Author's Note: All of these characters are based off of their film counterparts unless otherwise stated. These are also just simple drabbles. There is a chance that they will be expanded on in the future, but for now they will usually remain under 500 words. This one in particular is focused on Enjorlas and his outlook on what he loves. I wanted to at least attempt to get a part of Enjorlas's true spirit into this piece, but I'm not the best writer. I was inspired by a number of other writers who have done this quite well though. Criticize me as much as you can and suggest another drabble for me to do. Now enjoy.
The sounds of the last battle still feigned in Enjorlas's ears. He replayed the moments of his comrades falling below. Falling for his country. Falling for the cause of freedom. Something so great that the people of France were willing to be martyrs. He watched as Marius sung to the street urchin who often appeared in their café. As he wrung his nose in a mix of pity and regret, he inspected the scene before him. He took into account how small their force was, how small and insignificant they were. And still, he was there; of course, he could have been like his dear friend Marius, whose heart only went out to that girl Cosette who he had seen a total of two times. He allowed himself to smile at his friend's "love", a thing he had never had the chance to experience, but only for a second. He looked out beyond the barricade towards the men of the National Guard. The carnage his men had created made him proud. Enjorlas was proud of his men, of their sacrifice, of their work. He was proud to be surrounded by such bravery and such courage. Yet, he thought of all that he had missed as well. Grantaire threw an arm around him and drunkenly began to sing. It made Enjorlas think of days when he could still consider these men, but mere boys. "Here's to pretty girls who went to our heads. Here's to witty girls who went to our beds" Before he could help it, Enjorlas began to wonder if he would ever have the chance to love someone or if he would die here with his comrades. He thought of taking the bottle from the curly haired drunkard who he had often pulled out of trouble. Almost as soon as this thought crossed his mind, he was bombarded by images of a New France, one where the people never starved, where people could easily get access to education. He thought of a France that had everything he had ever wanted and with that, he pushed all thoughts of the inviting bottle from his mind and focused on the one thing he felt the most passionate about.