Winter Snows.
Ok, I know that this is sudden…well kind of…but I was completely and totally disappointed with my work on Winter Solstice…and the title just didn't fit with the new and improved. This one does not feature Grantaire, but it does feature a hopefully more in character Enjolras, and focuses a lot more on the season itself.
Disclaimer: you all should know by now that I don't own it, but whatever. I really don't care. Sue me if you must, but I'm pretty sure I'm not Victor Hugo.
God it's cold! Enjolras thought as he walked into the Café Musain, bringing a flurry of snowflakes in with him. He had always found some reason to despise the winter months, and most of the excuses had something to do with the weather…but not this year. It was mid-January, 1832. The Revolution that Enjolras strode towards so resolutely was close, so close he could almost taste it. But as long as this deep freeze stayed over Paris, and it was likely to last until mid-April at the rate these things normally go, the time would never be right. Winter, after all, was a time of dormancy, when even the fiercest of beasts were as harmless as the flies that seemed to gather everywhere. Now, while people may not hibernate like the mammals of the woodlands, they are most certainly less receptive. For example, once the freeze had started, recruitment had dropped off sharply, despite Courfeyrac's best efforts. Enjolras was willing to be patient, though, if it was only the weather he had to wait for. After all, how could one expect the people to rise, when their blood was frozen in their veins instead of boiling with righteous anger?
"And so, this is our fearless leader's natural state of abstraction….although…do I detect the hint of a frown?" Courfeyrac was half talking to the newest recruit, a young poet named Jean Prouvaire, and half talking to Enjolras himself.
"Depends on whether or not you like the wintertime, M. de Courfeyrac." He left it at that, noting with a little bit of pleasure Courfeyrac's blush at the use of his participle.