Catchall

[winecasks]

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. ]

Comments

[winecasks]

[ He can hardly think properly, but he doesn’t need clear thoughts to feel how Enjolras’ words sting. There’s nothing new about his anger or his obvious distaste for Grantaire’s habits, but it all seems to cut deeper now. Though Grantaire continues to partake (out of habit? Necessity?) , he may very well never enjoy wine as he once did, all because of Enjolras and that single moment of acceptance. ]

You would sooner have me die of thirst?

[ He means to continue, to ramble in his usual hopeless attempts to lighten the mood, though it’s never quite worked on Enjolras, but he can’t quite manage. He finds himself feeling oddly ashamed and tight-throated. He genuinely does not want to be a disappointment to Enjolras, but that just seems to be the cycle they’re caught up in, and despite one fluke, they’ve yet to learn how to dance this dance in any other way. Against his better judgement, he takes an unsteady step forward, gaze impossibly soft.

He hasn't quite caught on to the fact that Enjolras did indeed follow him and see him playing dominoes that night, but it's enough to remind him all the same. ]

Give me some other task, as you once did. Something of use that you need done.

[idealisme]

[I'd rather have you live he almost snaps back, but he holds his tongue. Grantaire manages to hold his as well, a fact which Enjolras can be briefly thankful for. If the man ever showed an inkling of putting his vast knowledge to good use rather than drunken ramblings he might feel more amiable towards the rants- as it is he feels only disapproval towards them now.

He continues silent after the question is asked. His impulses have to be quashed, his predilection to verbally lash out won't help when the man is drunk.]

Go to bed. [His tone is firm, and there's something dismissive in there though he doesn't mean there to be.] Ask again in the morning. Sober.

[winecasks]

[ It’s true that he desperately needs to sleep. The only sleep he’s gotten in the last twenty-four hours was the brief drunken nap he’d taken sprawled uncomfortably over the table in Olympia. It hadn’t been nearly enough, and the dark shadows beneath his eyes are evidence enough of that fact.

He stays put though, either unwilling or unable to move, eyes trained on Enjolras. ]

It is morning, so I will ask you now. [ Though he isn’t sober by any means. He's ignoring that bit, or it passed right over his head ] Give me a task. Allow me to prove myself something more than worthless.

[idealisme]

[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.]

[winecasks]

[ 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.

[idealisme]

[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.

[winecasks]

[ 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.

[idealisme]

[There's so much in there that almost sets him off. The desire to argue tugs at him, setting his shoulders shifting as he has to contain himself. But the arguments are not made. Something in him recognises those mixed feelings regarding their friends- he too misses their company, their helpfulness, their personalities that he's come to rely on.

He too sometimes is glad they aren't here.

Then-] There will be something.

[Though Enjolras himself has no idea how to discover it. How would one discover such a thing? Imagine the effort needed. He certainly hasn't the time to spare on that.

A slight frown creases his forehead as he runs his eyes over the drunkard again. No, he doesn't have the time. There's already too much to be done.]