Ghosts (OPEN)

[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

The evening was drawing near and Frederic Algernon Joly, as he had been christened by his parents, was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of one of the cafes benches. A cigar hung from his mouth and every few minutes he blew a puff of smoke over the book he was dedicatedly studying. The noise from the café swam around him, but he paid no attention as he read on, brushing up on his knowledge of infectious diseases. Every other moment Joly would pause to check his pulse, or to scratch at an unseen rash he felt creeping up his arm.

The café was a place of security for Joly, there were few places he felt truly comfortable, but the café was one of them. The building was old and was one of the older buildings in Paris, subsequently the floorboards creaked and a customer would have to walk up hill to the bar and downhill to the door. This often became confusing after the Amis’s had drunk more than they could manage. Joly supposed the building’s levelling flaws was a constant cause of problems for Grantaire, who could often be found with a drink in hand.

The abc –his friends- were very busy preparing for the funeral of the General, they were going to make a protest against the King and such protests caused for careful planning and resources. Joly was however slacking, his eyes raking over the text before him in preparation for an exam he would be sitting shortly. He knew the boys would laugh, claiming he might not be able to sit the exam if the protest had any kind of impact, but Joly’s motto was; better safe than sorry. So he continued to study as if nothing was about to change, despite the buzz that radiated from every member of the abc.

A drink was placed beside him and he waved his hand in the direction of the barmaid as thanks, the barrel had needed changing and so he had to wait until the job had been done. Joly muttered the last line under his breath as he took a sip from his drink, he jumped violently as a door slammed shut he anxiously rubbed the spots of ale off his precious book. 'Drat!' He said angrily.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There was a false sense of calm in the air of the café, an image of ordinary day to day work that did not quite seem genuine, though everyone seemed to try their hardest to make it look like nothing at all had happened and absolutely everything was alright. Only in the evening, when the men gathered after their days of work and study, they would raise their voices and discuss the evening of the May Festivities, the fateful parade that had turned into a mass panic – and of course General Lamarque's death that had been announced later that evening and had spread through the city like wildfire. Mylène herself didn't know what to think. Should one press for quick change, trying to ride on the tide of unrest and unease that seemed to spread and grow with every hour, or should one for now pretend that they all continued to live their lives, to not draw too much unneeded attention on the lads, ere they were ready to strike with success? Or ere Ponine and I have given them the additional powder they need, she thought with grim amusement.

At least one of Les Amis, Le malade imaginaire Joly was making a very good show of appearing normal. He sat over his books while waiting for a drink, which she was preparing for him, and Mylène could see him checking his pulse every other minute while puffing away at a cigar. She was surprised he even did smoke these things, and didn't break into hacking coughs all the time while claiming he could not breathe. That would be a very usual thing for him to do... Or maybe he was of the opinion that the smoke that filled his lungs killed some illnesses that might otherwise be there. You also smoked meat and fish to make them non-perishable after all. That thought amused her, and after she had put the glass down next to him, she turned while walking, calling back: „A ta santé speciale, Argan“, applying the protagonists' name of Molière's famous play on him teasingly. „Dun worry, ye can take tha' glass, I polished it specially fer ye.“

She then returned behind the counter and began sorting in cups and glasses she had been washing in the kitchen. There were not many customers here yet at the time of day, all known and well-liked faces though, and so when the door was opened and closed rather heftily, Mylène looked up expectantly to see who would be entering and apparently needed to make such a noise with it.

[claudine]

She had seemed to get used to the permanent buzz of the café in recent months, though she would never say that it was somewhere she thought she would be frequenting. If she had been asked a year ago, she probably would have said that she would never step foot in a place such as the ABC café, but now, here she was wandering over cobbled streets towards the building. She could hear the mutterings even on the street, the candlelight from above almost beckoning her in as it always did. If she had to admit, she would call the café…homely. Certainly she knew that Lesgle and Joly found comfort in this place more than she could ever really understand. She reached the front door to the café, running her hands over the wood for a moment before pushing it open, taking a moment to glance around the café before letting the door go, giving it a slight push. She almost winced when the door slammed shut behind her, the force of the wind causing it to close at such a force, and perhaps she gave an apologetic look to those who had been deafened by their proximity to the slamming door but at least she was out of the cold.

