April Open Post/Catch-all

[pluspetitpoete]

Who: Jehan Prouvaire (pluspetitpoete ) and Various
What: Closed starters, reunions, making new friends
When: The month of April.
Where: Primarly Wyver, perhaps one in Olympia
Warning(s): Talk of death

Comments

HELLO I AM HERE FOR MY CR WITH THE ROMANTIC

[idealisme]

[It's unusual for Enjolras to suffer this much rest, but after barely staggering home the day he'd tried to leave the house, even he has resigned himself to the bed. He hasn't given up his work, though, covering the bed with papers and books that he reads and writes in between sleeping and coughing.

Grantaire has been a surprising factor in this, proving himself more reliable than Enjolras would have guessed. The man never strays far, so when the bedroom door opens Enjolras doesn't even look up from his book, assuming he knows who it is.]

Did you go to the market yet? There's a few more things we could get.

[pluspetitpoete]

Enjolras! [You'll have to excuse him if your papers were in any sort of order, Enjolras, because Jehan is diving onto the bed to burrow against his friend, arms around his waist, nose to neck, clinging tightly.] I heard you were ill, I'm so sorry. Do we have anything for tea? I could make you some.

[idealisme]

[There isn't time to process it before the man's thrown himself on the covers, and for a moment Enjolras thinks that Grantaire's gone mad. But no- he knows this voice, that hair...

He sets his hands to the bed-intruder's shoulders leveraging him back a fraction so that he can see his face. Amazement dawns on him, followed quickly by delight.]

Prouvaire? You're awake! Or is my delirium playing tricks on me?!

[pluspetitpoete]

You're awake and s, it seems, am I. I came out of things a little while ago, just in time to watch some plants and animals run amok. So I stayed to help, of course, and Grantaire found me.

And now here I am, with you. I'm very sorry you're ill, though.

[idealisme]

[He doesn't follow it all, his mind still in a weary fog, but that doesn't matter. There is only one thing on his mind- the thing which he has sworn to do for all the other Amis when they awaken.]

Jehan. I thank you. [Enjolras, who has kissed so few of his fellow humans, will add one more to that number. He presses his lips firmly to the poet's cheek.] My thanks are not enough, but you must accept them.

[pluspetitpoete]

[Oh. Oh my. He blushes a furious pink at the kiss, moving a little to sit up on the bed instead of lying on top of poor Enjolras, who is ill after all. He takes his hand instead, his nose wrinkled in confusion.]

What are you thanking me for? I've only just arrived.

[idealisme]

[Enjolras takes the poets hands with his free one, so ther hands are wrapped together tight.]

For your sacrifice at the barricade. For the courage you showed.

[pluspetitpoete]

Oh -- Enjolras -- [Jehan twines their fingers together and presses a firm kiss to Enjolras's cheek in return, leaning against him hard.]

Of course. I saw a chance and I took it. I can only hope it did some good, in the end. Know that I was thinking of all of you, as I rushed out there.

[idealisme]

[Every child receives kisses as a child. But there- this is the second kiss Enjolras the man has received. It steels him to what he must say.]

Grantaire will not have told you. Your death roused the spirit of those on the barricade, but the people did not join us. The National Guard paid dearly, but what they lacked in spirit they made up for in numbers.

[Enjolras' spirit is high, despite his sickness. He has Jehan with him now, after all. But there is still a sadness in him. Their revolution had failed.]

[pluspetitpoete]

I'm so sorry. [He wraps his arms tightly around his friend, nose against his neck, clinging to him desperately, tears in his eyes.] I'm so sorry it didn't work. I wanted so very badly for us to succeed, I was so certain we would. I wish I could have done more.

[idealisme]

[He accepts the embrace once more. He lacks the impulse for how to respond, so unused is he to receiving them.]

I have- met others, Jehan. From the future of France. Men who spoke of her future, and of the republic she becomes. [Perhaps it is all right to wrap his own arms around the poet.] The future vindicates us, Jehan.

[pluspetitpoete]

Then at least we made a difference, even if it took time. [He sniffles against Enjolras's shoulder, rubbing his hand over his friend's back more to comfort himself than anything. It's a lot to take in, and he's only just arrived, but he's glad to know that something they did helped encourage others along the way. After a moment, he hiccups a little and tries to smile] And here you are, terribly ill and still trying to plan things, it seems. And I've gone and disturbed all your notes.

[idealisme]

[What a strange thing an embrace is, to someone who has seldom experienced them. How to hold one's hands, where to put one's head, the singular uncertainty about being so physically close to another.]

My illness has disturbed my notes. Your presence sets my mind in order.