pro_patria_mortuus | des super-pouvoirs

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jehan prouvaire

des super-pouvoirs

Enjolras knocks on Prouvaire and Bahorel's door out of long habit. Their old knock, still; it matters far less now, but there's no reason to actually break that habit. But, because it's Prouvaire and Bahorel's door, and Bahorel treats it as nearly an insult of honor for a friend to actually use manners instead of barging in, he also opens the door shortly afterward.

(There is a brief pause, though, just in case a response was going to come. There are things Enjolras has no interest in walking in on, even if the room's occupants -- well, mostly Bahorel -- wouldn't care.)

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Jehan, lying on the couch with Marguerite purring on his chest, calls out, "Come in," perhaps unnecessarily.

"Enjolras." He smiles in welcome, and gestures vaguely at the other couch and chairs.

Enjolras returns the smile.

"Hello, Prouvaire. How are you?"

He came to return a book Bahorel lent him, but also mostly to talk to friends, so he's more than happy to take a seat.

Jehan weighs the question. "Contemplative," he says, "and a bit lazy." He gives Marguerite a pat. "Having this tiny citizen sleeping on me doesn't incline me to move. And you?"

Enjolras is, privately, not entirely convinced that Marguerite is as gifted and intelligent as Prouvaire believes, but who knows? Not him! At any rate, it's an utterly Prouvaire thing to say, and as such it makes him look fondly at his sprawled friend.

"I'm fine. I finished this book Bahorel lent me; have you read it?"

He extends it for Jehan to see. It's a collection of influential English-language political allegories, in French translation. (He got the English originals from Bar for a couple of the ones he found the most interesting, to compare, but English is still a slow enough slog that it's much easier to read with a text he already basically comprehends.)

(Isn't it obvious she's a cat of true genius? Jehan would forgive Enjolras his doubts, because everyone has his own errors and ignorance, but would nevertheless insist on arguing about it.)

Jehan stretches out a hand to take the book. "Ah, yes! What did you think of it? I always find Bahorel's recommendations stimulating, even if I passionately loathe them."

(It's obvious that she's a cat! And that Prouvaire is very fond of her! And that she's fond of him! And that is about the extent of Enjolras's own opinions on the subject, but he recognizes the strength of Jehan's convictions.)

That, too, is a very Prouvaire way to phrase a sentiment that Enjolras fully agrees with. "It was very interesting. Uneven, of course, but that's inevitable. In several of them, I thought the story got in the way of the argument -- it wasn't believable, the metaphor stretched too far -- but there was an argument to engage with, even in those."

Often to disagree fervently with, but still.

Jehan can't help smiling. The story got in the way of the argument--of course Enjolras would see it like that. "I thought similarly, except I would say the argument got in the way of the story in those cases--made them clumsy, devoid of grace and force." Marguerite mews in agreement. "But it provided much to think about, especially with respect to the historical reasons why authors felt driven to write about these ideas."

"Yes." Enjolras lights up with an inner intensity whenever a compelling idea is raised, whether or not he agrees with it; now is one of those times. He leans forward slightly, his attention focusing in on Jehan. "Of course very few of them would have been well received in our time, in our Paris. Most of them would have made no sense." Some of them still don't make much sense to him, frankly. "The metaphors, even the policy concerns. But clearly they were important to their societies. Influential, the book says. Each one is addressing an issue that mattered to its author, and its readers."

The argument got in the way of the story is one of those things Prouvaire says where the words make sense but Enjolras can't see his way to the underlying view; how can a story be of greater interest than its message? But that's one of Prouvaire's gifts: he sees things in ways Enjolras can't.

"Oh, yes," says Jehan, shifting Marguerite a bit so her tail isn't whacking him in the face. "And one can learn so much of a society through studying its people's wildest dreams and nightmares about what it might become. What ideas terrified them, enthralled them, fascinated them. What their seers warned of, or prayed for."

"Yes, exactly."

Enjolras would have phrased all of that quite differently, of course. But there's nothing Prouvaire has said that he disagrees with.

"At root, they're all about the most basic concerns of a society: liberty, equality, how best to achieve them, what may or must not be compromised in so doing. But the details are specific. What's feared, what's seen as a threat. And of course what's a realistic scenario, or at least a comprehensible one."

It's clear that not all of those stories are meant to be realistic depictions of truly plausible scenarios. But for someone coming from outside the author's context, and from an era before even gas lights and locomotives, it's sometimes hard to be certain what's meant as realism and what's meant as science fiction.

Jehan continues to mull this, as Marguerite slow-blinks at him from his chest.

After a long and quiet moment, he says, dreamily, "I wonder what your dystopia would be, Enjolras, if you had to write one? Surely one's fearful imaginings would be a particular mark of one's soul, and directly related to one's greatest strengths."

...What a very Prouvaire question. Enjolras regards him with affectionate bemusement.

"I've never seen a point to inventing something worse than we already faced."

