TO THE BARRICADE!

[FRATERNITÉ]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/20gfl1v.jpg); padding: 30px; border: #2D2729 solid 30px; ] One more day to revolution We will nip it in the bud Drink with me to days gone by To the life that used to be Here's to pretty girls who went to our heads Here's to witty girls who went to our beds Here's to you And here's to me The funeral for General Lamarque has erupted into chaos as a faction of people in the crowd have broken off to build a barricade. Spirits are high among Les Amis who believe they are building a monument to freedom with the furniture that willing citizens are throwing down to aid the cause. But will the people come to their aid? [Please post in the sign up order located here] We'll be ready for these schoolboys

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TEMPLATE BY TRINITY BLAIR @ CAUTION 2.0 & ATF

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[atrb=border,0,true] I OFFER YOU A LOOK INSIDE, I OFFER YOU THAT TRUST I NEED YOUR STRENGTH TO FIGHT THE BATTLES I MUST I NEED YOU TO REMIND ME OF THE LIGHT WE BEAR WITHIN THERE'S MORE TO LIFE THAN THE THINGS WE SEEK TO WIN

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[style=height:230px; overflow: auto; text-align:justify; background-color:00235E] In the chaos, Courfeyrac was knocked off his feet by someone running past, and suddenly, he was left to the mercy of trampling legs. If a mite of Providence hadn't intervened, he would have been flat on his back on the cobblestone, left for dead. But someone steadied him, grabbing his arm before he could fall entirely, pulling him out of the way of an oncoming horse. Who had saved him, he couldn't be sure; he'd only spared them a passing glance and his breathlessly-stammered thanks before he was once again racing off. He would have plenty more and plenty better ways to die today than being crushed underfoot.

Not glancing back, he hurried towards the designated place. Over the past few weeks, he had carefully cultivated relationships with the people who lived in the shuttered flats around the wine shop. Many had promised to come to the Amis' assistance when the time came, and Courfeyrac had taken great pains to ensure that they knew exactly what that time would be, and what their assistance should entail. They could buy new tables when this was over.

"We need all the furniture you can throw down!" he exclaimed, waving at the windows above him, aware of the men and women rushing around with other pieces of wood and anything else they could find. There were chairs and such crashing down into the streets, and while he took care to avoid them, he couldn't help but smile. A grim smile, but a smile nonetheless. At long last, it was time.

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He had taken off from the parade almost as soon as the commotion had begun. because of his short legs, he needed a head start if he was going to make it in time, you know, before the barricades were closed off. Of course, they would have let him past if he hadn't made it in time, but this way was just better. He looked around, trying to figure out if there was anything he could help with when he saw his big brother.

Courfeyrac was yelling to the people who lived above the chosen zone for furniture and other large objects to help build the barricade with. Gavroche wasn't strong enough to take on of the big pieces, but many of the wooden things splintered and broke into smaller chucks. He decided, until he was given a proper order, that it was his job to take what he could manage and start piling it up.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

[atrb=border,0,true] WHEN THE CIRCLING AND STRIKING ARE DONE AND I LAND LET ME COME BACK TO YOUR HAND, BACK TO YOUR HAND [style=height:340px; overflow: auto; text-align:justify; background-color:00235E] It was time to get out of this turmoil, and fast! Mylène’s natural survival instincts had been triggered the moment the first shot had nearly missed her, but she had stood her ground,for she could not bear to run before she did not know her friends would be fine. One eye and ear was always with them, and so her heart nearly stopped as she saw Courfeyrac stumble and fall. Had he been shot?! There was someone helping him up and he seemed able to stand, but her relief was only short-lived, as even though only a split second revealed the man's face,she recognized it. Javert! What was he doing here, and without his uniform? He had not taken hold of Courfeyrac,but that did not mean he was out of danger. She wished she could just take him by the hand and run, like she had done at the May Parade, but this was something different. Back then, the chaos had not been prepared for,they had not been ready. Now they were. This was their moment, their revolution, and through all the chaos that now prevailed, it would become glorious soon, once the barricades were raised. But for that, they needed the support of the people – and a barricade! They were slowly retreating now, and she knew where they would go: Not far away was their headquarter, where last night they had stowed away the barrels of powder. The headquarter on one, the Corinth Wine shop on the other side, and a narrow street – all you needed for the barricade was right there – except furniture and all kinds of other things to build them! She could discern Bahorel’s voice in the distance, rallying the people to follow then,and then there was Courfeyrac’s voice, a little closer but still behind her,calling for the people to throw down chairs and tables and whatever they could grasp. A wide grin spread over Mylène’s face as she realized how she could do her part. Swiftly, she ran over to a façade, flexed her muscles and jumped upwards, grasping a windowsill on the first floor, which she used as a stronghold as she began to climb up like a monkey. Once she had reached the top floor, she squeezed through the window, let open so the inhabitants could watch the funeral march, and grinned into the gobsmacked faces of a man and a woman. “Salut there! Tha’ chair looks like’t could use a trip te the outside!” And before they could protest, she took it towards the window, calling down at the mass of Courfeyrac’s brown locks: “Attention, love! Random chair alarm!", and then let it drop. “In case ye haven’ noticed yet, there’s a revolution outside!” she then broke to the still shocked couple. “Wanna do yer part fer France? Then help me wi’ tha’ table!” There was a flash in the man’s eyes for a second, then he walked over and wiped the table cloth of the wooden surface, gripping one side. “I’ll get ye a new one from the Louvre, Marie!” he called to his wife, laughing. “Allez-hop!” With a satisfactory loud crash,the table made contact with the pavement downstairs. "Twas a pleasure dropping furniture with ye, Monsieur!" Taking a mocking bow, Mylène retreated through the window and climbed over to the next house. Her work had just begun!

