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. ]

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No.

[ He mumbles the responses pitifully as he slouches backward in his chair once more, doing little more than staring at his glass of water. He's wanted to prevent himself from disappointing Enjolras all over again, and somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, he knows he's just thrown that chance away. It's back to square one. ]

He disdains me. When I return home, he’ll disdain me even more.

[ It isn’t exactly true, but Grantaire is doing nothing to help his situation. ]

[She smiles, relishing the taste of the wine before finally swallowing.]

It’s a type of store. Massive, sells everything from bread to soap to... [She suddenly feels as though she’s forgotten every word this man might possibly know.] ... anything else you’d ever need, probably.

[She takes another large sip of wine.]

[ He drops his head, ashamed and exhausted. It isn’t often that he has the motivation to argue like this, and Enjolras’ retort instantly drains away what little ambition he had left. It’s like a slap to the face, and he thinks he may feel immediately sober just from how much it hurts.

At least Enjolras is listening. At least he’s paying attention. Sometimes, that’s all Grantaire wants, but how can he say no? He doesn’t want to deny Enjolras anything, but even small tasks so often grow into burdens that he can’t bear. He can obey this simple command, at the very least, and when he wakes, if he remembers, he'll ask for a task once more. If he's lucky,
he'll be able to complete it. ]

Nor will the wine, I hear.

[ Looking a pitiful mess, he begins to make his way past Enjolras, toward his own bed, but he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. ]

If I could force myself to sleep in those tubes once more and wake our other friends in my stead, I would do it. I would do it for you.

I would wager that there are ten thousand men named Maximus who go unnoticed, for every one that rewrites history.

[ He would know. He's gone unnoticed his whole life. What a maudlin thought. ]

A simple existence. That does seem like the easiest course of action, though tricky, I think, given the animosity that's brewing. I'd say you're stuck in Wyver, even if your friends desire Olympia.

Perhaps.

[ He’s willing to concede to that point. ]

But that hardly makes it a name that anyone can ignore, Maximus.

[ He inclines his head, studying the bottle in his hand. He’ll go where Enjolras should lead, even if it means walking through fire, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever have it in him to match any of his passion when it comes to politics. ]

In France, it was the monarchy. Here, it’s the monarchy as well. Someone is always quarreling about the monarchy. Neither the empress nor the king seem so terrible as the other side makes them out to be. Where my friends lead, I’ll follow all the same, the animosity be damned.

[ He pauses mid-drink and raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely fascinated. A great deal of what he’s learned (dragons, magic, witches, for instance), he hasn’t allowed himself to believe, but this almost makes sense to him. ]

In one shop? It must be as large as the Seine is long, to hold so much. How many hundreds of people must have to work there?

[ He pauses, staring dully at the bottle being offered to him. He thinks briefly of Enjolras, of how he’s tried to swear to himself not to disappoint him, but the alcohol is too strong of a draw for him. He’s already broken that promise so many times, it’s hardly recognizable any longer.

He reaches for the bottle, and even manages a small, but grateful smile. ]

My preference errs more towards wine, but any Frenchman would tell you the same. France is not known for its beer. All the same, you have my thanks, monsieur.

[ He doesn’t really seem to have any complaints as he cracks the top open and immediately takes an enormous swig. After he’s satisfied, he turns his gaze back to his paper. ]

Yes, you can keep it if you like. You can keep the entire book when I'm through with it. At least the pages will make for good kindling.

[She actually has to think about it for a moment.]

I've never asked. A hundred? [Another sip of wine; she's missed it dearly.] And not as big as the Seine, but maybe as big as Notre Dame.

My friends still sleep, but I’m hardly alone.

[ He smiles vaguely, gesturing around the room. It’s true that there are plenty of other people about, but they’re all occupied with their own conversations, drinking and laughing with their own friends, loved ones, or whoever it is they’ve dragged along with them tonight. Grantaire seems to be one of the few, if not the only person who’s come here to drink alone tonight.

He looks puzzled as Richie reaches for his phone, but doesn’t protest. He doesn’t have time to. The alcohol has made him sluggish and he doesn’t even manage the smile requested of him before the light flashes, leaving him blinking fiercely. ]

I was not aware that those devices were capable of reproducing the light of the stars on any man's whim.

[It would seem he has no other option but to drag him somewhere safe. But what kind of place would take residents of Wyver? Perhaps a hostel of some sort... if he must pay the damned toll, so be it, because he's gotten himself in, and it would be folly to bail now.

