Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2013 20:34:43 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #7a9aa9, bTable][tr][cs=2] AURÉLIEN ALEXANDER ENJOLRAS. TWENTY-TWO.LES AMIS DE L'ABC . AARON TVEIT. | |
[rs=2] | Physical Apperance Ever since Aurélien Enjolras was a boy, people were reacting to his handsome looks. When he was young they often said that his smile was so alluring and charming that even the birds would leave their tree to better admire it. Well, he has never noticed birds following him but even he will allow himself a little vanity and say that he is physically attractive. He stands tall, his posture always straight and noble, measuring in at about 6 foot even. He is rather tall but all considered, more lithe and slender than broad. He has the look of nobility about him, strong features, and generous mouth that is often quite expressive. His skin is pale and almost impressively unmarred as though things in the world cannot truly touch him. His eyes are intelligent and blue. Enjolras is striking to look at though people are often put out by his usual somber and serious expression. Enjolras often wears his serious expression and his carefully tailored clothes like an armor, as though carefully maintaining distance between himself and others. His hair is curly and soft, golden in color and if you were close enough to touch it, you would probably describe it as almost silken. Until recently he wore his hair much longer, often tied back in a simple ponytail. He cut it off in hopes that he might look a little older and be taken more seriously by others outside of the Amis. 10 Words for Enjolras 1. Brave Enjolras has for the most part, freed himself from the constraints of fear. Not to say that he doesn't fear things, he is a man like any other. And every man has their weaknesses and their fears. Their worries. Enjolras is like them all in that regard, where he differs though is that he doesn't take fear into account in making a decision. Perhaps he should, as letting fear stop you can be logical in certain aspects. In any case, it certainly makes Enjolras brave, he's not the sort of person who hesitates in doing something he thinks he needs to. He wouldn't let pain or fear stop him from acting in the way he feels he must. Basically, his morals will always be the dictating factor in Enjolras' decisions, not fear. In that sense, his bravery is nearly insane. Though it does make him easy to predict in certain ways, if you know him and his moral code well enough, you will know he lives by it like a Monk might live by his gospel. 2. Moral All people have a moral code of some kind, for others amorality is a sort of code for them. Enjolras doesn't merely have a moral code, he lives it. Hypocritical is the last thing he could be accused of being. He takes no pleasure in seeing people suffer or struggle, and when he sees it he wants to help. He's compelled to change things. If something is wrong, he believes that citizens cannot be complacent and they cannot turn a blind eye and deaf ear to their fellow man. Before he tried to lead his revolution, he was often found living among the people of Paris, often going into the worst parts to help hand out food and things like that to the poor and the sick. Basically, Enjolras is unbending in his beliefs and he truly hates seeing people suffer, especially the people in his country. 3. Passionate Enjolras is not passionate in the way one might expect, as passion is used in the romantic sense. No, Enjolras instead lives with passion, not with love. He dedicates himself to things completely and he expects nothing but everything from himself. When Enjolras does something, suffice to say he never does anything by half measures. This may be why he avoids romantic entanglements as though allergic, he knows he would have to give of himself the same way he does for everything else, and he doesn't want to take away his devotion in a different area of his life. At first appearance he may seems stoic, a 'marble statue' of a man. He is not. He feels everything with an almost scary amount of intensity. How much of that he shows to other people varies from day to day, to the person and the topic. He doesn't show his emotions because he feels as though it gives the people around him more confidence. Enjolras is the last person in the world that the people close to him would refer to as flaky or unreliable. 