An Explosive Surprise (Ponine,Courf,Combe,Enjy)

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There had never been a sight more welcome than that sign at the end of the Rue de la Chanverrerie where the Corinth wine shop was situated. For right across the wine shop was the house Mylène and her dangerous load were headed for. The headquarter... the den of L’Amis de l’ABC. Where they would be sitting now, planning their actions for tomorrow, Lamarque’s funeral and the coming revolution. Please... please! To whatever God there is... just these few more meters. I’ll promise you anything if I make it inside uscathed – and if you bring Eponine here as well! she fervently prayed as she pulled the wheelbarrow on with burning arms and hands, panting heavily. She had been walking as briskly as she dared to without attracting unwelcome attention. And just after passing one of the main roads, she had attracted the bored interest of a police officer on night patrol. He had followed her in a lazy pace, and she had almost been able to feel his eyes burning into special parts of her body. A young girl, alone and unaccompanied... it must be his dream come true! But gladly also here the disguise had proven effective, apparently he had not been so keen on getting his hands on a ragpicker, so when she had left his turf, he had stayed behind.

Still, the fear of getting approached by someone was mortifying her, and one ear was always turned back, imagining to hear the next shrill whistling and a scream of rage, indicating that Eponine had been busted. Where on earth was she?! What was keeping her this long?! Had the detour towards the river really taken that much time?! Mylène bit her lip, slowing down her steps as she neared the house entrance of the headquarter. Should she wait up for Eponine to appear? It would only be fair, she had a right mind to even turn back and look for her friend, since the unease was growing with every second that trickled by. But then, she could almost hear the enraged words of Eponine in her head, scolding her: ‘If you think I’d risked my hide just so you could get caught out of stupidity, you can think again! The powder is important, nothing else!’ Of course, she was right. Even if it went against everything Mylène could think of, she would drop off the supplies first, and then go looking for her friend. Or hope that she would come while she was still busy explaining to the lads what they had done.

Pulling up the wheelbarrow in front of the door, she took one last cautious look around, trying to control both her breathing and her racing heart. Almost done... almost accomplished...
Before her luck could turn on her again, she raised her hand and gave a sharp, quick knock on the door. She could hear noises from inside, but for a moment nothing more happened, no one opened the door. Of course... they were probably cautious, thinking the worst. They were not expecting anyone. There was only one way...
“For the love of France, lads!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone, her mouth as close to the door as she dared. “Open up! I beg you!”

[Deleted]

Combeferre paced the floor of the tavern restlessly, having been unable to sit still. A wrapped package sat on the table he had been at previously, containing the shawl that he had bought for Eponine. Tonight he had to tell her the secret he had kept hidden away for so long—he had no choice, really. He refused to die without her knowing that he loved her. The funeral was mere hours away and it was making him anxious—it was not the prospect of death that scared him, not really. It was more the possibility that he might not get to confess how he felt in time.

Would she even be here tonight? There was no way of him knowing because she was never home—or at least at the address she had given him—whenever he walked the Rue St. Denis to ask. Surely she would—if only to say goodbye? Neither of them knew any better what would happen to him, and he knew that she at least cared for him as a friend—one of her closest friends, she had said. As disappointed he had been that that was all she saw him as, his heart had fluttered with the revelation that she thought even that highly of him. Since then he had kindled hope that maybe, just maybe, in time, perhaps she could even come to love him.

But that was not what this was about. His only reasoning in telling her was to give himself peace of mind and to make sure that she was aware that he thought the world of her, that he cared. He had enjoyed their lessons and had looked forward to them not only because he liked teaching, but because he relished in any opportunity to see her again.

Still, against his will his mind wandered to what her reaction to his confession would be. Would she be upset that he had waited until now to tell her? He had been unable to summon the courage until now, which he regretted. Perhaps if he had told her and she had returned his feelings, their lives would be quite different. Combeferre knew better than to dwell on the past too much, it clouded one’s ability to prepare for the future—and he would need to be as focused as he possibly could before tomorrow. That was why he was coming clean now—because he could not go to his possible death regretting that he had never told the truth.

