious to fit a mold of anything.

"And if that is true, than it should stand to reason that I should strive to be better than the average. I should learn instead of assume. I should question and re-think until there is nothing but the truth." He says firmly. "I hold myself to an ideal and I strive to encompass that ideal. So- I hold myself to better standards than assuming the worst. Even from you, Grantaire." He's going to make himself feel guilty about it at this rate, but he deserves to feel a bit bad, doesn't he?

Enjolras can't help but lose himself in the thought of that for a moment, if it's truly fair to assume that Grantaire is incapable, that he's not able to change. Maybe he's held the belief so long simply because it just proved easier to think that, rather than to hope that Grantaire might chose to elevate himself. Enjolras knows that he can, but he has believed, for a long time now, that Grantaire won't. Aurélien can't really speak to why, the man's cynicism is something that just doesn't make any sense to his brain that has always strove to see how the world might be improved and made more just.

He blinks down at the pile of pamphlets that Grantaire settles in front of him, it's roughly about half of the stack that Aurélien gave to him and he taps his fingers against the top cover of one. He's always taken aback when Grantaire lacks snark, it's just something that he's gone used to. Maybe he simply doesn't handle being surprised well. He's not used to Grantaire being...serious, Grantaire being... almost a little sad and somber in his words. Grantaire who is always snarky, sarcastic, Grantaire who is always trying to tease him. This is a Grantaire that he doesn't think he's met before.

"You have never seemed to care about being in my way before." He said softly, and maybe he's just not sure what else to say. He's not used to Grantaire acting as though he's cared a whit about Enjolras' cause or revolution plans.

The truth is that it's been a while since he's thought that Grantaire was useless, maybe at first. Now, he's well- grown used to him, he supposes. "I don't mind seeing you. I only mind when you contradict me at every turn when I am trying to get things done." That is the truth, and it's also true that- Grantaire's perspective is unique and not without certain practical considerations.

Grantaire has always challenged Enjolras, pushed him to be better, as though if only he made his argument better- he may even convince the man who avowed to believe in nothing. "You are not so bad as all that, Grantaire. I only- I do not understand you." He says, looking up at him suddenly, giving him the full weight of his thoughtful blue gaze. Grantaire is drunk, but that is not odd with him, and he does not appear to be impaired to a great extent. Grantaire's own blue eyes seem tired, a bit bloodshot and a edging a bit into the area between blue and grey.

"I have never understood you one bit, and the more that I have ruminated on it- the more I seem to realize that I do not think I ever will."[/ul]

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Of course Grantaire manages to offend. He can tell instantly by the crease in Enjolras's brow that his words have not been well met, it doesn't surprise him. No matter how delicately he tries to speak, he always manages the wrong words when it comes to Enjolras. He hadn't meant to brush aside the apology. Truly, Grantaire knows the scarcity and value of such from the leader, and it is due to his surprise from receiving an apology that he does not know how to appropriately react. He lets out a soft sigh. "I would be the last person to think as much." He quietly replies, looking just to the right of Enjolras so he need not meet his eyes. To him, Enjolras is far above everyone. He is an angel, a great and terrible, beautiful, angel that has graced Grantaire's otherwise dim life.

Instead of arguing - because really, he's just too tired for that right now, he really is - he simply lets Enjolras rant. He always listens, no matter what it is the man has chosen to go off about at any given time. Because, in all honesty, he's content to simply listen to Enjolras crackle and burn, hear the sparks in his words and bathe in the glow. It's enough for him sometimes that he feels no need to speak up, but he does have the good sense to look at least a bit sheepish.

He really does his best not to laugh. Honestly, he tries. But Enjolras seems to be the only person in Paris who hasn't realized just how very much Grantaire does care. It's a light chuckle that's more of an undignified snort than anything else. He shakes his head. "You don't see everything, Enjolras." And perhaps his words have more than one meaning. He certainly doesn't see how attentive Grantaire is to him, nor does he see every aspect of what he's doing, and it has been more than once that the cynic has had valid, and even useful points to contend. He considers saying more, perhaps something to clear the air before Enjolras assumes he was laughing at him, but the next words from the revolutionary's mouth are enough to quiet any and all possible responses.

