pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

Yes. Yes, he is. In his view, it is no more petty than the children pointedly ignoring him, and talking about him as if he were no there.

Enjolras sets his weight, and Javert only pulls against it enough to hold his ground, signalling the rat with his free hand. Once his order is placed, he returns to the table, pulls up a chair and sits down. Ignore away, boys.

Enjolras is not going to get into an undignified handcuff tug-of-war. Especially with his arm as part of the rope. If setting his weight isn't enough to make Javert not yank him along, he'll move rather than be yanked.

But UGH. Why, Milliways.

It will surprise no one that he is satisfied with having made him move. To his mind, this should help Enjolras learn manners. He could have made some offer to accommodate the situation instead of ignoring him - but it matters nothing now, he has what he wants. The rat brings a sandwich and some water, as well as some paper to draw on. He will even be polite, and eat with one hand only so as not to jerk Enjolras around! Manners.

Bahorel acknowledges the spy's unfortunately close continued existence with a roll of his eyes. Out loud, he says "I'll post a notice for whoever has the key; if we miss them here, at least they'll still know to look for you."

And if whoever has the key turns out to not be the sort of person who'd try to find people shackled against their will, Bahorel will go find them, later, and have a discussion about it. But it's probably fair to wait a few hours on that.

For now, he looks over at Prouvaire, eyebrows lifted in a quick question, just to confirm one of them's definitely staying with Enjolras while the note gets posted.

Courfeyrac has been quietly humming along with Jehan's dirge, and takes in the back-and-forth between Javert and Enjolras with raised eyebrows. He had no idea a grown man could be so childish. But at Bahorel's words, he stands up.

'I can do it if you like, and ask around the place to see if anyone has this key to hand. We'll need more wine, in any case. If we have to be stuck in unpleasant company, at least we may amuse ourselves.'

Which the spy will no doubt hate, and so much the better.

Jehan nods. "I'll stay here, whichever of you goes. You'll have us by your side to keep your spirits up, Enjolras, however long this ordeal must last." Not that Enjolras can't take care of himself, far from it, but friends don't leave friends alone and shackled to police spies. "I have a poem I was working on, would you like to hear?" This is more directed at Bahorel than at Enjolras, who will earnestly listen out of friendship, or at the spy, to whom it will no doubt be nearly as irritating as the sound of laughter. He pulls it out of his coat pocket.

Edited 2016-02-06 01:21 (UTC)

That settles who's going, then. Bahorel hops onto the edge of the table. "Anything you're ready to share, any time." And that's said seriously,entirely in earnest. Bahorel's not about to hide his allegiances for the spy's sake.

Enjolras settles into a chair as well, turned slightly towards Prouvaire and Bahorel -- insofar as the handcuff situation will allow with dignity.

Sure, go ahead, Prouvaire! Bahorel will appreciate it, Javert will hate it, and Enjolras will... earnestly and half-comprehendingly listen out of friendship, yes.

Jehan has experimented with many forms of poetry and song since he's come to Milliways. He has tried freeform poetry, and haikus, and rap, and still others. But he hasn't abandoned the more classical styles, either.

So for this occasion, he chooses to recite a series of ten sonnets about two fairies who fall in love while seeking to free the innocent prisoners of the tyrannical king and queen of fairyland. The last poem has the lovers dying tragically but triumphantly, hand in hand, and turning into morning dew on the grass in their deaths. Jehan is not fully satisfied with the scansion of that one.

...Okay!

Enjolras is glad this pleases you, Prouvaire.

Though he appreciates the more explicitly anti-tyranny parts. And the power of a triumphant death, hand in hand or not, although he's not sure what the morning dew bit there is about. But Prouvaire likes nature and so forth. Anyway, there's some effective and truthful rhetoric in the middle. (That's the fifth of the linked sonnets, Enjolras.)

Edited 2016-02-06 06:10 (UTC)

When the boy starts, Javert closes his ears. He knows literally nothing about poetry, and does not intend to start learning now.

It goes on.

And goes on.

And goes on, and while he does his best to remain entirely impassive, inside he is trying to ignore the feeling that comes when an endless drone sandpapers itself across his eardrums, over and over and over again.

