clayforthedevil

A Decent Story In It Somewhere

2016-11-19T22:48:02Z

Bahorel charges ahead of Enjolras and into the red-walled caverns he shares with Prouvaire, still bouncing from the recent adventure. He charges in not because he's in any hurry, but because if he doesn't charge everywhere right now he's going to start shouting even more loudly than he already has been on the way down the hall.

"--but then the beast doesn't even stay around to laugh at us? Unkind! And showing no sense of-- ah! Jehan! Did you leave too? We've been away for months--at least on our side--how far did you wander?"

Jehan is in a costume that might be called medieval, if someone had only a general idea of what medieval dress was like, based mostly on illustrations. It involves a liripipe, to the apparent delight of little Marguerite.

But Bahorel's not wearing anything less picturesque at the moment. More unusually, neither is Enjolras. Bahorel, at least, is delightedly aware that they also both look like they stepped out of a fantasy story, and even more delighted that they have.

comments

it's got teeth

2016-06-14T03:01:49Z

Oh, it's the transformation holiday again! Bahorel owes the aliens who started it a drink, if he ever meets any. He studies his choices for a moment, and then heads back up to his room to do a few last minute bits of preparation.

When he comes back down, he's got a handful of old sketchbooks, art scraps, and various bits of carving that he throws into the fire before heading back to the Bar. He sets a long needle, its end capped in a bit of cork, off to the side along with a good length of thread. And taps the viewscreen.

And then there's a grasshopper mouse sitting perched on the Bar.

A few seconds later, there's a grasshopper mouse with a sword--or at least a very sharp needle-- neatly slung over its shoulder.

comments

Photographs and Memory

2016-04-23T12:32:20Z

Bahorel stops by Feuilly's room not too long after the weekend he can't remember, a small paper packet held lightly in one hand. He's in a fairly thoughtful mood, so he knocks extra loudly.

comments

the awkwardest slumber party

2016-02-15T02:24:39Z

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.

comments

Mutant Monster Snow Goons

2016-01-14T16:30:05Z

Milliways gets a lot of snow; a lot of wonderfully cooperative, snow-sculpture-friendly snow. It practically demands to be converted into snowmen.

Bahorel isn't one to ignore the demands of the populace; if they want to rise up, he'll certainly oblige. If the nature of the populace arising from the snow seems to be mostly things a little heavy on the extra limbs and peculiar in the dimensions, hey, no one can help how they're created. Especially not the multiheadedsnow beast currently acquiring a new hole where its heart should be, if multiheaded snowbeasts have predicatable anatomy at all.

That's a question for the scientists. Bahorel being none of that, his current concern is how much he can hollow out the torso before the whole thing caves in under the weight of its own heads. It's probably metaphorical somehow.

comments

Joyeux Noël

2015-12-25T05:10:49Z

The rooms Prouvaire and Bahorel share are large, even cavernous, on account of being a cavern. Resilient, rock, and very, very red, decked in several clashing traditions' worth of holiday decorations, the rooms already echo with the sounds of holiday parties--though perhaps of a slightly rougher sort than vistors from later centuries will recognize.

comments

Christmas gifts

2015-12-24T06:29:46Z

Gavroche gets a sketched out map of Paris, from back in their year, with a few of the less-than-official landmarks that anyone who really lived there would have known drawn out into fuller illustrations.

Thor has a tunic made out of a soft wool, in simple deep crimson, with simple geometric pattern quilted into  the sleeves and collar and hem in matching thread.

Kazul gets a fruitcake castle; proper fruitcake, meaning the flour is really just an excuse to hold a bunch of fruit and nuts and booze in a solid shape. It's in a tin so vapors don't crinkle any of the room's paint.

Demeter's gift is simple--a set of charms, woven from the grass and leaves  outside over the course of the year, spring and summer and fall and some evergreen needles once the snow fell. They're not exactly for her, but they're the ones Bahorel's mother taught him to make and put out for the changing seasons, and the only ones that feel right to give.

For Sam there's a small set of drawings of stickfighting moves-- not formal things, but ones that would have been recognized in Bahorel's year.