4. Beautiful Enjolras has always been a good looking boy, but more than that, his appearance often means he is underestimated. He looks young and many look at his trim body and fine golden hair, his careful appearance and think he is some kind of foppish young boy with his head in the clouds. He is often surprising people with his conviction, with his intelligence. His beauty gives people a certain idea about him, and often makes him come off as delicate or weak when he is far from it. People are judged by appearance and when it comes down to it, Enjolras is often not what he is thought to be. 5. Determined Enjolras can be as hard as iron, he can often be uncompromising, he generally doesn't ask for things so much as he demands people to do the right thing. He is totally allied to his beliefs and his ideas of justice. Once he has decided upon something, your ability to make him not do this is completely gone. In the bad sense this can be seen as stubbornness but on the positive side Enjolras is determined. He is reliable. He can be depended on not to be easily corrupted or talked out of something. 6. Inspirational Enjolras, within his group is the spark. He's the one to light the flame, the incitement. He speaks so well and with such utter conviction that is is hard not to be infected by his belief and enthusiasm. None of Enjolras is an act and it's rare to find somebody that genuine and that dedicated. It's hard not to react to him. He knows how to talk to people, his emotions and the amount of passion he has is infectious and it draws people in even though they might not agree completely. Without Enjolras most of the students in his revolution would have hated the events of the day but they may not have ever tried to fight to change it. 7. Brilliant From a young age, Enjolras had always been a bright boy. Though when he was first born he seemed almost supernaturally quiet. It was as though even as an infant Enjolras was aware of the world around him. Like he truly understood things around him and wished merely to be as a fly on the wall, or an observing party. He was fretted over by his parents until he started to talk and once they learned of the fast pace of his mind, they sent for the best tutors that could be arranged for him. He ate up all the books and facts that were put in front of him. It was as though knowledge was more sustaining to him than food. He was well versed in all subjects though his favorites were history with a certain slant towards government and different types of it. He never seemed to grow out of the desire to learn, to know things. Even after most children got lazy and seemed to detest their school work. He is quick, generally picks up on things quickly without much effort. Though sometimes he doesn't understand emotion on other people, in fact he often questions the wisdom behind romance. 8. Chaste As for romance... well, Enjolras has no interest in it. He respects women completely, as he was raised to be a gentleman. In fact, he would even politely avert his eyes from the overflowing bosom of the whores in Paris. It is often said he respects ladies so much that he would rather avoid them completely. His friends often joke at his expense, saying that Enjolras has no need for love beyond the love he has for Liberty and for his country. It is not that he doesn't believe in love, he does believe in it, and he understands the draw of love, he understands that people want love and commitment in their life. At the same time, he views the quest for it as distracting from other things that he would rather be doing. He thinks of love as a luxury, one that he cannot afford to himself as he would have to commit to it completely and he refuses to divert himself from his cause in favor of chasing a wife. This is also because if he ever chose to, he would want to dedicate himself to his love and he's incapable of doing that. 9. Fierce Despite being a good man and and idealistic lover of freedom at heart, Enjolras is capable of being almost savage at times. As much as he subscribes to the big ideas of classic philosophy and respects human life, there is a certain violent aspect to him. He knows that all revolutions are bought in the blood of people on both sides. He can be militant and despite being a student who had never seen the battlefield, there was a certain soldier aspect to him. For he was equally willing to give his life for his country as any man who had ever defended France. The point is, it is harder to see past the good intentions but he's capable of being intensely human and with that he can be terrible. He's capable of being crueler than he means to be, and he will often be ashamed of himself afterwards without truly regretting what was said. It is part of his uncompromising nature at times, but he occasionally lacks sympathy for people. Enjolras is not a bad person, he just has a problem with putting himself in the position of somebody whom is very different from himself. 