He had started to draw the outline of Bahorel's profile. By the time Prouvaire is at the start of the third sonnet, he has the poet in a courtroom in front of a judge. By the start of the sixth, there is a guillotine waiting for him in the background.

Bahorel's too busy listening to the poem to pay attention to Javert's scribblings at first. But it ends, as all poems have to, and between coming back to himself and considering what to comment on first, he does see the courtroom scene. He crows and claps his hands together. "Hah! Look at this! Your first review, a truly glowing commentary! I was going to tell you, I thought it had a real heart to it, but here, forget my little audience, the voice of authority has spoke, you've offended the constabulary and made yourself a threat to public order. A grand accomplishment! The Figaro couldn't give a better opinion, and wouldn't anyway."

If he's laughing at the spy, his pride for his friend's work is genuine. To unsettle the settled and sure is one of the great powers of art.

'It is more that I wish him dead for the endless noise. Take that as the review.'

He is only half serious.

Well.

Of course he should be dead for other reasons, and is. But specifically for being, in Javert's opinion, a truly dreadful poet.

And, oh hey, here's even more of an audience! Bossuet and Joly have barely been in the bar long enough to pick up on the General Situation, but they're already on their way to join the throng, carrying a shared tray somewhat awkwardly.

"Jehan," Lesgle says cheerfully, with an extra smile for Javert's scowl, "Our apologies for missing the start of the recitation! I know it's absolutely philistine to ask for a summary of what we missed, let alone a full repeat performance, but do you have some particular lines you could share with us?"

Bahorel's already swung himself off the table (and no, he didn't have to swing, he could have just set his feet down, but: why) . He grins at Bossuet and tousles Joly's hair a bit as he moves around them to put an arm around Jehan's shoulders. "Ah, you missed a fine work! A grand 'noise'." He rocks back and forth a little, the very least shadow of a dance, and sings " Bouzingo, bouzingo..!"

Jehan will know the song--and Javert might, for that matter, recognize it as a familiar sound of disruption back in Paris.

Edited 2016-02-06 15:27 (UTC)

Joly very mmaturely sticks his tongue out at Bahorel for the hair-tousling before laughing and looking at the table and seats thoughtfully. There's not much room to sit side by side, but...

To Bossuet, he says "I think we can manage, if we don't mind being friendly", before tugging them both to sit next to Enjolras. Who Joly jostles a little. He smiles quickly, in apology and in greeting.

He recognises it, of course he does. And grits his teeth again, because he knows they are just trying to be as annoying as possible.

Bossuet does not get so much as a glance. Next to Bahorel, his least favourite of this group. Joly - well, Joly has had some use, so he flicks his gaze in his direction. Then he puts his head down and goes back to sketching Bahorel's face out.

At least the singing is not about fairies, and love. Surely those are only topics for women? He does not understand what is wrong with these people.

"I thank you most kindly," Jehan says to Javert, sincerely. There's no higher compliment than having the likes of Javert want you guillotined!

"Bossuet, Joly! I imagine you can bear this better than many can, perhaps provide a model of friendship and solidarity in the endurance of discomfort to our friend the spy here. Here's the poem, if you want to look at it. I don't want to interrupt the singing."

He leans against Bahorel, and it gives him a good angle to view what Javert is now drawing. "But that's a very good likeness of you, though it doesn't quite capture your spirit. The spy must have studied your face very closely!"

Enjolras smiles back at Joly, only a little rueful. Yes, all right, there's Javert; Javert shackled to his arm, restricting both of their freedom of motion, and drawing petty little drawings of guillotines and trials of the sort his comrades never granted Jean Prouvaire. And Joly and Bossuet shackled together, a perversion of their voluntary close company no matter how temporarily and jokingly it's meant.

But there's also this growing circle of fraternity, laughing and singing and jostling companionably together. Telling the truths of their hearts, brave and steadfast, and laughing in the face of all disapproval from the agents of oppression. Incomprehensibly artistic some of those truths might be, but that doesn't matter; they're Bahorel and Prouvaire's truths, not Enjolras's, and that's as it should be. And Joly with his warmth, and Bossuet with his sarcasms and jokes, and Courfeyrac out searching for a solution to free them, and bringing his verve and whirlwind charm and a moment's chatting to everyone he speaks to.

