Closed Post: If at first...

[futaille]

Grantaire has seen the coffee maker being used in passing. He has not had to use it himself, as usually when he's in the kitchen, he opts for other beverages. But he knows he really should speak to Enjolras. And he also knows that even if Enjolras already has coffee, that coffee will probably either be horrible or it will have congealed into unrecognizable sludge that he will still somehow be attempting to drink, and that's just not acceptable.

So he's bound and determined to make Enjolras some coffee. It can't be that difficult, right? He grabs a bottle of wine, just to sip at while it brews. (Also, to fortify his courage. He's surely going to need it.)

On his first attempt, he has no idea what happened. Cleanup is a chore, but he actually gets assistance with both cleanup and strategy from a helpful mademoiselle with quite a bit of hair who explains the need for coffee filters, as well as the general steps one needs to take to brew the coffee in this thing. She's apparently taken one apart.

The second pot actually manages to brew into actual coffee without grounds everywhere. But upon tasting, he didn't use nearly enough coffee. Rejected.

Third pot? Too much. Rejected.

The fourth pot looks promising but the coffee is just nowhere near as good as he wants to present to Enjolras.

He finds a different variety of coffee for the fifth pot. It looks much more like it. But that sets the ratios all askew again.

Finally. Finally, pot number six turns out to be what he was looking for. He pours it into a large insulated mug that he finds in a cabinet, puts the lid on tightly, and heads off with a large mug of hot coffee in one hand, and a (now...) half-bottle of wine in the other.

There's a conversation that needs to be had.

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[untamedantinous]

Enjolras can likely be found in the hall that he and Sagramore were using for sparring earlier this week. The events of yesterday, while exciting, have impressed upon him that he really should be more in practice with his rapier than he is, and so he has found himself a dummy of some kind to go at, seeing what he remembers of his youthful fencing lessons and occassional bouts with Courfeyrac in Paris. It is more than he expected, but he could use some work regardless.

In any case, he's taking a moment to rest and catch his breath, seated somewhere convenient for a wandering Grantaire to find.

[futaille]

It's a swift search, as a quick glance at any room is easily enough to tell whether someone Grantaire has been staring at for years is present. And he spots him out of the corner of his eye as he's passing by a large doorframe.

He nearly stumbles as he enters the room, though, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with what a quick glance out of the corner of his eye didn't tell him.

A voice in the back of his head tells him to run away and save it for another time, but no. He put far too much work in to turn back now.

So he clears his throat and extends the mug. "Coffee?"

[untamedantinous]

He raises an eyebrow, both at the mug and the offer, but nods and wipes his face with a towel. “This is….unexpected. I take it you are well after…yesterday?” He hadn’t seen Grantaire out and about fighting; but he hadn’t expected to either.

The break in his practice is welcomed, at least, though his heart is pounding a little more fiercely than he would like it to. Perhaps it’s just nerves; though it is stupid for him to feel nervous around Grantaire.

[futaille]

"What?" It takes him a second to even realize what Enjolras is referring to¹. "Oh! Oh yes, of course." He smiles slightly ruefully. "You know me. True to form, slept through nearly the whole thing. You were probably in more danger than I ever was. So it's good to see that you're well."

¹ Enjolras wiping sweat from his face with a towel might be slightly distracting, in fairness.

[untamedantinous]

“Eh, they weren’t too much of a bother once we figured it out. But I am embarrassingly out of practice,” with a nod to his rapier, lying off to the side there.

“A break is welcome, though. Unless you wanted to join me?” But judging by what Grantaire is carrying, that was not his intent. He takes the mug, looking at it curiously. “Where did you find this?”

[futaille]

Grantaire shrugs. "It was in a cabinet in one of the kitchens. It looks like it will keep the coffee warmer for longer than normal, so I figured that might be useful. You know, in case you get distracted by something and you forget you have it, maybe once you remember, it won't be like cold tar."

[untamedantinous]

“I haven’t done that since we’ve been here.” That’s not entirely true, but small details. “…But thank you, anyway,” he continues, remembering himself.

“I’m glad you are well. After, uh, ….everything.”

[futaille]

He waves a hand absently, grabbing a chair of his own and sitting. "It's fine. I'm fine. I promise you, it's nothing I haven't become very used to living with." He smiles, slightly ruefully. "More glad you're well, under the circumstances."

[untamedantinous]

"It's not fine, but--" He shakes his head. "I shouldn't have pressed you about it, and I am sorry. I am --well as I might be, I suppose." Which is not very well, but --why is it so easy to talk to Laertes, who wasn't even there, and yet he cannot say a single thing to Grantaire? It's maddening.

"I did not realize how much of an effect ...Paris had on me." He gestures, ineffectually, but meaning to encompass 'the barricades and the last week or so in Paris' in that gesture as a whole. "You, I suppose, if I remember rightly, missed most of it."

[futaille]

"I missed most of it," he echoes with a nod. "Occasionally, I would register, perhaps, some sound, or piece of conversation, or what have you, but... yes. Slept there until I died. As I requested, I suppose." Something entirely too wistful to be a smile briefly crosses his expression as he recalls Enjolras's response to that request, but it's gone as soon as it comes. He takes a short pull from his bottle of wine.

"If you wish-- but only if you wish-- you can tell me about it. Our friends were... as good as men get, I think. I would like to know their final stories. If not now, maybe some day, when it becomes easier to tell them."