10. Pure It's already been mentioned that Enjolras has little need or appreciation for love, so it's probably not all that hard to believe that Enjolras is a virgin in the most complete sense of things. The boy has barely been more than kissed, so most of his friends think of him as living like a monk. In honesty, Enjolras doesn't find it hard to go without, as he's never had it to begin with. So, it's easy not to miss something if you've never really had it before. To a certain sense, he doesn't know what he's missing. In that purity though, there is a certain child-like aspect to Enjolras. He has the ideals of somebody much younger than himself, the honest sort of child's belief that eventually, what is right will prevail over what is wrong. 6 Reasons Enjolras Stays Away From Women 1. "Women are a distraction from more lofty intellectual pursuits." 2. "Patria is my true love." 3. "Their perfume makes me sneeze something terrible." 4. "The money for wooing is better spent on funding a revolution." 5. "Too many men are slaves, not to logic but to their romantic hearts and societies obligations of producing an heir." 6. "I would have to introduce her to Les Amis and they would frighten her away anyhow." 5 Memories 1. They call the horse Tempête, or Storm. Named for the silky charcoal color of his coat and his strength of will. He looks every bit the untamed force of nature, all coiled energy and potential just waiting. Though the beast had seemed tame enough when Julien, the man who ran their stable house had lead him out, already saddled and ready. Aurélien had looked at the broad shouldered blond man who cared for their horses with wide blue eyes. He looked so natural, so fearless around them. He was a bit jealous, wished he could hide the anxiety of looking at such an elegant powerful animal gave him. The horse was a good 17 hands tall, and Aurélien only 7 years old but tall for his age, if lanky and slim for a boy. Sometimes it seemed his thick mop of golden curls was wider than he. Though he was not sickly or weak, but he was just a boy for all that and still growing into his frame. Though it was clear that in adulthood, Aurélien would be tall. Aurélien has grown up in the saddle, took to it like a fish would take to the water, but he doesn't get to ride much on his own. His Maman frets over her only son, like a hen might over the eggs in her nest. It is a treat usually reserved for when his tutors have passed on praise for his curiosity and drive to learn. "Do you like him Aurélien?" His father's voice is deep and smooth as he asks, crouching to match closer to Aurélien's height. His eyes are wide and bright when he looks at his father. "He's mine? Truly?" He asks, nearly as excited as he's still afraid. Still, a horse of his own. It's cause for excitement. "Truly." And Aurélien smiles at him, half tempted to throw himself against his father in a hug, but he knows he's getting older and won't be a boy much longer at all. "Do you wish to ride him?" His father adds. Aurélien is still afraid, intimidated and afraid of failure, afraid of the pain of falling off of a horse, especially one so tall. "Maman wouldn't like it." He says and his father laughs, and he watches strong hands brush back thick brown waves of hair. "Ah! But your Maman, she is not here. It shall be a secret between us men, yes?" He adds and Aurélien bites at his lower lip, anxious as he looks between his new horse and his father. He always seems so old and wise to his son's young eyes. "I am afraid." Aurélien admits,his tone quiet and somber, not fitting of a child as young as he is, he's ashamed but unable to not say it. He could fall off of this horse, he could hurt himself. And he has responsibilities, things he needs to be and do and he knows so, he carries the weight of expectation without resentment, only a somber sense of duty. His father crouches more, and his hands on warm and heavy on Aurélien's shoulders and he looks like he is about to impart the wisdom of the Gods. His father is a good man, kind enough, but always busy, running an estate and a winery. He doesn't have time to be his father all the time, but he always listens when his father talks to him man to man. "Of course you are." Now he is confused but he waits out his father until he speak again. "Aurélien, a wise man knows when to be afraid. It is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of understanding risk. Being a man is about being brave, and being brave is about understanding risk and accepting it. It means not letting fear rule you, or to make you shirk your duties. You have a duty to yourself to be brave, you can be a great man Aurélien, but greatness is a choice, not a born trait." Aurélien thinks about those words and meets his father's green eyes and he gives a firm nod, his jaw tightening as he tilts his chin up, proud and confident, even if his stomach is still a tangle of nerves. "Yes father. Can you help me into the saddle?" He asks quietly. Later, when he is grinning, horse galloping like thunder along the familiar trails along the perimeter of the vineyard, smelling grapes in the spring air, and feeling the heat of the sun in his golden curls which are flopping all about his face....he is happy that he did this. Happy to face his fear and to find himself the victor of it, the master of his own destiny. He decides then that he is always going to be brave, no matter what fear he may be facing. 