“And how did I know I’d find you here?” She observed, with her basket, filled with fabrics she had just bought at the market, propped up against her hipbone. Her lips broke into a smile, eyebrow raised almost teasingly. Of course Joly would be here…he never strayed too far away. Truth be told, she knew that if he wasn’t here, he was either going to be at home or in the classroom, the latter of which being somewhere that Musichetta wasn’t really about to go looking for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like setting foot in his classrooms, rather other people weren’t that partial to her wandering round a university that she didn’t attend. She often wondered what he would say if she asked him to spend less time here in this café with his…friends. She supposed that was what they were though, friends. It was the growing unrest that she feared the most, for Joly, Lesgle and even their friends and if she had the confidence to stand up to their Leader and tell him “No,”, she probably would have. But he was one of the few that she couldn’t stand up to.

“Apologies for the door…wind out there is rather terrible,” She wasn’t sure who her statement was directed at. The men at the door? More likely, it was directed at the girl at the bar, who she allowed a small smile before moving from where she was standing to make her way towards Joly, scrubbing at his book with a fervour she so often recognised. “Here, let me,” She told him, taking his hand off the pages carefully, before wiping at the book with a hankerchief she had taken from her basket. “Did I scare you?” She asked once she was done, lifting a hand up to rest of the back of his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair, lovingly. A tilt of her head and she was looking back to the girl at the bar, the one who she had apologised to initially…she was more than sure that her name was familiar to her, but she couldn’t for the life of her think of what it might be. Perhaps this time, Joly would take pity on her and introduce them.

[LUCILLE CORALIE BOUSQUET]

Lucille was stood quietly with her back to the bar, she’d found a shadowy part of the cafe where the candle light did not quite reach her. She was busy cleaning glasses with a rag and then stacking them neatly against the back wall ready for the next punter to drink from. She was tired, it had been a long day and she had volunteered to do an evening shift in replace of the landlady whom had wanted an evening off. Lucille was in desperate need of money, she had just enough for a few more days rent and a scrap of bread and cheese.

She’d lost a considerable amount of weight since her troop days, her once full face was now gaunt, and her cheeks hollowed, a common sight among the people of France. She was no different from the rest of desperate citizens who would fight greedily over a scrap of bread. Her stomach rumbled, and she let her mind wander to the piece of cheese and bread she had left hidden in a corner of her small room. She was so different to the young girl she’d once been. She was a dancer, an artist who could throw a fan high into the air and catch it with the tips of her fingers as she bowed gracefully. The artist in her had died long ago, the poverty of France and the desperation of its people had crushed any hope she had left, and with it her desire to perform.

Of course it wasn’t just the state of France that had crushed what little hope Lucille held for herself. Another person had taken away the position Lucille had worked so hard for. The position that had her christened as Qiang-Song the fan girl; she was now, plain old Lucille with no hope for a better life. That person was merrily chirping away to one of the gentlemen was sat over at one of the tables alone. He was a queer fellow and Lucille noted he kept checking his pulse, leading her to believe he had some strange heart condition. She mused over what it would be like if he were to drop dead at the table that very second, and for a short moment delighted at the thought of making it look like his death had been Mylies fault.

Mylene LaCoquine…the name sent shivers of anger down her spine, and she had to pause for a moment from her job as she seethed at the sight of her. She looked happy and there was no clear hint to Lucille that Mylene wanted for food in the way Lucille did. Mylene had become a part of the troop afew years after Lucille, and she had quickly captured everyone’s hearts, including the troop leader Alain, who seemed to favour her company over Lucille, who had done all she could to please him. All she could to gain one kind word of praise. Damn Mylene! She’d swept in unaware of the damage she had caused. Not thinking for one moment she was hurting another person’s livelihood.

