TO THE BARRICADE!

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine ran down the street, as fast as her feet would carry her, which thanks to the life she lived was rather quick. After the parade had descended into chaos, she found herself jumping at the of each gun report, sure that the next body to fall would be one of her friends. That she might recognize on of the voices crying out in pain. In the panicked crush of the crowd she had lost sight of most of them, save for Marius on his horse. The sight of him brought a short respite from her worry about everyone else.

Until a bullet had whizzed by her head, making her duck down and take off. The parade was done, the boys had started their revolution, and the square was no place to be caught now. Taking care to stay off the main streets where most the fighting would be, she kept to the back alleys and side roads, finding them less crowded with armed men and home to only a sparse gathering of frightened citizens fleeing to theirs home. Cowards. But smart. Those that go home will live to see tomorrow. Spurred on by her worry, Eponine sprinted down the corridors, weaving between carts and random lost people, her heart in her throat at each gunshot.

Before long she found herself emerging near the wine shop. Already bit of furniture and debris were being piled in the street. The sight of it brought a smile to her face. It looked formidable, like a fortress from one of her mother's stories. The boys clamored over it like ants on a tree branch in the park, adding bits and pieces, trying to plug any holes that might make the structure vulnerable. She looked from face to face, searching for Combeferre and Marius, praying they'd made it through the madness on the streets. With each passing moment, her dread grew, each face she found being either unfamiliar or not the freckled redhead or bespectacled blonde she had come for. For a brief terrifying moment she saw them in her mind, shot in the gutter, or trampled beneath the escaping crowd, the light in their eyes fading to nothing while their revolution went on around them. Shaking her head she banished the thoughts and straightened the cap back over her hair before plunging into the barely controlled chaos of the barricade. It wasn't long before at least one of her prayers was answered and Combeferre appeared, pulling a carriage with several other young men, leading it to the barricade. She had to stay near him, but not so close he would recognize her. Moving to the opposite end of the carriage, she braced her feet on the dirty stones of the street, pushing with her meager might added to those of the students.

[Deleted]

A heart full of love had been swiftly transformed into a heart drowning in fear and despair. Marius had not truly thought about what the art of war really involved until now. He had seen war as a glorious sort of thing, in which the victor received fame and honor for family, self, and country. But this was not honorable, nor was it glorious. He had killed, with a pistol, and it was starting to sicken him—no, it was! He had doubled over the side of his horse and then managed to get down, dropping with a thump and crawling along the ground until he regained his footing. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and threw it away, drawing his pistol and ambling along the emptied street toward the meeting place they had all agreed on.

He could barely believe this was really happening. He was filled with a sense of dread and excitement—like everyone else, he supposed. The empire would be restored, and France would be a great nation again. They would do service to their dead emperor through their actions today. Of course those actions would come at a cost that was already starting to be paid. People would die, at his hand, at the others’ hands—and he might die at the hands of the French National Guard itself.

For the first time, really, he began to consider his own mortality. Of course no one lived forever, Marius had known that. His father had been taken far too soon, as had his mother. But he had never really considered losing his own life until he had gotten involved, head and shoulders, in the business of the revolution. And the truth was, he was scared. Not scared enough to leave the cause, but scared nonetheless. He could not and would not abandon his friends, but he wanted to be alive, to be whole, for Cosette, and he feared that he would not be. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, and if anything happened to her that would never change but she must carry on for him.

But she was miles away now, in England. God only knew if they would see each other again. It was with this distressing thought that Marius crossed into friendly lines behind the barricade. He could see his comrades in arms dragging furniture and whatever else they could find to the barricade. He decided to take a chair from the bottom floor of one of the shops and hefted over his shoulder, carrying it over to the steadily growing pile and setting it down.