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[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

A shot exploded from his pistol the force of the shot jolting his arm tremendously he dared not linger for long to see if his shot had made its mark, he would rather remain ignorant on such things. Cries from the people around him were blotted out by the screams of the crowd and the sound of gunfire. Everything was happening so fast, he couldn’t even remember who had started the first shot, but the seriousness of the Amis situation gripped Joly’s heart and he paused to take a deep breath, his right hand clutching at his heart. It was beating so fast he was certain it would explode right out of his chest and for one horrific moment he was certain he was having a heart attack.

Perspiration slid down his forehead which he wiped away with his sleeve, it was only the order from Enjolras that brought Joly back to his senses and he turned to find his friend Lesgle. His eyes searched frantically among the crowd, somewhere he had lost his friend and the sudden fear of what that entailed jolted Joly into taking action. He moved from his spot jumping from the carriage into the heaving mass of people. ‘Lesgle!’ he cried frantically, as he spotted his friend raising the flag in defiance. ‘To the Barricades!’ he shouted across the mass of people to his friend.

Joly had never run so fast in his life, he followed the route the men and previously planned and quickly found himself in the street where furniture was already being piled high. He dodged a chair that fell only metres from his and began to toss furniture upon the barricade pile. He dared not look to see what state his fellow friends where in, or if they all had even made it back. There was no time for that…

[FÉLIX LESGLE]

In the heat of the action, amidst the chaos, the small part of Lesgle that was still pining after the courtroom found its voice and provided order to his thoughts. First, he had to find Joly, to make certain that his abysmal luck had not managed to migrate to his friend. Second would be to rush to their headquarters, to join the others in assembling a barrier from whatever flotsam the citizens of Paris could spare. First, though, was Joly. His eyes scanned the roiling crowd, but he heard his name shouted before he spied his friend. He recognized that voice though and turned towards it. Seeing Joly, he was at last able to smile, and shouted back as loud as he could above the tumult, "To the barricades!" Everything was too crazed for real communication.

Once free of the worst of the crowds, Lesgle set out at a dead run, following Joly who had gotten slightly ahead. This pointed out how perhaps he could have taken some of his own advice, when he told Joly to take more bracing walks through the city's many gardens... but there was no time to worry about that, nor the way his breath sounded ragged to his ears. There would be time enough to recover while they waited for the retaliation that would surely come. The government was too accustomed to revolution to simply ignore this upset.

Even those worrying thoughts could wait. He reached the street where there was already a low wall of furniture and it was growing by the second as people tossed down donations, and the students below put them into place. The arrangement wasn't particularly artful, but it didn't need to be, so long as it did the job. Lesgle jumped into the work without hesitation, seeing someone struggling with a heavy oaken table. "A hand with that, citizen?" he asked with a smile as a sort of salute, but the grip which he brought to the opposite end of the table was strong and determined.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos a guardsman dropped his sword; the flash of sunlight on the metal blade caught Feuilly's eye. He dove for it, catching it by the hilt and darting aside with the aptitude of a man who had grown up dodging the occasional blow. He broke into a run without sparing another glance at the weapon he had retrieved; there would be time to look at it later. Only when he had slipped through most of the mass of the crowd did he slow his gait again, eyes searching the crowd for his friends.