Lucille shook harder and the glass she was holding slipped from her fingers and fell onto the hard wooden floor, shattering into many pieces. Lord! Was there no end to it! Lucille’s face turned a shade of white as she realised the glasses price would now be coming out of her pay and she quickly bent down to reitrive the peices she could.

[FÉLIX LESGLE]

The back room was becoming too crowded for Lesgle's liking. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate crowds; his orations, pithy as they might be, were always worthy of a hearty audience. But the Amis were deep in the throes of planning, and he wasn't needed for that. Enjolras had minds much more suited to it—his own, for instance—and besides, everyone knew his luck, and who wanted that to find its way into their plans? Certainly not Lesgle. He might be cavalier about everything, but not the revolution. He wanted that to succeed. Which, paradoxically but completely logically, meant he should keep away from it. He couldn't quite do that, not with his friends involved, but at least he could spare these preliminaries his perpetual state of bad fortune. Perhaps if the plan was good enough, even his presence at the barricades wouldn't be enough to jinx it.

So he wandered out of the back room, giving good-natured nods to the few who noticed his leaving, and returned to the front of the café, where he knew Joly was hard at work, studying. He took his schooling far too seriously, in Lesgle's opinion, but then Lesgle hadn't treated his with any seriousness at all. Sure enough, the poor fellow was still with his nose deep in a book, and it looked as though he still thought he had the rash he'd complained of earlier that day. Well, it was time he forgot both of those. Now wasn't the moment for anything so pedestrian as studying. Even if he couldn't get Joly to join the rest of the ABC—such close quarters would likely give him heart palpitations at the thought of so many potential diseases—at least he would convince him to shut his book.

There were just two barmaids on duty at this hour, later there would be more, but it was early enough that many men were still shackled to their work. Lesgle was not burdened with that particular problem, and so here he was instead, ordering a drink. He couldn't help flashing the pretty young barmaid a smile and a wink as he accepted the glass she handed him, even as he spotted a dear familiar form just entering. But they were all in and out of this place so often, everyone involved knew that was as far as it would go. He was in his own way devoted to Musichetta and felt he couldn't be luckier to have attracted someone so understanding. Most girls would have turned him out on his ear for such behavior.

Finally, drink procured, he went over to address the problem of Joly. Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he said, "Ah, I see you haven't left your post! O faithful Cherubim, Eden would be blessed to have such a stalwart guard at its gates. But alas, the time for studying is past, especially such gloomy subjects as yours. It would make my stomach turn to think of all the ailments that might afflict it. Come, draw your chapter to a close and let's make a celebration of it." He looked towards Musichetta and beamed. "See, here is our Musa, who would be our muse if we were but less scientific in outlook. The festivities wouldn't be complete without her, and here she is. Fate, my friend, shines on you. Just accept it." Hand still on Joly's shoulder, he looked to the third member of their trio again. "He's earned a sabbatical, don't you agree?"

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène knew it probably wasn’t fair, but ever since Lucille had re-entered her life and got herself the same job as Mylène herself, she felt as if a shadow had been cast over her existance, and that shadow was constantly watching her. It was only the little things here and there, but Mylène could have sworn Lucille had some sort of fixation on her that was unhealthy. She hardly had spoken three or four words with her ever since the beginning of their shift, and she was always lurking in some shady corner, observing… always observing. There was nothing to be said about her serving qualities though, Mylène guessed she might have worked in a café or a bar before the way she handled the equipment and the surroundings. The madame must trust her as well, if she had given up her own shift to have Lucille working together with Mylène. Or maybe she was guessing Mylie herself would have an eye on her. Rather the other way around…

