World: Paris
Scene: Musain. This is ultimately a sequel to Grantaire the Troglodyte, by way of an adventure entitled "Two Men and a Gamine".
Players: Grantaire = Abby; Maquis = Dessa
Grantaire slouches in his usual chair, regarding Maquis benignly from across the table.
Maquis is perched in her usual position at Grand-R's side. Much improved, valitudinarily, she rocks back and forth on her toes like a creature about to pounce.
Grantaire has been quiet for a bit. Now he speaks. "Doctor says you're about fixed."
Maquis leaps out of the chair, over two wooden arms, and crouches one chair closer to the friend. "I feel lots better," she agrees.
Grantaire winces. "God, you're going to break your neck, doing that." He rakes a hand through his hair, and tilts his head at her. "I suppose you'll have had about enough of being cooped up."
Maquis flits onto the next chair, then nimbly climbs onto Grantaire's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and half-reclining there. "Yeh," she says rather dismissively.
Grantaire laughs, slinging an arm around her. Luckily they have the cafe to themselves at this hour of the afternoon; were any of the Amis here, he would likely bat her off for the sake of his pride. "You little monkey," he remarks, tousling her hair.
Maquis makes a wholly convincing simian face by puffing up her cheeks and sucking in her lips, crossing her eyes at him.
Grantaire chuckles again delightedly. "Yes, exactly. Next you'll be swinging from trees." He gives her a rough brief hug. After a moment he adds, rather diffidently, "I do believe I'm going to miss your company, enfant."
Maquis stows a stray bit of emotion and just kind of hiccup-giggles. "I'll still see you, like when you come here all of the time, right?"
Grantaire grins crookedly, but without much humor. "Right." He ruffles her hair again, and remarks, "Gamine," half in affection, half to remind himself what he's dealing with.
Maquis extangles one arm from Grantaire's neck, and waves it about fancifully in front of her, bobbing her head in an elegant bow of appreciation of the title.
Grantaire chuckles a bit once more. "You," he mock-scolds. Then: "Maquis. If you ever have trouble again, you come to me, right?"
Maquis re-attatches her arm to Grantaire, then curls her knees up tighter to herself, scrunching into his lap, and nods.
Grantaire warns, "No 'I-can-take-care-of-myself' idiocy, right? If you need help, you ask." The futility of saying this to a street child does flit across his mind, but he ignores it steadfastly.
Maquis nods again. "If I need help, I ask," she agrees. Now: the exact circumstances of her needing help might be called into question. After all, she's put up with a lot before, and she can again.
Grantaire adds, even more pointlessly, "And stay warm." Then he looks away, one hand still scruffling at her hair.
Maquis rubs up against him with the new clothes he got her. "How can I not?" she grins.
Grantaire agrees with a wry smile, "How can you not." He glances back at her.
Maquis leans her head down on his shoulder softly. "I think I might miss you a little, too." she admits.
"Will you?" There goes all the resignation the R's built up thus far, though his tone is light enough. "That won't do."
Maquis loosely clings around his neck, "Uh?" she asks, uncomprehending.
Grantaire shakes his head. "Nothing." And he dares to drop a kiss in amongst her curls.
Maquis tilts her neck back and applies a little mouth to Grantaire's chin, and it prickles her a bit.
Grantaire grins faintly. He's quiet for a moment: then he says suddenly, in a tone of annoyance with his own folly, "Ah, hell, Maquis, I don't want you to go."
Maquis blinks. "Don't wamme to go where?" For she does not in fact consider herself to be leaving, anymore than one leaves when one moves next-door or downstairs.
Grantaire takes this for mere childlike forgetfulness. "Away. Out. Back to the street. I can't just send you back to that-- Hell." He sits back with a sigh.
Maquis sits up a little bit, and after a bit of interpretation, she replies, "I like you, too."
Grantaire grins a bit, but he's distracted, and it fades quickly. He appears, now, almost to be arguing with an unseen third party inside his head. "Isn't anything else to do. I can't support you. I don't even support myself."
Maquis tilts her head at this internal dialogue. "Let us both agree: I will support YOU," she attests to her powers.
Grantaire blinks at her, then chuckles. "Well, I appreciate the thought." He shifts in his chair under the child's weight. "I wouldn't be much of a guardian anyway. God, I don't know what I'm thinking."
Maquis slips out of his lap and stands behind his chair. "Would you tell me to put that down and don't put it in my mouth if it was bad for me?"
Grantaire tilts his head back to peer at her, which does nothing to improve his looks. He weighs his answer carefully. "Depends on how bad it was for you."
Maquis smiles. "If it was really, really, really bad." She rests a hand on hs upside-down cheek.
"If it was really, really, really bad, then yes, I would." Brown eyes fix on hers quizzically.
Maquis smiles. "Well, see? So you can't be that bad."
Grantaire reaches back to lay two fingers against her temple. "You put an awful lot of faith in me, p'tite," he says, rather wistfully.
Maquis smiles, not at all wistfully. "You're a gamin at heart, great-R."
He breaks into bemused laughter. "Lord. Am I really?"
Maquis nods definitively, "I think you are."
Grantaire shakes his head. "What a discovery, at my age." You'd think he was fifty-three. "From you, I'll take that as a compliment."
Maquis steps up closer to the chair and puts her other hand on his other cheek. "Oh! You've got to."
Grantaire's contrary streak threatens to surface. "Why have I got to?" he inquires with teasing challenge.
"You got to take it for a compliment," Maquis explains simply.
Grantaire gives in. "Very well. Since you insist." He grins at her.
Maquis shuts her eyes and declares that she insists.
Grantaire declaims, mock-sententiously, "Thou art a tyrant, O Mockus."
Maquis grins at the prospect, "I'll be King, next." she informs him.
"Now there's an idea." Grantaire squints at her approvingly. "I'll bet even Enjolras wouldn't mind a King with freckles. Particularly a little-girl one."
Maquis plans, "And I'd let anyone do whatever they want, all the time. And I'd have lots of ice, in the summer time, for people to suck on."
Grantaire grins. "That sounds like excellent policy to me."
Maquis smiles, "Did you ever get one of them down your shirt? It aches a little, but it feels nice, all melted."
Grantaire laughs. "I never did."
Maquis grins. "You ought to." The typical gamin responce: Ow, that hurts! You try it...
Grantaire grins back. "Maybe." He straightens, finally, and reaches back to hook an arm around her thin shoulders. "You're a good brat, Maquis. You know that?"
Maquis giggles. "Yeah," and she blinks significantly at him.
Grantaire chuckles. "Modest, too." He glances out the window. "I suppose we should head back."
Maquis looks out the window, as well, "What time is it?"
"Past time," the R says wisely. He starts to clamber to his feet.
Maquis grabs at the beloved hands, to help to pull him upward.
Grantaire grins, and leans on her a tad, to let her feel important. Not that she needs help in that. "Thank you kindly, young mam'selle."