clayforthedevil | the awkwardest slumber party

You're viewing

clayforthedevil's journal
Create a Dreamwidth Account Learn More

Reload page in style: site light

Bahorel half-kicks the door to his rooms open, and saunters in as well as he can with one arm attached to someone he actually doesn't want to slam into a wall (which is pretty well, really. Bahorel's had a good deal of practice being handcuffed. Some of it his friends even know about!)

With his free hand he waves around the rooms in general invitation, without specifying anything-- everyone whose opinion about this counts already knows where everything is, and that it's theirs to use if they want-- and steps aside to let everyone through.

And to let himself see the spy's reaction at the general dramatic decorating choices of prints and scattered oddities and bones and flowers, some framed directly by the door.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The Tevinter Imperium," Enjolras answers, probably to Javert's dismay. "In its later days. Joly had some thoughts on this lyrium of theirs, and of course the great question is how its citizens might overcome their divisions --"

Possibly eventually he'll notice the lost hat. But probably not. (In any case, he won't care, and wouldn't even if Courfeyrac were better at retaining his accessories.)

Bahorel cares about your lost hat, Courfeyrac! He winces in sympathy at the sad tale of its demise. When Enjolras pauses for a moment in his discussion of the Imperium, Bahorel interjects. "If Madame Bar won't give you a new one, I have a spare that should fit you well enough; it's got a burgundy tone to it, you know,so I haven't worn it yet." Black, only true black, since Halloween. "But it'll suit your eyes. --Ah, good, clean the plate! Joly's been intent on keeping our delightful guest in trim, but you see, he's too nervouse, he fears our good hostess, he won't touch it." In short: cluck-cluck-cluck chiiiickeeeen.

Joly, occupied with Enjolras' last comment about the Laetan, says nothing. But he does kick Bahorel lightly in the shin, because that's what one does, after all.

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows.

'Oh, were these yours? My apologies.'

He does not sound sorry. Javert simply sets his jaw at Bahorel's nonsense, and ignores it utterly. But he does fix his glare on Courfeyrac.

'Where are my keys?'

'They are here. I have not stolen them.'

He did think about making copies. Whether he did or not...wellll, he's not telling. The originals are returned with a smile, and Javert even offers a curt nod of thanks.

'I should be glad of your hat Bahorel, thank you. Unless there is some artistic merit in wandering around with the marks of horse teeth and grass slime on my head?'

Even if there is, he thinks he would prefer fashionable and new, thank you very much.

Also, sorry Enjolras. He will also think seriously about serious matters (serious in different ways), once he has refreshed himself a little.

That's fine! Enjolras can keep chatting with Joly while Courfeyrac and Bahorel talk fashion and tease the spy simultaneously.

Javert is the only one here not extremely well accustomed to having three or four conversations juggled back and forth in the same room, after all.

Combeferre wakes slowly into a lull in the conversation.

He gets off Enjolras's shoulder, noting with displeasure that Enjolras and the spy are still handcuffed together. Then he yawns, stretches, and stumbles over to take some coffee.

Perhaps some entertainment would be useful right now. He takes the remote (still an exciting concept) and turns on the television. He flips the channels, looking for something lighthearted.

It's only because he's still sleepy that he doesn't dance in place as the introductory music plays: "WHERE IN THE WORLD IS CARMEN SANDIEGO?"

It's such a clever idea, and so socially beneficial, and democratic in its effects. Plus, it's fun.

Edited Date: 2016-02-24 03:53 am (UTC)

Bahorel is wide awake, and he's definitely dancing! (Sorry, Feuilly.) And singing aloud with the opening song, cheerful and clear and entirely unselfconscious.

"Steal their Seoul in South Korea, make Antarctica cry Uncle,
From the Red Sea to Greenland they'll be singing the blues,
Well they never Arkansas her steal the Mekong from the delta,
Tell me where in the world is--"

Enjolras is not dancing.

But his glance of amused sympathy at Feuilly almost immediately transmutes into a more serious expression of quiet, glowing shared job at the message underlying the song.

All right; it's a ridiculous song, full of nonsense, overlaid with the peculiar instant translation of Milliways that makes it clear that the English original is thoroughly ridiculous too. It's a ridiculous show, from its illogical premise on up. And yet it's the best kind of ridiculousness, the kind some of his dear friends are so good at, as Enjolras knows full well he isn't: deliberate ridiculousness, in service of a greater ideal. Education, here. The free education of all the children of a nation, of any class, at the press of a button. And education in what? In the nations of the world. Global citizenship, global knowledge, the boundaries and features of every nation of humanity.

And here, Feuilly can see it. They all can see these children of the 20th century, eagerly learning, proudly displaying their knowledge, engaging their fellows in learning by their very play, never once doubting their right to this care and education. It's wonderful.

Edited Date: 2016-02-24 06:21 am (UTC)

Javert - tired, hungry, and grumpier than usual - stares blankly at the screen. What is this? He is not well-acquainted with any sort of television, but this is...

'Why is this-'

Just, why? Noise, music, children, colour...all right, perhaps it is a change from listening to these idiots droning on about rubbish, but he does not understand what this is about.

Jehan, disregarding Javert's half-voiced question, leans forward eagerly as the questions start.

"Manila," he says, in response to a question, and beams when he's revealed to be right. This is the future they all fought for: young, inquisitive, enthusiastic minds, learning freely and joyfully, with no fear crushing them. And in Milliways, they have the immense privilege of participating in it.

He frowns, and concentrates when the second phase starts, and they're playing the memory game where they have to find the loot, the warrant, and Carmen's henchman in order. "Not that square," he mutters, as the child guesses, "the loot is over there."

With a bit of complicated maneuvering, Joly's managed to keep his cuffed hand mostly free, hanging over Bossuet's chest while he sleeps--and Bossuet can sleep through nearly anything, even , apparently, very enthusiastic geography.

Which means there's a free human hand and most of a lap right now; apparently an intolerable state to Marguerite, who jumps up and loudly demands attention--only to jump down after exactly five headpats and walk out of the room.

Joly's beginning to wonder if he should apologize for giving offense when she comes back in, walking very proudly, with Meta and Tarsal following after her.

"Oh, how clever!" Joly tells them all, and holds out a hand to his own cats--only to see them go, with the persistence of their kind, to the people in the room who surely least want to notice them at all.

...There's a cat on his lap.

There are two cats on his lap. Despite the fact that they only barely fit at once; that can't be comfortable, can it? Who knows. Enjolras regards them with faint perplexity.

One of them starts to vibrate a purr against his knee. The other one is too busy butting its head against his cuffed hand.

Enjolras turns the perplexed look on Joly -- Joly, what are your cats' thought processes, and also why? -- and then goes back to watching the show.

Marguerite looks at Enjolras speculatively.

"I don't think that's a good idea," says Jehan to her. "He already seems bemused by two cats."

This is apparently not a deterrent. Marguerite gives Jehan's hand a quick nuzzle before fluffing out her fur determinedly and marching over to Enjolras.