But as the girl was not naturally gloomy, she refused to let it drag her down, trying her best to be amiable towards Lucille. After all, they shared a past, even though they hadn’t been on best friend terms during their mutual time with the jugglers. That Lucille was here now either meant that the troupe had dispersed, or that she had left it like Mylène did. Her curiosity was naturally piqued, only that there hadn’t been a way yet to inquire about it with the other girl, there simply hadn’t been a moment.
When the door opened rather forcefully, Mylène saw none other than Musichetta entering, Joly and Lesgles’ shared mistress. The concept of sharing a mistress had always rubbed a little wrong to Mylie herself, but she never was one to judge, only to tease. She liked Musichetta very much, as she could see some of her own traits in her, and ever since she herself had gotten a little closer to Courfeyrac, she could understand what would draw a girl like her towards a student. Only… a hypochondriac and a notoriously unlucky fellow?! That wasn’t the biggest catch in the sea…

“Why, if it isn’t Bagatelle herself!” she exclaimed gaily, coming forward to greet the redhead which had squeezed herself next to Joly. Bagatelle… it was an old joke Mylène couldn’t just let pass, ever since she had found out Musichetta essentially meant ‘Little Music’. And as Musichetta herself was almost always gay and carefree, the little musical piece of a Bagatelle seemed to fit perfectly. Not to mention that it of course could also mean flirtation or fling.
However, before she could get into a more profound conversation with her friends, she heard the shattering of glass, and as she jerked her head around, could see Lucille bending over a shattered glass. Oh là là…

« Here, lemme help quickly ! » she offered in a low murmur as she hastened to Lucille’s side. Seeing her distraught face, she bit her lip in thinking and made a decision in a heartbeat. “Tell ye wha’… ye jus’ hide those shards in the rubbish heap outside, an dun tell Madame. She can’ calculate straight o’er fourty, an’ we’ll be gettin’ a new glass order nex’ week. Wi’ a bit o’ luck, she won’ notice.”

[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

Joly realised a few moments later that the barmaid delivering his drink had been Mylie and he glanced up furtively hoping she wasn’t going to tease him for his rudeness. He was in luck and she had already returned to the bar, not bothering to interrupt him during his work. Most likely a wise choice, Joly was certain he was breaking out in hives due to stress and he began scratching anxiously as he turned the page.

His books were covered in ale and his heart was pounding uncontrollably as he tried to clean his spoiled books, why could people not learn to shut doors appropriately? He thought with frustration. A familiar voice washed over him as he became aware of a presence beside him. The voice immediately cloaked Joly with a feeling of calmness as he scrubbed at his book. He looked up, his eyes meeting the familiar blue irises of Musichetta. A smile immediately erupted across his face, but he quickly hid it, turning a slight shade of red at his obvious favouritism for the girl.

He allowed her to take his hands from the book and watched quietly as she began to gently wipe away the remnants of his drink. Joly had always been a nervous sole, and accidents often pursued him, especially when he was at his most anxious. He looked from her hand back to her face curiously, as he struggled to think of a response his brain fuzzing over in the annoying way it often did in her presence. He reached to catch her hand gently, that was stroking the back of his head, and he held it for a moment as he stammered a response. ‘Only for a moment’ he managed to get out, before he became aware he might have been holding her hand for too long.

It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that Joly had designs on the girl, neither was their relationship, nor the relationship she held with his best friend either. But Joly was often afraid he was too attached and not enough like some of the other abc members who often enjoyed the company of many beautiful women.

Dropping her hand he looked back down at his book, turning the pages anxiously inspecting to see if any of the words had been blurred. He could still feel the memory of her hand in his and he curled his fingers holding onto it for as long as he could.

Joly jumped again as he felt a sharp slap on his shoulder and the sound of his friend’s voice. He wondered if his friends were trying to get him to have a heart attack, with all these frights they kept giving him. ‘I, perhaps I have earned myself a break’ Joly said with a sigh, ‘but I find the books a welcomed distraction’ he added pointedly, meaning it was a nice break from the talk of revolution. The revolution that caused the butterflies in his stomach to start dancing.

