"A Sacrifice"
A/N: Yes, this is Grantaire talking about Enjolras, unless you've got a wild imagination and want to imagine otherwise. Also, THIS IS NOT SLASH. I love Enjy/R slash, don't get me wrong, but this isn't it. If you want to interpret it as one-sided, go ahead.
This is also a drabble for 15minuteficlets, so yea, be nice. Done in 16 minutes. (off by one!)
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His head hit the table with a loud thud, yet the sole other occupant of the café seemed not to hear. The man, quite homely, attempted to lift his head, and triumphed over the force of gravity for about half a minute before it fell down with another loud THUD!
The other occupant, however, ignored this if he had indeed heard it, and continued to write furiously on his parchment, occasionally stopping to blow on the ink a bit to quicken the drying process. His feminine-type hands scrawled all over the parchment, and if one looked carefully, they'd notice the increase in speed with every thud made by his neighbor, as if the sounds fueled him. His eyes narrowed to see the several books laid out before him before the flickering candlelight. He did not care about the time. Patría did not allow her warriors to rest.
Meanwhile, this neighbor had accomplished the astonishing victory of keeping his head high for two uninterrupted minutes and quite pleased with himself, took this advantage to gaze at the writer only a table away. This writer, whose speeches were as striking as his beauty, this fair Adonis, was the sole subject of this drunken man's examinations, a study of which he never tired of. He did not wish to trouble this fair man, this celestial being that could even make Aphrodite grovel at his feet. This man was perfection, the very embodiment of it.
From his light complexion, to his bright blue eyes, to his resonating voice and marble face, this man was more beautiful than the statue of David. Oh, for a Michelangelo to sculpt this for generations to come!
The man rose up, and groped at any nearby objects to help him to the exit, completely aware that the scritch-scratch of the quill was slowing its pace as he did so. Suddenly blinking hard, he determinedly made his way to the door and walked without a backward glance. Perfection's greatest flaws were its homely beholders.
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A/N: Please review! I like reviews. *puppy eyes*
A/N: Yes, this is Grantaire talking about Enjolras, unless you've got a wild imagination and want to imagine otherwise. Also, THIS IS NOT SLASH. I love Enjy/R slash, don't get me wrong, but this isn't it. If you want to interpret it as one-sided, go ahead.
This is also a drabble for 15minuteficlets, so yea, be nice. Done in 16 minutes. (off by one!)
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His head hit the table with a loud thud, yet the sole other occupant of the café seemed not to hear. The man, quite homely, attempted to lift his head, and triumphed over the force of gravity for about half a minute before it fell down with another loud THUD!
The other occupant, however, ignored this if he had indeed heard it, and continued to write furiously on his parchment, occasionally stopping to blow on the ink a bit to quicken the drying process. His feminine-type hands scrawled all over the parchment, and if one looked carefully, they'd notice the increase in speed with every thud made by his neighbor, as if the sounds fueled him. His eyes narrowed to see the several books laid out before him before the flickering candlelight. He did not care about the time. Patría did not allow her warriors to rest.
Meanwhile, this neighbor had accomplished the astonishing victory of keeping his head high for two uninterrupted minutes and quite pleased with himself, took this advantage to gaze at the writer only a table away. This writer, whose speeches were as striking as his beauty, this fair Adonis, was the sole subject of this drunken man's examinations, a study of which he never tired of. He did not wish to trouble this fair man, this celestial being that could even make Aphrodite grovel at his feet. This man was perfection, the very embodiment of it.
From his light complexion, to his bright blue eyes, to his resonating voice and marble face, this man was more beautiful than the statue of David. Oh, for a Michelangelo to sculpt this for generations to come!
The man rose up, and groped at any nearby objects to help him to the exit, completely aware that the scritch-scratch of the quill was slowing its pace as he did so. Suddenly blinking hard, he determinedly made his way to the door and walked without a backward glance. Perfection's greatest flaws were its homely beholders.
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A/N: Please review! I like reviews. *puppy eyes*