nysalogs | you wanna revolution?

Entry tags:

les miserables: enjolras

you wanna revolution?

Who: ~~Wyver's Next Top Model~~ Enjolras (

idealisme) & now closed! Feel free to PM if you want to thread something else this month!
What: Forced into modelling, Enjolras makes the best of his situation. Who says fashion can't be political?
When: During the fashion show
Where: Wyver
Warning(s): none!

A. BACKSTAGE: closed to other models

[Men and women in varying levels of dress rush back and forth like the world itself is on fire and the cure is hurrying around with at least three coats in your arms.

Enjolras is not hurrying. Rather, he's standing to one side, scowling at the proceedings. He's hard to miss, dressed in a bright orange suit. There's so much effort being put into this, it's ridiculous. Being French he knows about fashion, that the elite in the world distinguish themselves through extravagant finery and expensive clothing. But he's never seen first hand the work that goes into it. Think of what else could be done with this much intense work!

There are others close enough to hear him sigh:] What a waste. [He's probably talking to you.]

B: CATWALK: A grand pronouncement

[In a happy accident, Enjolras' customary scowl is close enough to the thousand-yard model stare, enough that he doesn't look completely out of place as he starts down the catwalk. If he's walking a little too fast, that's just a commentary of how quickly he'd like for this to be over.

Except for the point where, just as he reaches where the catwalk slopes down into the crowd, he stops and declares:] Who is this man who is to be the judge today? The King's man? What should he or the king have to do with this? I withdraw myself from their judgement.

[In the heartbeat of silence that follows you might hear the original designer bursting into tears backstage. This was clearly not part of the plan.]

C: IN THE CROWD

[It's hard to tell that he's uncomfortable in the crowd, with people he doesn't know picking at his costume and murmuring over the colour. His scowl is as dark as ever, a furrow in his brow as he looks at the people around him.

From time to time someone will ask about what he'd said, and then the frown eases to an intense look:] This is a show of fashion, the judges should be those who are experts. Who is the king's man to judge? What garments has he ever made? Surely you must agree he has no authority here.

[It's not outright revolutionary talk (not that he has anything against that, if questioned he'll answer honestly), but Enjolras hopes that even a few people's minds can be changed today. Why unquestioningly accept a king? There are better options.]

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[ Grantaire is here because of course he is. He seems to always find his way to the places Enjolras is, as if drawn by a magnet. Other people might find it flattering or even a little disturbing. In this case, it can only be irritating.

He looks out of place in the crowd himself, poorly dressed in some sort of shirt with dragons on it that he’s found, not because he’s part of the show but sheerly because he likes it. He’s managed to swindle a glass of wine away from the more important people, and he has his own opinions on the garment. He won’t say them, but he has them. First is the fact that the designer has committed a sin by not putting him in red. Second is a deep appreciation for his ankles, which he keeps getting distracted by.

So much so that he’s completely tuned out a word Enjolras has said. He blinks, looking up. ]

Have you said something just now, or do my ears deceive me?

[A year ago Enjolras wouldn't have noticed, but familiar means he notices that the man isn't meeting his eyes and seems, in fact, not to be paying any attention.

Strange. That's one thing he's always found with Grantaire- the man is attentive to conversations around him.]

I have been speaking for the past five minutes. [If there is a hint of concern in his scowl, it's not on purpose. He looks down, trying to see if the man was staring at anything.

(It had taken a few hours to realise how queer he felt about having most of his legs out like this. He's seen others go about in less, so he supposes it's fine. Just strange.)] What, have I stepped in something?

Have you? I’m afraid I didn’t hear a word of it.

[ He looks surprised. He ordinarily hangs on Enjolras’ every word. He’s shocked with himself for having missed a whole five minutes worth, even if he doesn’t care about the politics of the matter. ]

What?

[ Still, he continues to find himself distracted. He can’t help it. ]

No, you haven’t. I’m sorry, Enjolras, what were you saying? If it's regarding my drinking, I have only had this one glass.

[The frown grows more pronounced and more concerned.

And he's about to repeat himself when (a minor miracle) he realises it's not worth it. He sighs, a familiar sound, and shakes his head.]

Are you ill? [A question he's never asked Grantaire before.]