[claudine]

Bagatelle…and if that wasn’t enough to instantly jog her memory and tell her who it was, nothing would be. Only one person so far had ever called her that, and while it wasn’t a favourite nickname of hers, she supposed there could be worse names out there for her. It wasn’t as though she often got angry that people gave her names she did not particularly want either, she wasn’t one to get that way at all. “It seems you’ve forgotten my name already, Myléne,” She teased, giving the woman a smile. She had been in good spirits for a few days now, so she couldn’t see any reason for letting that falter now. She had been planning to continue the conversation if not for someone else calling away the barmaid’s attention. The noise of shattered glass meant she didn’t even need to turn her head to see what had happened, rather, she turned back to Joly, allowing Myléne to go and fix whatever had happened.

Joly had always been so very sweet in her eyes when he was nervous, and it didn’t fail to make her smile in his presence. It was true that Lesgle had that affect too, but Joly was better at it somehow, perhaps because her affection for him was ever so slightly greater. She did often wonder why he was so nervous around her in public though, part of her had thought it was because he may have been ashamed, though the other part of her knew he was not like that. Though any indication she was about to speak again was thwarted when she noticed someone very familiar enter, his actions causing her to almost shake her head. There was certainly no end to the complements that Lesgle often chose to give her, and perhaps a quieter woman would have blushed. She, however, had known him long enough to accept his comments graciously and with adoration. Her hand came to rest against Joly’s shoulder again, noting the tension.

“He is right…you work far too hard,” She muttered, her voice laced with sympathy, “The two of us know better than most, do we not?” It was his agreement that caused a flutter of happiness, but his reason for doing what he had that stuck fear to her core. She knew what he meant, how could she not? It called for a change of subject, that much she knew. But what could it be…? “Come…you must have read that book countless times,” She told him, making herself to brighten up as easily as anything, “I think Félix and I would agree you know it word for word already,” For a moment, she turned to Lesgle above her, seeking conformation, almost certain she would receive it. She had thought for a moment to offer help to Myléne and the accident that seemed to have happened over the other side of the café but things seemed to be being handled perfectly fine without her. And of course, she supposed, the owner of the café probably wouldn’t look to lightly to a customer attempting to help with one of her maid’s mistakes.

[LUCILLE CORALIE BOUSQUET]

Lucille was carefully picking up pieces of the glass with her bare hands and placing them gently into a piece of cloth, when she heard an exclamation from Mylene. The offer of help from Mylie sent a hot wave over Lucille and she gritted her teeth angrily as she felt the girl’s presence close to her. Mylie who looked so healthy and carefree, life seemed to have treated her better than Lucille and she seethed at the injustice of it all. She did not say a word merely moved aside to allow Mylie free access to the remains of the glass.

The world turned and people moved on, people grew and people changed, but not Lucille. She was stuck, trapped in the past her mind replaying the same few incidents that had caused her to have to seek out a new life. A less comfortable one. She had always worked hard, done her best for the troop, but it did not matter, the moment Mylie arrived she stole Alain’s attention and with it all of Lucille’s hopes.

Lucille nodded her mind ticking over Mylie’s words, she wasn’t a fool and knew if she were caught it could easily mean she would be out of a job, but of course if dear sweet Mylie thought it would be ok, then it obviously was. Clearly, Mylie did not value her job, nor food being placed on her table. Lucille did not take food for granted, she was so hungry this very moment she wouldn’t turn much down, but she plodded on with her job, the thought of bread and cheese at the end of the day was a truly pleasant one.

‘Okay, I will do exactly that’ Lucille said quietly, standing up with the shards in her cloth, ‘you’re always here to save the day’ Lucille said softly, with a hint of bitterness as she peered at Mylie, before turning and leaving for the dustbins outside. She took great care in placing the shards on top of the rubbish, so whoever would next open the bin would clearly see the remains lying there…laughing back.

She quickly slammed the lid back down and returned to the bar, a bright but false smile plastered across her face as she beamed at Mylie.