2. Fleur is named for the flowers in the Springtime, but she is not at all a flower. Flowers are delicate and colorful, they are vibrant green and red and yellow, and they smell sweet. Fleur is colorless, her hair brown, her eyes brown, her face pale and plain. And she smells too sweet when she presses close to him, perfume too thick and cloying in his nostrils. It wouldn't be a bad smell, if only she would give him a little space. Instead he feels like he's choking and coughing and there is no air here. He is betrothed to Fleur, but nobody ever asked him, he never gave permission. His parents thought it a smart match. Her family owns another close by vineyard and they think that twice the land shall be even better. Aurélien has no desire for her, or for taking charge of her families' business either. Clearly, she has more passion for him than he for her. She'd asked for a tour around the estate and Aurélien had politely linked her arm with his and guided her around. At least until they had been decidedly alone, then she had pressed him to the wall with smile, and there he is, he feels pinned and breathless even though Fleur is petite. He has no wish to be rude, but he has no passion for her. He looks at her and feels nothing except the anxiety of expectation. He doesn't want to marry her, he doesn't even know her. He slides his hands between them trying to gently urge her off so he can slide away. She is still a Lady and a Lady is to be treated with dignity with respect. He does not wish to humiliate her or chastise her too greatly for her affections. "Mademoiselle, please. You forget yourself!" His voice a little higher than he wants it to be. He is uncomfortable, out of his depth for certain. Fleur is not ugly, but he has no desire for her. He cannot say why that is. "Such propriety, Monsieur Enjolras. We are to be married. Nobody would blame us an early start." She said sliding close and kissing at the side of his mouth even as he wrenches away, lightly hitting his head against the wall in his haste. He slides a little more away, his stomach feels twisted and her touch seems to be everywhere, she petite hands quick and her long fingernails seem more like the talons on a bird of prey, and she is trying to draw him into her clutches and if he submits he'll never be free, he'll marry her and be expected to make children and wine and rot on his vineyard until he is an old man who never did anything for the world. And that hand is on his thigh and sliding up and nearly trips as he wrenches away before she can reach her prize. "I think this is a mistake, I'm sorry. I cannot do this. I do not love you." He knows his is babbling, feeling strangely panicked over something he perhaps should want. He doesn't, there is no warmth to his blood, no desire pooling in his loins at all. He is not proud of it, but he almost stumbles away in his rush to walk away even as she calls out for him, says that they could work it out. Her tears are unheeded and later he uses every argument he can think of to get his father to break off the engagement. He gets his way, and he doesn't think about it. 3. His maman has that tight pinched look to her features that makes her look far older than she is, and she looks delicate in her fine brocaded gown, her hair in soft blond curls. His father looks as dignified as ever, brown hair gone gray at the temples spreading back, he looks nonplussed and Auréien stands there, is sure to straighten his spine and posture. He's made up his mind and at the end of the day, it is his life to act as he pleases. Though to be honest, they look more upset about this request than they did over Aurélien breaking the betrothal agreement, who knew that wanting to go to University in Paris would be the end of their understanding for their only son. "I don't understand why you're so against it." Aurélien says, his eyes darting between the both of them. Maman won't look at him she just looks primly scandalized and drops her eyes back to the embroidery in her lap, but then again, he method of dealing with things has always been to ignore them until they went away or until somebody else dealt with them first. Usually his father, who is staring at him pensively, rolling the wine in the bottom of his glass and humming with consideration. Aurélien is impatient, and he wants to pace under