Revolution, he thought, was a whirlwind. He knew so much of it theory, but somehow he hadn't counted on the thunder of footsteps and gunshots and the sharp scent of gunpowder, blood, and human sweat. Maybe it was ridiculous to have failed to realize these things would be so much a part of it, and he could hear his own heart pounding. It hadn't slowed since the singing had begun, and in the excitement his fears melted. Maybe this was why Bahorel always spoke of how much he loved these kinds of things; Feuilly felt vibrant and alive. The time had come, and when Lesgle's voice finally reached his ears, Feuilly threw his own into the crowd as well. “Long live Poland!”

Reaching the street where the barricade would be built, he immediately set to help his friends at the work, arranging objects for as much stability and utility as he could.

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[/b] He says, half a quirk of smile on his face from the rush of adrenaline. The carriage is the biggest piece salvaged so far. "Let's get it over unto it's side and we can build up around it." He says nodding. Also keeping an eye out for Combeferre and Marius who he must have beaten back here. [/ul]

[LUCILLE CORALIE BOUSQUET]

Lucille had been watching from a window perch, the boys arrive onto the street below, she’d found a comfortable spot to watch the action, far enough away to be out of the action but close enough to get a good view of the chaos that was about to rain down upon the streets of Paris. She hugged her knees her dark eyes following the figure of an amis boy, she peered through the pane her nose pressing close against It as the recognised the boy to be Joly, followed closely by his friend Lesgle. She felt a small inkling of sadness as she realised what this revolution might mean for the boys. She’d heard enough of their planning in the café to understand the jist of what they aimed to do.

Clutching her knees she sat paralysed as the cries from the street below drifted up to her, the barricades forming quickly before her very eyes. A figure from the street had spotted her sat up in the window and was gesturing to her to throw down furniture. She frowned backing away nervously from the window, she didn’t want to get involved in the revolution, but a small part of her was rooting for the boys. If France was in a better state, she might have had more hope for her future, despite Mylies effects on her career.

A sound from nearby made Lucille jump and she trod carefully closer to the noise. It was almost as if someone was scaling the buildings, and heading towards the building Lucille was tucked safely away in. Damn, she thought as she stepped away from the window and sunk slowly into one of the chairs. The barricades were nearly formed and there wasn’t anywhere else for her to go…not now…not safely anyway.

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"To the barricades!" came Enjolras's cry, loud and clear. Combeferre watched as the crowd of revolutionaries rushed forth with their pistols and muskets, some citizens even carrying makeshift clubs. He was mesmerized at first, for it was a strange and intoxicating sight--people seized by the spirit of the first revolution again ready to lay down their lives for freedom. They had everything to lose and everything to gain. 

Combeferre himself wasn't sure what he had to lose. If he died, so be it. At least it was for something worth dying for. His mother would miss him, that much was true...but would she? She was probably thinking of Marius--but how foolish it was to dwell on that yet again. He must be focused. And he must make sure that boy didn't get himself killed for her sake if nothing else. His eyes scanned the crowd and he saw the would be lawyer mounting a dead soldier's horse. The cuirassiers were in hot pursuit, brandishing sabers and carbines.

He caught the arm of one man next to him. "We have to cover them, they'll chase us there if we don't." he suggested, overturning a cooper's barrel and grabbing a crate to lay beside it. He knelt behind the miniature barricade and fixed his eyes on an officer, raising his pistol and pulling the trigger. His aim was true. Combeferre ducked behind the barrel and reloaded, twisting around and shooting a foot soldier. His comrade downed three on his own, and some fellow freedom fighters across the street had the same luck. After a while, the Guard abandoned their chase. "Well done, lads. Get yourselves to the nearest barricade--and good luck." Combeferre lifted the barrel and started off toward the rendezvous point. When he arrived, he added his barrel to the steadily growing pile of furniture. He then doubled back up the street and returned with a cart and the aid of three other citizens.

He took off his coat and hat and ducked into the wine shop to help carry a table that he deposited at the foot of the barricade. He caught Enjolras's eye and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I was late, mon ami. I needed to buy us time to build...so I made sure we weren't followed." He refused to think of the men he killed--not now, there was no time for that. It made him sick, but he couldn't think of it. It wasn't healthy or wise. 