[untamedantinous]

Is that a flash of guilt on his face? It might be, but he covers it admirably well by taking a sip of the coffee Grantaire so generously provided.

After that's done, he sighs, and settles on his own chair. "I can say with certainty I saw three of them, but I --yes, maybe someday. I do not think I can talk about all of it today, but you should know some things, though I do not know where to start."

[futaille]

Grantaire notices that flash, of course-- there's very little he doesn't notice about Enjolras-- and places it pretty easily. Enjolras was the leader, after all. And furthermore, he's here and they aren't. It makes every bit of sense, and he has no intention of commenting on it.

"There's no easy beginning, of course. Probably not an easy middle, either." The end, though, the end he knows by heart. "Just... whatever strikes you, whenever it strikes you. Whether it's in five seconds or in five weeks. I won't be going anywhere, Enjolras." His voice turns a bit wry as he adds, "I know I'm not the most reliable. But at least it's this place making the promise for me, so you can probably at least count on whatever it is that's keeping us here."

[untamedantinous]

Well, yes, guilt for that —which he has mentioned, but glossed over; and perhaps also for his words to Grantaire before he passed out. It was, perhaps, too harsh. But he had been in a harsh state of mind at the time, to say the very least.

“I will try. It may take time, but I would like to spend time with you,” he starts, a little uncertain. “We have another chance here, and I know it is —I am not the easiest person to be friendly with. But you and I are the only ones from Paris here. I would like to take this chance that has been given us, if we might.”

[futaille]

He remembers the harshness, yes, but harshness had always been a part of Enjolras, and it never once affected his regard. It was rare for him to have given any reason not to be harsh, at any rate, in part by design. He'd already been weighed by himself and found wanting, after all, so why offer more to the one whose opinion had the greatest value. That opinion, after all, was much more positively swayed by far grander things than he could muster. Here, though...

"You, difficult to be friendly with? Not at all. Your friendship, though, is a wide brush. Fraternité, yes? What is a laugh or a game with a friend compared to showing your friendship and brotherhood by working to try to bring gifts far greater than I could even fathom? I know I hold no high opinion of those gifts, but I admire that you do."

He shakes his head and has another drink. "I know our world has gotten much smaller now, but I'm perfectly content to help you hold the memory of the larger one."

[untamedantinous]

“You are very biased,” he replies, taking a long sip of his coffee, but he is smiling faintly.

“—And thank you. We must, ah, introduce some of our knights here to cafes, I think. I did say you were the expert, after all. …If we can even figure out some way to do that here. It won’t be quite the same.”

[futaille]

"Oh, I think I'm only slightly biased," he says, grin sprouting brightly on his face at the sight of that faint smile. "I think I gave a fair accounting."

"As for cafés, that might be a trick. We'd need the space, and people for both staff and visitors. You're far too pretty to be Mere Hucheloup, and half the draw of a café is the chatter of the patrons around you."

[untamedantinous]

“Mm, no, quite biased.” This is easier than he expected. Still a little awkward, yes, but knowing that his cause is entirely separate from this strange mansion has made him warm to the fact that this might be a new start for both of them.

“We’ve space enough for a dragon,” he points out dryly. “As for staff, perhaps the cold boxes would be accommodating, they seem to work well enough.” At the last, though, he pauses for a moment, considering a reply. “Yes. Or the billiards tables.” This, too, is extremely dry.

[futaille]

Grantaire finds himself immediately glad that he's not in the middle of taking a drink, because although he certainly does not mind being undignified, he doesn't mean the undignified of a spit-take of wine. As it is, his expression manages to quickly make a winding journey from Did he just... to He can't know. to But does he know? to How can he know? to I think I might have reason to hate truth spells. to Deny. Everything. and even if Enjolras certainly hasn't made the study of Grantaire that Grantaire has of him, it's almost certainly at least somewhat legible. And probably hilarious.

"It might be a good idea to have a communal gathering spot, yes," he ventures, pretending it's a smooth recovery.

[untamedantinous]

It truly is, even to someone as blind to social cues as Enjolras tends to be. He is trying very hard to not laugh; though his eyes look like he might burst out at any moment.

“Yes,” he agrees, gravely. “Good for the meetings, too, whenever those might happen.”

[futaille]

For all that's not an expression he's used to seeing directed at him, he certainly notices it, and steels himself not to look sheepish, opting to reply to the actual conversation. "Clearly the only reason meetings haven't spontaneously sprung up around you is the lack of an appropriate space for them."

[untamedantinous]

He rolls his eyes a little, but it’s fond enough. “There’s plenty of appropriate spaces; but less appropriate subject matter. I still think they would be beneficial in any case.” They’ll just need to make sure all the billiards tables are locked up beforehand.

[futaille]

He shrugs. "It doesn't need to be focused. Let anyone who comes talk about what they want." A grin grows on his face. "If no one wants to talk, I'm sure I could manage to fill the time."

[untamedantinous]

“Oh, I have no doubt you could,” still extremely dry, and he shakes his head slowly, but still with a glint of amusement. “I do not think the mansion needs your version of the Marseillaise when they do not even know the proper one.”

[futaille]

Grantaire laughs, just a bit, and has a drink of his wine. "Now, I'm sure some here know the proper one." His smile grows wry. "That said, I have several versions. Which one are you referring to?"

[untamedantinous]

“Any one of them, I should think,” pertly. “I have heard all of them, I believe.” He takes another sip of his coffee, settling back in his chair.