nysalogs | Catchall

Entry tags:

Catchall

Who: Grantaire & OPEN
What: Catch-all for January
When: January. Just January
Where: Mostly Wyver with an Olympia option
Warning(s): N…one…? He’s a trainwreck but he’s harmless

1. Obligatory drinking prompt [Wyver]

[ Grantaire isn’t blind to the sudden shift in atmosphere within Wyver. Even within an otherwise friendly establishment, he’s watched from behind wine glasses and bottles as more than one patron is refused service for what seems to be no particular reason. It strikes him as odd, but he his head is always an impossible tangle of thoughts and words, and the reasoning has gotten caught up within them entirely. He hadn’t chosen a ribbon on Gala night, so he remains a welcome customer despite his fondness for spouting nonsense.

Grantaire doesn’t have a particularly strong stance on anything at all, but he is a friendly soul. To the next person who is turned away by the bartender, Grantaire turns, gently grabs hold of them by their arm, and pulls them down to sit across from him. He smiles, almost obliviously, as he pours wine into a glass from a bottle he’s purchased himself, and then forces the glass into his new companion’s hand. ]

There you are, my friend. Now I’ve served you myself, and your supposedly unwelcome money didn’t need to be spent at all. I don’t suppose any complaints can be made about that, do you?

2. Around Wyver

[ Though Grantaire spends a great deal of his time drinking, he makes a special effort to learn the city. It has its quirks and its history, even if the native citizens strangely can’t seem to recall it. Throughout the day, you can find him at various points throughout the city—surprisingly doing something productive. He’s acquired a sketchbook and charcoal, and he seems to be attempting to create sketches of parts of the city that he finds interesting, though he seems upset. He furrows his eyebrows at his paper more often than not, marks through pages entirely, runs his fingers through his hair in frustration and mumbles quietly to himself. ]

Hideous. Distorted perspective. Delusional Grantaire, they’ll say. He sees the world just as twisted as he claims it really is.

[ If you were to peer over this shoulder, you might see that they’re not that bad. He’s just out of practice and expecting miracles. ~~Is that anime?~~ ]

3. Another drinking prompt because this sad sack of shit [Olympia]

[ Grantaire’s frustration with himself has caused his spirits to sink, while his desire to drink has skyrocketed. He wonders vaguely if Olympia wine is of superior or lesser quality in comparison to Wyver wine, and in a thoughtless decision, he decides to put it to the test.

He isn’t as familiar with Olympia. Unwilling to leave Enjolras, the only friend he has left from the barricade, Wyver has become his new home, but he makes his way to the other city regardless.

The last of his money is spent rather quickly, and his glass drained even more quickly--more than once. Feel free to find him slumped over a table in the corner completely conked out. It's not a good look. Give him a little shake? ]

4. Wildcard

[ Just…anything. Or grab me at

muttonchops for a top level. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He’s not just a bit depressing. He’s very depressing, and a smile isn’t exactly the best disguise for it. He’s friendly, but that smile doesn’t clear away the sadness in his eyes. ]

Any company can be good company when the wine is flowing and the atmosphere is fair.

[ He doesn’t pour a glass for himself. Instead, he merely toasts the entire bottle and takes a swig from that instead. We’ve got a serious drinker on our hands here. ]

I should like to know your name, however. I may learn nothing else of you, but have I not earned that much?

It’s a rut as deep as any ocean. I’m likely to drown in it if I’m not careful.

[ He unfortunately lacks in…a number of things. Motivation, confidence, belief, and happiness, to begin with. All of this has piled high onto his shoulders and makes it nearly impossible for him to function like a health person. If he had his choice, he would abandon the sketch all together in his frustration, but he has an audience now with a much more positive mindset than him.

He glances back at Lancer, uncertain, but with a light and hesitant hand, begins to sketch once more, forming the lines of the minotaur with more expertise than he gives himself credit for. ]

Will you rescue me, if I should stumble in this endeavor? Or will you leave me to struggle?