There was a knock at the door and Combeferre reached for his pistol. They all had to be careful from now on—there were spies everywhere, and if their plan was found out prematurely, then the whole operation would fall apart. He was going to ask the visitor to identify himself, but then a familiar feminine voice asked him to open the door. “Mylene?” he raised an eyebrow as he swung the door open, standing back so that she could enter, and prepared to shut it as soon as she had since secrecy was essential. However, he was stunned at what she was touting behind her. “What…get inside!” he corrected himself quickly, shaking himself out of his stupor long enough to warn her. He had so many questions, not the least of which was why she was lugging a suspicious looking wheelbarrow about the streets of Paris at this time of night, but he didn’t want their conversation to be overheard.

[Deleted]

It was early in the morning before Lamarque's funeral was to occur. Courfeyrac had planned to return to his flat to wake Marius, if the young man even planned on attending (and how could he not?!), but for now, he was huddled with the rest of les Amis in their new headquarters. They had begun the night in feelings of slight giddiness, some of them, with excitement and anxiety over the events that would transpire in the hours to come. However, solemnity pervaded the air as well, knowing that their task was serious, and on the heels of the death of a great man. Lamarque had died fighting for his cause, of cholera attracted on the streets from the poor he was assisting, and if they had to do the same, then the Amis knew that they would as well.

Courfeyrac had no shame in admitting that he jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. Like Combeferre, his first instinct was to reach for his hip. He had a pistol, as did everyone, but he also had a sword. It was a symbol of nobility, true, but that wouldn't make it any harder to use against members of the National Guard if things went bad and they ran out of gunpowder. Though they had all been optimistic that enough of the people of Paris would join them that the Guardsmen would back down and no shots would have to be fired, it was wise to hope for the best and expect the worst, and the worst case scenario was most certainly running out of gunpowder. Guns, they had enough, but how would they fill them all?

He heard the voice of Mylene, as Combeferre had, and he sheathed his weapon, hurrying to help Mylene. They hadn't planned on having any interruptions tonight, but for Courfeyrac at least, Mylene was a welcome one; he would have let her in anyway, probably, even without the wheelbarrow. “Am Ah ever glad t' see ye!” Once he had helped get the wheelbarrow inside, the door shut, and the barrel off of her back, he took in the dirty rags covering everything and the dirty Mylene. A slight, hesitant smile played at his lips. “But wha's all this?” He lifted the rags off one of the barrels, his face lighting up as he took in the beautiful sight of much-needed gunpowder. “For the love of France, indeed!” he crowed, throwing his arms around her unabashedly. He didn't care one jot that she was filthy. “Ye foolish, brilliant, wonderful girl!” He pressed a firm, hard kiss to her mouth before looking back to his friends. “Gunpowder, lads! An' lots of it!” Glancing back to his sparrowhawk, he raised an eyebrow. “Do Ah even want t' know 'ow ye got it?”

[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] We Must Be Brave. We Must Stay Strong - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The room was quiet, well quieter than the usual hustle and bustle of the ABC’s headquarters. Joly was situated on a long wooden bench at the back of the room. He had perfected the art of sitting on the hard bench, so he was reasonably comfortable. Past experiences had taught him if you sat on the wrong spot, or at the wrong angle, you were likely to suffer a splinter and not in the most pleasant of places. He was surrounded by a cloud of smoke as he exhaled from the cigar he held causally in his right hand. He had a friend who could get them at a decent price, and as a result of this Joly was usually in good supply of such items. The anticipation of the next few days was making him more nervous than ever, and his mind was accessing the likeliness of having contracted Cholera during his time outside the safety of his bedroom. He thought his stomach felt strange earlier…he was sure of it. If the general could contract such a disease then he could quite easily have done so. His thoughts were cut short by a sharp tap on the door. Nearly falling off the bench he straightened himself out, his hand hovering over the gun that rested safely on his belt. They had all been on tenterhooks since the announcement of the funeral, all worried their plans would be found out before they had the opportunity to have their voices heard. The determination in the group was strong, and Joly agreed that the time had come to take a bigger step and stand against the oppressor’s. Facing the door, he waited with baited breath to see who stood behind the door. He was relieved to see it was only Mylene and although she could be trouble, she was certainly not dangerous to the ABC. Returning his attention to his cigar he watched bemused as Courfeyrac and Combeferre greeted her, Courfeyrac’s greeting somewhat inappropriate for a time like this, but perhaps Joly was just bitter. ‘Good One!’ Joly called from the back of the room, grinning from ear to ear as it dawned on him how useful the extra gunpowder was going to be. WORDCOUNT. 372 TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ![]/color] @ CAUTION.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