William gets a good undershirt, with proper cufflinks, and a couple of books he'd mentioned not having read yet.

Ysalwen gets a silk scarf wrapped around a drawing of a spider, perhaps more importantly,there's also a box of toys and treats for Liranan.

Liz gets  a sketchbook and some colored pencils; scattered through the book are a few sketches already, or the beginnings of sketches, in a sort of challenge

For Gredya there's a small bag, big enough to hold the little journal and pen, sized to fit over a human shoulder--or around a wolf's neck, if need be, without dragging around and being a nuisance. There's a note in it--because there's never a pen where you need one.

and for Harry, there's a Christmas stocking full of havoc, or at least  toys that bounce and explode and stick to things and are generally distracting.And gum. Gum is an excellent modern development.

comments

A Question of Families

2015-11-14T20:31:49Z

Bahorel's been outside as much as ever since Enjolras returned from Paris, turning over the old and new of that trip. He'd assumed Monsieur Fauchelevent had left Milliways once he'd returned to his own body; he hasn't seen the old fellow since, and everyone else Bahorel knows jumped back to their usual lives with relief.

But there Fauchelevent is, outside near the lake.

comments

And now we turn to my beautiful city

2015-11-13T07:08:46Z

One minute Bahorel's in the treetops, working on his ongoing project, and the next he's in Feuilly's room, reading.

And utterly crammed into one of Feuilly's chairs in a ridiculously formal posture. He'd at least expected Feuilly to see the practical side of sprawling--

he realizes that this means we're all back in the same moment his watch (Feuilly's watch) starts to chime.

"Enjolras?--No, just now. Asleep? How--Right, I'll be there."

He's not sure how he's dressed, he's not sure what Feuilly might have been doing-- but he's already out the door and running downstairs to meet Enjolras, with whatever news he has from the other side of the door.

Paris.

comments

Needlessly Dramatic Bodyswap!

2015-11-07T23:20:04Z

Right, a second ago Bahorel was definitely not out walking Feuilly and/or Harry's dogs, but now apparently he is.

...in Feuilly's body, apparently.

There's a brief moment of confusion with the dogs and issues of legs and balance, a while spent cheerfully rolling around on the ground and convincing the dogs that he is, while not Feuilly, someone they know. After that there's some time spent running, tumbling, and trying out the basic limits of his current body in general.

When he's figured that out well enough, he calls the Hector and Lady and saunters back toward the Bar, where he spots Kazul's sign.

... This body isn't used to sauntering. Well, it's going to have to get used to it, because Bahorel apparently isn't going into another one for a couple of days.

comments

Into the Woods

2015-10-27T19:04:32Z

The day Ysalwen and Bahorel settled on to go exploring the forest has chanced to have fine clear weather, if a little breezy. When Bahorel sees Ysalwen and Liranan walking up, he laughs; there's wind enough to ruffle the dog's coat as he lopes along.

Bahorel, leaning against a tree very near the one where they first met, lifts a hand in greeting, to Ysalwen and Liranan both. "Good weather for a walk!-- Though I don't know what it'll turn out to be farther along. Are you ready?"

comments

storytime

2015-10-22T18:08:14Z

It's the sort of fall day that reserves itself to reading outside, so that's what Bahorel's doing, legs propped so high on a tree trunk that he's nearly standing on his head, book resting on a fallen branch he'll probably take for firewood later. At the moment the book he's chosen has him grinning broadly, if not quite actually laughing.

...And now he's laughing. "Oh yes, horror, not Arétin!"

comments

a little idle talk

2015-08-18T10:43:41Z

Bahorel knocks on Feuilly's door. If Feuilly answers, he's there to chat, and to return a book that he borrowed after Feuilly borrowed it from the Library (on Polish crafts. Of course it's on Polish crafts. But it's an interesting book, so Bahorel only teased a relatively little.).

(If Feuilly doesn't answer, Bahorel's got his lockpicking kit, a container of dental floss, some small coins, and a few little sewing tools. It's good to have backup plans!)

comments

In Which Libraries are Not Quiet

2015-08-15T12:12:08Z

Bahorel strides into the library with easy speed. He walks past the strange computer help desk and past the current front shelves-- something about animation, this time, and history, and those changing shelves are always interesting, but it's not what they're here for.

