pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

Enjolras has, over his months here, gotten more or less accustomed to conversations with Bar. With Combeferre looking on in fascination, however, he's newly reminded of the depth of peculiarity inherent in a discussion in which one half of the dialogue comes in the form of notes in orange crayon (and legible but extremely strange and rather childish handwriting, to 19th century eyes) written on small paper napkins.

Nonetheless, the conversation is reasonably productive. Their request -- primarily Combeferre's request, though Enjolras raised the question with Bar -- was for either more shelving to be installed in their current room, or for a larger room intended for two and with enough storage space for the collection of oddities and equipment Combeferre is likely to keep amassing.

"And no cherubs," Combeferre added. "If you please."

Bar indicated, via orange notes, that shelving would be possible, but that a larger room was equally possible and likely more useful, and that she suggested examining the options to see if they would suit. It's fair enough, Enjolras has to admit. If none of them seem workable -- for example if every large room involves blue and cherubs or Bahorel's rocks-and-red-velvet... thing -- then they can always return to request shelves and any other modifications Combeferre would prefer.

So Combeferre and Enjolras are now making their way through the upstairs hallway comparing room numbers with those inscribed on a ring of keys.

Threaded | Flat

Bar has thoughtfully provided them with a key to Paris Violets. It's Room 210.

Combeferre opens the door, and follows Enjolras inside.

It's...purple. At least, the carpet is, a deep rich violet that's not unpleasant in itself, but Combeferre wonders what it has to do with Paris. The walls are a buttery yellow. Again, not inherently ugly, but it jars oddly with the violet.

One bed is large enough to fit four Combeferres, possibly five Enjolrases (Enjolrai?). The other, though smaller, has a silky cover that seems almost indecent.

Walking around, he sees that it is large--more than large enough for their purposes. But not, he thinks, conducive to peaceful study.

"Well," says Combeferre. "Er. Not this one, I think, unless you like it?"