Fools Rush In {Mylene}

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Being scolded now for what she had done made Mylène almost feel like a little girl coming late for dinner and having been caught playing on the streets with the bad children. It was more amusing than it was infuriating right now, so she only gave a snort and nudged Courfeyrac, raising her chin defiantly. “If ye’re out te teach me proper manners, yer eighteen years te late, mon ami. Pah! ‘m not always foolish either, bu’ wha do ye suggest I do? I’ve never been the type te let others steer the carriage.” If he reacted that intensely to her taking risks, it was probably a blessing he did not know at all what Eponine and her were planning to stage in two nights to come. And she also would not give him any letter of goodbye this time, she had learned her lesson there. Either it would work out and he would call her foolish in hindsight but be appeased by their success, or it would not work out… and then he’ll never know, which was probably for the better then.

It was typically Courfeyrac to twist her words back at her in such a way, and she would have raised her hat to him, had she worn one. So he wanted to be the one to make a difference? It filled her with a warming glow, regardless of whether it was more a joke than a true statement. He was certainly already making a difference in so many ways, but she still remembered the promise she had given him. She would not fall in love with him, they were friends… and apparently she had all but forgotten the meaning of this word as well, if it surprised her so much that he cared. “Psh, I ne’er fish fer compliments!” she stated, a hint of her usual carefree mirth in her voice as she turned and gave him a quick peck on the check, before letting him nuzzle her neck once more. “I set insidious traps an’ the compliments fall right in!”

Mylène had been ready to really move on, as difficult as it might seem right now when the wall around her deeper lying emotions had been breeched, but apparently Courfeyrac would not have it. Her conviction was waning once again and she found herself already formulating sentences in her head, ways to express what she had never really needed to express before, as no one had cared to hear. Leaning against him, she let her gaze wander over her room to buy a little time, until her eyes settled on the cravat. His cravat, reminding her of that night of chaos, where they both had looked out for each other. He had asked her then if she trusted him, and she had said she did. And wasn’t it true? Whatever she revealed now, he would never use it against her, and he would hopefully not think worse of her.
“I said earlier tha’ Alain raised me from the mud”, she began then hesitantly, “an’ tha might sound a bit o’er the top, bu’ it’s true. I was thirteen then, tha’ time when ye slowly have te think on how ye gonna survive the next few years. Ye’re not a child anymore, ye can’ stay a child thief forever, an’ mos’ other gangs dun want a girl in their midst unless it’s te warm their beds. Slowly, the souteneurs start te follow ye with their eyes, estimatin’ yer value, an’ the time it might take until ye’re profitable. Ye have te make a decision – if it’s not made fer ye.”

Mylène had been talking softly, trying to rein in most of the emotions that came with the story, almost feeling as if she was telling the life of someone else. Maybe that was for the best, maybe it had to feel that way if you tried so hard not letting things get to you and always joking about them. Smiling a little wistfully, she continued. “One day, I tried te steal from a gentleman with ravenblack hair, colorful clothes an' a very confident stride. Ye could say, he got the wors’ impression from me from the start. When he caught me, I thought my lot was lost… but he did not call the police.”

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac just rolled his eyes good-naturedly. It was true, he had no hope of teaching Mylene manners, and he certainly wouldn't want her to become a dainty or demure girl. He liked her the way she was. She knew that. She knew that very well. She was just trying to make arguments out of things that weren't there. “Dun let others steer the carriage, but steer thyself. Remember tha' Platonic allegory Ah told ye, abou' the two horses pullin' the chariot? Ye stay in charge o' the carriage, alright? Not the horses.” That was all he had to say about that. She could still act on impulse and have fun, as long as she didn't let things run away with her to the point of killing herself. There was no point in trying to tell her to calm down, because he didn't want to, not really; he just didn't want her to leave him.

He chuckled good-naturedly at her comment about setting traps for compliments. “Ye deserve 'em all, true enuf,” he agreed with a smirk. His countenance became more solemn then, even though he would have liked to keep things light, when Mylene began to talk about Alain. This was something that he needed to her, and he felt honored that she would trust him to tell him. He simply listened to her quietly as she spoke of her formative years, how she had already been worrying about providing for herself at the age of thirteen. He chewed his lip, slightly pained by the thought; he knew that he and Mylene had very different upbringings.