It had taken her much longer than she would have liked to make it to the river, toss the keys and then get back on route to Mylene. More than once she had heard a police whistle and her heart had nearly stopped. It had never been close enough to have been because of her, but that did not stop her paranoia from getting the better of her and filling the eerie silence with the sounds of military boots and shouts of angry Guardsmen echoing off the walls of the buildings. Still she didn't dare run, not willing to risk drawing attention to herself. Not that her attire was helping with that at all. In her haste to get the two of them on the path back to the headquarters after their run in with the drunk students, Eponine hadn't readjusted her bodice back from where it had been when she spoke to the guard. Now with the leather straps of the barrel over her shoulders, she couldn't easily reposition anything. She just prayed that if Courfeyrac was there he wouldn't make any comments that would require her to slap him.

Her usual calm demeanor Eponine prided herself on during a scheme was beginning to crack. Maybe because she knew the job was almost done and she could let herself worry. Maybe because without Mylene there, she had no one to talk to, to lift her mood again. Maybe because she knew what she carried on her back could kill her with the slightest spark. Whatever the reason, by the time she reached the headquarters, her heart was racing and she almost felt like she couldn't get a decent breath. The wine shop was in sight, but Mylene was not. The fear crossed her mind that one of the many whistles she had heard was the police running her down. For just a moment she considered turning back and trying to track her down, thinking perhaps she had gotten lost. But the straps biting into her shoulders told her that this was more important. She could drop the powder off and then go looking. If Mylene wasn't already here.

Quiet as she could she crept up to the door. Taking a quick look about the street, Eponine made she she hadn't been followed. The street was blessedly empty and quiet, save for the voices drifting from behind the door. From the sound of the joyful voices, Mylene had made it already and revealed their haul to them. A smile spread across her face, not only for her friend's safety, but the knowledge that their half-mad scheme had worked. Without a second thought, Eponine opened the door, slipping inside and spinning around to face the boys she and Mylene had risked their lives for that night.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly leaned back against the wall behind him, enjoying its support. Hard wooden benches were nothing new to the fanmaker, but usually they were backless and he had to spend his days bent forward over his work anyway. It became uncomfortable after a while, made his back sore by the end of the day despite the relatively light nature of his labor, and so—despite the edge of what was technically the back of the bench digging into his spine just below his ribcage—the wall to lean against seemed almost luxurious. He closed his eyes for a moment, pretending that he could actually afford the rest, was actually in any mood to sleep.

Instead, like everyone else, he was on edge. Excitement or fear, he couldn't tell which even in himself—probably both, and probably just the same in everyone else gathered there. The knock at the door caused him to jump, and he scrambled upright with enough force to bang a knee on the underside of the table in front of him. Scowling at himself, he settled back into place, muscles tense in the expectation of having to fight or to run. A raid by the National Guard or even the regular police now could be disastrous; they were ready in the sense of rhetoric, almost ready with materials—though even then not quite—but not, absolutely not, to the point where their plans could actually be carried out.