Harry, while clearly no admirer of libraries, may still notice that there a few more books here than in the libraries he was used to. Just a few.

comments

By Other Means

2015-05-24T17:46:59Z

Bahorel is at the Bar, in quiet and nearly serious discussion. He is not, as some self-supposed wits would probably say, arguing a case with the Bar. He's only discussing matters of interest with an acquaintance. "No, I know, he keeps his door locked. Even here. Scar from our old troubled existence, rather than an insult to you and the community here. Mind, you'll note my door is always open to friend and foe alike, but that's an old habit too. Of course I forgive the idiosyncracy in a friend, and I'm prepared to allow for it. It's your preference in the matter I'm thinking of; if it's an intrusion on your boundaries--"

A small roll of lockpicks materializes on Bar's smooth surface. Well then. Bahorel grins; he recognizes these. "Thank you very much, Madame."

***
The door to Feuilly's room is locked, but it's not serious about it. One little lock, built into the doorknob; it's the work of just a few patient minutes to convince it to unlock itself. Bahorel sings while he works, a cheery, innocent little song that will not get out of his head.

"..I was only three years dead, but it told a tale... Ah, there we go!"

Feuilly's room is... Feuilly's room. Simple, practical, books everywhere. Those sound-absorbing tiles on the ceiling.

Suspended tiles, as Bahorel recalls from his old room in the same layout. He reaches up to push on one of the tiles--yes, there it goes, easily lifted. All within arm's reach, for any man who's at least six feet tall.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thumb-sized device; a little computer chip, a little speaker, a little timer, they all take very little space. Little enough that he has several just in his pockets. He tucks each one in with a different ceiling tile. The last one, directly over the head of the bed, is in an envelope.

He slides the tile back into place, looks around briefly to make sure he's left no visible evidence of his visit, and leaves the room, locking the door behind him. He's singing to himself again. "is it how it's told now, is it all so old? is it made of lemon juice, llama, ankle, cold..."

It's quite the catchy little song, really.

comments

Other Verses

2015-05-02T02:09:57Z

Bahorel wakes up on the floor in front of the fireplace, caught in a ridiculous multiplicity of blankets, pillows, and Jehan's elbows, which are, in Bahorel's considerable experience, far more omnipresent and wrathful than any God. It's all so far from unusual that he has a rare moment of confusion-- this could be Paris, and his old apartments. He shakes the confusion off, along with several pillows, one of which makes a reproachful yowl as it falls.

Bahorel grins at Marguerite, who blinks at him in offense. "Your pardon, Mademoiselle." He sits up, stretches and yawns in time with the kitten, and looks around to assess the damage of the night before. There's none especially evident; judging from the general scatter of overcoats and waistcoats, they both seem to have managed to get somewhere along the line of ready for bed before getting bored with consciousness. He looks for his coat and grins to see the poppy from the Labyrinth still vibrant in the lapel. That goes on a high shelf, away from curious kittens with unknown opium tolerances.

Jehan, at some point, apparently managed to turn his own shirt into something of a straightjacket, arms pinned to his own head and sleeves knotted. Bahorel untangles him, and lets Jehan thump back down into the pillows with the steady unconsciousness of a naturally deep sleeper who also notably overdid the mead last night.

Which leaves Bahorel free to go about his morning with his usual energy and lack of concern for quiet. By the time Jehan wakes up, Bahorel and the kitten have both eaten, stretched, and aggressively groomed themselves for the day. For the kitten, that means it's time for a nap; for his part, Bahorel is properly sprawled on the couch, reading.

comments

Truth or Something Like It

2015-01-18T15:49:53Z

By all means, truth.

"What would be the most ridiculous way you can imagine us being remembered?"

comments

boom goes the canon #2

2015-01-05T14:49:57Z

As far as Bahorel can tell, there's no reason he shouldn't paint on the walls of his new room. (It's hardly going to damage the aesthetic unity of the place, which appears to be "secondhand bazaar held in a cave" . It's very liberating.)

