World: Paris
Scene: Date indeterminate. The title is somewhat shamelessly stolen from a chapter of The Winter Prince. I love you, Ms. W.
Players: Enjolras = Ann; Grantaire = Abby
It's a beautiful summer day. On the streets of Paris, many couples can be seen out enjoying the cool air and bright sunlight. Enjolras strides through the crowds, not bothering to notice the bright day around him. He arrives at le Cafe Musain and enters, already planning what rallying speeches he'll make to his friends today.
Grantaire, slung in a chair by the window, glances up, and his homely face lights like a child's. "'lo," he offers.
Enjolras doesn't spare him a glance as his eyes scan the room. Empty. He muffles an exasperated sigh. They have no dedication to the cause. Turning, he heads for a table a tolerable distance from Grantaire.
Grantaire leans back, watching him. "What's the matter?" It's pleasanter than usual, as pleasant as the R can be.
Enjolras finally glances at him, though the look is full of irritation and disdain. "You're here and no one else is. That's matter enough." He looks away again, turning back to his papers. He's a speech to prepare and the wine-cask isn't going to keep him from finishing it.
The defenses kick in. "Why, you need protection from me and my corrupting influence?"
"I don't need protection from anyone, least of all you," he snaps back, throwing him an angry look. "As for your corrupting influence, you could never have an effect on me. I am stronger than that."
"Yes, I suppose you are," Grantaire says very dryly.
Enjolras glares at him. How can Grantaire manage to irritate him so quickly, and with such ease? "Wine-cask, you care about nothing but the bottom of a bottle of cheap wine. Your life has no purpose, the way you live it. How could you know what I am?"
"Not nothing," Grantaire objects, mutedly. In a somewhat more reasonable tone, he goes on, "How do you know what I know? I am many things, but not blind."
"You're blind to what matters most, blind to what's truly important! For all you manage to see, you might as well be sightless!" Enjolras' speechwriting is forgotten in his anger. "What could you know that matters enough for me to hear?"
Grantaire does not defend himself. He sits there, watching Enjolras almost kindly. "So instruct me. I am ignorant, I confess, but I am capable of picking up one or two things."
Enjolras shakes his head. "You would not know what to do with the knowledge, even if I were willing to try and teach it to you." He turns back to his speech, but finds himself unable to write. Gritting his teeth, he runs a hand over his golden hair. Damn him anyway.
"Ah, but that's the point, isn't it? How am I different from all the thousands of people you're always wanting to talk at?"
"They don't talk back," he mutters, too quietly for Grantaire to hear. He continues, louder. "They are willing to fight for what they believe in, willing to fight for the Republic, for a free and equal France! For the people! You aren't, how could you be? You believe in nothing worthwhile, you stare at the table in front of you, unwilling to see the horizon and what's beyond. You don't care enough to listen, why should I make the attempt?" The bitter tone leaks, unchecked, into his words as he looks angrily at Grantaire.
"I do listen." Grantaire's voice is unwontedly small.
"Then why don't you change? Why won't you show that you listen? Why do you persist in sitting there in your haze of wine, uncaring and oblivious to what's important?" He's not orating any longer. His righteous anger has been cooled by R's uncharacteristically quiet reply. "If you listen, why don't you act?"
Grantaire hesitates, then looks away. Possibly he murmurs something, but it's far too low to be heard.
Enjolras shakes his head. "It doesn't matter anyway. You could never change," he says quietly, half to himself. He starts gathering his papers together, not wanting to remain in the tense and suddenly oppressive room.
Grantaire glances up, and looks faintly stricken. "Don't go. You just got here."
Enjolras glances at Grantaire, looking away immediately. "Why should I stay? There's no one here."
"You don't need to." Grantaire pushes unsteadily to his feet. "I'm going."
"I have other things to do." He finishes collecting his papers. "Sit back down. You may as well stay, where else would you go?" This last is more of a rhetorical question than anything else; there are plenty of places he could go, and Enjolras knows it.
Grantaire shrugs slightly, bracing himself on the back of a chair. "I don't know. I don't care." He summons what's left of his bravado and starts for the door.
Enjolras intercepts him. "Don't be so stubborn. Stay." For the briefest of moments, his voice softens. "If you don't care, who's going to?" Then the light flickers out of his eyes and the hint of disdain returns. "Sit down. You wouldn't make it anywhere before collapsing anyway."
Grantaire looks back at him uncertainly, but the breath of pity conquers him. He subsides back into the chair, defeated, and murmurs, "You don't have to go anywhere. I'll let you be."
Enjolras smiles almost bitterly. "You will never let me be, Grantaire." With the quiet statement hanging in the air, he departs, leaving Grantaire alone in the deserted cafe.