There are a great many jokes Bossuet understands that Enjolras does not. He's never had much of a knack for it.
"That I am from June of '32, as are you. Gavroche too -- he was there. That there are... things which it would be better to arrange differently, between his time and ours."
He breathes out. With Bossuet, the understatement was carefully done, a bit of delicate wording for the middle of a public place, and the awareness between them that Bossuet was choosing not to ask yet about the things Enjolras was choosing not to say. With Grantaire, now, the weight of it tugs at something in his throat.
But there's the hope, too, like air to banked embers. Bossuet is here, and there's work to be done. True, meaningful work; work that, if done exactly right, could matter.
"You remember, he caught a flowerpot to the head in the tumult. He was concussed still, he was weary. It seemed better to let him rest before we discussed details. He's taken a room," and he gives the number. "He's Bound."
no subject
"That I am from June of '32, as are you. Gavroche too -- he was there. That there are... things which it would be better to arrange differently, between his time and ours."
He breathes out. With Bossuet, the understatement was carefully done, a bit of delicate wording for the middle of a public place, and the awareness between them that Bossuet was choosing not to ask yet about the things Enjolras was choosing not to say. With Grantaire, now, the weight of it tugs at something in his throat.
But there's the hope, too, like air to banked embers. Bossuet is here, and there's work to be done. True, meaningful work; work that, if done exactly right, could matter.
"You remember, he caught a flowerpot to the head in the tumult. He was concussed still, he was weary. It seemed better to let him rest before we discussed details. He's taken a room," and he gives the number. "He's Bound."