Here, now, it would only be either a massacre or a mass arrest. The latter might let them live to fight another day, but doubtless would be worse for their cause tomorrow. A massacre here might intensify the sparks that were kindled by the death of Lamarque, still let them be in the vanguard of the uprising... but he didn't want to die tonight, not before they had even had the chance to properly stage their revolt. He would be dead within a few days, no doubt of that—they had begun to stock a cache of weapons, and there was hardly any turning back now even if they had wanted to. He didn't, anyway—as much as he dreaded having to kill, he was already almost resigned to himself having to die.

It was only when Mylene came in, to be greeted by Combeferre and kissed by Courfeyrac, that Feuilly realized he had been holding his breath. She was not pursued by police, though the sight of the wheelbarrow confused him for a moment until Courfeyrac announced its contents. He took a deep breath, as if catching up for the ones he'd missed without noticing it. What use did she have for a wheelbarrow in the middle of Paris at night? He knew Mylene well enough to assume she had not been undertaking some freelance midnight gardening, and neither did construction work seem to be her calling despite their success on his roof.

Gunpowder. Courfeyrac's description of Mylene was perfect, and Feuilly was not even the one in love with her! Foolish, brilliant, wonderful indeed. He grinned, rising to get a look at the gunpowder himself. If this was going to be the only uprising of his life, he was going to do it right and see all the preparations. And it hadn't even been raining, the powder would not be ruined! He was hardly out of his seat when the door opened again to admit Eponine, and he turned his smile to both of the young women. Gunpowder! They would need more than what the two girls could carry, he feared, but there was no need to mention that now. They could address that problem later, they were in a better place now than they had been even ten minutes before.

[FABIEN BAHOREL]

Finally there was something going on here! As much as Bahorel knew that planning was everything, he was bursting at the seem to actually finally DO something about the revolution. They were just sitting here! It was ironic that they wanted to strike their first blow at a funeral… just like he had struck up his very own first revolt at the funeral of Lallemand, that liberal student. Demonstrations and funerals… how history repeated itself. But they had been without a real concept back then and so after the true force of the soldiers and the police had massed up against them, they had retreated, still feeling like kings. This time, hopefully things would be different, but he still would like a little less conversation and a little more action around here. That had apparently happened now, with the barmaid Mylène entering the scene with a wheelbarrow and three barrels, and the sudden realization that she had brought gunpowder from god knew where! Bahorel raised his eyebrows when he saw Courfeyrac’s immediate reaction, jumping to his feet with newfound energy.

“Now, now Courf, leave something for the rest of us!” he exclaimed with a laugh, then sauntered over to the wheelbarrow, inspecting the barrels curiously. Something was telling him that this was not all there was to it, and so he lifted the lid off the second barrel, furrowing his brows as he was greeted with smelly rags. He pushed them aside, and suddenly his face lit up, turning towards his friends with another booming laugh. “Messieurs, this just gets better and better. There’s bullets too! A whole other barrel of good old bullets!” He was about to say more, but suddenly the door opened again, the door they had so carelessly not locked after Mylène’s entrance, and Bahorel jumped, raising his pistol at the intruder – only to be faced with yet another grimy girl, carrying another small barrel on her back.

“Woah…!” he exclaimed, lowering his weapon and rushing to the door. “Is there an army of you coming?! Or are you the last?” If he wasn’t totally mistaken, this was the girl that had always followed Marius around like a sad little puppy, he should have known these two girls knew each other. But that they would go so far as to get their life’s in peril like that… it was surely impressive. “May I be the one to bestow a kiss on the late heroine?” he asked galantly, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Our dear Courfeyrac already got himself the other one. Though, I almost should be mad with you… you rob me of the opportunity to tear up the pavements and throw stones.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

The elation Mylène felt after she and her dangerous cargo was pulled inside by Combeferre was only equalled by the excitement as it finally dawned on her that they really had done it, that they had stolen gunpowder and bullets from under the National Guard’s nose and had not been caught. And the lads’ reactions… my oh my! She was completely taken by surprise by Courfeyrac’s reaction in particular, but she couldn’t exactly say she minded! Just that… she wouldn’t really have thought he’d do that, kiss her in front of all the others, and especially in the state she was in, all grimy and smelly from the disguise. But she was too happy to feel much bashfulness about his kiss, she even felt her arms sneaking around his waist for a moment and her lips parting, welcoming his, but they both knew there was no time for this now.

