pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

It's a clear, fine night at the end of the universe. The afternoon was warm and sunny; it's night now, well after midnight, and the sky outside the window is bright with strange stars. By the Milliways calendar, capricious creature though it is, today was June 5. It's June 6 now, technically, in the dark hours between midnight and sunrise.

On this date, in 1832, Paris was an eventful place. A morning funeral, an uprising -- by afternoon, barricades -- by the evening of the 6th, violently and brutally suppressed.

Enjolras and Combeferre are still awake. They're not discussing the date, or past events. Indeed, they've discussed such things very little today. They have, instead, been reading. Every so often one or the other will read a passage aloud, or comment upon it, and then a conversation will unfold: a discussion of the future, or a friendly argument about its proper shape or interpretation. When silence falls, it's to resume reading, not to brood in silence.

If every so often one or the other of them seems to be reading more slowly than usual, and looking through the pages of his book -- or if a heavy silence falls in the middle of an argument, and is not immediately filled -- well, doubtless it's only distraction.

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Enjolras shakes his head at Bahorel's questioning glance: no, no one tried to stop him and Bossuet, nor said anything against it.

"Agreements, and knowledge. If one of us pushes him into the Labyrinth by force, whenever he returns he'll surely complain of it to Security. If he thinks it's his own idea to go in there, for whatever reason, what grounds would he have for complaint? Though that's harder to manage. Perhaps if I told him not to go there he might march off to do it."

That last is dry, and more than half a joke. But... not quite entirely. Javert's pettiness is astounding sometimes; one can never be sure the simplest schoolboy trick won't work on him.

The issue of knowingly breaking the rules here and taking the consequences is worth discussing, though he's sure of all their answers. But the practicalities first.

Bahorel laughs at the idea of the spy stomping off into the Labyrinth on a child's dare-- and then starts considering it. The man is almost belligerently direct; could it be that simple?

" I know some of the others have spoken with him; Joly and Bossuet a bit, Feuilly a few times." And that any of them spoke to the spy more than once is a testament to his friends' charity and patience, because Bahorel's pretty sure he can't try it again without hitting someone.

Combeferre nods. "We can discuss it with them, then, before we settle on a plan."

As always, any plan will be better for the involvement of all their friends.