The trouble is, Sid is easily tall enough that slinging an arm over his shoulders will do nothing but lift Grantaire straight off the ground. Which leaves...

Sigh.]

...Gods have mercy.

[Instead, he scoops him up and supports him bridal-style, looking none too pleased about it.]

You're hardly in any condition to travel so far a distance, no matter the method. I'll drag your arse to a safe place if I must, but that's it.

[ All right, so that means Grantaire is, at least, from a recognizable earth. Though the monarchy ... Maximus knew enough to know that was a thing long since gone. It explains the manner of speech.

Though the comment about monarchies and quarreling is amusing, so Maximus has to have a chuckle. ]

It's the nature of war, to villainize your enemy.

[She looks slightly alarmed, then. Surprised, even.]

But why should he disdain you? Have you quarreled?

[It would be no hard thing to imagine a quarrel with a man such as Enjolras, because passionate men often say things that are not meant to be troublesome but so often hurt another, or they do not consider how their arguments should make them blind to the needs of others.]

[There are more biting words that present themselves as a response to the wine comment - but they'll wait for the present. If the man actually will go to bed and sleep Enjolras will do the same and when they wake they'll see what the rest of the day brings.

He's already turning to head for his own room when the second comment comes. It halts his step, turns his head back. A long moment passes as he looks in silence at the man. His expression must be surprised, though he's not sure himself of what is stirring inside him.

Agreement, surely. He's thought multiple times how he'd like to exchange the drunk for a poet or a medical student, or even a dandy. And yet he cannot verbalise the agreement.]

I don't ask that of you. [Realising over the time they've been here that Grantaire's death hadn't been some radical change of character has made Enjolras wary of asking things of the man again. The work can't be done by one man, by Enjolras can try.

After a breath he finally voices the frustration that's been building in him:] Will the thought of them motivate you to action? If not I don't know what will.

You don't quit, huh? I feel like I should've given you a dozen of those instead of the one. A guy needs to loosen up! Go easy on yourself.

[If only it were that easy. But Lancer isn't a person with the firmest concept of self-care or healthy coping mechanisms.

He does at least have a concept of what France is, even if he has to search his head for a moment to come up with the specifics in terms he knows himself: right, that's Gaul. Lancer bends to replace the lid on the crate after withdrawing a bottle for himself—what's the point in not drinking if you're in the company of someone drinking, seriously—and peers up through his bangs with a hum.]

I don't know a whole lot about France, but at least I've heard of it! Half the time I get a country name outta someone here, it's on some other planet. I'm from Erin myself. You can call me Lancer. Maybe I should've introduced myself before we shared a drink

[ He inclines his head, musing on this thought for a moment. It really is fascinating, and he makes a note to tell Enjolras about it later.

It’s a note he’ll doubtlessly forget, but something else Clara says brings him pause. Notre Dame had long since fallen into disrepair when he and his friends met their fates, and restoration attempts wouldn’t be put into place until many years afterward. The cathedral he remembers was far from beautiful, and he vaguely recalls the suggestion to remove it being put forward more than once. ]

You know of Notre-Dame de Paris? What an unsightly lady she was, too. How did she still manage to stand when she was crumbling to ruin when last I saw her?

[ Grantaire believes in so little, but somewhere along the line, he’s managed to accept that not everyone is from the year 1832. He’s been forced to. It's terrible, and he's inconsistent with it because he's so unused to it. ]

[ Grantaire is taken by surprise. His eyes wide, he flails so wildly that he nearly strikes Sid in the face by mistake, but he is, almost fortunately, far too drunk to be of any real harm to anyone. ]

Just leave me here.

[ He sounds utterly miserable, but his fight becomes strictly verbal. He throws no punches, neither kicks nor squirms in an attempt to get away. Instead, he just…talks more, sounding more pitiful than he does convincing. ]

Monsieur, just leave me. This is the safest place I can be until morning. Enjolras will not care. He disdains me enough as it is.

[ He pulls another person’s name into it out of nowhere, but at least he gives evidence that he knows someone, even if it is someone in Wyver. ]

[Gods, but he's far too soft if he's really going to go against those pitiful pleas. He can't help but roll his eyes.]

Bullshite. If I leave you alone, it'll be a matter of time ere someone either attempts to drag you away just the same, or you drink yourself to death.