He rubbed her back softly as she spoke, hoping to reassure and ground her, remind her that he was there, and that she was safe for now, even if she was still sad about Alain. He started to smile when she mentioned this mysterious man. “An' so began your relationship with M'sieur Alain?” he guessed, giving her a little smile. “Ah think Ah like 'im already.” Colorful clothes, confident stride, black hair – she might as well have been talking about Courfeyrac himself, if he hadn't known any better!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

You had to give Courfeyrac that, with his extraordinary educated and eloquent mind, he could counter every argument she might possibly bring forward, and counter it well! That was what always had made their banter so exciting and entertaining, since she really had to use her brain if she wanted herself to be the one with the last say – and that didn’t happen as often with him as with others! Platonic allegory… what had that been again? Ah, yeah, that Plato guy, the one with the philosopher state, wasn’t it? That had sounded so hilarious she had kept it in her memory. More apparently than the carriage and horses thing. “Is tha’ where the phrase comes from ‘hold yer horses’? Bu’ yer right, dun want this carriage goin’ rampart. I’ve been inside such a situation once, ne’er again, I tell ye. Too much panic an’ blood.” And now she thought about it, Courfeyrac really might be right with her letting the horses, also known as improvisation, taking the lead, she had been on many a mad ride in her time. “Though… if ye regain the reins again in the end, wha’s wrong wi’ a little devil ride!” she couldn’t help but add with a cheeky grin, showing him the tip of her tongue.

It was a good thing she could trust Courf not to linger on the sad parts of the story. There was nothing he could do about it now, and she didn’t want anything close to pity from him. What’s done was done, she had not become a lovely lady, and she had survived until now. Nothing else would matter. If it was for her, he shouldn’t know about the first, even worse part of her life, though she knew that he might ask questions once he really should see her bare back and stomach, there were signs that simply could not be hidden forever. Scars, burns… the little tokens of the sadist she and other children had suffered under in the leather factory. She might try to prepare herself for this conversation, so she could know what to say without lingering too much on the details. As much as she trusted him, she also did not want to hurt him, she would hate to see the pain in his eyes.

She rather focussed on the better part, the fun part almost, for once she had made Alain’s acquaintance, things really had taken a turn for the better, the wonderful even. “Oh, if ye could only see him once, talk te him. Ye’d be fascinated!” she claimed, her face lighting up. “He’s a great man! A good leader and an extaordinary carney. Oui, tha’ was Alain. I tried te climb a wall te get away, bu’ wasn’t fast enough. Instead o’ callin’ the police, he told me he could teach me how to climb tha’ kind o’ wall as quick as a lizard… an’ te walk on a rope. He promised me nothing for sure, bu’ he took me to Les Corbeils, his troupe, an’ I stayed there, it soon became me home. Ye’ve seen the jugglers before the parade… they live life to the fulles’ an’ live fer havin’ an givin’ fun. Bu’ Alain… he had a differen’ life as well.” Mylène paused, starting to play with Courfeyrac’s fingers as she spoke, needing a slight distraction. “He was… a messenger, an informant ye could say, he knew things, he found out things an’ conveyed them te others. I never knew wha’ exactly he got entangled wi’, even though he sometimes took me along. Bu’ it must have been dangerous… for one day he vanished… an’ I never heard o’ him again until a few days previous… which ended me up in the Luxembourg.” She sighed, turning to Courfeyrac so she could lock his gaze. “Do ye see now why I couldn’t leave this be? Why I still can’t? Alain’s… given me so much I ne’er can think o’ repayin.”

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac laughed. “I don't know,” he said honestly. “Mebbe so.” That Mylene sure was a smart girl, making connections the way she did. She held onto a lot of things that he taught her. Even though they could have playful conversations, they'd had serious ones too, and that she actually remembered things she learned and filed them away afterword indicated real intelligence. And that she was listening to him. Sometimes they tended to both talk so much that they could run over each other. As long as she didn't let herself run away too fast. “Mylene,” he warned with a laugh, shaking his head good-naturedly at her comment about regaining the reins so she could run for a bit. He rested his head against her shoulder with a sigh.