It is one thing to hear that Enjolras does not mind seeing him, and another to hear such followup words that are equally as kind. Grantaire had long since resigned himself to the idea that Enjolras disdained him. These words, of course, did nothing to change that, but it certainly soothed him. He considers his response for a long time, meeting Enjolras's eyes. They seem to be in a constant state of misunderstanding one another. Truly, he wishes that could be cleared....but that would solve little. There is little of Grantaire, even if seen for all that he is, that he thinks is worth liking. His words are soft when he does respond, not accusatory or harsh. "I hardly think that you've ever truly tried. I shouldn't mind if you ever decided that you would like to."

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[/b] Enjolras confesses on a gentle sigh of air.

The laugh does- something to him, like it goes into his ears and settles somewhere inside him, like something tense relaxing minutely. Maybe he's losing resolve? He doesn't think that's what it is though, he is as dedicated as he's ever been, and now- closer to the moment of revolutionary consummation, there is only an added excitement, an anticipation in the air, in him, and in the people who chose to follow him.

"Are you saying that I- that I am missing something- when it comes to- you?" He asks, a hint of uncertainty to his voice. He never knows how best to handle Grantaire, what he should say, what would aid in their communication.

At this point- Grantaire's eyes are soft and wide with surprise and a hint of confusion. He's right, they both are in their own ways. Communication and further- understanding, had never come easily between them. Grantaire seems so flippant and frivolous, he seems- such a waste. There was potential in Grantaire, but it all seemed to be wasted, to be dedicated to self-decay and not improvment. Grantaire would pickle himself in wine and let himself be stagnant and make himself care little for the world and the people around him. That seems to be the man's goal, but- it doesn't seem to work. He knows Grantaire values friendship, he knows that Grantaire is close to some of the others and that he takes joy from those relationships. "That is- a fair estimation, I'm shamed to say."

Aurélien had to stop and wonder if he was growing so heartless and distant, revolution would always be his first concern. It didn't have to be his only concern, he's not limited, or he doesn't have to be. Revolution need not suffer and- Enjolras can have more than only that. "Relations on the personal level don't come to me easily." He says, soft. The small bit of pride he does allow himself winces at the admission of not excelling at something, but it is the truth.

"But I have never turned my gaze away from knowing. Ignorance doesn't suit me and- I. Perhaps you will prove yourself capable of surprising me."[/ul]

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“That is why no man should ever look alone, and you do not, Apollo.” Grantaire pauses for a moment, runs a hand through his matted curls and resigns himself to complete honesty. “I may cloud my own view of that which I don’t wish to see with drink, but I do look upon the problems around us, and for broadening your sight is why I so often contest your words.”

It’s a large admission from Grantaire, who promptly stares down at his ink stained fingers, the paintbrush calluses and split knuckles that so mark his deviation from the privileged life into which he was born. His admiration of Enjolras has never been a secret, but his words have always be so veiled in jest, drowned in cynicism. At this point, he hardly believes the other man will take him seriously, but if this time is blessed with honesty between them, then he must take advantage while he can.

It pains him to hear Enjolras uncertain. It should be a reminder that he is only a man, although a blinding one. He has no need to understand a man such as Grantaire, who already so sullies his view of the good in people. The cynic had given up on himself some time ago, and if Enjolras took any further interest in understanding him, it would merely frustrate. But to hear such an admission from Enjolras, to hear the soft pitch of his voice, Grantaire only wants to prove him wrong, to bear himself for all that he is, to let Enjolras understand.

“Were I a selfless man I would say that you need not make sense of me. What a cynic such as myself says or thinks is of little consequence to a god. But I too am missing something when it comes to you, and I would too much like to understand.” He looks up from his hands at that. “For a start, you could take my words at their value, and not question their meaning. Rather than seek fault in them, listen in full. I swear I mean less often to offend than you believe." He is so very open to understanding, ready to do anything. “I think…you often take what I mean as admiration as mockery, if I may be so bold as to suggest.”