So that's what he's doing tonight, dressed up even to the point of tophat and tailcoat and tracing the outline of a city-country-something skyline around the room in red paint, his door open in case one of the wait-rats needs to come in-- or anyone else.

comments

clayforthedevil @ 2015-12-20T11:34:00

2015-01-01T18:10:49Z

After his first Happy Hour shift, Bahorel sticks around to talk with Bar for a while. There's a room Joly's been pushing him to visit, with the cheerful mischief of someone who would love to be good at pranks, but doesn't essentially understand their nature. Bar agrees with almost suspicious speed, and soon he's staring in appalled delight as some of the worst interior design decisions he's ever seen in his life.

It has a fireplace.
It has a waterfall.

So very soon after that, he's moving in the few things he's managed to acquire since arriving in Milliways-- a few favorite outfits, a jar of ash and earth, a particularly marked- up book-- into a dramatically red room constructed in apparently every kind of stone the builders could think of.

It also has a window that opens out, in jumping distance of a probably-climbable tree. These things are important!

And so is the fireplace. He tosses a handful of spices and nutshells into it, and watches them sparkle a moment.

This room, maybe, he can settle into.

comments

Johari thing

2014-12-17T03:01:56Z

In deference to Combeferre-mun, I did a Johari window for Bahorel.

It's very IC. Unfortunately. Have fun, Friends!

comments

The Paper Mirror

2014-12-17T00:07:20Z

Following his conversation with Lecter, Bahorel does indeed go to the Library. It takes some negotiating of the shelves-- really relevant books always seem inclined to hide-- but he does find it.

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo. 18...62?

Thirty years. That at least makes it seem more likely; a man might well change his opinions in that time, especially when they're wrong.

Bahorel flips through the table of contents. Book, Volume, Chapter....

Well that's not very subtle, is it?

He reads his friends' introductions, snickering at the description of Enjolras, smiling fondly at the reminder of Combeferre's studies. The mention of Prouvaire's protectiveness toward Chenier is not surprising; Prouvaire was close to the literary circles, it would be stranger if Hugo hadn't known him. He frowns a bit over Courfeyrac-- whoever 'Tholomyes' might have been, his friends are themselves, not some imitation of utter strangers.

He rather likes his own description. Really, he should make copies. Perhaps it would fit on a calling-card.

He skims the rest of the book, flipping back and forth. They're not in it too much; but what is there...

what is there is enough to need more careful reading. He's been making his own study of the days around their death, along his own lines; there are things that need checking.

comments

Dark and Stormy Night

2014-11-23T15:57:19Z

He knew -- of course-- the conversation was going to be bad. That they're all here was warning enough. And it had still managed to be worse than expected. And...different.

He hadn't expected to be calm afterwards, and he's not. And this place is definitely not Paris, where he'd know exactly where to find the right partners for the right kind of fighting or anything else to move through it. But there is supposed to be an Outside, though he hasn't had a chance to explore it.

And Outside is proving to be just the thing, a bitterly cold early winter night, with the first hints of a storm flashing in the sky. He's wandered a fair way into the forest, alternately shouting outrages at people who aren't there or as silent as a dead man should be. He's punched a few trees,lost track of his time, almost managed to lose his sense of direction.

...Make that definitely lose his sense of direction. Or maybe the trees really aren't where they were earlier.

Good. He needs something to focus on. He leans against one of the trees and watches the dark in the woods, looking for anything moving.

comments

1830- a very different bar

2014-11-08T14:55:26Z

It's not like Bahorel assumed they'd win. It's not even like he assumed he'd survive; if a revolution was so easy to ensure, they'd have one every day. He's used to seeing the whole effort go wrong, fall apart into a series of street brawls, injuries and deaths counted as a toll for The Next Time.

This, though--winning and still watching it fall out from under them-- is a different thing. It's not settled, not enough to start fighting again. So here he is, at a properly sympathetic cafe, trying to drink himself out of starting another riot before it's really necessary(some people might say riots are never necessary. Some people don't understand politics at all, really). And here's Bossuet entering the bar, with whatever thoughts he might be holding at a time like this, and probably no more money than he usually has. Bahorel waves him over.

comments