[ You certainly don't need to have Maximus' powers of observation to figure any of that out. Were Maximus anyone else, he might even feel sorry. Well. Sorrier than he does, but honestly his pity isn't born out of concern. It's just pity. ]

Maximus. And yours?

[Funny that he should protest so much. As far as the teens are concerned (and Richie himself, incredulous though he is) he's a downright riot. The pack of youths all rip off laughing. A few clamor for more, gifted with silly words as the drunken bastard is. Richie snorts and pulls one back by the shoulder.]

Go on, buzz off. Come back around when you're old enough to finish second between the sheets.

[The boy blanches and his friends riot, laughing and pointing. "It's true, it's true!" they insist as they lead their red-cheeked pal away. They seem apt to move shenanigans to a different bar instead, but at least they'll leave this addled sucker be. Richie shoots him a long glance and delicately moves the nearest pint out of reach. The kids left behind half their drinks. All but two are near polished off.]

Did you have a fun night out? [Looks rather like the opposite. Especially since he was sitting lonesome. Any company he'd had seems to have long since taken a powder.] Might want to hit the john before you go home, you got a little... [Richie scratches at his own cheek in demonstration.]

It's Lucy.

[She smiles, bright, and tender at once.]

It is my great pleasure to know your name, Grantaire.

[She takes a moment, and turns, and the bartender, bless him, is already bringing water over. One for her. One for him.]

You must care for him a great deal, I should gather.

[ It doesn’t seem to be pity or concern that Grantaire is after. He drowns his sorrows in wine until he doesn’t have to face them any longer, and he has pushed away his friends’ worries many times before in the past. They surely saw his pain, but what can be done when someone clearly doesn’t want to be helped? ]

You have a great name, monsieur Maximus. Quite literally, if the Latin is anything to judge by. Know me as Grantaire.

[Ah, he's drawing. Lancer's going to consider that a win, or at least the first step on the way to a win. Look, it's even shaping up to be good! He watches with genuine interest and a little smile; this isn't actually the kind of thing he does often. Street artists tend to be a lot more upbeat than this guy. Well, they're getting paid. Probably helps the mood.]

I'll tell you what. You manage to bring the drawing to life, I'll slay the minotaur for you. That's about what I'm good for. Art stuff? Not that I'm saying no, but I ain't sure what to offer you there. I'm not anywhere near as good with a pencil as you are.

I am glad to know you, Lucy. I have been told that I am most excellent company, and it must be the truth. I cannot recall a time when my friends ever told me differently.

[ He’s visibly more than a little disappointed that the water isn’t more wine, but he manages what might be a polite nod. It’s honestly nearly indistinguishable between a nod and what could be his body slumping forward once more. His messy curls fall across his eyes and he makes no move to brush them away, but he hardly seems bothered by them. Perhaps he hasn’t noticed, blind as he already is to the world around him. ]

I care for him more than I care for myself.

[ Clearly. I mean—just look at the state he's in. This is a man who doesn't take care of himself. ]

They should be, and I should be among them. Death is the warm embrace, and life the cold, empty void.

[ Melodrama is what he’s good at, clearly. It’s apparent as he heaves a deep sigh, running a finger along the rim of his depressingly empty glass. He’s more than likely to beg for more wine before the night is over with, despite his empty pockets. That’s just how the cycle goes. Whether or not he’s realized that it’s a cycle has yet to be determined. ]

I’ll regret nothing in the morning, save for not having one more glass of wine.

My parents, I don't think, had any great ideas for me when they gave me the name.

[ But here he is, stuck with a name far greater than he is. He shrugs a shoulder and takes a sip of his wine. ]

A pleasure, Grantaire. Wyver's where you call home, then?

[Sid just... stares at him for a long while, the gaze as piercing as ever but somehow lacking heat. He's not angry, just evaluating. Eventually, he comes to a conclusion, and moves to put a hand on the back of Grantaire's chair.]

...Right. To hell with this, we're leaving.

