1. Rise up shepherd, your flock has roamed far from the hills
[ Grantaire actually listens to the whole of Voss’s speech. He listens, and he smiles, looking amused with the man’s proselytizing. When it’s through, he rises and gives a slow, sarcastic applause. ]
A fine drivel! I wonder, what good it does to shame criminals in the name of something which surely does not exist? Goddesses can inflict pain just as well as any human. Consider Athena. Wise and kind though she may have been, she still turned Medusa into a monster. And Hera—Zeus’s wife was not a stranger to torture and punishment.
[ He smiles still, but there’s a graveness behind it. ]
What solace is there to seek within the Temples? The deed has been done, the damage stands, the hurts have been inflicted. What good will it do?
[ It seems as though Grantaire has found some beliefs beneath the guise of his lack of beliefs. ]
2. The Cow One
[ The fog has grown thick when Grantaire begins making an attempt to get home. Squinting through the blanket doesn’t help at all, and it’s all he can do to walk with a hand outstretched in front of him.
Unfortunately, that means it’s a perfect setup for someone’s face to collide right with his palm. ]
Oh, hello.
[ He chuckles and smiles kindly, if his features are visible at all through the mist. ]
I would apologize, but I’m afraid it may happen again very soon. I’m not one to comment on the weather, but this is worth it. I shudder to think of what may be next. Fire is surely all that’s left. Then I would shudder no longer.
3. I Forgot to Remember to Forget
[ Those who see Grantaire’s memories will find most of them hazy, as though viewed through the fog of wine or sleep. The first may come across as somewhat dull to some, nothing of any particular importance, but it must be important to someone. It’s a somewhat small back room of a cafe, crowded by a group of students discussing politics. It’s hardly worth mentioning, in comparison to other memories, but one may spy Grantaire in the mix, listening to their conversations, but not partaking, a bemused smile on his face as he drinks from his bottle of wine. ]
—
[ This memory is the haziest. Half of it has already been long forgotten, apparently, because you’ve been thrown into the aftermath of one of Grantaire’s drunken rants. It’s fine; the rant itself was unimportant, but Grantaire sits near the window in the upper level of a wine shop. On the street below, a barricade has been built, formed largely of furniture and held mostly by young men.
“Grantaire!,” someone shouts from below. “Go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”
“Let me sleep here,” he begs, leaning through the window, his expression growing soft as he gazes down at someone austere and golden-haired.
“Go and sleep somewhere else,” comes the harsh response.
“Let me sleep here, until I die.”
“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”
“You will see,” Grantaire responds, his tone grim. He makes a valiant attempt at a few more words, but fails as the wine takes hold. He rests his head on the table and as he falls asleep quite abruptly, the memory fades. ]
—
[ This is the only memory that is clear. It begins in silence, though the room is far from empty. The floor is strewn with the corpses of young men, all of them far too young for the fate that befell them. There are twelve artillery men, guns at the ready, all aimed at the one figure who remains standing, golden-haired and upright, armed only with the barrel of a broken gun.
Perhaps unseen at first, perhaps assumed to be a corpse himself, a second figure, dark haired, lifts his head from a table in the corner of the small room. The sergeant seems prepared to repeat his order, but the second figure rises from his seat.
“Long live the Republic!,” Grantaire declares. “I’m one of them.”
He strides across the room, sober and confident.
“Long live the Republic,” he repeats as he places himself in front of the artillerymen and their guns, right beside the golden-haired man. “Finish both of us in one blow.”
He turns to the other man with a gentle smile.
“Do you permit it?”
The question isn’t answered with a word, but with a smile and a gesture. The other man takes Grantaire’s hand in his own, and deafening gunfire resounds throughout the room. ]
4. Wildcard
[ Come at me with whatever you like! Just grab me here or at muttonchops ]
Grantaire | Les Miserables
[ Grantaire actually listens to the whole of Voss’s speech. He listens, and he smiles, looking amused with the man’s proselytizing. When it’s through, he rises and gives a slow, sarcastic applause. ]
A fine drivel! I wonder, what good it does to shame criminals in the name of something which surely does not exist? Goddesses can inflict pain just as well as any human. Consider Athena. Wise and kind though she may have been, she still turned Medusa into a monster. And Hera—Zeus’s wife was not a stranger to torture and punishment.
[ He smiles still, but there’s a graveness behind it. ]
What solace is there to seek within the Temples? The deed has been done, the damage stands, the hurts have been inflicted. What good will it do?
[ It seems as though Grantaire has found some beliefs beneath the guise of his lack of beliefs. ]
2. The Cow One
[ The fog has grown thick when Grantaire begins making an attempt to get home. Squinting through the blanket doesn’t help at all, and it’s all he can do to walk with a hand outstretched in front of him.
Unfortunately, that means it’s a perfect setup for someone’s face to collide right with his palm. ]
Oh, hello.
[ He chuckles and smiles kindly, if his features are visible at all through the mist. ]
I would apologize, but I’m afraid it may happen again very soon. I’m not one to comment on the weather, but this is worth it. I shudder to think of what may be next. Fire is surely all that’s left. Then I would shudder no longer.
3. I Forgot to Remember to Forget
[ Those who see Grantaire’s memories will find most of them hazy, as though viewed through the fog of wine or sleep. The first may come across as somewhat dull to some, nothing of any particular importance, but it must be important to someone. It’s a somewhat small back room of a cafe, crowded by a group of students discussing politics. It’s hardly worth mentioning, in comparison to other memories, but one may spy Grantaire in the mix, listening to their conversations, but not partaking, a bemused smile on his face as he drinks from his bottle of wine. ]
—
[ This memory is the haziest. Half of it has already been long forgotten, apparently, because you’ve been thrown into the aftermath of one of Grantaire’s drunken rants. It’s fine; the rant itself was unimportant, but Grantaire sits near the window in the upper level of a wine shop. On the street below, a barricade has been built, formed largely of furniture and held mostly by young men.
“Grantaire!,” someone shouts from below. “Go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”
“Let me sleep here,” he begs, leaning through the window, his expression growing soft as he gazes down at someone austere and golden-haired.
“Go and sleep somewhere else,” comes the harsh response.
“Let me sleep here, until I die.”
“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”
“You will see,” Grantaire responds, his tone grim. He makes a valiant attempt at a few more words, but fails as the wine takes hold. He rests his head on the table and as he falls asleep quite abruptly, the memory fades. ]
—
[ This is the only memory that is clear. It begins in silence, though the room is far from empty. The floor is strewn with the corpses of young men, all of them far too young for the fate that befell them. There are twelve artillery men, guns at the ready, all aimed at the one figure who remains standing, golden-haired and upright, armed only with the barrel of a broken gun.
Perhaps unseen at first, perhaps assumed to be a corpse himself, a second figure, dark haired, lifts his head from a table in the corner of the small room. The sergeant seems prepared to repeat his order, but the second figure rises from his seat.
“Long live the Republic!,” Grantaire declares. “I’m one of them.”
He strides across the room, sober and confident.
“Long live the Republic,” he repeats as he places himself in front of the artillerymen and their guns, right beside the golden-haired man. “Finish both of us in one blow.”
He turns to the other man with a gentle smile.
“Do you permit it?”
The question isn’t answered with a word, but with a smile and a gesture. The other man takes Grantaire’s hand in his own, and deafening gunfire resounds throughout the room. ]
4. Wildcard
[ Come at me with whatever you like! Just grab me here or at