Laughter, chiming merry laughter tumbled from her lips, still fuelled by her elation as Courfeyrac called her foolish, brilliant and wonderful in one breath. They had hoped for this kind of reaction, Ponine and her, for they had been sure the lads would still think them crazy, but their relief and excitement would be greater than their fears. And just so it had come. “It’s not only gunpowder, ye know…” she started to say, just as Bahorel made the discovery of the bullets, which left Mylène grinning broadly, nodding as if to say: “was just saying…” She chuckled again, feeling almost intoxicated by triumph, subconsciously leaning a bit closer to Courfeyrac as she said: “I dunno if ye want te know, but we’ll most likely tell ye. I just want te wait fer the other hero o’ this story: Ponine. I hope she’ll get here soon!”

Gladly, her prayer was answered soon enough, as she heard Bahorel’s stark reaction to Eponine’s sudden appearance and turned to see her friend enter unscathed. Mylène’s face lit up and she felt another heavy load lifted off her shoulder. NOW everything was perfect. Now they could really savour the fruits of their hard work. “Ponine, thank God!” she exclaimed, then turned to the lads to explain, “she had to drop off the key for the storage we plundered. We… miiiight have jus’ locked them in there… amongs’ a heap o’ destroyed powder.” She exchanged a conspiratorial grin with her best friend. “Water works wonders doesn’ it…?”

[Deleted]

The next few moments were a bit of a blur for Combeferre. Courfeyrac stepped forward and pulled off the heavy canvas over the wheelbarrow, and Combeferre’s sapphire eyes grew wide in shock at all the gunpowder the barmaid had lugged in. “How…how…?” The beginnings of a grin had already formed on his face, but he couldn’t speak—even the slightest advantage made a world of difference, and with all the extra powder, their chances would improve significantly. There were bullets as well…how the devil had she gotten all of this? And alone? He chuckled as his friend kissed Mylene and he took a look at the contents of the wheelbarrow, shaking his head in wonder. “How much does that leave for every man now, Enjolras? We can distribute it even more evenly now…”

He looked back at Mylene and smiled. “I am grateful—we all are, and can’t thank you enough…but how did you do this on your—“ He stopped speaking when Mylene mentioned Eponine’s name. She had been in on this as well? Shock and then indignation coursed through him—she could have been killed! She could have been killed and she would have never known—and she certainly didn’t know the hell he would have gone through if their plan had gone wrong. How could she have done this? How could she have risked her life as if it was nothing? “Why isn’t she with you? Did something happen?” The color drained from his face and he felt as if his heart wasn’t beating—of course he knew it was, it had to or else he wouldn’t be alive, that was basic medicine—because he might never get the chance to tell her if she had been captured. His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. He tensed up, just like every man in the room probably did, but didn’t reach for his weapons. If shots were to be fired, he would be the last to draw his pistol.

When he saw who it was, relief flooded across his face, but that didn’t shake the anger he felt. He didn't even note the way she was dressed ( which would have caused him to turn into a tomato if he had ) because he was too stunned, too shocked over how close he had been to losing her. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful…quite the opposite, but how—why—had she done this? It had only been a few moments but they were by far the scariest of his life. His eyes never left her, twin blue storm clouds of emotion, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t even react to Bahorel’s comment which, under normal circumstances, would make him jealous. To be quite honest, he was deaf to the elated chatter of his friends and blind to the celebration around him. He was too shaken by what could have happened. By the time he finally did decide to speak, it was louder and harsher than he had intended. “Are you mad?!” he demanded, his voice as well as his whole body shaking. He didn't know whether he wanted to cry or shout, but he wasn't going to do either. He wanted answers--he wanted to know what had possessed her to put her life on the line so recklessly. Did she not know what it would have done to him? Did she honestly have no idea? Had she even been thinking of how he would have reacted upon hearing of her death?