[FÉLIX LESGLE]

It was a difficult job at the best of times to keep Joly from slumping into one of his moods, and the looming prospect of revolution only made it more challenging. If anyone was well-equipped for the task, though, it was Lesgle and Musichetta. He was glad for her help; without it he wasn't sure his ministrations would be enough. Sometimes the fount of Joly's gloom seemed bottomless, the task a Sisyphean one—but with two cheering presences to either side, it seemed possible. And anyway, he would have persisted in the face of worse opposition. Lesgle was used to having obstacles thrown in his path. He just clambered over them with a laugh, having already expected their arrival.

But revolution... it concerned him too, not so much for himself, but for his friends. He didn't so much make light of it then, as he might have, but kept his tone bright. "Without a doubt," he agreed with Musichetta, firmly but with a smile. "You are always too much a draft-horse. Come, throw off your yoke a while. The field will wait for you." It was true, their friendship was an unlikely one—Joly was the kind of student he had striven so hard not to be (and, it must be added, he had succeeded). But friendship is like lightning, not always so predictable. These two, and now with the welcome addition of Musichetta, had banded together whatever the usual odds.

She was right too about this book in particular. "Oh yes. You could give us a recitation if it pains you so to leave it behind," he suggested, smiling first at Musa then migrating to Joly. Pulling up a chair across from his friend, he leaned his elbows against the table and clasped his hands in front of him in the attitude of a confidant. "But really, I can think of much better subjects. Not better as regards their usefulness, I would not dispute that your discipline is a crucial one—" especially in these times, he thought but did not say aloud— "but it's not a very delicate one for the present company." Not that she would have really objected, just any excuse to get the student off his studies and onto something more interesting. "Besides, I would much rather talk about what we're putting into our bodies than where exactly we're putting them." Here he lifted his beer glass. "A toast, you think? To good friends and good cheer?"

But there was still the problem of a discussion topic, since drinks would only last half a minute or so. He could probably have drawn it out longer if needed, but instead he leaned back in his chair and looked up at Musichetta. "Well, and how did your expedition go today? Come, we need a report on the state of the economy, as seen from the microcosm of the market."

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Of course that would be her answer, Mylène thought with a smile as she listened to Musichetta’s light monishing and teasing. She didn’t particularly like any nicknames, especially not those that were short forms of her whole name, only Lesgles and Joly were allowed on this field, a thought which Mylène had always found amusing. But then, she spared no one from her second-naming, those who didn’t already have a nickname that satisfied Mylie would get another by her hand. It was second nature to her, not necessarily only to tease, she had once declared proudly that those who had a nickname fabricated by her should feel honoured, because she was admitting them into her ‘inner circle’.

Half an ear was still directed towards her guest and particularly to the trio around Bagatelle, the beauty and her two lovers who were both quirky in their own way. Lesgles, cursed with such a bad luck that you’d think he would be able to gnaw his foot off accidentally – which had promptly earned him to be´dubbed ‘Bonheur’ by her – and then of course Joly – Argan – who always imagined himself to be dreadfully ill and shortly before offing it. They were an odd trio, so different and yet they fit perfectly together in a way that was hardly describable. Mylène wasn’t the moral police, she found it rather funny Musichetta was their shared mistress. Probably she would go mad with just one of them and their quirks.

The other ear and most of her attention however was fixated on Lucille who at least did not argue with her about that little trick. She might have appeared more thankful perhaps, but then Lucille was harbouring some grudge or the other against her anyway, something Mylène really would like to know the cause of. She would probably confront her about it soon, but certainly not in public when they both had a shift. Quarrel amongst staff was bad for business, she knew that very well. So, now, she would just bite it back or wait until she really couldn’t beare it anymore. “Hey, trying only my best, you know me”, she retorted flippantly with a smirk that wasn’t as carefree as it normally would be. Something about Lucille had her on her guard, it was comparable to the feeling she had had towards some child thieves, those that turned out to be trouble in the end, wanting to start a turf war. Would her intuition now warn her of the same?