He smiled uncertainly when Mylene said that she wished he could talk to Mylene. “Mebbe Ah still can,” he said quietly, hopefully, rubbing her leg reassuringly as he let her continue. He gave her a little smile, noticing the way her face lit up as she spoke of him. A good leader – that was always useful. Chuckling when she described herself learning how to climb and juggle, he let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He remembered the jugglers and had been fond of them. If Alain was anything like the rest of them, he was sure that he and Alain would get on well, if they ever did get to meet.

A different life? He raised one eyebrow raised slightly, threading his fingers through hers and giving her hand a gentle squeeze to reassure her as she continued. It had seemed like the jugglers did have some political opinions – Pepier for instance – but to hear that it was true about another one of them, even more explicitly, intrigued him. “Others,” he repeated. These “others”... they had gotten Alain in trouble. And that meant that Mylene was going to get in trouble too for trying to find him. She already had. “O' course I can see,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his forehead and through his hair with a sigh. “An'... Ah want te help... but...” Bu just not now. Not when they were trying to get their republic. But he didn't know if Alain would wait. “These 'others'... do ye know who they are? Who are these people ye met tonight, d'ye know?”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

She wouldn’t have expected it, really not at all, but Courfeyrac’s presence, his slight caresses and the words he used were having a soothing effect on Mylène. It felt… good, to have someone listening to you like that, just listening, not judging. But she could not let it get to her so much, or else she would get used to it and never be able to go without it anymore. And she was strong on her own, she had always been and she needed to be! But… just for this moment, there was no harm in savouring it, yes? Just a little longer… tomorrow she could be strong again, tomorrow she would be able to laugh all this off and be the carefree Mylène La Coquine everyone knew. Easy, right? It had always been easy. Tomorrow things would look up, and she would figure out a plan on how to proceed. This was not over, far from it! Both the woman and the Falcon had no idea who they were dealing with… she might be only a girl but she was persistent. Alain would be free, and if she had to cut his chains herself!

“Oh, he’d like ye!” she assured him, smiling faintly as she turned her head and looked at Courfeyrac, those many features she had come to like so much, and the warm sparkling in his eyes that would make everyone feel at home. “If he was free… he might be workin’ tewards a republic too. Mebbe he even was before… I dunno bu’ it could be possible. If this woman was against him… an’ wanted te catch him, and she’s as aristocratic as ye can get!” It was a dream, of course, and she wasn’t sure at all if his political interest would push Alain to the same conclusions as the lads had come to: That barricades had to be raised, and a fight needed to ensue. Maybe his whole secret message-conveying indicated that Alain was more about the quiet, subtle changes, another way than violence in trying to bring a republic about. Or she was interpreting too much into this whole business, and she was slowly going insane… also a possibility.

Mylène felt a pang of guilt when she saw Courfeyrac so visibly at odds with himself about this whole topic. This was why she had wanted to keep him out of it, not because she did not trust him! He was conflicted now, and it was her fault! He needed his mind on their own task, the barricades, or he would not survive. “Shh!” she said gently, turning more on his lap so she could cup his face in her hands and look him squarely in the eye. “Ye dun have te do anything, Courf. This is my problem, like I said. It’s not that I dun want ye helpin’ me, bu’ I know ye can’t at the moment. Yer about te change the future o’ France, there’s nuthin’ tha’ could me more pressin’ than that.”
He still was asking questions though, and she found it helped her with her own thinking, maybe she could unravel the chaos in her head with his brilliant mind. Thoughtfully, she unfolded the letter that still was lying in her lap and tapped it with her finger.

“Alain writes tha’ the man I met is his ‘friend Paul’, who’s been hiding him. Bu’ I dun know anythin’ else ‘bout him. He’s surely no monk. Than there is this woman, called herself, Elise… Alain says she’s dangerous an’ deadly. Maybe more people know ‘bout her? An’ finally… there’s all those code names we have te sift through. Alain’s the Crow… and there’s this man called The Falcon.” She gave a snort, not fully able to hide her amusement. “Seems even I have me codename in this game now. I’m the sparrowhawk.”

[Deleted]

“ 'course 'e would. Ev'ryone does,” Courfeyrac replied with a grin when Mylene said that she would like him. It was a nice thought, that Alain would help them, and they needed as many men supporting them as they could get. However, not at the cost of Mylene's life. “Ye can't assume,” he murmured, “tha' jes' because a woman is chasin' a man an' she's aristocratic that 'e's a republican. Women 'ave lots of reasons to do crazy things.” He gave her a little grin again.