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[atrb=border,0,true] I OFFER YOU A LOOK INSIDE, I OFFER YOU THAT TRUST I NEED YOUR STRENGTH TO FIGHT THE BATTLES I MUST I NEED YOU TO REMIND ME OF THE LIGHT WE BEAR WITHIN THERE'S MORE TO LIFE THAN THE THINGS WE SEEK TO WIN

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Armed with a sword-cane, the token of all true noblemen, as Courfeyrac's family was no matter how thoroughly he'd tried to forget it, he was nonetheless worried about their gunpowder. In truth, there was a sort of justice, him fighting with a weapon that was not allowed in the hands of the poor, and fighting with it for the sake of the poor. The sword, and anything else they found (it seemed Feuilly had happened upon one himself) would have to do for weapons if their barrels got wet. Guns they had enough, but should water leak into the basement, they would be done for. How he wished for more cunning minds and able bodies like those of Mylene and Eponine to assist in increasing their supply.

Once he had seen that there was a great amount of furniture being tossed into the street, he intended to go back into the wine shop and check on their stock. That was when he heard more shots being fired and realized with a sudden drop in the pit of his stomach the gravity of all he had planned and hoped for and dreaded in the past months. A glance risked towards the outside of the growing barricade revealed that the troops were not yet closing in. He hoped that boded well for their turn-out. The people could not lose heart. Or faith.

He shot a look at the approaching Combeferre, only a ghost of a smile alighting on his lips. It was easy to be cheerful around his amis with the promise of the future before them, but it was impossible to forget the spectre of death. "Then stop horsin' around unless ye plan to help with the carriage," he nudged his friend teasingly, though Blaise's excuse had been perfectly sound. Someone needed to boost the morale with a little bad joke here and there. "An' keep an eye out fer any ma'mselles who wish to 'elp wi' the cause," he added. "Ah can think of sumthin' fer them t' do."

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[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

[atrb=border,0,true] WHEN THE CIRCLING AND STRIKING ARE DONE AND I LAND LET ME COME BACK TO YOUR HAND, BACK TO YOUR HAND [style=height:340px; overflow: auto; text-align:justify; background-color:00235E] There was something refreshingly crazy and funny about relieving people of their furniture to contribute for a barricade. Either they were looking gobsmacked, or she saw a fire kindling in their eyes that spoke of a desire for change, a reawaking passion for their country and its rights. These were the best moments, and she delighted in pointing them towards the barricade, where it all would come down now. Maybe only one out of five would really dare to go, but every pair of hands more was an invaluable addition to the cause. But finally there were no more furniture probable to toss outside, or they would be piling up a whole mountain, so Mylène quitted her task and climbed down towards street level again, in search for her friends, and a new challenge or task. The streets were still crowded with people and it was difficult to make any progress towards the Rue de la Chanverrerie, and just as she was turning a corner, she practically ran into a familiar face. “Coquine, Coquine, wait!” he called out as she wanted to brush past him, not recognizing him on first glance. But now she looked closely, there was no mistaking Pépier. “I’ve seen Courfeyrac on that hearse”, he explained, taking her aside, his eyes flashing. “Is that what he meant the other day, about the storm rising? Are you with those people?” “They are not those people”, Mylène retorted, sounding exasperated. “This isn’t about them it’s about all of us. The people of France. They just made the first necessary step and now we must follow!” “Must we?” That was Boucher, having turned up behind Pépier, his massive arms crossed over his barrel-chest. “How does this concern us? It’s madness to go against the National Guard!” Mylène rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hips. She really wasn’t in the mood for any discussion, and yet she realized her chance. Both Boucher and Pépier had a strong voice within the community of jugglers.If she could convince them, they could rally the troupes. “It’s madness to go on a tightrope, spew fire or bend iron rods”, she scoffed. “And yet we do it, and our sole purpose is surviving. How about we do something risky that’s also useful for a change?” “And get killed in the process?” Boucher growled, shaking his head,but Mylie had her answer ready. “Madness always has a risk attached to it. One day you might get killed cause the rock you lift over your head crash down on your neck. People would call that a tragic death… and a useless one. A shame. If you’re risking your life, why not for something that is worth more than your own person? Besides… the more we are, the greater is the chance of not dying.” A short silence settled over the trio, and in the end it was Pépier that broke it. “Some people say that what is worth living for is worth dying for. We’ve been staying in our own little world, Boucher, we spoke of freedom and equality, but we stopped at the door of our caravans. We do not belong with the citizens of France, we have our own lives and they only need us when they want to escape from reality. But maybe it is time to stop creating dream worlds that never live past the hour. How about we help create a world to last? I for myself am done standing by and watching. And I will not hesitate to proclaim so.” Mylène literally saw the thoughts rattling behind Boucher’s forehead. Pépier’s words had moved him just as they had moved her. Finally he gave another growl and grabbed Pépier’s arm. “What are you waiting for, jabberer? We have our troops to rally! See you at the barricades later, Coquine!” For a moment Mylène just stood there,dazed. That had worked better than she ever would have imagined it. Then she started forward,a skip in her step, until she reached the Chanverrerie where everyone was already busy piling up the furniture and other things. Seeing Combeferre ahead, she approached him, calling out. “Salut mon ami, wha' can I do te help? Oh, and, wait fer a delivery o' jugglers, they’re headed this way.”

