Enjolras (
pro_patria_mortuus) wrote2015-06-09 11:32 pm
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Cubefall is a three-day carnival, according to Bar's explanation. At sundown on the third day, everyone who transformed themselves will return to their original shape, unless they choose otherwise.
Enjolras still has no personal desire to change shape. He has little curiosity on the matter, and no sense of whimsy to be touched. The symbolism of the holiday, with its themes of rebirth and renewal and burning down the old world to forge a better future, touches him deeply, but even that wouldn't be enough on its own to get him to do something like this.
But for his friends -- for Combeferre and Joly's delight in science, for Bahorel's rough and physical companionability -- and, it must be admitted, for the dumbfounded delight that he knows will greet this action from every single one of his friends -- for that, halfway through the afternoon on the last day of Cubefall, he asks Bar for his viewscreen again.
He looks over the options again, though he knows them, and he knows which he'll select. Then he taps the third option.
Abruptly, a golden, lean, leggy dog stands where Enjolras was an instant ago.
For several moments the dog is unnaturally still, utterly motionless except for the swell and fall of ribs in breathing. Even his eyes don't move, except the reflex of blinking. It might be a statue of a dog, graven in fine gold wood and set in place.
Then he shakes himself all over, and all at once it's not a statue but a dog. Carefully at first, and then with growing ease, he trots outside.
Enjolras still has no personal desire to change shape. He has little curiosity on the matter, and no sense of whimsy to be touched. The symbolism of the holiday, with its themes of rebirth and renewal and burning down the old world to forge a better future, touches him deeply, but even that wouldn't be enough on its own to get him to do something like this.
But for his friends -- for Combeferre and Joly's delight in science, for Bahorel's rough and physical companionability -- and, it must be admitted, for the dumbfounded delight that he knows will greet this action from every single one of his friends -- for that, halfway through the afternoon on the last day of Cubefall, he asks Bar for his viewscreen again.
He looks over the options again, though he knows them, and he knows which he'll select. Then he taps the third option.
Abruptly, a golden, lean, leggy dog stands where Enjolras was an instant ago.
For several moments the dog is unnaturally still, utterly motionless except for the swell and fall of ribs in breathing. Even his eyes don't move, except the reflex of blinking. It might be a statue of a dog, graven in fine gold wood and set in place.
Then he shakes himself all over, and all at once it's not a statue but a dog. Carefully at first, and then with growing ease, he trots outside.
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Bahorel blinks in genuine surprise. Really? Enjolras?
He runs over in serious speed mode. And yes, there's Enjolras, and yes, he's ...some sort of fancy dog? Very definitely Enjolras, though. Bahorel greets him in the mostly-silent way their bodies currently allow, with nudges and quick nuzzling and as much delighted astonishment as lupine body language allows, which is in fact quite a bit.
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It turns out that Enjolras's rare, nearly silent laughter at a friend's astonishment is one of them.
He's not as natural in this body as Bahorel, but the instincts are there, now that he's centered himself. (An exceedingly strange feeling. But he's not going to trip over his own feet; he may be a little stiff, but he's not going to get in his own way.)
It really is weird to feel your tail wagging, though. Even low and restrained, because Enjolras in dog form is as reserved as Enjolras always is -- it's a tail.
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(Doing this is something of a joke, of course, the mild dry joke of actually taking a cue just when it's least expected. But more than that, the joke itself is a gift to his friends.)
He bumps against Bahorel in turn, fondly, and then when Bahorel drops back to play-bow Enjolras returns the stance -- much less exuberantly, but he does it, all the same. Yes, all right, play if you like. Why not?
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All right, sure.
The secret to moving in this body is not thinking about it too hard; you think about the desired outcome, and you let the nerves and muscles take care of the precise details of achieving it. Still, he pushes into an easy lope first, getting the feel of it.
Mentally, it's a challenge -- an interesting one, in its way. To inhabit this body that isn't his, to feel every sinew, so that he can direct it and be certain of himself, and yet never to focus so closely on the strangeness that he loses the ability to direct it: it's a fine balance, like walking on a rail. But physically, in this body, running is easy.
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And Enjolras is definitely built for running, now, which means Bahorel can run all out to keep up, something he hasn't done for long before. He grins and lowers his head.
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Bahorel would probably happily run in endless loops, changing direction at a whim, for the joy of the sensation. Enjolras prefers to have a plan. So: a small stand of trees near the other side of the lake, unless one of them tires before then.
He opens up his stride, long canine legs stretching and flexing, and pushes into greater speed. This is faster than he can run as a human, and yet he thinks there are deeper reserves he could call on, if he needed to.