He's not what you'd call gifted at flights of fancy.

The slow-blooming smile on Jehan's face betrays that he thinks this is a very Enjolras answer.

"I think," he says, "the point would be to better contemplate what we value, by envisioning a world where it is particularly under threat. Combeferre's dystopia would be one where ignorance was the law, and learning was forbidden. Bahorel's would be one of conformity and repression of all conflict, where any disagreement is punished by hours upon hours of silent prayer." Marguerite meows, and Jehan nods seriously. "Yes. Their nightmares would be the opposite of their greatest and most divine powers."

Enjolras considers that seriously. He understands Prouvaire's premise, but as so often, he can't follow his mind down the track of it. Like listening to someone reminiscing about walks along a road he's only seen a map of, he can try to imagine but not truly grasp the experience.

"But I know what I value."

"I do take your meaning, I think. By seeing what comes to mind as the worst infringement of a people's rights, we can see what rights we hold dearest in our hearts. But I can think of enough outrages merely by looking at the fight that was before us in life, or the fights that any number of people face here. I think you would be better at imagining my fictional dystopia than I, my friend."

"That's the answer I expected from you," Jehan says, with evident (if slightly amused) affection, "that relentless focus on the cold, bright truth, unhampered by any fancies. That's your great power, and it informs your dystopia--or lack of it."

Enjolras, amused in turn, spreads a hand in silent acknowledgment: as you say, that's me, I can't argue.

He's not sure how you get from there to this notion of a personal dystopia -- and perhaps it's only that the idea of building a whole society around his own personal hopes and fears, even only in a thought exercise, seems unbearably arrogant to attempt -- but he does know himself well enough to acquiesce with Prouvaire's assessment.

"Now I want to ask Combeferre." Marguerite's squeak indicates she thinks this is a sound idea. "He would have an interesting answer, no doubt. But first he would have some penetrating insights into why people find the concept of dystopia so intriguing."

"He always does," Enjolras agrees.

Combeferre always has interesting answers, and penetrating insights. It's just one part of why he's so amazing a person and so excellent a friend!

"I confess, I don't see the appeal of the concept. As an illustration of an argument about one's current society and its injustices, certainly. The rhetorical use of a logical extension is clear enough. But beyond that? No, it doesn't intrigue me. I'm sure Combeferre would have a great deal of insight to share with you, though. And you with him, of course, as well."

"And also an illustration of society's strengths, perhaps--by envisioning how it might fare in the absence of those strengths." Jehan smiles. "Strengths and fears are bound up together, after all--in societies as well as individuals. Combeferre's particular brilliance is tied to his abhorrence of ignorance."

Marguerite, bored of Jehan's chest, jumps off to go stand before Enjolras and mew loudly.

Enjolras blinks at her.

...Yeah, in spite of all Prouvaire's insistence upon her gifts and intellect and so forth, all he's hearing is a cat mewing. Without any Milliways translation going on.

He casts a glance at Prouvaire: your animal is making noise at me, Prouvaire. Is he expected to do something in response to this? (If not, he'll respond to what his friend just said, which he finds infinitely more interesting than pets, sorry.)

Jehan smiles. "She's saying hello."

Also saying Jehan is right, and get into the spirit of things, Enjolras, but he won't translate that part just yet.

"...Hello," says Enjolras back, with the fastidious enunciation of someone who's not working very hard to conceal his dubiousness.

(He is, sadly, not very gifted at getting into the spirit of things. Except for the few things he is into the spirit of all the time 100%, like revolution and justice.)

Okay anyway. "I agree with you, in part. But fear can also lead to grave error. In a society, more than the individual -- though perhaps it's only writ larger. But how many oppressions and tragedies have been born from fears exploited? So many of our friends are to be admired for looking at their fears, their horrors, and turning from them to strength and compassion instead. It's a great gift of humanity to do so."

"Oh, yes," Jehan says, his amusement at Enjolras's reaction to Marguerite subsumed by his earnest consideration of the topic. "And they do it in ways so particular to them--Combeferre countering ignorance with philosophy. Joly looking at the pain and waste of medicine in our time, and turning to any experiment he could for an alternative. Feuilly deciding that no one should ever be abandoned by or severed from their nation. Bossuet taking bad luck and making it an opportunity to forge friendships."

A dreamy look comes over his face. "It's almost magic."

Enjolras's face lights in response, with the earnest fervor that talking about how miraculous and amazing his friends are always inspires. "They do."

So does Prouvaire, of course. Prouvaire, you're great!

"They're inspirations, always -- all our friends. They face the great griefs and horrors of the world, and transmute them into light for a world shadowed by ignorance."

"Yes," Jehan murmurs, thoughtfully, "mortal Apollos all, in their way." He smiles. "Well, Combeferre is more of a Minerva, and Bossuet a Dionysus, perhaps."

[ooc: hi, I'm back, sorry for the delinquency and let me know if you'd rather just let this fade]

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