Just a short little musing. Have a feeling or two. Sit down, enjoy a drink, leave a review, I'm not picky but I am desperate. First time writing Les Miserables. Grantaire/Enjolras sort of. Nothing particularly romantic, unfortunately.
Disclaimer: Not mine to own, hold, control, alter, or recast. Not that I would.
Whiskey, the drink of the soul.
A man of simple pleasures found at the bottom of a bottle, in the games his friends played, and between the legs of various women, Grantaire knew this wasn't his place. To bury one's problems in tidal waves of alcohol was a cowardly way to live, but when one's already dead, how could they care?
That's exactly what he was—a dead man walking. And he knew it.
This wasn't his revolution. Not his to lead, not his to fight, not his to want. This was not a revolution for Grantaire, it was a revolution for Enjolras. He was just along for the ride.
Enjolras was like the amber liquid that burned its way down Grantaire's throat until he couldn't afford any more. Achilles in the way that he was so utterly invincible but all too human, and that flaw that would leave them all for dead. A leader, words more intoxicating than any fine wine. A poison consumed unknowingly until it was too late.
But Grantaire knew exactly what he was drinking.
He downed his drink, his problems, his love, drowning it all to desperately lose his head.
This was Enjolras's revolution, but that didn't mean Grantaire wouldn't fight it.
If they all died, so be it. It was worth it for Enjolras, so it was worth it for him.
This damned opera could lift its curtains again in the morning.
He set the bottle down.
Sorry it's so short. Hope you liked it! I'm not going to beg for reviews, no, not at all. So just... you know.. Review.
Even if you thought it was awful.
Especially if you thought it was awful.
Or just all right.
Yep, now I'm begging. Review please!