[Deleted]

“Ye'd better be speakin' of the barrels an' not of Mylene's kisses,” Courfeyrac responded to Bahorel in a low voice, amused, when he demanded that something be left for him. He was happy, almost too happy to tease any further. He was quick to slap Bahorel on the back joyfully when it was announced that the other barrel held bullets. There was little time to celebrate this most recent discovery Ponine came in as well, and Courfeyrac's eyes widened momentarily at her appearance, but he said nothing, only glanced away, looking at Combeferre to see if the boy had fainted. “Shaddup, Bahorel, an' 'elp me make sure all this is clean an' dry!”

He sighed and gave a good-natured shake of his head at Mylene's words – no, he supposed he did not want to know – before going to lock the door. He was certain that Ponine would have been the last one to enter. As he moved, he threw his arms around Eponine merrily. “Ye ladies 'ave done a great thing fer Lady France,” he thanked them both, moving away again and taking another glance at the barrels. “Ye're both stupid, ye know. Ye could've gotten yourselves killed. But we thank ye.” He risked a look at Combeferre, knowing the young medical student was probably incensed at Ponine endangering herself, more than Ponine probably knew, since he doubted the young man had yet worked up the courage to talk to her about his feelings.

Removing the rags from the powder and bullet barrels now that they were safely inside and would be easily accessible when the time came that they would need them, Courf wiped his hands off unceremoniously on his pants before going to place a reassuring hand on Combeferre's shoulder. “They're alright,” he pointed out, his voice quiet, as he leaned in close to his friend's ear. “Ah know it's a scary thing, what could've happened, but there's nuthin' we can do about it now. Let's direct our energy, mon ami.”

He slid then to Mylene, folding his arms and looking at her with one eyebrow raised. “Remember when ye told me how stupid Ah was fer runnin' to save ye an' riskin' ma life fer it?” he reminded her pointedly, though a slight, bemused smile quirked his lips. “Wha' is this, revenge?”

[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] We Must Be Brave. We Must Stay Strong - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Joly chuckled turning his gaze to Feuilly and rolling his eyes at the romantic display before them, ‘come on lads! Get yer head in the game!’ said raising his eyebrows at their behaviour, it almost made him blush the way Combeferre wore his heart on his sleeve. Joly glanced back down at the table letting the boys words wash over him, he could have joined in with the laughter, but he felt the celebration was a private one for the moment. The extra gunpowder would certainly help them in their plans, but seeing the girls walk in with it only sent home the reality of their decisions. Gunpowder was dangerous stuff and Joly didn’t like to think too much on the damage that could be caused by the explosives the girls had brought into the room. He shuffled nervously in his seat, gazing at the barrels anxiously. The thought of what was to come was playing havoc with his head, his imagination was sending him many images and not ones he found pleasant. He quickly stubbed out his cigar; nervous the light end could somehow jump across the room and spark the gunpowder. Stranger things had happened and Joly was not willing to risk it. Getting up quickly he ambled over to the group, pausing to hear Courfeyrac’s words to Mylene as he peered anxiously at the barrels. ‘I say, don’t ya think it would be a bright idea to get these somewhere safe?’ he said glancing around the celebrating group as he subconsciously covered his mouth with his cravat. Who knew what kinds of dangerous chemicals could be lurking in the powder. ‘I don’t fancy being blown to smithereens before the real fighting starts’ he said from under his cravat as he backed away slightly, perching on the end of the table closest to the door. WORDCOUNT. 352 TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ![]/color] @ CAUTION.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

As she turned to join the celebrations, Eponine's grin quickly disappeared as she found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Her hands flew up as Bahorel lowered the weapon, her eyes wide. "Bloody hell! Friend!" A relieved laugh drew itself from her chest as he moved up to her and she dropped her hands. It was her own fault she knew. They were all on edge, knowing what was coming the next day, and she hadn't exactly announced herself before waltzing in. She raised an eyebrow at Mylene and Courfeyrac before turning back to Bahorel with a grin. "Tell you what. You promise not to point the gun at me again and help me get this blasted barrel off my back, I'll gladly kiss you til you can't see straight."