[And if he won't disclose where he lives -- or doesn't have such a place -- at least he won't be alone at night on the streets. Not that he's about to spill his logic, though.]

Stand up, or you're getting carried.

[ Grantaire merely blinks up at him, struggling to find what it was that he said to earn such a response. As far as he can recall, he only said he truth. It takes him only a moment to concede, however, and he struggles to his feet. ]

I would sooner stay here and enjoy another glass, but leave, leave if we must. If you wish to return me home, I do not live in Olympia.

[ He sways dangerously, and barely halfway steadies himself with the back of the chair he was previously sitting in. If it wasn’t clear before, he is very, very drunk. ]

I walked here from Wyver. It was quite a long journey.

[That answer clearly does not make Sid happy by the face he makes. Carrying this sod all the way back there is not on his list of things he wants to be doing tonight, but...]

Have you no contacts in Olympia you could impose upon?

[Because he sure doesn't. It's entirely possible he'll have no damn choice if he's so determined not to see Grantaire drink himself to death.]

[ When the crowd has cleared and and their laughter has died away, Grantaire blink up at Richie once more. It takes more than a moment for the other man’s words to take on any clear meaning. It isn’t difficult to see that this poor drunken fool has had entirely too much tonight and would still drink another man’s share if given the opportunity. ]

The wine was fair, but I found the company to be lacking.

[ He admits, inclining his head. It nearly throws him off balance entirely. God, this sad sack of shit… ]

Which is to say there was little, none of it familiar to me, and none of it quite as I am used to. But the wine was a fine vintage. I have few complaints.

[ He blinks slowly once more, as though to steady himself and to clear his mind after that short rant, and reaches up to touch his cheek in mirror of Richie’s demonstration, looking puzzled. ]

Monsieur, I am aware that I’ve not had a shave in some time.

[He's already begun to turn away, but he stops. There's something here he cannot reconcile.

This man died, stood at his side and faced the national guard without fear. The man asks now for a task with all the eagerness Enjolras has ever seen in him-- and yet Enjolras suspects that eagerness will fade the moment the task becomes too hard.

Were they home he would ignore the discrepancy and trust his experience: Grantaire is unreliable and unable to be used as an aid. Were they home he might briefly consider consulting another about it, Enjolras is not ashamed to admit himself lacking in many areas, drawing on the strengths of his friends to supplement him. But he'd never have asked them something as useless as this. Were they home there would have been more important matters to consult on.

But they are not in Paris, his lieutenants are not here-- there is no one to help him and not enough to distract him from a puzzle he cannot make head or tail of.

Still half turned away-] Sleep. The water here won't kill you, I hear; try it. Worthless men can't achieve even that much.

[The reproach is out before he can stop it. He does not regret it, but he's aware of it's harshness. Perhaps it will spur the man into listening.]

Do you?

And does he care for you so?

[These are the important things to Lucy.]

[ Truth be told, Grantaire has never truly been paid for anything in his life. He’s the only child from a wealthy family and subsisted on a substantial allowance from his parents—and on gambling. His lack of optimism is something that has been long ingrained within him and just one of the reasons that caused him to abandon art school to begin with.

The effect that encouragement has on him isn’t long-lasting, but it does help to a certain extent. Lancer’s encouragement is helping him to at least not completely scrap this picture, at least. Lines of frustration form on his face as he sketches, the minotaur beginning to take form, but he’s never heavy-handed. ]

What a valiant hero you are, to ready yourself to slay a terrible drawing.

[ And still he berates himself, but he keeps drawing none the less. ]

A true minotaur would surely turn tail at the very sight of such a horror. Do you disagree?

When you talk like that, I can't tell if you're giving yourself too much credit or not enough.

[At last he sets down the crate he's been carrying; it smells of seawater, but when he slides the lid off, what's inside (at the moment, at least) is a cache of bottled beer. It's still chilled enough, drippy with condensation, that it's obvious he bought it in town. And there's enough of it that carrying it with one arm should have been very difficult—but does that matter? It's beer. He grabs a bottle and holds it out.]