the weight of his father's green eyes, but it's not something a man does, according to him, he's supposed to hide his rush of emotions, too look always in control, so he folds his arms across his chest and stands his ground. "Will you at least say something father?" He finally adds. "Aurélien, I am considering, do not rush me." Is the reply he gets, the one that makes him hiss out an exhale of air. He detests the show of this, he is a man, and capable of being at the rudder of his own life. Has been capable sooner than this, but he has not rebelled against the reins in interest of being a good son. He grows tried of being coddled though, he chafes at the lack of freedom. "Marcellin, you cannot honestly be considering this. It is Paris!" She says eyes darted up from her embroidery. It is nice for Aurélien to see her so very impassioned about something, mostly she seems a demure doll, a certain lackluster shine to her blue eyes as though she had already checked out and everything seems a bore to her. "It's dirty and dangerous, a den of sins. Well enough for a vacation but shall we really relinquish our only son to the grasp of such a place? Paris takes the sons of France and corrupts them." "Adeline! Enough." His father cuts into her words with a quiet authority and she huffs angrily and goes stony silent. When he looks at Aurélien again his eyes are considering and calm. "Perhaps you can expound to us the reasons why you wish to go all the way to Paris? Have we not provided you tutors enough?" Aurélien nods at this and reminds himself to speak logically, reason without the passion that his father believes makes men blind to what is in their best interest. If he loses his temper than he has little chance of convincing them. Not that it will stop him, he knows in some innate part of himself that his purpose waits for him in Paris. Yet he would rather have their support than their scorn. His life is not dedicated to their pleasure, nor really to his own pleasure, his life is for some higher purpose though he knows not exactly what that is yet. Sheltered as he has been kept, he has spent his life on this vineyard and it is peaceful and picturesque, and yet he reads in books of the strife in places far away, the pride of his country not as bright as it can be, as it ought to be. He knows not what he might do, he is only one man, hardly out of boyhood, but he does know that if all the good brave sons of France stay safe, stay silent, hidden on their estates wasting their bright minds on business and personal gain, then what is to become of them all as a whole? "I wish only for the opportunity afforded all free men of France, father." He begins and his father always has a hard time saying no to the free men argument, his father fought in a war, and came back with a limp in one leg though no worse for the wear otherwise. "To see more of the world outside this little bubble I am in. To expand my pool of knowledge and to forge my own life of my independent choices. And I wish to be in the city, what other place am I more likely to see so much of culture in so small a space?" He asks lightly. "I see. And you are decided on this matter? Nothing I say shall alter you from your course?" That gives Aurélien a pause, meanwhile his mother is still glaring at his father's back like it was personally offensive. He considers before he says. "I am." His father nods gravely and settles a heavy hand on his shoulder in a pat, it is the most physical affection that his father is comfortable expressing. "Then to Paris you shall go, on the stipulation that when you return you shall take a wife and take over the business. I wish to retire Aurélien, and I shall not have my life's work fall into any one but your hands." He says with the air of finality. Still, it is not so great a price. It is at least one that Aurélien knew he would have to pay and has reckoned himself with, still he has bought his way to Paris, and obtained a few years of freedom to be his own man. 4. Aurélien has been at university for a week, when his argument is trashed in a philosophy lecture by some upper-classman with dark hair and a smirk. At first, he doesn't know what to say or what to feel. He perhaps has a bit of only child syndrome, he is not used to being disagreed with, not used to being proven wrong. He's used to being the smartest one in the room. Aurélien has never lost an argument, not ever, he's never even been close. He's sort of indignant about it, actually. So when he sees a familiar head messy hair walking past, his feet start to move and he follows him without making the conscious decision. The more he thinks about it, the more impressed he is. He's never been out talked, and he likes it actually. He likes knowing that here, he's not going to get everything