Drink With Me {group thread}

[LIBERTE]

Drink with me

The first waves of attack are over…the men set up watch for the night as they prepare themselves for the day to come. They know what they face and as they sit among the debris of their makeshift barricade. They can only wait until the next wave of guards arrive and try to flush them out. Perhaps now is a good time for a final drink and thoughts of the times that have gone by.

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Please try to post in an order. This is a quick fire thread so posts can be as short as 150 words.

NOTE: This thread is no 'multiple places, multiple happenings' thread, it is mainly for the Friends of the ABC and their closest companions to share one last night of unity and friendship. For all other happenings at other places during their memory session, please make seperate threads in this same board. Other charries may join later, but remember, the first attack at daylight does not happen here yet!

Have fun!

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Night was now falling over the city, but yet Paris would not calm down, let alone go to sleep. The people were in uproar, their hearts and minds set aflame by the proud and courageous example that had been given by the ABC friends. Mylène could only hope this would last and would not die down like a flash in a pan. Since the way of the streets was considered quite dangerous, with so many guards and citizens alike blocking them, she had taken the shortcut over the roofs to visit the ABC café – maybe for one last time. There was something she wanted to fetch from her little room beneath the roof of the café, a sort of token she would want close to her heart once things got rough. A few skirmishes were already past, but now the National Guard was regrouping to probably launch an attack with full force the following morning. Somehow, even though Mylie was of course no expert, she could not picture them doing that attack in the darkness. For that they were too afraid of Paris’ secret rulers, those who only came out when the light was fading.

She made it to the alley unscathed and slipped up the back stairs as silent as a shadow, while on the front of the café, facing the famous quatiere latin, emotions were running rampart. The intellectuals of Paris, the very same her friends had been recruiting themselves from, were debating whether they should jump on the bandwagon. Too long had they been debating, but many of them were now afraid of actually taking action. Mylène fought hard to keep the inner struggle inside her at bay, her anxiety and fear. She better not thought too much of what could happen to those that had decided to take up arms. Best take it step by step. Be here, then return, and what tomorrow brings, tomorrow brings.

Once in her room, she quickly collected the velvet green cravat that had been pinned to her wall ever since the evening of the May Day Parade and stored it safely to her bosom. It might be a stupid notion, but only now did she feel a little more at ease, as if this simple piece was some sort of enchanted talisman. About to sneak back out, she suddenly froze on the steps as a familiar voice was calling out to her: “Coquine, is that you?” The landlord! For a moment Mylène debated not to answer his call, but shen she told herself to grow up, took a deep breath and emerged from the shadow. What had Enjolras said? The first step to a better day is to stand up for what you believe. There was a fair chance the owners of the ABC café knew of her siding with the revolution anyway, so why hide it? “Bonsoir, Monsieur”, she greeted him a little apprehensively and found him standing at the bottom of the steps, chuckling. “Since when so formal, girl? Don’t you have some other place to be right now?”

When he saw her hesitate, he held up a hand and shook his head. “You don’t have to explain. The time has come, hasn’t it?” Mylène nodded, still wary as she descended further. Next to the landlord she spotted two little barrels, the same kind she had used to transport the precious black powder the other day, with straps attached to them. “Alors, my girl”, the landlord continued, his voice suddenly taking on a softer edge. “It’s good of you to drop by, for there is a little problem I have. With my last wine delivery, I fear our merchant must have made a mistake. I cannot for the life of me remember to have ordered these two small caskets. And yet I just discovered them in our basement. As I am an honest man, I would hate to demand money for what I have not paid for, and yet this good wine will waste, if not drunken. So you see, I am in a predicament. Can’t you think of a way to relieve me of it? I am sure you know a band of young men that would appreciate getting a little moral support out of this surplus stock…”

Mylène couldn’t quite believe her ears and she searched the elderly man’s eyes for any hint of mockery. But there was none. Oh, he was a clever one! Inwardly, Mylène saluted him. Of course there was no surplus stock. This was his way of supporting the lads in the only way he could think of, without taking up arms himself. He was not the fighting type, he would never be. But he respected the young men that first had formed their grand ideas under his very own roof and this was his way of showing it. Overwhelmed by this unexpected turn of events, all Mylène could think of doing was bowing her head, entirely speechless for once. She took up the two caskets, each probably amounting to five litres and slung them over her shoulders. While she walked past the landlord, she heard him say: “Oh, and before I forget: this blasted uproar out there affected my wife’s nerves earlier. I am afraid a whole bagtful of quiches had to be put outside… they are completely spoilt.”

Grinning to herself, Mylène made a quick detour and fetched the bag as well. This, she thought, was why she loved Paris. People might not always do what you expected them to do, but they were doing other things you did NOT expect. Bless the landlord and the landlady!
As quickly as she could with that added load, Mylène then made her way back towards the barricades, calling out in a hushed tone: “Don’t shoot the crawling spider, lads, she brings something to raise your spirits!”

[FREDERIC ALGERNON JOLY]

The darkness that descended upon the barricades seemed blacker than any night Joly had ever seen in existence. From where he was sat he could not see a single star twinkling in the sky above him. Now was a time for reflection, and after his chat with Bahorel, Joly found himself thinking about his family. He couldn’t help but wonder what his sister was doing at this moment. Was she thinking of him? Joly hadn’t thought about his sister for a long time. The memory was too hurtful and he preferred to not visit his family, than face the pain and fear that came with it.