[LUCILLE CORALIE BOUSQUET]

The cries from below were stifling, and Lucille covered her ears with her hands fearfully as she peered towards the window. A shadow paused just outside and a dusty face peered through at her, ‘Oy! Girly! Get off your backside and help us! There’s a revolution coming!’ the boy shouted through at her. Lucille stared unwilling to move but afraid not too, curling herself she reluctantly opened the window allowing the boy access to the room. Together the two moved the furniture, dropping it from the window onto the street below. Excitement radiated from the boy and he chatted away happily to Lucille, shouting down words of encouragement to the lads on the street.

Lucille did not talk, she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say and if she had found those words she was certain the boy would not like it. She didn’t know what the boys hoped to achieve, from the window she could see everything in the streets below. It was a horrible thought to think that soon the street would be filled with the Paris guards, who would readily snuff out the tiny spark of rebellion with their guns. Extinguishing the lives of the boys she had come to know as the Les Amis.

The sparsely decorated room was quickly emptied and the boy nodded his thanks at her before moving on to another room. Lucille breathed a sigh of relief and moved to lean out of the window just in time to see the leader of the group –she did not know his name- pull up with a carriage.

[JEAN ALEXIS PROUVAIRE]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]387 WORDS FOR Everyone No notes at present. BOOM! [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Jean looked around himself in disbelief. Things on the streets had gone from tense, to a riot, to outright dangerous, to full on mutiny at this point. And it had happened in a matter of just a few minutes. It had gone from one thing to another with seemingly very little effort. It reminded him of burning off brush piles of old vines and the excesses of things left over from the wine making process at his family's estate each year. If the wood and excess was very dry, a single spark would send the whole thing up in shooting flames in just a few moments. The current situation felt like that. In a second it had gone from a peaceful funeral procession to this. Somehow, he found himself dismounting from the carriage he'd been on with Combe holding the horses' heads and a couple of the others. He skittered down feeling as though he couldn't believe what was going on around them. Had it come to this already? So quickly? He supposed, looking back, it had not been -that- quickly, but it felt quickly to him. He suddenly felt ill prepared and nervous for the conflict before them because, at this point. there really was no turning pack. Not now. He leaped off the edge of the wagon and dashed down the side alley following his friends. He knew the plan.. but even if he hadn't he felt he would have been able to read their minds as they headed down the alleyway. A second later they were all working together to pile every piece of furniture they could find into the space in the alleyway. He found himself working beside Feuilly doing just that and it made him think back to the first time they'd met - him buying a fan from the latter and .. how they hadn't gotten along at first, but then had gone to be on close terms. He hoped they'd both come out of this unscathed and okay, but he knew that it might not be likely. "Okay?" He muttered to his friend, reassuring himself as much as Feuilly He felt the heavy weapon in his pocket, also, to make sure it was still there ... so he could defend himself. It was... the revolution, it seemed, had begun... [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[Deleted]

Courfeyrac looked around at the men – and women – his friends and neighbors, everyone carrying and disassembling and stacking furniture, or whatever they could find. The barricade was growing, and so was his feeling that this just might work. If he hadn't had some idea of this, then there would have been no point in handing out the pamphlets, in speaking in hushed tones in the street, of speaking in loud tones over some good wine when with his amis. But now, it would not all be for naught.

And speaking of wine, conveniently, there was plenty of it around. No doubt Enjolras would be strict that no one should have too much of it (as if Grantaire could be discouraged from it all the same), because they would all need to be on alert when the National Guard came. And they would come. But for now, it seemed they had been subverted. There had been instructions for many barricades to be set up within the city streets, not this one, and Courfeyrac had faith that it had been done. Their own furniture fortified, he glanced at his brethren and felt the rush of hope anew.

But he could not be too confident. They had no idea what the National Guard was planning, where they were now. He took his place atop the completed barricade, glancing around for their chief. “'ave a sip, mon ami,” he suggested jokingly; “there'll be men enough to 'it even if we can't shoot straight.” His tone was playful, but his dark eyes searched Enjolras' pointedly. They needed a spy.

(OOC: I think it'd be a good time to move to a new thread for "Drink With Me." )