handed to him. He's not going to be given special treatment because he's Aurélien Enjolras, big fish in a relatively small pond, heir to a successful winery, the town's own golden haired God. For you would think he must be, the way the people around him have fawned over him so. Not that Enjolras enjoys the attention, he'd rather prefer not to have it. Here he is just like any other student who can afford to go here, until he proves that he is something better. Something different. He wants to be made to prove it, there's a fierceness in Aurélien, inbred by too many years of things coming without the fight. He's never known what it is to truly want something, to crave it. He's always had it. Now, somebody challenges him and he's already thinking of a better argument, better points he can make. His mind is alright with racing thoughts and possibilities. "Wait!" He said. The other boy, the one whose face he hasn't even properly seen stops and turns to look. A smile curving his lips slightly as he stares at Aurélien. He stops unsure what to say, he wasn't expecting to be met with such an intense gaze from large clear eyes. "The boy from class again, you're not bad for fresh meat." Aurélien feels his face go dark and stormy at that. He is not used to being teased or called names to his face, he doesn't much enjoy it. "I should think I am 'not bad' for anybody. I don't see what age has to do with it." "Then you are naive as well as young." The older student says and the impertinence, he's never met somebody who so out-rightly sassed him. "And who are you to speak to me in such a manner?" He asks, and it's more of a question than he wanted it to be. "I am called Grantaire." He replies and Aurélien laughs slightly. "Your parent's named you Capital R?" He asks unable to help but be amused. Grantaire looks slightly less amused at this turn. "I said it's what I am called, not what I am named. And you? Or should I merely call you my argumentative Apollo?" Aurélien considers this a moment, this is the time for him to be his own man, to be known as he should like to be known. A reputation built on nothing save for his own merits, his own weaknesses and strengths. He shrugs his shoulers, looking at the hand Grantaire has thrust out between them and he takes it in his own, a easy shake. "I am called Enjolras." He says simply. It is the start of- well, he would not call it friendship. He and Grantaire disagree on every myriad topic under the sun. Grantaire is smart and sharp-tongued but blind and cynical as somebody three times his age. He wonders what has made Grantaire so bitter, wonders what makes the man drink until his tongue is duller with absinthe and brandy. It is not friendship- but it is something. 5. It is June in Paris, 1831 and Enjolras' tunic and waistcoat stick at his skin, his curls and forehead are wet with sweat. They've been out on the streets all day, all of the Les Amis, more family to him now than the mother and father he dutifully continues to write letters to. The city has been in a state of uproar for the few days, and everybody has caught the thrill of it. It is not the first time Paris has been in revolt, and it certainly shall not be the last that Enjolras sees. "Enjolras! You're bleeding." Marius says sounding distressed about it, and Enjolras' touches his own shoulder, the frayed edges of his clothes wet with more blood than sweat and he laughs. He is too high on the rush of the people fighting for themselves, for what is right. He believes in uplifting the people but there are time where the people uplift him more than he them. "He is mad with the heat." Combeferre scoffs and he feels a hand settle on his forehead as though checking for a fever like his maman did when he was small. It is so like his friend that Enjolras laughs weakly at the gesture, though he is often insistent about his friends not worrying at his health. "No, he is merely in a fever of passion for his Lady Liberty!" Adds Courfeyrac, and a little cheer of laughter goes up among them. Enjolras shakes his head, he had barely felt the wound, just a brush from the bayonet , sharp enough to open a gash upon his shoulder thinning out upon his upper arm. Grantaire, at his table in the corner startles into wakefulness with a snort of air, his eyes are dark and glassy. "Who is bleeding?" He roars in confusion. "Enjolras. He met the unfriendly end of a national guardsmen's rifle. It was truly a heroic sight. He was like Achilles, ablaze with passion, shouting louder than the rest, he gave heart to everybody around him." Jean Prouvaire piped up in the lull of conversation. "Why are we sitting around discussing it?" Marius says with a touch of nervous agitation behind it. "Yes, the Madame of the Musain shalln't want my blood upon her floors. I should