He recalled a quiet afternoon he and his sister spent painting pictures in the small back yard of their family home. The sun had been warm but gentle. Fleur had been bright and cheerful that day, the peacefulness of that afternoon had always remained with him. Taking a deep breath Joly held the memory in his mind, the feel of the warm sun on his skin, the smell of fresh flowers, paint drying and the smile from his sister. He visualised the memory for as long as he could, holding it in his heart where it would be forever safe.

There was a cry of warning and Joly rose to his feet grabbing his gun he raced to join his fellow men. As he ran his foot caught on the leg of an upturned chair and with a cry he found himself flying through the air. He landed face first in the muddy ground, a loud bang fired from his gun as his finger caught the trigger in his fall. Afraid to look, but afraid to not, Joly raised his eyes sheepishly. In his fall he hadn’t seen Mylie enter the barricades, but there she was and she’d brought goodies with her! He sighed to know he’d not shot anyone in his clumsiness as his eyes scanned his friends for signs of a bullet wound.

‘Right on time!’ Joly replied gruffly, hauling himself off the ground, ‘sorry bout that…just keepin’ everyone on their toes…eh?’ he said approaching Mylie.

[FÉLIX LESGLE]

After hours of fighting—quiet. But to Bossuet's ears, it sounded just as loud. The discrepancy between it and what had come before crept into his foundations and chipped away at his certainty. It made him uneasy. At least amid the competing cacophony of gunfire and men's shouts, there was no room to think, only to act. Now that the enemy waves had retreated, there was suddenly time to reflect, and in the face of all that had happened up to this point, even the cheerful optimism of the ex-law student had cause to hesitate.

Still, everything had gone more or less as planned. The novelty of that shouldn't go unnoticed. Especially, Bossuet thought to himself with a self-aware smile, with him on board. So far he hadn't been a Jonah; please God, it would remain thus, because he didn't want to be tossed out. He intended to stay with these men at their barricades until the end, whatever fate awaited them. He had occasion to glance across the small space at his friend Joly. Somehow in the mêlée the two had become separated, but as long as he was still intact, that was all right. The expression visiting Joly's features mirrored what he himself felt, and Lesgle wondered what he was thinking about.

He was about to shift himself and ask when everything was suspended. A minor alarm, and he was in the midst of scrambling to his feet when he caught the sound of a familiar voice. In the chaos, he'd lost track of what the ladies of the revolution were doing, but Mylène at least hadn't been idle. She carried with her two portable casks and also a sack. Wine and quite possibly food. Instantly the pall that had been cast over Bossuet's thoughts lifted. He also just managed not to laugh at Joly's mishap, but he couldn't suppress a grin. "Leave that sort of thing to me, sir, you know it's my specialty! Anyway, you wouldn't want to do the gendarmes' work for them, would you?"

Then to the group at large and the procurer of their sustenance he continued, "Ah, spirits to raise our spirits! And to prevent us becoming spirits. Well done, La Coquine, well done." She had certainly done her part, no one could argue otherwise, and the orator from Meaux had no wish to.

[FABIEN BAHOREL]

There was a down side to every day of revolution – it had to grow dark and evening would be falling after a time. That meant stagnation, and in Bahorel’s eyes there was nothing more boring than sitting still doing nothing – and, heaven prevent, think! Revolutions were a time for acting, and FINALLY his friends had put deeds behind their many words today, had roused the people and now Paris was in uproar – and hopefully would continue to be so after this night… one never knew the fickle minds of people. Today Bahorel had had as much fun as he hadn’t had in quite a while, hijacking the funeral cart, singing the Marseillaise and then directing the people as they had started riots. He had been one of those coming latest to the assigned great barricade, as he had been too busy tearing up the stones from the pavement to keep the soldiers at bay. How he loved those skirmishes! Hopefully they would come soon to get a little excitement going! A revolution was no revolution if all you did was idly sitting around!

However, he was beginning to feel rather thirsty and he was in the mood to celebrate the glorious first day they had just witnessed – best with a lovely girl on his lap that would like to hear all about how he had beaten up a few soldiers. But for now there was only a handful of people around,mostly his Amis and there was also not much to drink, even though he had gotten hold of a basketful of cups from the Corinth Wine Shop right around the corner. Cups with only thin air were a lonely companion! But then, just as he was about to get cranky, a light alarm was sounded, followed by the smug voice of the little barmaid who had served them countless times in the ABC café and somehow had been almost as fervent about the revolution as Bahorel himself. Did she really have wine with her?! It almost looked like it!

“Lo and behold, my brothers in arms, this is a gift sent by Bacchus himself!” he exclaimed, eagerly jumping to his feet to take one of the two barrels. “Quick, quick, pass the cups here around and let us have the first taste of our divine ambrosia – the first stage on our way to immortality!” With the blade of a knife he had used as a weapon once he hadn’t found time to reload his pistols, he levered the lid off the first barrel, inhaling deeply. “Excellent vintage, I have to say – I wouldn’t expect anything less from the Gods. Help yourself, my friends!” With a grand gesture, he filled his own cup, then stepped back with a flourish.