pro_patria_mortuus: (je ne comprends pas)
Enjolras ([personal profile] pro_patria_mortuus) wrote2015-01-31 09:07 pm

(no subject)

[A moment ago: approaching the Labyrinth.]

Bahorel enters, and with a shrug Feuilly follows. Enjolras pockets his watch and follows after them, ball of string in hand.

He finds himself on a broad flat plain of sun-bleached grass, strewn about with huge stones as if a giant had scattered seeds upon it. The sky is just as bleached, a pale and disconcerting greenish shade, without a cloud upon it. The air's warm and moist as spring.

Bahorel and Feuilly are nowhere to be seen.
the_obverse: (trollface)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-01 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
Grantaire ambles after him, and then lets out a protesting noise as he finds himself squinting into sudden brightness. He throws up his arm, splattering wine-drops around, and wheels in a circle to take in the surroundings.

"There's been a mistake," he remarks, after a moment.
the_obverse: (you'll see)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-02 04:51 am (UTC)(link)
Grantaire pulls out his chiming watch and blinks at it, as if surprised to find it there. (Probably because he is.)

"Here comes the place which cleaves our way in twain?" he suggests.
the_obverse: (a vague ambition)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-02 05:24 am (UTC)(link)
"Poorly organized, at least," agrees Grantaire, "to an unconscionable degree. Tisiphone ought to have enough bureaucrats among her guilty swarm to know how to employ them."

If there was to be a division, it seems fairly clear, three of them ought to go in one direction together; there's no natural binary that puts Bahorel and Feuilly on one side, and Enjolras with Grantaire on the other.

He looks up from his watch at last to cast a sudden rueful glance at Enjolras. "You've offended some evil-humored Fate, I think," he says, by way of an obscure apology. "Did you happen to turn down any propositions in Paris that might have come from a deity in disguise?"

Somebody with something authority over the division of afterlife labor seems to have an interest in sticking Enjolras with Grantaire, and Grantaire does not particularly appreciate being an instrument of punishment.
Edited 2015-02-02 05:25 (UTC)
the_obverse: (the cynic)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-03 03:04 am (UTC)(link)
Grantaire gestures politely with his bottle: after you.

"Fortunately, one man here -- alas, but only one! -- is a man of noted vigor and direction. As for myself, I am, as we know, gifted with legs, and, granted an aim, shall employ them."

(He doesn't bother to ask for further details on what Bossuet might or might not have said about the multiplicity of worlds involved in ... wherever they are. Apparently he's missed some relevant context, but in a place like Milliways, when has context ever helped to make sense of anything? If that's the aim, alcohol tends to work much better.)
the_obverse: (vive la republique)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-03 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
"A door: defined as an opening in a wall. Where there exists no wall that may be opened, there can, ipso facto, exist no door. On the other hand --"

As he mulls aloud over the semantics, Grantaire has been backing along up along the length of the string; now he puts out a hand to tug it, experimentally.

He meets no resistance, and, therefore, the action is perhaps more powerful than intended. Either way, the string drops in his hand, the end trailing limply into the dusty ground.

Grantaire stares at it, effectively distracted from whatever incoherent point about doors he was about to make.
the_obverse: (look down)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-03 04:27 am (UTC)(link)
It's always like this. If you are a certain kind of person, you can't resist a loose end; you see it, you pull, and the whole illusion unravels. Like this, you unmake the world.

Grantaire has to admit, there's one thing about this place: it has a distinct flair for literalized metaphor. Which doesn't make him feel much better. "Enjolras," he says, helplessly, "I'm sorry."
the_obverse: (a vague ambition)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-03 04:46 am (UTC)(link)
...and if you're a certain kind of person, a different kind of person, even a world unmade is only an inconvenience to be overcome.

"Well --" Grantaire heaves out a breath. "-- if we're to wander endlessly through an empty landscape, with no discernible exit -- at least the weather's pleasant for it."

It's somewhere between a parody of optimism, and a genuine best effort at it.
the_obverse: (boozin')

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-03 05:08 am (UTC)(link)
Grantaire looks at the walls. The ominous encroaching passages do not, it must be said, hold a great deal of homely appeal.

Still: "Ipso facto - the possibility of a door."
the_obverse: (boozin')

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-05 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
The silence also encroaches.

"I took a visit once to the catacombs," says Grantaire; it's the first thing that comes into his head. He takes a gulp from his near-empty bottle, and goes on, "That was in the halcyon days when any M. Surveillant might bring his private party down for a refreshing dose of ars moriendi. Ah! Now that was a friendly atmosphere; everywhere you looked, a face with a grin. I don't know that I've ever felt so cheered. I don't think much of our current situation by comparison. Not so convivial, nor so instructive. Come, somebody present me with a moral! It's been a good half hour since our last metaphorical interlude."
Edited 2015-02-05 03:22 (UTC)
the_obverse: (a vague ambition)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-05 03:41 am (UTC)(link)
"A boundary," returns Grantaire, "a barrier, a portal, an aperture, a perimeter, a threshold -- perhaps, yes. A door?" Grantaire shrugs, eloquently. Each man must decide for himself how wide the definition of 'door' may stretch.
the_obverse: (you'll see)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-05 04:03 am (UTC)(link)
For a moment, it's difficult to see anything through the archway -- but only a moment, before Grantaire comes swinging through. His eyebrows rise as he sees Enjolras looking back at him.

"We may live in an enlightened age, Enjolras, but me, I'm a poor superstitious fellow at heart, and the classicist in me leans against looking backwards when climbing out of Hell."
the_obverse: (trollface)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-05 04:26 am (UTC)(link)
"You're very certain on that score," says Grantaire -- meaning the first one, and goes on, with virtuous hypocrisy, "For myself, I embrace prudence."

For all Grantaire knows, everything that's happened since the Musain has been Hell or Hades, or some strange variant thereupon; it's never been entirely ruled out.

The light blinks on, and he glance down at it. "Thus armed," he remarks, "you need not wait upon the landscape to generate metaphors, but are perfectly well equipped to supply your own."
the_obverse: (the cynic)

[personal profile] the_obverse 2015-02-05 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
The most prominent distinction between this landscape and the last is a certain musty and faintly rotting smell that pervades it, intermixed with the smell of the torch-smoke. Though they can't see them, it seems evident that they are not the only living things within the bounds of the structure.

"From Eurydice to Ariadne," Grantaire remarks -- though he's careful not to disturb the string as it trails down. "Enjolras, I pray you, at all costs avoid Medea."

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