Author's note: This was written to compliment an illustration:
/art/Poor-Enjy-209291386
which I had made as part of a friend's Christmas present.
Really, it's just an excuse to tie Enjy up, but I did try to make it good. In particular, I attempted to imitate Hugo's style by presenting the story from the point of view of an uninformed stranger, and including as many classical references as I could think of. Not that y'all probably couldn't guess who it was. ;P
The other older guards were discussing the rebellion. Their conversation bespoke of men who had drunk too much and had the intention of drinking more.
By the time the new guard arrived at the café to report to his post, the scene had become loud and disorderly. The soldiers, having carried out their orders, had taken to the wine and absinthe stored in abundance behind the bar. The atmosphere was convivial but menacing, and the air smelled of revelry and alcohol. The new guard, on his first assignment, had not expected such raucous chaos.
Nonetheless, he reported to the first higher officer he could find. More than a bit inebriated, the older man managed to slur out a rather vague account of the night's happenings with his reeking breath: The young guard gathered that they had performed their duty and also captured the rebel leader. The officer then gruffly shooed the boy away.
Wandering around the café, he caught sight of something that he at first could not comprehend. It was a captive angel, shining through the grime of the sordid scene as the bawdy shadows of the guards played over his form. The young guard, in his shock, began to run towards the darkened corner of the cafe to free it. Then, stopping suddenly, he realized his folly. However angelic, it was a man. A young man with golden hair falling into a beautiful and noble face, Psyche's lover incarnate upon the earth. The young Apollo's hands were bound behind his back; he had been gagged with a neckerchief. Looking at him kneeling on the stone floor, the new guard guessed that this was probably the rebel leader. He must have put up a violent fight, as he was bruised and bleeding in several places. The spirit of rebellion, however, had evidently not left him, for he twisted and thrashed desperately against his bonds, fighting with undiminished ferocity and indignation. The soldiers had been cruel: The angelic young man had been stripped and beaten. The only scant clothing allowed him appeared to be part of a ripped red flag tied unceremoniously around the man's hips. The young guard noticed the young man's hands were tied with the blue, white, and red sash that all of the rebels had been wearing. Ironically, his freedom had been compromised by his own cherished symbols of liberty.
The boisterous soldiers, in their drunken state, found the utmost hilarity in the man's writhing and struggling, laughing and hurling unkind jokes at him. They cooed and taunted, dealing him the occasional strike or slap, increasing the helpless angel's fury and their amusement.
For a brief moment, the golden-haired youth paused, exhausted, shaking and straining steadily against his bonds while his chest rose up and down rapidly. It was at that time that the new guard made eye contact with the bound son of Athena. The soldier was struck startled and breathless by the man's cold blue eyes, which burned through the darkness – not pleading or defeated, but deep, bright, and angry, full of pride and passion. He thought for just an instant that he caught a glimpse of unutterable sadness buried deeper still within those piercing pools of azure, a sadness for a great thing lost, a loved one gone.
At that time, while the young guards stood mesmerized by these portals of blue flame, a big guard thought it fit to amuse himself by delivering a vicious kick to the side of the revolutionary's head, which was thrown back as the avenging angel crumpled into black unconsciousness and the young guard stood stunned with those eyes still burning in his mind.