think." Enjolras chimes again, and now without the rush of battle and revolt and people all around he feels the burn of open flesh, thickening droplets of blood snaking down his arm. "Somebody get Joly a needle and thread. He needs to ply his trade." Feuilly says and Joly looks dreadfully pale as Courfeyrac steers him by the shoulders over to Enjolras. Actually Enjolras feels slightly faint, and he leans back in his chair, letting his gaze fuzz at the ceiling, the roar of voices around him vaguely deafened until Courfeyrac and Combeferre tug him out of his ruined waistcoat and tunic. Joly got his needle and thread along the way and he's looking nearly as pale as Enjolras as he examines the gash, it's rather deep, oozing slowly with blood. Grantaire has wandered over as well. "Behold! Apollo bleeds like the rest of us." He says, the brandy in his bottle sloshing as he gestures widely around him. Joly reaches out and snatches the bottle. While Combeferre scolds Grantaire and tells him to assist or to be out of the way. Enjolras jolts and hisses as the liquor is poured across the gash. "A little warning would have been nice." Enjolras scolds them with a weak glare. "Grantaire, be of use, help hold him while Joly does the stitches. His hand is shaking like a virgin maid, I think it shall hurt." Enjolras tightens his plush mouth into a thin line, determined not to complain at the pain, to take it like a warrior ought to. Grantaire's hands are large and rough where he touches Enjolras' skin and Enjolras let's his head lull back into Grantaire's warm bulk, unable to look at the needle knitting his flesh back together. He winces at the feeling, again and again and again. It's awful and it takes forever, with Joly's hands shaking like they are. He turns his head toward Grantaire, for once just needing to be distracted, to think of something else. Many think of him as near statue-esque, but he is a man and having injuries tended to hurts. "You believe in nothing at all. Do you Grantaire?" He says softly, and cannot see his face but his eyes are nearly a watery blue color, too deep and focused for somebody as young as he is. "I strive not to. Belief is the crutch of the weak, of those who need a promise of a happy ending to make it through their day." Enjolras laughs weakly, his eyes are half lidded. "One day, I shall give even you something worth believing in." He says and he promptly passes out, it is hard say if it is the blood loss or the pain, or maybe both. As proud as he is, he shows no weakness even to his closest friends while he recovers, they all cannot afford to falter. Doubt is too great a luxury for men as determined as them. 4 Works of Literature on his Bookshelf 1. Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen 2. The Collected Works of William Shakespeare 3. The Republic -Plato 4. The Libation Bearers - Aeschylus 3 Relationships 1. Marcellin Enjolras & Adeline Enjolras Aurélien's relationship with his parents is a slightly complicated one, they both love him, as much as you would expect parents to love their only son. He is certainly their pride, as he has been brought up to be something they can take pride in. In his youth, his mother used to fuss over him as though he was a little prince. His father has always been quietly commanding and a little intimidating. The relationship has always had the bit of distance of people who do not truly understand each other. 2.Gavroche Thenardier He met Gavroche while out in Paris, actually it was the first day that he wandered into the Cafe Musain. The little scamp tried to pickpocket Aurélien, though he was caught mid way through the process. Too amused by the little boy he couldn't bear to report him to the police, he gave the boy a few coins so he could eat. He just sort of started to hang around with the Les Amis, becoming an unofficial part of them. Rather like a little brother to the lot of them, sort of a mascot as well, he's the epitome of the cause. Young and poor and tired of being downtrodden. 3.Les Amis de l'ABC These are the men whom Enjolras would consider his unofficial family, he loves and cares about them all in his own way. He may be their leader but he doesn't think of himself as superior to any of them. He is proud of all of them and loves them all as though they were brothers. In his mind, they are brothers in all the ways that truly matter. 