Who could ask for better friends than his? No one. He's honored to know them, always.

"It was a long poem of fairy lovers who defied their monarchs' tyranny," he tells Joly. The explanation is partly for Joly's sake, but rather more for Prouvaire and Bahorel, as mingled gratification and entertainment for them. "You'd understand the poetry better than I," because so would most people, "but he spoke very well of freedom and the defiance of love. There were some fine turns of phrase."

And then there were the bits about love and nature and the transcendent spirituality of gazing into a lover's eyes, but whatever.

Javert snorts at this summation of the poem, and shoots Prouvaire a dark look for his comment about watching Bahorel's face. His job is to notice details! Trust people like this to make it seem like a bad skill to have.

'It was endless, mindless dross,' he mutters.

TO BE FAIR, he would think that of anything that involved fairies, because such things are ridiculous and not worth the effort it takes to write about them. Never mind that they probably exist in this place, they are not real at home, and therefore do not count as a valid subject for writing.

"en des rues, en des rues, nous allons a tapageur" Bahorel finishes cheerfully, ignoring the rest of the conversation until the song is over.

He's still aware of it, though. And...ew, Jehan's not wrong. But that's an ant mound to kick some time when Enjolras isn't handcuffed to the spy and won't have to listen to the ensuing shouting.

He will take the time to snort at the spy about his opinions on poetry, though! That's an any time fight. "Of course you hear creation at the end of the universe and call it dross. A fine symbol of all your calling, you are."

So much for that, more important conversations are happening. "There you are, Enjolras, you're learning to hear these things properly; we'll make a poet of you yet!" (No.)

'When will you make a poet of him?'

He nods at Prouvaire, barely looking up from his sketch. The basics done, he moves on to...hmmm. Not Enjolras, that is pointless. As the leader of them and already owning distinctive looks, he would be remembered. The little quiet one who is not here, he is insidious. He could easily have been working away quietly behind the scenes, churning out pamphlets and revolutionary teachings.

Never mind that - he passes over Joly, and starts committing Bossuet to paper. He cannot think why he has not done this before.

'Why would you assume disinterest in your friend's noise is a negative comment on the police? Appreciation of rubbish is hardly in the job description.'

Quite the opposite, really.

"No, appreciation of rubbish is a natural affinity for those in your work; they need make no special note of it in hiring. If that faculty was lacking you would find other work, as men who can't stand blood avoid medicine." Not to drag you into this , Joly. " Disinterest in art, creation, whatever evidence men give of a soul; that's a requirement of the job too, no doubt; anything else would be a sign of divided loyalties, very dangerous, very bad." Bahorel sounds low, clucking tsk tsk. It is very condescending. He's practiced!

You've dragged Joly into it anyway, Bahorel. He hums over his croissant, thoughtful. "-- It's true, of course, that people tend to seek out work that suits them; when they have the choice of it, anyway. But, you know, I have known men who went into medicine when they couldn't bear the sight of blood. Some of them overcame their old aversion, in the name of the work they wanted to pursue. Others never could." This is just thinking out loud, bouncing ideas off his friends to knock some of the rough edges off the thing. "The difference there--I don't know what it is. I'm fairly sure it's not just willingness to change, or even the strength of the initial aversion."

That some habits change easily and some don't is of course an obvious observation--but the Why and How of it still matters, if education is going to be useful to people at all. Obvious has never meant simple.

Edited 2016-02-09 14:30 (UTC)

"Perhaps the spy should try writing poetry. It might help him overcome his aversion to many things." Jehan is not in the least hurt or offended by Javert's dismissal of his work. It's like music criticism from someone who has worn ear plugs.

"But his attempts at portraiture, perhaps, shouldn't be encouraged." Jehan leans over and reaches out, trying to grab the sketches. There's not much risk of harm in Javert showing Bossuet's likeness around Paris--but all the same, why permit any?