Courfeyrac met Mylene's gaze when she turned to face him, her hands cupping his cheeks. “Ah know,” he replied softly. His concern for the future of France was almost all-consuming. Almost. He knew that he couldn't, and wouldn't, be helping Mylene find Alain, not any time soon. But perhaps he could help her by not getting herself killed. Part of him had wanted her to be at the barricade with him, but only if she would not be in danger there. He knew the National Guard would be there, but whether there would be other people as well to support them and intimidate the Guardsmen into submission... that remained to be seen. He wanted her to be somewhere safe, but this distraction, finding Alain, might not be that safe. Tonight had shown that sure enough. “Ah'll help in any way Ah can, even if tha's just remindin' ye to not be stupid.” He gave a slight smile. Thinking, remembering faces, talking to other people in a way that wouldn't be suspicious, those were things that she could do rather than meeting with shady people alone at night.

“His friend Paul,” Courfeyrac repeated dubiously. “Mylene... there are thousands of men in Paris named Paul. Ye think tha's enough to go off of?” How she'd found the man at all, he had no idea. He had to admit that he was impressed. Mylene had always been intelligent, very street-wise; some of the Amis (*cough* Marius *cough*) had started out reasonably intelligent, but hardly savvy when it came to living on their own and being independent. Courfeyrac had lived a sheltered and spoiled life as the son of a noble, it was true. But no more.

He shook his head again as Mylene mentioned someone else. “Mylene...” He could see her mind going a hundred miles an hour, and he just hoped that she didn't crash. “This... this is a lot to take in.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “Not tha' ye can't handle it, but... Ah'm jes' sayin', take sum time to think about it all, mebbe, before ye go off runnin' into sumthin like that again.” He would never tell her that she couldn't go. It was clear that she cared a lot about Alain. Even though Courfeyrac had hoped that their concerted efforts would go towards the cause of the republic, and Mylene had timed this little meeting with Paul or the Falcon or whoever he was almost as inconveniently as possible, he knew this was important to her. He couldn't ask her to give it up. So he just tried to smile. “Tha' so?” Courfeyrac patted her leg, a little amused. “Well, Sparrowhawk, jes' dun fly into fire.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Oh these phrases he loved to throw at her! Mylène was torn between amusement and mild annoyance as always, and she couldn’t help but give a grimace at his words of women doing crazy things, parrotting his last words in a funny voice: “lottoffreasonstodocrazythingsmehmehmeh – I know right well who ye mean wi’ that, an’ it’s not necessarily the aristo women. An’ I doubt she is chasin’ Alain for… that. He’s jus’ a means to an end. She wants ‘The Falcon’… though the reason fer tha migh’ be fishy…!” she finished, throwing the grin right back, with a slightly suggestive wink this time. It was a serious matter, yes, and she was still shaken, but slowly she could think more clearly again… and that helped with seeing the funny edges of things again as well.

“Hmph!” she murmurmed lightly, her face still close to his as he said he would help her not to be stupid. But her eyes were smiling where her mouth was not, and she gave him an affectionate peck on the nose before leaning back again. “I am never really stupid I have ye know…! Jus’ mebbe a bit on the reckless side… bu’ things always work out somehow fer me in the end. Call it gamine’s luck, or sumthin, bu’ there ye have it!” Alright, so maybe sometimes she was stupid, but who wasn’t sometimes?! She could call him out on being stupid as well, but what sense would be behind that in the end? She had learned her lessons, and sometimes they were hard to learn, like this time. But she would learn from this as well, especially never to trust the tear-jerk story of some aristo woman again.

Of course Courfeyrac was right, of course merely a name was incredibly slim of a trail, but it was all she had for now. A name and a face… and an attitude. If she knew anything about people then this Paul was in some position of power and knew how to keep secrets. He was assuming that people would follow his command, and if they did not, he became quite angry. All those were indications she could follow, and she would follow them – but not today. The many thoughts inside her head already gave her a headache, and even though she was slowly sifting through this, it was still all a great jumbled mess. This, as much as she hated to admit it, would take some time. Time she might not have, but running in again head first would surely be her undoing this time. Not even a fool had THAT much luck!