It's still weird. It's extremely weird, and it's still a balancing act to keep himself from thinking about that too much. But despite that, this is -- kind of fun.
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Flying above the treetops--racing alongside Prouvaire, doing loops and twists--it's exhilarating and calming at once, somehow. Healing. For the first time since the barricade, something inside Combeferre relaxes just a little.
He swoops down, Prouvaire flying parallel to him, and sees two dogs on the ground, approaching a stand of trees. No--one is a wolf, black and fierce, and the other is a slim golden dog of a breed Combeferre can't identify.
Prouvaire sings, and Combeferre blinks. Bahorel, is the first note, and Combeferre isn't surprised, not truly. There's something lycanthropic about Bahorel at the best of times, and something distinctly Bahorelian about this wolf's bounding forward.
Enjolras, is the second note. Combeferre gives Prouvaire an incredulous look, but Prouvaire sings out an affirming phrase.
They both circle lower. "Bahorel?" Combeferre calls out. Despite Prouvaire's vouchsafing, Combeferre hesitates, feeling foolish, before adding, "Enjolras?"
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Enjolras can run; he can turn, swerve, slow; he could leap, he could stop. But all of that is by conscious decision, to ask his body to do something and not focus too hard on the details of how it achieves that. It's different when he's focused on running, and his name is suddenly called from the sky.
The golden dog's head turns, and it -- well. He doesn't exactly stumble to a stop, but it's notably less graceful than the sleekly powerful run of a moment ago, and notably less graceful than Enjolras usually is.
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But the dog's head turns to him, and Combeferre recognizes it from Enjolras's vidscreen earlier, and sees the familiar look in its eyes. It's strange, to see that look in a dog, but it's unmistakeable. "So it is you," he says.
Prouvaire, offended, sings out, I told you so, which Combeferre disregards. He turns back to Enjolras instead. "Are you enjoying it? I'm finding it--oh, invigorating."
Why not the unicorn? Prouvaire sings, but Combeferre has no idea if Enjolras can understand either of them.
He does not ask Bahorel why he chose a wolf, or if Bahorel is enjoying it. Both questions are obvious.
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There's no way to say sort of in this body. Well, at least he can nod once, with what's probably a familiar dignity -- yes, it is him. To the following question, his ears prick forward slightly; there's not much else he can do in useful answer.
The dry look that Prouvaire gets definitely indicates that either Enjolras can understand him or he can guess, though.
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But this body likes to snap at flying things too, and he leaps in clearly hopeless mock-attack in greeting towards Combeferre before flopping down on his back next to Enjolras and yipping a hello to Prouvaire. A hello, and a look, he did it!
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"I'm happy you tried it," Combeferre says to Enjolras. "I think we'll all find these transformations...educational." As well as fun, and it's just as well to have a pleasant occupation at this time of year. He circles lower over Enjolras, brushing his wing over Enjolras's fur. It's strange--Combeferre can imagine how the fur would feel to a human hand, but it feels entirely different to a pterosaur's wing.
Prouvaire twirls and cavorts in the air. Yes, he did! He didn't pick the unicorn, but he did it!
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Here's another thing the canine face is well suited for, it turns out: the kind of fond, tolerant look Enjolras directs often at a friend being incomprehensibly themselves.
As for Enjolras, his reasons for doing this are entirely the astonished delight with which Bahorel is wriggling beside him, and Prouvaire's twirling, and Combeferre's familiar grin (even attached to a bizarre chimaera body.) He holds himself still as the wing brushes over his shoulder. A strange feeling -- the soft fur ruffling over a dog's shoulder, not quite the same feeling as a hand brushing over his hair; the great wing, all muscle and bone and leathery skin -- but a friend's touch, despite all the bizarreness, and thus welcome.
His jaw gapes a little in the canine version of his faint smile, somewhere between tolerant and self-satisfied, and the dog's body adds a huff of amusement. Yes, you're all welcome: he did it.
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As if in response to that thought, a shadow passes by from much higher up than Prouvaire or Combeferre's wings. Bahorel grins at the stretched silhouette of Joly's robot-self, and takes off running after it. The mood demands he fights, or dances, or races, but moves , somehow; and there are few enough hours left to do all of it in this form.
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Prouvaire bumps Combeferre's wing, and Combeferre looks up to see...
Joly, sings Prouvaire, and this time Combeferre believes him.
They both swoop down to low-hanging tree branches near Enjolras and Bahorel, and that's when the vidscreens appear before them.
Prouvaire's song in response sounds like a dirge.
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Enjolras doesn't hesitate. The vidscreen appears, and a golden dog's nose touches No. An instant later, the dog is gone, and a golden-haired man is standing on the grass instead.