[ He considers for a moment, weighing how he’s feeling in this moment. Not terrible, but not quite right either. ]

In some regard, I must be.

[ But he really isn’t properly ill, and Enjolras takes everything so literally. ]

In the sense you speak, I have never felt better.

[ Ankles are pretty serious, dude. ]

What is it then? [A simple yes or a no would never do, would it?]

[ Absolutely not. When has Grantaire ever answered something so simply? ]

Would you believe it’s the wine?

[ Grantaire is built upon contradictions. He’s already denied he’s had more to drink than one glass, but he blames his strange behavior on the alcohol all the same. It’s better than saying the truth. ]

How dearly I miss the Musain. Did you know I nearly had to pry this single glass away?

The wine? I've seen you drink a bottle without effect. [No, Enjolras will not believe it is the wine.

And he's quickly going to tack on:] Make sure you stay sober. This isn't the place for one of your rants.

[If only Joly or Combeferre were here. They'd know better than him the signs of sickness. Grantaire doesn't look any different to him than normal.]

[ He can make no promises about staying sober, he isn't sober, so he makes no comments about sobriety at all. ]

This isn’t the place for one of my words, but what of your own?

[ “Rant” isn’t the right word for what Enjolras does. Enjolras speaks from a place of passion while Grantaire speaks from a place of grief, too upset with the world and his life to even try to change it.

He smiles when he recalls Enjolras’ speech, though, like a man who’s just seen the sun for the first time all year. ]

It was a rather rousing speech. Is this why you chose to take part?

They offered two hundred silver pieces. I'd already agreed before I knew what the event was. [Even he must pay rent for their place, Grantaire. You know how it is.]

I want to see if there's anyone here who is interested in these ideas.

Were you dearly in need of two hundred silver pieces?

[ Asked with genuine curiosity. Apparently Grantaire does not know that their rent needs paid. If Enjolras would mention it, he would bring forward his share in an instant. ]

You needed only to ask.

[ Though in a way, he's glad you didn't. ]

[He's not taking that offer seriously at all.] The one who needs them is our landlord. I can do without.

Has the landlord not received his money every month of the last year? Did he not receive the previous month's rent?

[ He's not quite getting this. How can you not know where the money comes from, Enjolras? ]

[Enjolras sighs because... really?] My income isn't enough to cover it all and the money Prouvaire left will not last forever. I thought it prudent to earn extra however I could.

[Look you don't have to bother about this he doesn't expect you to.]

[ Grantaire gives him a strange look. Did Jehan leave money? He had no idea. Maybe he's just as oblivious as Enjolras. ]

There’s my income.

[ Did...you not know it existed? ]

That's- [Enjolras stops as he listens again to what he's just heard.

Bewilderment isn't an expression he often wears.] What income?

The income that I’ve been earning since our forced holiday to Nadril. Prior to, if I should narrow the timeframe down further.

[ He has a hard time hiding his smile. He so rarely sees anything other than sternness on Enjolras’ face. ]

Did you not notice the rent being paid in three parts? Yourself, Jehan, and me.

[ What.

What]

Where-- do you work?

[One of the joys of becoming an adult was knowing enough about the world and managing his own life to the point he wouldn't run into these situations. He hates the feeling of his entire world reorienting itself around something he had assumed to be true. In this case: Grantaire being incapable of sustained work, of useful employment, of contributing.]

The Dragon Sanctuary in Wyver. It required no previous skill.

[ It was an easy job to get when he felt as though he wouldn’t be capable of finding a job at all. There are times when he would like to walk away from it, but the company is typically enough to keep him around. Other refugees like to jump on the opportunity to work with the dragons, so Grantaire is never alone there.

He knows it’s surprising, though, and he’s not entirely sure if Enjolras is going to need a to sit down or not. ]

Could it be that I’ve stunned you, Enjolras?

You've never-- mentioned it. [He has to pause halfway through so it doesn't sound like an accusation.

But yes, Enjolras is stunned.]

[ He has no passion for his work, so he finds little to speak about it. Grantaire has few passions in general. He spoke with Jehan about it once, and he’s paid his share of the rent every month since receiving the job. He thought that had been enough. With a gentle smile, he responds simply: ]

In my defense, Enjolras, you never asked.

[The firm line Enjolras' mouth sets into is definitely the "you're right but I don't want to admit it" line.