2 Surprising Facts 1. Just because he finds no need for romance in his life doesn't mean he doesn't feel desire and attraction like anybody else would. He makes a very good play at being more statue than man but he feels things just as any man would. He's just good at hiding it. 2. You might think that Enjolras would dislike Christmas and think it an excess of money that could be better spent on making the world a better place, but to be honest, he loves Christmas. Saying "It is a season when men show the best of themselves and bad men show nothing at all." Though if you spent much money on a present he will be bad about accepting it. So it's better to make him a gift than buy one. 1 RP Sample From a different Les Mis RP where I play Grantaire Quote: Grantaire just shakes his head, his heart aches, that stupid organ that burdens him so. If it weren’t for that, he may be near content. Or even just to not want the way he does, to love the way he does.To need the companionship of his friends, to look upon Enjolras and want more than the other man could ever give. Even if Enjolras looked at other people with desire, even if her were not in love with France, his fond eyes would never be focused on Grantaire. He was unworthy, he longed for the impossible, twisted his heart into knots with want of what could not be. He was more fool than jester, though Andromaque did not know that. It was hard to explain. “It is kind of you to say so, but I am only the Jester. Were I not the jester, I should find myself completely without use. I would merely be the drunkard in the corner.” He said shaking his head, his curls falling across a forehead that was still sweaty from dancing. “I would rather be a fool with a use, if it is all the same. I am not free to go. I must stay, I am… compelled.” He said his mouth twisting bitterly around the word. It tasted bitter in his mouth to be honest, to feel as though there was no choice. If he left, he would come back. Come back like he does to his bottle. He will say no more but within a few nights he would crawl back to his mistress, and it would be the same with Les Amis de l’ABC. He is neither strong enough to resist the pull nor strong enough to even attempt walking away. Enjolras detests him, and he knows it. Enjolras would rather Grantaire leave him and his revolution. Grantaire would, if he could. He can’t though. He feels like they all have a foot in the grave, and if they all do, then Enjolras has two. He knows Enjolras would give his life for France, for his ideals. He thinks his life is worth nothing in comparison to the whole of France. Grantaire would not say that his math is wrong, a single is not equal to the whole. Even if in Grantaire’s heart, Enjolras is worth the whole nation and more. It is only that Grantaire doesn’t see the sense of dying for nothing to change. Nothing shall change, he knows that. He may be a lowly art student, but he knows his history. The people revolt and they are put down with shift justice, spirits crushed into the mud by the boot heels of monarchy. Grantaire sees no hope in Enjolras’ revolution but he sees hope in Enjolras himself. Enjolras glows from within with it, like a star and Grantaire thinks if only Enjolras would hold him, kiss him, if he could be with Enjolras some of that hope would rub off on him. He wants it to. What nobody seems to realize about Grantaire the Cynic, is that he hopes he is wrong. He would love to be wrong. He would like to be shown, he would love to see that it was wrong to believe in nothing. Perhaps it would give him comfort in a world he has always seen in shades of pain and sadness and suffering, with occasional flashes of beauty that is too fleeting. Though he breathes out and leans close to her, inhaling the scent of her hair for a moment where he lays his head upon hers. He hopes that he can give her a sliver of the comfort she is providing him. “A fair enough trade, mademoiselle.” He agrees readily. Grantaire is not sure if she will believe him, he knows not what else could be more proof than the way he stays, like a lapdog in Enjolras’ wide shadow. He laughs without humor at it. “I wish it were an easier to explain than it is, Andromaque.” He starts and has to stop, biting at his lower lip a moment. “Pray, do not pass on what is about to leave my lips, Grantaire is pathetic enough without others knowing what is contained in my heart.” He says and he knows that she will not, but he tells her anyway. He doesn’t want pity from his friends, he plays the joker so nobody will see how he is sad, how he hurts. He doesn’t remember the last time his heart felt light and easy within his chest. “I stay for Enjolras. He is— he is hope in a world that is hopeless, he is light in the dark, a warm fire in the winter. I do not believe in change, in revolution. But I believe in Enjolras. I swear my loyalty to him, and if he is to go into a grave, I would follow him. I should rather chose death than a world without Enjolras in it.” He says, proud of how steady he voice is. The words do not stick inside his throat, perhaps it is because the words have been long formed inside him, praying to find a voice, to be spoken aloud. . |
LAUR. 26. BEEN HERE. |