Well, if I can't pay you back for this piece by slaying any monsters for you, how's this? You're gonna let me keep this, right? I could use something to go over the fire, make my place a little more homey. Nothing like a good monster for that.

A name is only a name. It can be changed as easily as one changes his clothes. I've been known only as Grantaire for years, so only Grantaire I remain.

[ If you were to ask him his first name right now, in his drunken state, he likely wouldn’t be able to recall it. It’s a good thing too, because he doesn’t have one. ]

But you, my friend, have been granted a wonderful name. It does not merely mean great but the greatest. You’re most likely correct when you say that it is unlikely that your parents had anything in mind at all when they chose it—

[ He isn’t making it any better, is he? He can fix it. ]

But men named Maximus do not go unnoticed throughout history. It's an impossible name to ignore.

[ Basically, he thinks your name is really cool, Max, and he smiles as he takes another swig from the bottle. ]

Wyver is my home, for the time being, but my home is wherever my friends should lead me.

[ Friendship may well be the only thing that keeps Grantaire alive, if the way he treats himself is anything to judge by. He’s a friendly man when he isn’t completely plastered, and he’s charmed enough people, but none of his contacts beyond Enjolras are close enough to the point that he’s aware where any of them live.

He seems to muse on it for a long moment, warring with his memory, but he can find nothing through the fog. ]

My only known contact in Olympia is this establishment. [ He gestures vaguely about the room before he has to take hold of the chair once more to keep balance. ] They’ve been extraordinarily kind. Though, that was so long as I could pay. It is truly a sad thing when a man's pockets grow light and empty. You're looked upon as a different person entirely.

[It takes a moment to even process what's going on, and by that point Clara is sitting across from Grantaire, slowly starting to laugh at the offer.]

My money was only unwelcome after I objected to the bartender looking down my dress.

[Not that she objects. However, she doesn't take a sip quite yet. There's something cautious in her approach, as she looks down at the wine.]

So you got sloshed alone.

[Definitely a misery binge. Which makes it all the sadder that his night was ending in a puddle of playing cards with a penis cheek. None of this seems to penetrate the heady wine fog billowing about between his ears.

Richie sighs and takes a seat next to him. He pulls out his phone, angling the camera at the young man.] Do me a favor and gimme a big smile, will ya? Warm memories of a night on the town.

[He won't listen to protests. The light goes off, whether Grantaire plays along or not.]

[ She may recognize him as the man who refused to believe that the enormous skeletons scattered across Wyver could be anything other than art pieces. He looks just the same, after all, with his hair a wild mess of curls and a bottle of wine in his hand.

He isn’t so drunk yet that he doesn’t notice her caution, but he merely smiles and settles back into his chair, taking a swig straight from the bottle. ]

Luckily, the manners of the bartender haven't sullied the wine. It’s a fine vintage, I assure you. I would be unable to distinguish it from a Parisian wine, if I weren't aware of where we currently are.

[That almost makes her laugh.]

I don't think I'd know Parisian wine if it slapped me in the face. I usually just buy whatever's cheapest at Tesco.

[Said as if she's still living in London, stopping off at the shop on the way home from Coal Hill. She doesn't allow herself the moment it would take to think about she's never going back there. With a guarded smile, she finally lifts the glass and takes a sip.]

[ He leans back in his seat, squinting as he attempts to make sense of her words. ]

There was more than enough cheap wine to be found in Paris. Not all of it was necessarily good, but it could get the job done when a man’s pockets couldn’t afford him to be picky.

[ Abruptly, he leans forward again, taking a sudden interest. Clara, what have you done? ]

Tell me, what is Tesco?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 2 of 4

Catchall

no subject

no subject

no subject

nvmd this old timey manchild is too shameful, i rescind this thread

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no no i love him let him stay

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1.

nah, kicks gran-gran out of his own open log

no subject

no subject

no subject