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[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

Relief purged Joly of the fear that was threatening to cripple him, as he tossed a wooden chair upon the growing pile, his eyes focused on Legsle helping another citizen with a table. He had made it back safely and for that Joly was thankful, he didn’t know what he would do without his friend. Joly pushed through the line of men that had formed in order to pass furniture with haste, shouts echoed around the street, and the sound of hooves and gunfire could be heard from the surrounding streets. This was truly a revolution. No one would could truly know how today would end, would it be a victory for the Amis? Would they stand at the barricades victorious and liberated? Or would their dreams of Fraternite and Egalite be dashed upon battlefield in a scarlet torrent.

‘Brother!’ Joly cried, slapping Legsle on the back before offering a hand also with the table, ‘let us not linger with this table!’ he said lifting the table with the best of his strength and assisting with moving it to the barricade. His swift hands quickly found another chair that had been tossed down from the rooms above, light heartedly he threw it in the direction of Feuilly aiming it to land before him.

At that moment Enjolras arrived, gallantly climbing down from a carriage he had acquired among the chaos, ‘Blimey!’ Joly uttered scrabbling over to help turn the carriage, ‘what a find! This should do well!’ he cried over the shouts of the other men.

[FÉLIX LESGLE]

Back in the café or the wine shop, wherever they had chosen as their port while they planned their coming storm, when everything was still hypothetical, Lesgle had had his doubts. Not about their cause, no, he believed in that with all his big heart, but what they were doing in support of it. A revolution seemed too risky, as needed as it might be. Then again, it probably would to a man who was constantly dogged with misfortune. He had difficulty seeing the appeal of seeking out trouble since it generally found him anyway. But for Joly's sake, and because it was all in how you chose to look at things, he hadn't voiced any of his doubts.

And now that it was no longer hypothetical but as real as blood on the street, somehow those doubts turned tail and fled. Well, Lesgle certainly wouldn't miss them. There was no room for them in a revolution, not when at the heart of it was a band of friends counting on each other. He smiled broadly as he felt a hand slap his back, because he knew who it must be before the voice in his ear confirmed it. "Indeed! Let's get this volunteer settled in so we can recruit some of his friends also."

Once they'd wrestled the table into place, Lesgle turned his attention to the more manageable pieces that had been tossed down, adding them to the steadily growing wall. His smile remained in place for now, since the National Guard hadn't yet found them. They still had a free hand with which to rouse the people and so far it seemed hopeful. Everyone was in high spirits anyway, despite the distant sound of gunshots; and then Enjolras arrived with a carriage. Lesgle gaped in sheer admiration for a few seconds before he scrambled to help with it.

"Well done!" he agreed with Joly, not even bothered about where it might have come from. If it came to that, himself, Marius and Bahorel should be able to make up a complete lawyer between them to defend their actions. "Come, friends, this behemoth's not going to move itself!" he shouted to the others.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly set quickly to work arranging various bits of refuse, furniture, even stone from the street on the portion of the barricade before him. The thought that perhaps a bullet might ricochet off a stone face on the barricade and wound one of its assailants passed through his mind, but there wasn't enough stone for that to work. Besides—it would take time, and time was something that was very quickly running out. Gaps had to be left for musket barrels here and there, always too small for anything else—and without compromising the structure of the growing barricade. He was, for a moment, thankful for the odd jobs he'd been sent out to perform in his youth that had taught him the rudiments of more trades than just his own.

The light rain was good for something, at least—it broke up the heat and humidity of the day, at least a little. It was nice to have that little bit of blessed coolness in the face of their task.

He couldn't help but wonder if, in the end, it would wash away their blood as well.

The sight of the carriage was welcome. He scrambled out from the bulk of the structure to lend a hand, careful not to knock over any of the carefully arranged furniture in the process. It seemed solid... it would need to be solid. He quickly swiped the image of the whole thing breaking apart under the force of a cannonball from his mind. No. They had to believe that wouldn't happen, that even if the National Guard brought out all it had, their barricade would stand. He grasped hold of the side of the carriage alongside his friends. He nodded to them that he was ready to help move it, jaw set and bracing his feet even as his worn shoes slid a bit on the now-wet street.