(And a slight tension in his shoulders relaxes an instant later. He doesn't regret any of his decisions today, and he enjoyed it in a way, but he's glad to be back to himself.)
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He would make a comment about that last, but then there's Prouvaire's song. All right; it's the end of something, and a new Something, at that. It can have a moment or two of solemnity.
(More than that, though, is highly unlikely. The wolf body didn't have as much urge to talk, but he is entirely back to himself now, and it's been days.)
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Jehan also needs no internal debate, but he does have a sharp pang of melancholic regret. He takes one last aerial cartwheel, and sings a long melodic line of phoenix-song. Oh, if he could only retain the ability to assume this shape at will. If only he could capture this moment forever, and return to it whenever he pleased. If only he'd have something beyond the fading memory of thrilling flight and transcendent song. If only.
But he won't. He sings a final mournful note, and hits no.
Once Jehan is human again, he stalks over to a tree and sinks underneath it, pressing his face into his hands. He wants to concentrate and remember.
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He does not, in many ways, understand him at all. (In fairness, he's fairly certain it's mutual.)
For example: is this the kind of huddle of deep poetic feelings in which he would prefer to be left alone, or the kind of huddle of deep poetic feelings in which he would prefer company? A glance at Bahorel is no help. Bahorel is watching the sunset, neither looking at Prouvaire nor giving anybody else any cues.
Well. The tree is only a few strides away. Enjolras crosses to it quietly (and he is glad to be back in his own familiar body again, all his balance exactly where he expects it to be and all his muscles doing precisely what he asks, under the familiar weight of decent wool and linen), and presses a silent hand to that hunched shoulder.
He'll leave again in a moment, and go speak to Combeferre and Bahorel or merely stand with them, if Prouvaire wants. Or he'll stay, if that's what Prouvaire wants instead.
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"It's a hard thing for me to give up," Jehan says, in response to the question he senses from Enjolras. Flight, beauty, song, simply being a phoenix--he's been wrenched away from it now, and it's painful and cold.
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"Give up? Perhaps -- you'd know, I don't. But I would say you've always had something of the phoenix in your soul, my friend. You see both the fire and the future that arises from its ashes; you rejoice in transformation. None of that is lost."
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"I'm honored that you would say that," he manages to say. He still misses the song and the flight, of course. But--it would be arrogance to think there's any truth to what Enjolras said, but Enjolras's words light the way to a different truth. There's beauty and transcendence to be found in this form as well. It was in this form that Jehan met all of them, after all.
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When he raises his head again, it's only to say, "We've all lost our lives, but losing this form--it's a form of death, in its way."
He looks at Combeferre, who has walked over and knelt next to him. "In its way, perhaps," says Combeferre somberly, "but you're still here, so I much prefer this way to the other."
Jehan gives a sad smile of acknowledgement and lets his head fall to his knees again.
Combeferre rises and looks at Enjolras. "How did you enjoy the canine experience?"
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All the same, his hand tightens on Prouvaire's shoulder when he speaks of losing his phoenix's form as another kind of death. "As do I," he says softly.
But Combeferre's question is a lighter one; he can glance at him, and smile faintly, and shrug his shoulders.
"Very strange. I'm sure you'll find more education in it than I did, my friend. But it wasn't bad."
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But of course Enjolras and Combeferre wouldn't see it that way, though he's not sure how they do see it. For now he just puts an arm around Jehan's back and smiles slightly at Enjolras' assessment of the experience.
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Enjolras and Combeferre understand different things, and Jehan values that too. He smiles at Enjolras's "it wasn't bad," his melancholy swept aside by a sudden flood of mirth.
"I'm so happy you did it. The unicorn would have been more mythic--but I'm sure the dog's nature was worth experiencing, as well!"
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But it's the kind of well-suppressed expression that's Enjolras's version of the same thing.
He makes a small, amused gesture -- somewhere between as you say and I suppose, if you say so.
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Yes hello Combeferre, he's laughing at you now. Bahorel is no help at all ever.
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He is, however, deeply content. He was able to try being a pterosaur. Prouvaire, despite his present sadness, could be a phoenix for a while, and Combeferre is entirely in accord with Enjolras that this form expressed part of Prouvaire's true nature. Bahorel evidently enjoyed his experience as a wolf to the hilt, and Enjolras--that Enjolras transformed at all, largely to satisfy Combeferre's curiosity and Prouvaire's sense of poetry and Bahorel's sense of humor, was a very sweet gift. Combeferre smiles.
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It was a sublime experience, and it will make for a good poem.