“I know…” she whispered and sighed heavily. “I’m not good at this, thinkin’ an’ waiting, there’s a reason I’m a barmaid an’ not yer next philosopher queen, bu’ even I know tha’ goin’ in without knowin me enemy was a mistake. A mistake I won’ make again, tha’ much I can say. I’m La Fille Volante, takin’ risks is me life. Bu’ the risks shed always be calculated ones. »
She returned the smile he was giving her affectionately, letting her arms sneak behind her back to encircle his frame. There was definitely something nice about this moment, however tense and difficult it had started out. One could get used to this… only that she knew she better did not. That would be tempting the Devil. “Dun worry I dun plan on getting into tha’ kin’ o’ fire. Though where there’s a fire someuns gotta get burned, but tha’ doesn’ mean yer gonna die. Ye jus’ gonna get up an’ try again. Wha’s that bird’s name again? Phoenix?” There it was again… finally. Her optimism peeking through the thick clouds over her mind.

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“Very ladylike.” Courfeyrac grinned a little, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at Mylene, who no doubt would remind him that she was never ladylike and he liked her for it. “Ah dun even know what ye think Ah'm implying,” he muttered. “Wha' she wants with this Falcon chap, Ah've no idea.” He shook his head at her wink, though his expression did soften she leaned in close... even to do something as silly as kiss the tip of his nose. “Luck... We make our own luck,” he replied stubbornly.

Courfeyrac huffed softly when Mylene said that she wasn't a philosopher queen. “A very good barmaid – an' there are no good queens, so it's jes' as well,” he agreed. “But that doesn't mean ye can't be a philosopher all the same.” There were lots of men in Paris who wanted to keep women out of political participation, but that seemed silly to Courfeyrac; how would it then be a true republic if not everyone could participate? He could see that Mylene had intelligent, coherent thoughts; that she was capable of learning and formulating her own opinions from information she synthesized. He had told her as much, and that was why it bothered him when she turned the argument into something saying that he was trying to keep her down. She had known that wasn't the case. She had just been angry, senseless, grasping at straws.

“Be la fille VIVante,” he replied, raising an eyebrow at her. She was right, the risks could be taken, but only if they were calculated. He had told her time and again that he didn't expect her to stay on the ground. She was the sparrowhawk, after all. As long as she landed safely. She wasn't like one of the balls she juggled that could be dropped and easily picked up again. Sure, she could scramble up walls no problem thanks to Alain's teaching, but it was falling in another way that Courfeyrac worried about.

Sighing, Courfeyrac murmured, “Ah know, it's a dangerous life we live.” He nodded faintly when she mentioned the phoenix. “Very good. If there're ashes, a' least we know sumthin' good will come out of 'em.” In his opinion, the city was already in shambles, burned by decades, nay, centuries of opulence and selfishness by the few people in power at the cost of the many who didn't have it. They didn't have power, they didn't have money, they didn't have food. Just that easily, his mind had gone from Mylene's concerns to that of the Republic, for that is where Courfeyrac's thoughts always returned. “The people will rise from the ashes. They will rise.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

“Psh, I’d give every lady a good run fer her money!” Mylène insisted proudly, knowing full well that she needn’t remind Courf that he had turned his back on those noble things. If he had been out for such a life, he would now not be sitting here, or plan a revolution with his friends. He also wasn’t as two-faced as Marius, who would proclaim great ideals and then go chase after some lacy-dressed mademoiselle. No, what Courf did, he did with all his heart. And as such, of course he would believe that people made their own luck, he was the best example for it after all: spitting out the silver spoon Lady Luck had placed in his mouth and turning towards a much bleaker life in comparison. “Mebbe so, but sumtimes we set out te make our own bad luck as well unintentionally… and then luck has te intervene, if it feels like it.”

Mylène however was not so sure whether there had never been a good queen. Noble ladies of course often were arrogant and disregarding their people’s needs – you need only refer to the stories around Marie Antoinette for that – but queens were only as good as their husbands, the kings, mostly. What true power did they have after all? But maybe that was thinking too easily… everyone had the power to change something, even if it were the tiniest things and not the big picture. It was just easier to sit back and enjoy the luxuries of life without caring for those beneath you – a reason why before the First French Revolution, the king and queen had lived in Versailles after all. “Dun philosophers have te be dreamy, calm an’ sensible?” she asked. “I dun think I’d be a rolemodel for tha’!”

