pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

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Enjolras is at a table with a book and a plate. (It contains some crumbs that used to be a chicken sandwich, a mostly untouched small cake of the sort that Bar persists in giving him unrequested, and -- inexplicably -- a small candy heart with the incomprehensible word LOL stamped on it in pink. Enjolras has no particular desire for candy, especially of a self-evidently joking sort, and thus has ignored it.)

More importantly, he has a book about the history of Ysalwen's Thedas, which he's reading thoughtfully.

The bar is bustling, as often. A few of his friends are about; the spy is across the room, monitored but outwardly ignored. Enjolras has no intention of speaking to him without cause, if he's given a choice in the matter.

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"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?

He was expecting that at some point, and simply lifts them away from Prouvaire's reaching hand.

'You are all dead. Why would it matter?'

And here's Lesgle, with his long reach--hampered a little by holding Joly's hand, but plenty able to lean out and grip an end of the paper with his other hand. "Why should we let you reconstruct our network of associates by snooping around with your portraits and nosing around about who's been seen in the company of whom?" He renders the phrasing absurd with his exaggerated tone and his waggling eyebrows, but his eyes are serious. "We're not here to make your spy-work easy for you, my dear fellow. --Besides, you haven't done justice to my hair. There, you see," --turning his head, but not loosening his grip-- "there's still at least four or five valiant soldiers left on the field, it's not all gone yet!"

Edited 2016-02-09 18:42 (UTC)

Javert snorts - with laughter this time - and lets go. He can draw them without them being in front of him, he was just amusing himself.

'I had not considered such a thing. Thank you for the idea.'

It is exactly what he was, and is, going to do. It had not occurred to him before this evening, and he cannot imagine why.

'There are plenty of young Sûreté men from the provinces who can pose as looking for you all.'

"I wish them well." Jehan means it. There are many traps awaiting such young men, if they indeed exist the way Javert thinks they do, and are not Marius Pontmercys, taking police weapons and money for their own purposes--a proceeding Jehan naturally approves.

He examines the papers, and withdraws the one with him and the guillotine. Once adapted by someone with artistic talent, this will make an excellent hanging for Jehan's wall.

Combeferre, coming down in the evening for some coffee, notices the general handcuff situation with a shrug. Another magical mishap, apparently, and one he is not particularly equipped to help resolve.

Bar pointedly refuses to give him coffee. Instead she gives him a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a tablet of melatonin.

"Joly has gotten to you," Combeferre accuses. "But I take your point. It's late."

He turns to go back to his room for rest, and it's only then that he sees his friends, clustered around...Enjolras, and...

Oh. Oh, damn.

Edited 2016-02-10 15:35 (UTC)

It is at this point that Courfeyrac arrives back with the group.

'Combeferre, over here! Hullo Joly and Lesgle - you too? Ah well, I suppose it will not inconvenience you overmuch. No sign of a key yet, I came back to refresh myself.'

He picks up a glass of wine - which probably belongs to someone else, but never mind - and drains it.

'Keep your spirits up, Enjolras! At least half an hour of this ordeal is over already, think of it that way. Oh I say, is that supposed to be you, Bahorel? You look like a robot.'

He is pleased with knowing what a robot is, but mostly just laughing over Jehan's shoulder at the picture.

"We're all right" Joly says in response to Courfeyrac, before making a face at his assessment of Javert's art. "It looks nothing like a robot. It looks much more like Bahorel,and Bahorel would make a terrible robot, he's nowhere near orderly enough."

Joly ignores Bahorel's dramatic bow of acceptance, and smiles at Combeferre. "Is Madame Bar scolding you?"

'Oh, it looks like Bahorel well enough. Just Bahorel if he had no soul in him, and beeped a lot.'

It is a perfectly good resemblance, but Courfeyrac likes his art with a bit more personality. But OH WELL, he would probably hate it anyway just because of who drew it.

'Well, I will go and continue the search. It is an excellent excuse to converse with ladies, I will say that for it. But have no fear, I am keeping the mission firmly in sight.'

Just enjoying it quite a lot too. He grins at everyone, gives a wave and heads off in the direction of two handcuffed women by the back door.

"Robots have plenty of soul." Joly grumps, as Courfeyrac leaves. "Just because you don't understand their design--oh, there's still another croissant!" Fear his epic wrath, Courfeyrac.

Joly tears the croissant in two somewhat awkwardly. "What are we going to do about this? I'm sure Courfeyrac will be very diligent in looking for the key, but eventually we'll still have to, well. Get up from the table." For a start.

Javert has been glaring at Courfeyrac, partly out of habit and partly because he distrusts anyone who smiles all the time, and for no reason.

