You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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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
PAINFUL NOISES
When he finds himself in this memory he thinks it is a dream. He doesn't question that he sees things as though he is Grantaire, watching himself fold his arms in defiance of the guards. There is still so much life in that frame, he thinks absently. There is no trace of fear, though he remembers how he felt and fought against it.
Then comes the expected (still unexpected!) cry. How strange to watch his own expression of surprise! Where is the relief he felt, because all he sees now is pleasure, a fond smile- the opening of the mouth (he has been told many times how disdainful his lower lip is. There is no disdain there now) but the gunfire cuts off his reply.
There's silence then, as his bedroom returns. He stares unseeingly across the room. Is it the sickness or the memory which make him sigh so heavily? He cannot help but finish the interrupted thought his memory-self:] Gladly, with all my heart.
[Is there someone else present? He has not realised it.]
wOW SAME
He shouldn’t watch the scene with a smile, but he does. He always did say that life was meaningless, but his death felt like it had meaning. He didn’t die for the revolution, but he died for something. He didn’t die alone, and he didn’t die friendless. He died accepted, by Enjolras' side. Perhaps it wasn't heroic, perhaps he didn't fight, but it wasn't nothing.
When the shots fire out, he feels a brief moment of dread. Don’t leave me here alone, his panicked thoughts begin to intrude, but when the room reappears and Enjolras is still there, his expression softens once more.
The only trouble is, he’s forgotten that he’s still holding a handful of papers, pilfered from Enjolras’ bed while he slept. ]
I understand I’m a nuisance. Do you regret it?
[ He knows that not much has changed, after all. Grantaire is still Grantaire, a staunch nonbeliever and an excessive drinker, still poorly motivated and lacking in ambition. He still hates himself, but still watches Enjolras with that same impossibly tender gaze. If he could will himself to become what Enjolras wished him to be, he would do it in an instant, but it doesn’t work that way. ]
incoherent sounds
He hears the question, mulling it over almost abstractly. His usual clarity of thought is muddled, working in circles where he intends to go in straight lines.
There had been a promise in that death. I'm one of them, is what the drunk had said, and Enjolras had thought he knew what it meant.]
I thought you would be different. I expected it. A miracle, I told myself. A man changed by revolution. Even you could not be so indifferent to not see what was being done here. [A pause. No, not here.] There.
same.......
He gazes, and he listens. ]
From the time I found your group, I attended every meeting. I saw and understood what was being done. Why is it you think I can speak of Rousseau and Robespierre and Danton? Of the Social Contract? I know as much of Revolution as the rest of you, but is there not a separation between understanding and believing?
[ He can tell that Enjolras isn’t at his best, and he glances at him to be sure he’s following. Taking off on one of his usual rants may not be the best choice of action at the moment. ]
I wanted to be among you. To live or to die among you.
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Why not make more effort on the barricade? Why ask permission to die if he hadn't asked permission to live? Why was he holding those papers? Hm, another deep sigh, interrupted by a cough.]
It was enough, just to be among us. To die without believing in the future that we all fought for. [Speaking it aloud doesn't bring it any closer. Frowning at the man doesn't help either, though it feels comfortable and familiar enough.] And here you are again. It's a shame you've only me for company. Combeferre would humour your better. Jolllly and Bossuet would encourage you more.
[Perhaps he's met Jehan already and forgotten. Perhaps he hasn't met him yet. Either way, he doesn't think of him now. It's been the two of them for long enough.]
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we talked about this so u know
It's mean to be a routine sort of visit, a simple stop by to say hello and inquire about the health of his friend. Until, at least, Loras finds that he's not anywhere that looks remotely like Wyver or the little homes they all live in. And, truly, he has no idea what's happening except that he recognizes the look of soldiers when he sees them (not Wyver soldiers, though), and he recognizes both Grantaire and Enjolras. He's about to do something, say something or try somehow to help, but the gunfire hits before he can.
The sound is unlike anything Loras has heard before. When it stops, he's sure his ears are still ringing, and he looks around, confused and startled as to what's happening. ]
I DO KNOW
He gets along well with Loras, so a visit is not unwelcome or entirely unexpected. He just hadn’t expected Loras to visit at this exact moment. The memories have been playing throughout the day, and Grantaire wishes he had some cynical explanation for them, but he hasn’t bothered to create one. He’s happy to see these moments again, happy to see his friends with smiles on their faces and fire in their eyes.
It’s clearly a little more off-putting for other people to see you die, though. When he becomes aware that Loras has seen it as well, he places a gentle hand on his shoulder, smiling reassuringly. ]
It’s nothing to be concerned with.
[ He’s clearly not concerned. To some, death is cruel, but to Grantaire, it had been sweet. The gunfire couldn’t have startled him, so long as Enjolras is still in the room when the memory fades. ]
It happened before. We never even saw the Storm. If I had been expecting you, I would have tried to spare you my reminiscing. Are you alright?
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He realizes, by Grantaire's words, that he must look a little stunned. ]
Yes, yes, I'm fine. I suppose ... Some might say it's lucky, not to have experienced the storm.
[ He pauses, and the words come before he has much time to think of them. ]
At least you died together.
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Still, it must be a little alarming to someone else. He forgets sometimes that Loras is a knight, not of the same place or time as him. Part of him would like to forget, simply because it’s easier to continue to doubt. ]
I was fortunate.
[ Fortunate not to have been turned away, fortunate not to have been turned away. He smiles gently. ]
And fortunate to relive it today, but I can’t say as much for you. One gunshot is loud enough. Twelve at once is deafening. The ringing in your ears will pass—I think.