Oh… wow! Mylène raised her eyebrows in approval and tribute to Courf’s quite witty comeback and twisting of her old pseudonyme. “Seems someun’s been spending te much time aroun’me!” she remarked cheekily, even though she knew very well that Courf didn’t need her to have such a wit. It was what had drawn her in from the start, their endless banters and battles of wit. Courfeyrac was really one of the few she had had to leave the last say with on more than one occasion. He just had it in him to render her speechless. Not this time however. “Dun ye think I’m lively enough? But alrigh’ if ye need sum proof, I can show ye jus’ how very. much. alive I am…!”

His mind was again on the revolution, of course it would be. It was such a grand step for each of them, and they were worried that it would be all in vain. The greatest risk factor was something that could not be calculated: the people’s reaction. A revolution was nothing without the people joining into it… and if the citizens of France had become too resigned to their lives and fates, they would not care or dare to change anything about it. There was no reason for even more doubts though, Mylène thought.
“Have faith in them, Courf” she murmured, trying to reassure him just as he had tried to reassure her before. “An’ have faith in yer cause. I am sure the people will rise, they’ve had enough. If they see someun’s got a real chance te make things better, they will fight fer that chance.”

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Courfeyrac laughed. He was sure she would give anyone a run for their money, even luck itself. “Ye can' ever generalize such a large group of people o'er time an' space, Mylene,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Besides, ye think Ah'm calm an' sensible? Or Enjolras?” He chuckled, knowing that there was a right answer to that. He didn't consider himself to be a role model for mannerly behavior necessarily, but he liked to think that they were all role models for how a republican might behave – they just had to be active and interested and treat other people as though they were deserving of respect. Everyone had a right to their opinion, and like he had said, one couldn't assume that everyone was the same, with the same personality.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly when Mylene said that he was spending too much time with her. “Well, Ah can leave, ye know,” he replied with a smirk. He didn't think that she could take credit for his witty comebacks, since the two had been sparring verbally beginning with their very first meeting. But he would let her take it. He shifted beneath her, keeping a hand on her back to make sure she was steady on his knees. “Mylene!” He laughed again when she offered to show him just how lively she was. “Ah think ye proved that earlier, but if ye 'ave other ideas, Ah won' complain!” Perhaps a way that was more pleasant than walloping him in the face.

There were other things for him to think about however. He licked his lips, resting his head against her shoulder briefly and nuzzling her neck. “Ah do,” he promised her. He had faith in the people, and he would never lose that; he was just worried that there weren't enough people in whom to have faith. But things would work out. He knew it. They wouldn't stand for life to continue on the way it was, with so many people sick and hungry in the streets while the king stayed out of the city in his palace eating rich foo and buying shoes. “B'cause they will. They must.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

The mood of their conversation had gladly changed a little, and slowly Mylène was feeling calmer, less desperate and shocked than she had been when first entering the Musain. It felt good to be laughing again, be the reason for merriment between the two of them and realizing that they still could joke around as easily as they had before. It was important for Mylène, more important than she would have thought. She might not have many true friends in her life, but those she had were more worth for her than any riches or goods she might ever have desired. Chuckling, she threw him an amused glance when he asked her whether he thought himself or Enjolras calm and sensible. Certainly not! But then, there was something he did not consider. “Is everyone who reads philosopher’s works a philosopher as well?” she asked, really interested in the answer of that question. “For I would have thought ye both rather… ah, what’s that then… philo-philosophers? ‘Friends o’ the Friends o’ Wisdom’. Cause… nah, yer really not calm an’ sensible. ‘Specially not sensible!” she finished teasingly.