'Good Lord, are you all breeding?'

Obviously he knew there were a lot of them, but it has been a long time since he was surrounded like this. He also shoots a look at Joly, because it has started to play on his mind too. What are they supposed to do if these things do not come off by nightfall?

'I have work to do. Horses to feed, and the like. I will not neglect them for your convenience.'

This last at Enjolras, obviously.

Lesgle, watching Courfeyrac's path, sighs exaggeratedly. "Ah, look at him, reveling in his freedom. While we, poor captives, must huddle together, weeping for our lost liberty."

He looks very weepy, yes, as he consoles himself by nudging Joly for a piece of croissant. "--As my grandmother used to say, Javert," --he clears his throat for oratory-- "Many hands make light work. Now, granted, some of us are a bit diminished in the hand department, but there's quite a few of us who aren't. Never fear, good spy, we'll see your horses fed! And your reports filed! And--what else do you do, anyway?"

His jaw sets. Or tries to; it was already fairly firm.

'You think I would entrust the care of my horses to you people?'

He twirls a pencil through his fingers, then sets it down.

'I build here. And I am not letting you near that either, even if any of you were capable.'

WHICH HE DOUBTS.

"...We'll all just follow along and watch you do it one-handed, then, shall we?"

...Heh. One-handed. Bossuet's look of cloudless innocence is spoiled as he kicks Joly's ankle. Subtly.

Javert frowns at him.

He does not get it.

'There is no reason any of you have to come at all, except this one.'

A jerk of his head towards Enjolras.

Edited 2016-02-10 20:53 (UTC)

"We go where you go, until you're free," Combeferre says, to Enjolras. "I hear the magic theoretically prevents him from harming you, but we needn't give him the chance to put that to the test."

He looks over Prouvaire's shoulder at the drawing. "I agree with Courfeyrac, though I think robot is too life-like. It's more like a statue, perhaps a monument or tombstone."

Edited 2016-02-10 21:35 (UTC)

He sighs, and rolls his eyes.

'You believe I would harm him?'

How ignorant these children are.

"Believe? No, but I also don't believe you wouldn't."

The distinction is unnecessarily complex, and Javert dismisses it with a wave of his free hand.

'You are very ignorant. You understand nothing. Violence would be pointless.'

And not just because it sounds like it would cause no actual damage.

It nearly always is, and yet that did not stop Javert where Mlle Fantine was concerned. Combeferre would say this, but he is not, in fact, interested in prolonging the conversation with Javert, let alone informing him of the book. Instead, he turns to the others and says, "If we don't discover the key soon, we will need to make arrangements for sleep."

Edited 2016-02-10 22:15 (UTC)

And across the room Feuilly collects a cup of coffee. Which is a juggling act, since he has a bundle of papers and notebooks under one arm, but he's got a lot of practice.

(And there's a little...valentine candy? On a saucer? Well, that's nice, but not really what Feuilly asked for. Harry has a sweet tooth, maybe he should save it for him? Wait, noooo no no noooo, it says LOVER BOY. That's a little--um--hm. He leaves it tidily on the bar, sitting on a napkin, for someone who might like it.)

He spots the crowd and makes his way over, hastily slurping too-hot coffee to free up his hands as quickly as possible. "Hullo, everyone--Enjolras, hullo--Prouvaire--what's going on? --Ehhh, wait, M. Javert...?"

There's a light pressure on his hand, the one holding all his work. He gives it an annoyed tug--knock it off, Bahorel, you'll make him drop everything--and gets more than he expected.

Bahorel feels a sudden tug on his arm, and tugs back, because that's what a person does when someone grabs at them. Anyway it's what he does.

No, seriously Bahorel, knock it off, he's going to--see? now his stuff is on the floor!

Javert might enjoy the look of aggravation that Feuilly shoots at Bahorel. It's followed immediately by surprise, panic, and suspicious aggravation, as Feuilly realizes what's happened. "I--"

Oh no! Now his stuff is on the floor! And he is attached to Bahorel.

Javert laughs. It is not a thing that happens very often, but he cannot help it. Have fun with that, you two.

Bahorel's memory catches up with his reflexes a hair too late. He grimaces as Feuilly's papers hit the floor." --Damnation. Sorry, Feuilly."

They should probably pick stuff up, but...Bahorel holds up a cuffed hand. That's going to take coordination and not being twitchy at each other. "It's the plague of the day. No invention of mine!" He nods, in disgust, to the cuffs linking Enjolras and the spy.

...And ugh. Of course the spy laughs at Feuilly losing his papers. It would be a cheap bully's trick, if it weren't an accident, not funny at all, so of course.