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[ Forgive Loras for looking a bit incredulous. He can't imagine the thought of reliving his own death to be fortunate, or reliving any death, at that. ]
t was quick, at least? [ Loras can appreciate a quick death. ]
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forgetting
So to see this, to hear the acrid smell of gunpowder smoke and the coppery tinge of blood, to see bodies lined up in cramped cobblestone streets, it fills her with a sorrow that she hasn't often felt before, perhaps not since the death of her mother.
Diana feels like an observer; people don't recognize her, don't acknowledge her, just move past her as she stands here. She does recognize the young man slumped over a table, she recognizes the one with the blond hair who stands fiercely.
When the soldiers are about to shoot, she holds out a hand, reaching for her wand--] No, wait!
[But of course they don't hear her. It's just a memory.]
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He hears Diana’s voice over the fading gunshots as the memory dissolves, and he blinks, turning to look at her with a slightly amused expression on his face. ]
It seems as though my reminiscing has gone more wild than I first anticipated. Not that they wouldn’t have waited, even if it were happening here an now.
[ Where are his cynicisms? He has voiced so few of them today. Seeing memories of his friends replayed before his eyes has been enough to stave them for now, and seeing the hostages some weeks back—that did something to him, even if he tries not to think about it. ]
Enjolras asked them to shoot him.
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Surely this-- surely it could have been resolved peacefully!
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I can name no revolutions which were resolved peacefully. If they’ve existed, I have never heard a word of them, or they only existed long after our deaths.
[ He took no part in the fighting, but he sat in on months of meetings and months of planning. He understood how it worked just as well as his friends did. They armed themselves as much as they could, after all. There was always the expectation of violence. Grantaire, the eternal pessimist, always expected their side to die. ]
Revolutionaries are malefactors and lawbreakers of a high degree. The government they’ve risen up against cannot change the opinions of such an impassioned sort, so they cannot be permitted to live. Not if the revolution has failed.
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[She looks around, at the violence, at the blurred memory paused at the moment of Grantaire's death (for of course, he could have known nothing of what happened afterwards).] This is senseless.
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2;
Hello?
[Wait, she knows that voice-]
Grantaire?
[Now she's swinging her hand a little, and then she feels - is that a face?]
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It’s very possible that I might be, but I’m beginning to doubt even my own self with this fog.
[ He laughs, good humored and unruffled, clasping her hand gently between his own. He has to take a brief moment to place her voice, but he smiles when he manages to pinpoint it. ]
Could that be Lucy, or do my ears deceive me? My eyes can't deceive me, after all, so it may be my ears have chosen to step up and do the work for them.
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[She's giggling, her hands in his, and she's tugging herself near him. Oh, yes, it must be him, because she's close to him now.]
How grateful I am to have found you!
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[ Always the self-deprecating one, but his smile doesn’t fade as her face comes into view. ]
Though it may be best to find those we’re familiar with in this weather. I’m certainly pleased to see what little of you I can.
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[Her hand is up right in his hair, tugging gently on a curl, the spiral twisting around her finger.]
Hello.
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3. you know which one
and yet, in the scene that plays out in front of her eyes, all around her, it's more than that. there is meaning. Grantaire (for she recognizes him easy enough) walks with purpose, speaks with purpose. she thinks she's never heard him sound like that, before.
and Enjolras (for she recognizes him, too, perhaps even easier — there is no one quite like him) smiles, seconds before their lives are over. ]
... so this is how you died.
[ does she know she's not watching this alone? perhaps, perhaps not. perhaps her words are directed to both the men who have just been gunned down. ]
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He watches it play out with a soft expression, his eyes never on the ghost of himself, but on Enjolras. Enjolras scowls more than he smiles, and to have been granted a smile along with acceptance in his last moments—it’s no wonder Grantaire thinks so fondly of this moment.
When it fades, he isn’t startled, but he is surprised to find Sansa watching along with him. Grantaire smiles, his usual half-amused, half-sad smile. ]
Some deaths are sweet, and I do not regret mine, but I don’t think quite so many artillerymen were necessary. Half of them wasted their bullets finishing the job, surely.
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Perhaps, [ she agrees, tilting her head. there's a thought forming in her mind, one she'd been puzzling over long before this, one that had so confused her before — why would Grantaire, whenever he spoke of Enjolras, speak of him so highly when Enjolras in turn seemed to think little of him?
but the memory has made her sight clearer. the way Grantaire had moved, with singular purpose. the way he spoke, but more so the way his eyes had been fixed on Enjolras, the way he'd walked to his death like his life didn't even matter. ]
You died for him, didn't you? Not for the cause, not for what he believed in. [ she's heard him speak enough to know Enjolras' cause. ] You died so he wouldn't die alone.
[ and that you wouldn't live alone. ]
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I felt no rage or ire toward the monarchy of France. I never felt Louis Philippe was worth the trouble of a revolution.
[ Or the trouble of the inevitable deaths of his friends. ]
No, it’s true, that did not change. I had no sudden change of heart.
[ He doesn’t know if Enjolras quite understands, and if he does, he won’t speak of it at any sort of length. Perhaps he’s disappointed, or perhaps he wants to cling to the belief that Grantaire had died for the cause.
He hardly had time to think when he woke to the artillerymen, but the silence told him everything he needed to know. He would be faced with an empty world: a world without his friends, a world without Enjolras. ]
I believed in him, I followed him, and you speak true, mademoiselle. I did die for him.