But maybe that was her being paranoid. She should give Lucille a chance, after all, they shared partly the same life, did they not?
When Lucille returned to her side, Mylène walked over, returning the smile. “I didn’t even get to welcome you here yet. And ask how you’ve been ever since we saw each other. What became of Les Corbeils after Estelle left Paris?”

[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

As much as his friends were a welcomed distraction from his books and inner most thoughts, he couldn’t help but shake with the anticipation of the next few days, nothing could distract his mind for long from the fear of the rebellion. He felt alienated, he no longer recognised himself or his own body, he felt disconnected and it was only the precious few hours he spent with his books or in the company of Chetta and Lesgle did he recognise any part of himself. If one were to ask him to describe how he felt he could only describe it as an energy…sparking through his body, shaking him into action…sleep was impossible and his restlessness was clear in the bags that were forming under his eyes.

Joly managed a meek smile back at Chetta, she was right of course…she was always right. He’d read the book on countless occasions, which was perhaps why he found it so comforting, it was familiar and he sorely needed something familiar at this moment in time. Lesgle was teasing him, he was sure of it and although it was in good humour Joly couldn’t help but feel pained, not due to his friends words but for the fear of what the future may hold for his friend. Enjolra’s speeches of empowerment and death before honour had been very rousing, but in hindsight Joly feared it all.

A smile crossed Jolys face as he glanced from Lesgle to Chetta amused at the pains he took to distract and amuse, ‘Ahhh yes a toast’ he offered, his hand clutching at his mug, ‘To fine ale, good friends’ he paused glancing at Chetta with a wink, ‘…and beautiful women.’ Joly took a drink, fighting with all his might to keep a hold of his sanity and not to be dragged down to the bottomless pit of despair that threatened to drag him into the darkness that often over whelmed him.

Joly was grateful that Lesgle had turned his attention on to Chetta, it allowed for him to take a deep breath and tighten his grip on his mug, as he tried to shake away the irrational thoughts. Shifting uncomfortably on the bench, he turned his gaze upon Chetta and tried to think only of the bright moments she brought him.

[MUSICHETTA AVARE]

Chetta knew she wasn't the best at reading people. She would say that she was observant enough that at times she could correctly guess their moods, but most of the times her intuition had proved its incapability. Joly however, she knew well enough to be able to detect the slightest shift of mood when it comes to the student. He was having one of those mood, slumping deep into the unfamiliar territory in his brain where Chetta alone would have problem pulling the hypochondriac back into his merry and jolly self. She was thankful that Lesgle was there. His cheery presence seemed to light up, persistently tugging Joly from the seemingly bottomless pit that swallowed him. She was the calm, but her calming presence would need the other man's delightful personality.

She gave Lesgle a smile, before immitating his movement, sitting down on next to Joly, even though she much prefer if she could position herself in between both men. There was something about being next to both of them that made her breath hitched and her stomach fluttering in a way that always made her felt like giggling and pressing both men closer to her. But of course, now wasn't the time to demand less distance between all three of them. She carefully set her basket on the floor next to her feet. Maman surely would understand if she took her eyes off the fabrics for a moment. "Ah yes, if you feel the need, do give us a brief recitation." As strange as it might seem, she always enjoy whenever Joly decide to recite something from his book out loud. Or it might be the fact that Chetta simply enjoy hearing him speak. But whatever it was the idea of him reciting his medical text was not something she would objected.

She felt grateful that they had managed to extract even the tiniest of smile from Joly. But at the same time, there was still that little pang of worry inside her. There was a certain air of detachment, evident from the way he was made small movements. However, she kept quiet, smiling when he gave her a wink before swallowing his drink.

"My expedition? As much as I wish to gave a detailed report on the state of the economy, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, Monsieur." she laughed, eyes shining in amusement. She purposely rested her hand on Joly's arm. Her fingers unconsciously began tracing small patterns. Her parents always said even the smallest touch would brought familiarity, and that was always a sure way to dispell any bad condition. "The state of the economy remains the same. Although, I might not pay enough attention. Perhaps the next time I will have a more worthy report for you, my dear Monsieur." she gave a quiet laugh before continuing. "And you, Monsieur. Will you not grace us with the latest tale of your adventures tonight?"