But it doesn't last, he's still getting to grips with this. His face can't settle on an expression.] Then Prouvaire has not left any money.

[ He’s amused, but he doesn’t blame Enjolras for being surprised. After all, Grantaire is Grantaire. He isn’t capable of much. ]

If he has, he’s hidden it well. Since he returned to sleep, the other half of the money that’s paid for rent has been my own.

[Grantaire is capable of some things. He has looked after Enjolras when he was sick, he was a good company for Prouvaire, he went to rescue those who had been kidnapped.]

I apologise, for assuming otherwise. Thank you for your contribution. [That's the correct thing to say, surely. One must apologise to one's friends when one is in the wrong, however distasteful it is.]

[ Grantaire still finds it difficult to say he’s capable of anything. He has so little to show for any of it.

He finds it strange to hear apologies from Enjolras, a man who is ordinarily so steadfast in his beliefs. He may have been proven wrong, but he’s been proven wrong in regards to Grantaire of all people. Regardless of the circumstances, he doesn’t feel worthy of the apology. ]

Perhaps I should have told you before you felt as though you had to do this, all for the sake of two hundred silver.

[ Though when had the time ever seemed right? Enjolras always seems to find ways to keep himself busy or distracted. There never feels like an appropriate time to speak to him. ]

Prouvaire knew. He never told you?

He did not.

[It's still sad to think of Jehan, so he avoids it.]

You work with dragons. [There's an incongruous mental image.]

[ He wonders why Jehan said nothing, but only vaguely. Perhaps he asked him not to and simply forgot about it, or perhaps he thought Grantaire coming and going from the home was proof enough of a job. ]

I do. Do you require dragons for your political rebellion purposes?

[ HE CAN HELP. ]

Axel hasn't heard from Enjolras in a while, so when he gets a sudden text message from him, it's a bit of a surprise, thought not an unwelcome one. The content, however, is puzzling, and he wonders if maybe the message was meant for someone else.

What about fashion, now? I know absolutely nothing about fashion, I've worn the same uniform for like a decade, so I'm not sure I'm your man for this venture.

They do not need fashionable men. They need bodies on which to adorn fashion.

You have a body.

[ and you're at the top of his contacts ]

[ Ocelot cannot quite help but be amused at the whole situation. if nothing else, this was certainly interesting, and it's not like he really cares all that much about the entire situation. ]

Should the workers then not seize the means of production, and end all of this?

[ again, he could really care less. but starting a revolution in a fashion hall?

worse things have been known to happen. ]

[Enjolras knows that voice. He scans the crowd and... yes. There he is.

One day the Natha will see fit to give Enjolras a copy of Marx's theses. Until then...]

Which means? These craftsmen and women have worked hard on their work. They ought be judged by a peer who understands it.

[Molly, a fine supporter of both the arts, garish fashion, and the rich getting what's coming to them, is enjoying this, though not specifically that last one unless you count the fact that most of the models appear to be people looking for a little silver and showing off and being seen, which the wealthy don't need to do, and probably wouldn't care to look at the hard-working lower classes on any other day. Making nobility look at you and really see you is difficult, but this takes out a lot of the middleman.

Really, Molly's in hog fucking heaven right now. And wearing what had to be one of the more ridiculous outfits produced for this show (and he must have made the designer's life by being thrilled to death to wear it), that shows off some of his tatoos and every bit of the pale scars on his torso and arms. So you know, definitely not thinking any of this is a waste.]

Why's that, then? [Art thou high, sir?]

[To think, a year ago Enjolras would have found having a conversation with a blue man to be completely inane, and today he barely notices the man's colour.]

Think of the time and money spent on these ridiculous costumes. And for who? The wealthy. Tch. There are people starving out on the streets who have more need.

Fair enough, but consider this. [And Molly leans in because he cares not for personal space.] We're getting paid to literally do nothing but make rich people stare at us, and we can use that money to distribute to the less fortunate.

[He pats him on the shoulder.] Also if there are people starving in the street, introduce me and I'll bring them here to join us. It'll be delightful.

[Escalate the chaos- the Mollymauk Tealeaf way.]

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you wanna revolution?

C. this is the saddest thing ive ever written

I'm so #blessed

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A-ish?

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b...

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A.

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