Hi. So this is my first story. There are no pairings, and the time period is sketchy as best. It's not meant to be taken seriously, I promise. Anyway, read, enjoy, review. Thanks. UW
Oh, the disclaimer: I-am-the-UnderWolf does not own Les Miserbles. If we did, We'd be a dead Frenchman, and dead Frenchmen don't write fanfiction. We also don't own the song 'Revolution' by the Beatles, or the amazing movie, 'Across the Universe'.
It began as a rather normal evening at the Café Musain; Enjolras was pontificating to the Amis, inciting excitement and righteous indignation for the marginalized and poor. The students shouted their agreement, declaring that things would change; pledging their loyalty to the cause. Everyone was suitably empowered and ready to change the world. All was right in Enjolras' world for once.
Enjolras would later remark that he should have expected something; it was far too quiet. That alone should have been enough warning, Combeferre would add, based on their past experiences. There were some people missing, of course; Marius was most likely pining over his mysterious Lark, the 'love of his life', otherwise known as the girl he'd met several hours ago in the square, but there was still a rather noticeable fixture of the little scene conspicuously absent. Not that Enjolras would complain about the peace; it was mainly the feeling of an impending trouble that unsettled him. Yet he continued with his planning and speechmaking as if things were alright, trying to take advantage of the quiet and attentive atmosphere.
That was destroyed rather quickly when the door slammed open, flooding the dusky room with harsh light as a tall dark haired figure strode in purposely. As he entered further, they were able to recognize the tousled curly hair of their resident cynic. Enjolras held in a groan. Leaving no time for questions or comments on his unusually sober appearance, he began.
"You say you want a revolution," he sang, striding purposely up to Enjolras and Combeferre and violently sweeping everything, every map, book, note page, pen, and notebook off the table in front of them and onto the floor. "Well you know, we all want to change the world!" Everyone gaped. For all his disapproval, the resident cynic had never been so outrageous. Ignoring them, he whirled away.
"Winecask, what in God's name are you-" Enjolras walked up to him, trying in vain to get him to stop whatever he was doing.
"You tell me that it's evolution," He scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking around. "Well you know, we all want to change the world!" the sarcasm and cynicism was evident to all as he paced the room like a caged beast. Bahorel grabbed his arm, but he shook him off, flinging him back several feet.
"Grantaire, go home; you're drunk." Ignoring him completely, the resident drunkard leapt up onto the table with surprising grace, wobbling only slightly, turning to Enjolras and pointing at him, accusingly.
"But when you talk about destruction, don't you know that you can count me out!" he declared emphatically, staring pointedly at everyone in the café. "Don't you know it's gonna be all right? All right." Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. No one said anything; they were all too stunned by the whole event to comment further. Near the window, Jehan began tapping his foot in time to his song.
"You say you'll change the constitution, well, you know, we all want to change your head!" he rapped Combeferre on the back of the skull quickly in passing.
"What on earth has gotten into you?!" he spun Jehan around theatrically before releasing the dizzy poet.
"You tell me it's the institution" he snatched up a picture of the parliament before ripping it in half. "Well, you know, you better free you mind instead!" He kicked books left and right.
"But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao," Grantaire snorted, flipping his hair out of his eyes as he grabbed the painting of General Lamarque and waved it around.
"Who?" again, the question was unceremoniously ignored as Enjolras attempted to rescue his picture from Grantaire's clutches.
"You ain't going to make it with anyone, anyhow!" he kicked a chair out of his way and leapt up onto the bar, raising a half-full bottle of absinthe in the air and taking a messy swig. "Don't you know it's gonna be all right? All right, all right, all right, all right, all right… all right, all right, all right…" And with that, he slipped down and stumbled past the stunned revolutionaries. At the door, Grantaire turned and saluted sloppily before slipping out the door, still mumbling, "All right… all right… all right…" as he went, leaving the revolutionaries staring.
"You know," Courfeyrac began, picking up one of the scattered maps, "He was actually quite good."