[Besides, that claim that this person "won't care" is more than a little peculiar. More likely, it's just that this madness is hurting their friendship, if that's what it is.]

You can't even bloody walk. Cease complaint; we're leaving.

[And out the door they go. If he must pay coin to see this fool get some godsdamn rest, so be it, but he's already put up too much of a fuss to give up.]

[Oh, he is going to be thrilled.]

They restored her. She's beautiful, now. Eight hundred years old, and people still coming from all over to see her.

Really?

[ Congratulations, Clara, you’ve managed to temporarily override his inability to believe in anything by playing to his interest in the city of Paris itself. He knew every cobblestone on those streets, every alleyway, every crack in every wall. It was one of the few things he could be proud of. None of his friends knew the city quite as intimately as he did.

For once, he actually puts down the bottle, his eyes wide with fascination. ]

And the elephant? The one placed at the Bastille? Surely there was no restoring that unsightly edifice. It looked more an open wound than it did a majestic beast. But they built it well enough, a strong wind couldn't have knocked it over and prevented it from blocking the view.

The only enemies I have, monsieur Maximus, are an empty glass and the man who refuses to fill it before I’ve had my share.

[ It’s a simple, but harmful thought process. ]

If they thought the same, perhaps they might be happier for it.

[ But it's clear that he isn't happy himself. He makes a point to believe in nothing, but he never pushes that opinion anyone else. These are nothing but the out-loud musings of a drunk man. ]

[ He heaves a sigh, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the entire world has fallen upon them. Despite how likely he is to fall over without the support of the wall propping him up, his gaze is steady, his eyes boring into Enjolras’. ]

Sometimes I wish they were here for myself, because I long for their company. I want to listen to familiar conversations and gaze upon familiar faces. Other times, I wish they were here for you. They believe in the things I don’t. They could be of help you. You do everything alone. You shouldn’t.

[ He’s noticed. There’s no way he hasn’t, but he doesn’t know how he can help. He doesn’t believe in the things Enjolras believes in, and he can’t force himself to believe in them. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be of use—he does, desperately, but something in him always hits a roadblock. That’s when he just stops trying and starts drinking instead. ]

And other times still, I wish they wouldn’t wake at all. If they never wake, I tell myself, then they never need to learn the truth. They never need to know what happened to home and they never need to see how much uglier the world has become. The thought of them does not motivate me. It only burdens me.

[ It’s the sad truth. If they were to wake, he might be pleased in one moment and upset in another. His mind works in such a twisted fashion, it would take an expert to explain why he thinks the way he does.

In a rare display of bluntness, he speaks honestly: ]

I don’t know what might motivate me.

[ He continues to protest for awhile longer, insisting that he’ll be just fine if left to his own devices or left at his little table in the corner, even when the table far behind him. Clearly, these are all merely the pitiful pleas of a man who has had far too much to drink, but he doesn’t seem to realize that they fall upon deaf ears.

Eventually, however, it does seem to get through to him. He heaves an enormous sigh, wishing for just one more drink of wine, or to be allowed to walk on his own. Back home, he always managed somehow. But as he hasn’t been allowed, he decides that he can at least stare at the sky for a moment. ]

Where do you come from, my tall fellow? Do you suppose the same stars we see here are the same stars that shone there? I do not. They shine brighter here than they did in Paris, and with so much less to be merry about.

[ Enjoy that nonsense, Sid. ]

No, we’ve not.

[ To describe their disagreements as quarrels is somewhat incorrect, though not entirely so. Grantaire would disagree, but Enjolras would not. Grantaire thinks so fondly of Enjolras that any of his cruel words, no matter how much they hurt, are instantly forgiven. Grantaire’s mistakes, on the other hand, always stick. ]

I would do whatever he asked, if he asked it of me.

[ He slumps forward completely now, resting his arms on the table and his head upon his arms. It’s absolutely pitiful. ]

He never asks it of me. I’ve disappointed him. I can no longer repair it.

Oh.

[That's heartbreaking, in a way. Her hand goes to his curls, and she strokes him very carefully.]

It will work out, I'm most certain, sir.

[Because nosy nelly here is going to make it.]

[With a little bit of a laugh, ] The elephant's gone. A column's there now instead, the July Column. Looks a lot nicer, I'm sure.

[She wishes she knew a bit more French history, right about now.]

Edited 2018-01-31 20:02 (UTC)

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Catchall

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i mean im not gonna say he doesnt deserve it

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