Grantaire may or may not notice the quick look, half of startlement and half bemusement, that Enjolras flicks at him as he steps past.
Enjolras is prepared to take the lead in his turn; indeed, he's waiting for the instant to spring forward and do so. Grantaire knows his way around a boxing match or a sparring mat, but he's never shown signs of a lethal instinct. Enjolras, for better or for worse, knows himself, and that lethal instinct is something he's well equipped with.
His weapons are little enough, right now, but it'll have to do.
The Minotaur raises his shaggy head and bellows again, earshatteringly. And then -- speaks?
His voice is a thick rumble, clumsy and halfway to a cow's lowing, but it's comprehensible. "No host, tribute."
There's light enough from the torch; Enjolras lowers his flashlight, carefully. (He's prepared to drop it if he needs both hands. For now, he'll keep his ability to shine a bright light in the monster's eyes.) "And we're not tribute," he says evenly, eyes on the Minotaur.
no subject
Enjolras is prepared to take the lead in his turn; indeed, he's waiting for the instant to spring forward and do so. Grantaire knows his way around a boxing match or a sparring mat, but he's never shown signs of a lethal instinct. Enjolras, for better or for worse, knows himself, and that lethal instinct is something he's well equipped with.
His weapons are little enough, right now, but it'll have to do.
The Minotaur raises his shaggy head and bellows again, earshatteringly. And then -- speaks?
His voice is a thick rumble, clumsy and halfway to a cow's lowing, but it's comprehensible. "No host, tribute."
There's light enough from the torch; Enjolras lowers his flashlight, carefully. (He's prepared to drop it if he needs both hands. For now, he'll keep his ability to shine a bright light in the monster's eyes.) "And we're not tribute," he says evenly, eyes on the Minotaur.