"Sorry it took so long. By the time I tossed the keys, I had heard half a dozen police whistles, so I didn't want to risk running to catch up. Looks like you made it here alright though," she said, her eyes darting from her friend to Courfeyrac and back as she contorted her arms to try and work the straps off. The adrenaline of the evening was beginning to wear off, and knowing now that Mylene was safe and sound, and apparently occupied with a certain curly-haired revolutionary, Eponine finally let herself relax. Their luck had held out and they had indeed surprised the boys with the finest and best help they could give them for their rebellion. "Water does do wonders. That and a few well-placed smiles, batting eyelashes and a fire log." With a smirk she looked at the room, placing a hand on her chest and mimicking her voice from earlier in the evening. "Just doing my part for France."

Unable keep up the act anymore she rolled her eyes and laughed as Courfeyrac hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him once before letting go with a chuckle. "We never claimed to be smart. But it's not like you boys could just walk up to the Guard and get them to give over their powder. You're pretty but not that pretty." It was only when Combeferre's angry voice broke through that her smile disappeared and her mood turned sour. She had never seen him angry before, never heard him raise his voice. And this certainly wasn't the reception she and Mylene had planned on receiving. She crossed her arms, staring intently at him as Courfeyrac spoke to him in hushed tones she could not hear. Her own anger was flaring, making her clench her jaw. "I believe the words you were looking for were 'Thank you.' We may have just saved your lives." Leaving it at that rather than start a bigger fight, she nodded to Joly, once again committing herself to the task at hand to control her emotions. "He's right. Where do you want this stored?"

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly glanced at Combeferre when he heard his outburst. It was strange, and the realization very suddenly struck him that such a response was not an expression of normal friendship. Combeferre, against every assumption Feuilly might ever have made, seemed to be in love. He could only hope that this would not distract him from what they had planned to do, would not cloud his characteristically so clear reason. He almost went to Combeferre's side to try to soothe him and bring him back to the task at hand, but saw that Courfeyrac had done so already. It brought a slight smile to his face, as an expression of the camaraderie he had found amongst these Amis de l'Abaisse.

Just as quickly, it had all turned back to romantic expressions instead of fraternal ones again. He took a look at the gunpowder, still very pleased. Joly had a point, though—explosives of any kind could be dangerous, too dangerous to keep with them. They would blow their barricade before it was even built should their stock of powder ignite with them all sharing the room with it.

“Joly's right,” he said, echoing what Eponine had said. “As is Eponine.” He was pleased with himself for remembering her name consistently now. “It's best not to keep this stuff where we're sleeping... or living.” He was uncertain that there would be much sleep, and he doubted very much that whoever actually owned the building would be too pleased with the powder being stored there anyway. He thought about the options for a moment. “And of course we thank both of you.” It was strange for him to say anything on behalf of the entire circle, but he felt that his sentiments were indeed shared by them all. Even Combeferre, though the outburst that Eponine had responded to with her request for thanks spoke against it. Love, infatuation, whatever it was—Feuilly knew it did strange things to people.

“Mylene,” he found himself suddenly intruding on Courfeyrac's displays of affection, but he trusted that his friend—both of his friends—would understand. “Is there a good place to hide this underground? Convenient to access... and safe, dry?” He almost could not imagine that anywhere underground would be dry, and that was just as important as it being away from any errant sparks—but if there were such a place, it would be perhaps as close to ideal as possible for now. The only other problem would be the potential to blow up half the street if a spark managed to find it anyway, and as much as he thought such an incident might titillate the likes of Bahorel, Feuilly could not look forward to it. “...Or an empty attic that doesn't leak.”