Other ideas… hm, certainly she had that! Just a few minutes before she would have rather strangled him than ever thinking of such things, but that had certainly changed. Courfeyrac’s closeness was prominent without being imposing, and it certainly fuelled her imagination. He also gave her the feeling that she was in a bit of control concerning this, that nothing would happen she did not want, but that he would also not reject her. And that was excitement and reassurement at the same time. Freedom… and yet comfort. It simply was, like she had thought oft times before. And she would be a fool to reject it, push him away, because she wanted to be strong. There wasn’t always weakness in letting someone else in. Turning her upper body a little towards him, her hand found its way down his cheek and neck, until it came to rest on his warm chest. “Dun have te worry so much, Courf. T’won’ hurt se much this time… I promise te be nice…”

There was determination in Courfeyrac’s voice, almost a grim determination bordering on desperation. They both knew it, their cause was nothing without the people, and yet there was nothing so fickle as the favour of the masses. “Sadly… wha’ people must an’ wha’ people do is not always the same”, she commented with a sigh, but then shook her head. “Bu’ ye’ve don se much, an’ there’s no much sense in worryin’ abou’ things ye can’t control. If this is meant te be, it will work out, maybe in a completely unexpected way. I’ve seen se much weird twists happenin’ tha’ saved me butt, so if there’s sumthin’ I believe in, it’s tha’ luck favours the bold.”

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“We're not claimin' te be friends of wisdom,” Courf decided slowly. “We're les amis de l'abaisse.” He considered for a moment, wetting his lips. “Ye'd think people would see the wisdom in caring fer their fellow-creatures. Keeps away political strife an' all. But Ah s'pose tha' requires not bein' self-interested, an' tha' is a 'ard thing. Ye know 'ow you think, so it's hard sometimes, thinkin' about another person – what they feel, what they want, what they imagine.” He glanced up at her again and smiled sheepishly, realizing he had just shown himself again to be more philosophic than sensible. Sometimes he babbled.

Courf raised an eyebrow, not seeming entirely convinced when she said that she wouldn't hurt him, that she would be nice. But he let her turn towards him as her little hand ran down his face, and he gave a little sigh. “Ah've more important things te worry about than whether yer claws come out, ma minou,” he reminded her – as if she needed any reminding. “Whatever ye dish out, Ah think Ah can take.” He smirked a little, running his hand down her back to hold her close. This was not necessarily the most comfortable position, and light as she was, he was still beginning to lose feeling in his legs. But there was nothing to distract him from that more than talk of republican revolution.

“Dun Ah know it,” Courf murmured grimly. He had seen so many nobles in his youth who would pass the impoverished on the streets and turn away. Of course they had seen each other, but what did that mean if no action was taken? He rested his hand over Mylene's as she went on. Stroking her fingers softly, he managed a small smile. It was true that things had gone their way unexpectedly sometimes, and he could only hope that things would continue to progress thusly. “Ah thought the sayin' was 'luck favors the prepared,” he mused, though it took some boldness to be prepared. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. “It's a good thing we're both.”

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There was truth in what Courf said, much truth even in the fact that one never knew what someone else was or felt like, because all you knew was yourself and that was where you would draw everything from, reactions and reasons and everything. Now that she thought about it, it was a weird notion to imagine that everything you said and did was filtered through your own mind. But Mylène had her own experience with these things. When still living on the streets and watching possible victims, she had amused herself with imagining at what point in their life people happened to cross her path. What would be on their mind, what had they witnessed five minutes earlier, what would they see five minutes later? Every human being, every face you saw was a whole cosmos, its own life with past, ptesent and future, with its own feelings and fears. Like the thread of a spiders web, coming from some point and going somewhere, and at some particular point, meeting with other threads without knowing anything of them but that they were here. Some would meet again down the line, some would never see each other again, just have this fleeting glance of another life.

“Ye know… ye’re being quite wise now”, she remarked with a fond smile. “It’s a great step te even admit te yerself tha’ every opinion we have is tainted. I usually dun think about it at all, jus’ sometimes. An’ when I’m wi’ ye, it gets these things te the forefront o’ me mind, an’ I start askin’ questions.” Cocking her head, she gave a mischievous smile. “I jus’ start te think it might not be a bad thing. Even though I usually dun think te much, and rather act. Broodin’ never changed the world.”