[LUCILLE CORALIE BOUSQUET]

It was funny how life threw things at you, things you wouldn’t expect, but strangely opened new doors filled with possibilities. Lucille marvelled at her good luck as she returned to cleaning glasses, shooting Mylie the odd look of contempt, while her eyes watched the three customers before her with interest. She’d not been working long at the café, but she’d noted the three had an interesting relationship. Ménage à troi…she had heard the other girls gossiping about it. Lucille didn’t quite understand the concept, but she didn’t trouble her mind on the subject for too long. Each to their own…she thought raising an eyebrow as she turned back to Mylie reluctantly.

She did not respond to Mylies question immediately, allowing for a short moment to pass as she thought over the question with anger. Mylie had practically abandoned the troop, she’d just disappeared…along with the leader…not leaving much of an explanation…well no explanation Lucille had heard. It hadn’t been the same after the leader had left, many performers eventually moved on leaving Lucille with no choice but to part ways. The money had dropped and the tension among the performers had risen, at that point people parted ways, taking new paths and bidding one another farewell.

‘Things weren’t the same…you know…since Alain disappeared’ she said sadly, it pained her to think of Alain, he’d meant a lot to her and it was his face that she looked for in the crowd, hoping desperately for his approval. ‘People eventually moved on to new things and in the end there were only afew of us left…so we just parted ways.’ She said sadly, the troop had been her home and it pained her to think of her second family separating and her finding herself again alone…with no family to speak of.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked, ‘Where did you move on to?’ she said quietly, her dark eyes fixing upon the glass she was cleaning with determination.

[FÉLIX LESGLE]

In truth, though he would sit and listen to Enjolras's bold speeches and tag a few of his own orations on their fringes, and though he put on the same brave face as always, Lesgle was uneasy about the violence that was sure to come. Even if they hadn't been planning it, well, he was involved. Never had he been more aware of just how devastating a turn of bad luck could be. It was all right when he was the only recipient, that was simply how his life was and had been for several years. He stepped out of doors and someone emptied their laundry water (or worse) on him. But what about now, when the stakes were so much higher, and so was the danger? He didn't like to think that his involvement could possibly put his friends in any more danger than they would be without him. He'd just have to hope fate would make an exception this time, if not for himself, then for those around him.

And he did care for his friends, as much as he joked and teased. Who else would he be able to complain to if he didn't have them? So he was just as glad to be forced to think of other things as they were—as certainly Joly was, and probably Chetta was worried for them all too. Look at them, causing grief already! Just as long as it didn't stick around long enough to build a nest. Lesgle sat across from Joly (the man of too few wings right now, so he had only one 'l' to his name) and was content for Chetta to sit beside his friend. She was first and foremost the medical student's mistress, and Lesgle just felt fortunate that they both were generous enough to include him as well. It did make him wonder—he, with any good fortune? Send a letter to the Pope, he might one day be canonized, for it was at least a minor miracle.

He gave an amused chuckle at Musichetta's request for a recitation. "We should be careful what we wish for, else we'll wind up learning of diseases we'll wish later we knew nothing about," he cautioned, then his smile broadened with Joly's toast. "I heartily second that amendment, my friend!" he added, not the only one to cast a wink in Chetta's direction. Lesgle leaned back in his chair to listen to her report, which surely would not pass muster up at the university, but it made him smile, and hoped it—or at least her touch—might cheer Joly a little. It had been meant as a diversion, after all. Laughing, he answered her question. "My adventures? I'm afraid they will be a disappointment to you. I've been here all night, and really you could not imagine a duller bunch than these clayen clods." His tone was clearly jocular but he was trying to find a clever way to skirt exactly what they had been discussing that night.

((OOC: So sorry for the wait, guys!))