Whether it was really Feuilly's place to make these kinds of decisions or not, with Combeferre so caught up in his own emotions and Courfeyrac flirting with Mylene as ever, someone—even if it were Feuilly and Joly—had to step up with practicality and the reason it seemed Combeferre had nearly lost. “Joly?” If anyone would know a dry spot in all of Paris, it would be this malaide imaginaire he counted among his friends. Or a gamin, he thought, but there was at present no Gavroche to answer for that.

[FABIEN BAHOREL]

This blasted barrel... Bahorel couldn’t help but grin loutishly at Eponine’s probably unintended pun, and he moved to help her carefully set her load down, while winking at her equally loutishly. Too bad he was too much of a gentleman to actually gawk at the vista she presented to the room with her deep cleavage. “Alright, that’s a promise easily made, ma chérie: Now, weren’t we negotiating about something…? Though I doubt your kisses would have THAT much of an effect…” But before he could indulge into the matter further and actually claim his prize – or rather, HER prize for delivering this very much needed addition to their meagre stock, suddenly someone approached from behind, rather charging like an angry bull or so it seemed to Bahorel. When he turned, he was completely surprised to see that it was Combeferre. Le docteur of all people?! Bahorel surely couldn’t remember any time when he had seen him worked up over something. He hadn’t even known the young man had it in him, the way he usually brooded over his books! Was there a fighter in him after all, now? But… what did all this have to do with – ah, of course! Carefully, Bahorel took a step back and shamelessly listened in on Combeferre’s rant. Oh mon Dieu… another fool in love, what was this turning into, an opera buffa?!

As much as he would have liked to keep watching Combeferre ripping the street girl to pieces with his over-anxiety, they had more pressing matters to look after. Courfeyrac had been the one to tell him to shut up, but now he was deeply indulged into one of his banter-battles with Mylène, and he caught something about Courf having saved her life. Wait, what?! There was definitely too much going on here Bahorel had no knowledge of, and he would undoubtedly inquire about all these sidestories later. For now though he had to agree with Joly and Feuilly, funnily enough. Someone had to keep the ball rolling while the lovesick sorted out their problems. Him, personally, would not have had any problems with storing the gunpowder in the basement of this house, for that would be the easiest access point, but maybe he was just a little too sans-souci for his own good.

“Messieurs, let’s not forget”, he pointed out at Feuilly and Joly, adding a fake cough in the direction of Le Malade Imaginaire just because he never could help himself with that, “we are to raise a barricade very soon, and things will probably go thick and fast in the moment, with not much leeway to act on.” Was he now turning into the voice of reason? Hm… no, rather the voice of action, yes, that sounded better. “What I intend to say is, the farther away we store these barrels, the longer it will take to retrieve them when we need them, time we might not have. And then”, another loutish grin flickered over his face, “we have to keep in mind what a barricade does, it blocks streets. Wouldn’t it be just like us to store our precious powder, then raise our barricade and THEN find out we stored it on the wrong side?” Oh yes, he could already see their surprised and abashed faces when it dawned on them that their over-carefulness had robbed them of their best asset.

[Deleted]

[/b] He says calmly.

He looks between the ladies and Courfeyrac and Combeferre, unsure how to interpret the tension, especially when it comes to Combeferre whom is so calm and logical, his even tempered balance to Aurélien's often bursting passion and temper. From overhearing, he knows enough to know that Mylene and Eponine are responsible for the much needed supplies and he's grateful for the help. The republic can only succeed, after all, if all are willing to sacrifice their own safety and work toward it.

"I am to understand that France and our republic owe a great thanks to you. To both of you." He says seriously.

"For the moment though, we should get these supplies safely stored." He says nodding at Feuilly, Joly and Bahorel. [/ul]