Mylène gave a surprised chuckle as Courf made this certain promise, and she could not help but bring up a certain quote, a quote of him she would never forget, for it had been what he had said directly before their first kiss. She had been playing with fire back then, had taken a bold step forward on the tightrope she had felt herself on, and just as La Fille Volante, she had been rewarded for her boldness. Not with applause, not with money, but with a companionship that was so profound she would have never thought it possible. “Is tha’ a challenge, Prometheus? Dun’ tempt Pandora te open the box…”

There was also truth in how he described their companionship, they truly were both, bold and prepared, even though the roles seemed clearly distributed between them, which Mylène didn’t mind at all. Capturing his lips when he kissed her, she let her hands run down his back until her fingers found the hem of his shirt, which she started to play with. It was a mere invitation, not a demand, but she could feel her breath accelerate already, as she whispered: “A’right then, lemme me the bold one an’ I hope yer prepared fer wha’ I just brush past in me carelessness. I think it’s called team work.”

[Deleted]

“Now?” Courf repeated with a grin, one eyebrow raised. “Wha' d'ye mean, now? Ah'm always wise.” He was teasing her a little; he didn't need his ego stroked anymore. He was generally confident, but that didn't mean he would complain if someone praised him, as long as it was true. His expression changed, brow furrowing, when she said that every opinion was tainted. Now that was a wise idea, or at least a deep one, even though he would have to wait and listen to catch her meaning. He scratched the back of his head with his free hand; now he was the one left feeling like a student. “So there's nuthin' pure in the world? Ah know, Ah know, comin' from me...” He smiled a little and shook his head. “It's never bad te ask questions, but ye're right, thinkin' an' questionin' only matters when action comes after.”

Whether there was going to be any action of a certain kind between them tonight wasn't certain. It was both in the back of their minds, he suspected, that this drama of trying to find Alain and the upcoming barricade might make this one of the last nights they had together. But since it was one of the last nights before the barricade, it also meant that they would need to spend as much time as possible focused on preparing for it. Christian had done his fair share, but that didn't mean that he felt he wanted or needed a break. Still, a few minutes' rest – or whatever this proved to be – might do him some good. The Amis didn't have anything planned for this very moment or he would know about it.

A smile crooked his mouth when she warned him not to tempt Pandora. “Ah'm flattered, but Ah dun think even Ah could wreak havoc on the whole world... jes' France.” Whatever else he might have said was cut off by the kiss. That was more than he had been expecting, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He held her gently as her hands wandered, smiling against her lips as she started to draw away to speak. “A revolutionary is always prepared, mam'selle.”

(OOC: Sorry this took a while, but we both had absence notices so it's all good )

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène wasn’t sure if she had even meant it that way, but what Courf asked her in return made her think. Was it really about purity and impurity? Or was it a simple matter of accepting that no one ever could have the true answer to a question, and only in asking a few you would come near the truth? “I might not be goin’ so far as te be talkin’ morality ‘ere, ye know”, she pointed out softly. “Cause that’d be a laugh comin’ from me too. No, I think it’s not in the ‘pure’ meanin’ o’ tainted… it’s ‘bout seein’ tha’ there’s no absolute truth. One man’s truth could be ‘nother man’ lie, ye know. We got te be careful not to think only wha’ we do an’ know is true an’ right. There migh’ be purity an’ absolute truth… bu’ I dun think ye’ll find it in a human bein’. We can only ever try te get close te it.”

She stopped, listening to what she just had said, and then shook her head with a wry smile. “Listen te me… now I do sound like sum philosopher wi’ his head in the clouds. Bu’ these thoughts jus’ come from observin’ wha’ I see every day. It might sound smart… bu’ it’s nuthin’ but openin’ yer eyes an’ ears to the world.” She was glad she could express these things to Courf and not be laughed at. Mylène knew a few people who would show her just how much they thought of such musings in a heart beat – absolutely nothing. And Mylène was also glad for realizing they had not lost this in what had happened during the last days. He still was her confidant and teacher, the one she could discuss with heatedly but also reasonably. She could only hope he liked it as much as she did, but knowing Courf, he never hid much of what he thought inside.

“Ye know… France is jus’ the beginnin’”, she suggested with a playful smile. “Ye could jus’ set an example fer all the other countries around us, and once tha’ happens ye have indeed wreaked havoc on the whole world.” When he told her that a revolutionary was always prepared, she have a breathless little chuckle. He wasn’t drawing away, therefore she supposed he did not mind what she was doing. Still, she did not want to be pushing him in a certain direction, therefore she drew away slightly and put her forehead against his, murmuring: “Do ye have te be sumwhere in the next two hours?”