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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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.

Feuilly doesn't actually mind the laughter all that much. Of course it's rude and annoying, but not surprisingly so. People laugh when you drop things. But damn it, he has to pick his things up--thank God he didn't have the laptop--which means setting down his coffee, and wriggling around so he can crouch down without pulling Bahorel with him--

"--What's the plan? Um--sorry--I'm sure you were talking about it before I--" You know. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Bahorel crouches down with him, though he won't try to pick up the papers; there's probably some sort of order there. "Our newest company was just telling us how all this interferes with his virtuous work." Woe. Alas.

"And we were all trying to decide how to handle, er. Living arrangements. For however long this lasts." Joly waves his own cuffed hand slightly, fingers half-linked with Bossuet's, shoulder-high so Feuilly can see.

...Yeah, he's emphatically not complaining about his own situation, here.

Javert looks briefly horrified at the word living - this had damn well better wear off before too much more life passes - and picks his pencil up again.

'There are no arrangements to be made. I am going to tend to my horses. The rest of you can do as you please.'

Though preferably far away from him.

Combeferre idly wonders if Javert proposes to cut off his own hand to get away from them all.

Without voicing his thought, he turns to the others. "I'd propose retiring to mine and Enjolras's room, but more space may be more comfortable, given the size of our gathering."

Edited 2016-02-12 03:41 (UTC)

Is he really going to have to endure all of them, all evening? All night? Dear God.

'You are not coming near my room,' he mutters, not expecting anyone to listen.

And even if they were inclined, they would not all fit. The place is barely big enough for him.