Written out of complete boredom Lots of Mary-Sueness and OOCness. No flames please but constructive criticism is okay. In no way is this humor…maybe satire but not humor. :P

Enjolras walked down the cobbled roads with a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. Clearly he was thinking about what to do next, which revolution was more powerful, where would be the right place to stage an insurrection and about other revolutionary scenarios in other countries. His blonde, flyaway hair seemed to cast an ethereal glow around the dim sidewalk, like a lamp in the middle of a room filled with darkness and fear. Indeed he was the light that lit the sidewalks as all the homeless, abased citizens of France seemed to stare at him with a kind of awe only depicted in bibles and in churches. To the people who had seen so many ugly things in their life, death, malnutrition, disease, seeing something beautiful was like a little miracle from God Himself. Enjolras was, in some obscure way, their cherub. They would look at him for a moment, fill their hearts with some sort of hope, and turn away.

He usually ignored the people that were staring at him, for he had no idea that he was handsome. He thought that they were staring at him like he was some sort of freak, averting their eyes when he tried to make contact with theirs. He didn't care, of course, he wasn't sensitive like Prouvaire was or anything. In fact, he didn't care about anything that was pretty. He never stopped to smell the flowers (much to Jehan's horror), he never stopped to appreciate women nor did he stop to think about the small peace that was around them. To him, he was the apparition of Sir Galahad, who had only one goal and nothing else.

That was until he met her.

She was just a stunningly handsome young girl who happened to brush by him one fine night; and when their bodies made contact Enjolras exploded. He had to know about her and he, for a moment, forgot about his revolutionary cause.

Her name was Shanaelle Clairvaux and she was a very pretty girl. Her brown hair fell to her waist and was knotted, teased, braided into the most skillful of all hairstyles. Her bright green eyes were always alight with happiness, intelligence, wit and everything that a woman could desire. They seemed to change colour with her mood; from a dark green when she was sad and to a bright blue-green when she was in love. Her body was slim and Enjolras could tell that she didn't need a corset to show her svelte, hour-glass shaped body. Despite the fact that her skin was always pink with a blush, one could always see that her skin was as pale as the moon and as smooth as china. Her smile was one befitting a fairy from myths while her laugh was so pleasant that the Muses could not compare. Indeed she was the perfect woman.

Enjolras was immediately smitten with her and forgot about patria, his country and his motherland. He wanted to take her away and hear her laugh at his jokes. He was becoming like Prouvaire, always thinking about love and marriage. But who could resist someone as pretty as Shanaelle, whose beauty rivaled that of Venus and all of the Greek nymphs?

"I am in love," he told himself one day, his voice soft and low. In the twenty-two years of his life he had never been so happy. His cheeks, which were once pale and almost colourless, were alive and red while his rose-tinted lips were always alight with a stunning smile. He was in love and everyone in the backroom of the Café Musain could tell. Everyone, down to the drunken and clueless Grantaire.

Combeferre, Feuilly, Courfeyrac and Jehan were lost in a conversation about Enjolras' strange behavior. Combeferre and Feuilly were more concerned than Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were thrilled with the news.

"I say, Enjolras is such a fool," Feuilly said while taking a long sip of his black coffee. The poor man could never afford the lovely wine that the others drank and refused to let them buy him a glass.

Combeferre sighed and nodded his head, indicating that he agreed whole-heartedly with the orphan. "I'd rather him be a tyrant than in love."

A tyrant. Jehan looked him, astounded, and blushed a little before burying himself in his notebook. "A tyrant is a little harsh, Combeferre." He sighed before closing up his little potpourri of poems. "But I believe that this is just a phase—a lovely phase, though—this is the first time he's been in love—well, the first time we know of—and I'm sure that he's just a little flustered." Then his eyes went dreamy as he thought of his first love, Nadina, and his current love, Vivienne.

Courfeyrac snorted at Jehan's statement and took a long swig of wine. He tried to focus his eyes but finally gave up and stared at the window when he was really trying to look at Feuilly. "What I think is that it's about time for Enjy to get a boyfriend—I mean, girlfriend. I heard he's still a vir—" He was cut off when Combeferre placed a hand on his mouth.

"That's enough, Courfeyrac," the intelligent man chided as he wiped his hand with his trousers. "Even if he's pathetically love struck he's still Enjolras and we have to respect him." With a nod of his head he returned back to one of his big books of knowledge.

There the conversation died.

Enjolras walked out of the Café Musain and to his surprise he saw Shanaelle leaning against the dirty lamppost. Immediately he felt sick and wanted to run back into the backroom and hide. But no, even though he was a love struck buffoon at that moment he was still Enjolras at heart. So with a confident, charming smile he walked up to the lovely lady and said, "A beautiful girl like you should not be in the streets at this hour."

Shanaelle looked up, her eyes a dull blue-green, and sighed dramatically, arousing pathos into the poor blondie. "I would be at home but, alas, I have no home. My mistress sent me out when she found out I was more popular than she. Now I have no home…just many callers." She sighed again, a tear clinging to her fair eyelashes like a shipwrecked sailor to a rock.

Now our blonde hero was still compassionate about the poor and when he heard our poor brunette's story he could not help but feel angry. "Those damn bourgeois! How dare they toss aside such a beautiful girl!" The, suddenly, an idea popped into his wild, smitten mind.

"Shanaelle Clairvaux, will you join the Friends of the ABC?"

Well? Should I continue this story or should I just leave it at that? Please review!
+Regina