Author's note: This was originally posted on Tumblr and written for a prompt I got on that site, from AMarguerite. The prompt was "Courfeyrac, Enjolras, malapert."
"I fully expect our efforts to bear fruit," Enjolras said, as they finished discussing the latest pamphlet they intended to distribute regarding the silk workers' revolt in Lyons.
"So long as that fruit is not another pear," Courfeyrac quipped.
Combeferre sighed, and Feuilly smiled politely, but Enjolras remained impassive. This annoyed Courfeyrac. To goad Enjolras, with a well-placed pun, into a display of temper, was always a pleasure; to win a smile from him was a small but thrilling conquest, a prize that Courfeyrac could quietly clutch to his heart and gloat over for weeks afterwards.
But to be ignored! That was an insult of the most insufferable variety, and Courfeyrac resolved not to brook it for one instant longer. He would make Enjolras laugh—or shout—or pay him some sort of tribute, this evening, or he would go home a failure.
Alas, that task was more difficult today, somehow, than it usually was. When Feuilly spoke of his efforts among his fellow fanmakers, Courfeyrac seized the opportunity to talk of fanning the flames of rebellion.
No response from Enjolras, though Feuilly was startled into a chuckle.
When Combeferre went off on a tangent about Fourier and his gastronomical obsessions—Courfeyrac was not entirely sure how he got there, but this was Combeferre, who could leap gracefully from the philosophy of governance to the finer points of cookery—Courfeyrac remarked that Fourier appeared to have taken literally the Biblical lesson that the path to success was through the belly of the beast. Combeferre was resolutely unimpressed, but he was evidently putting a great deal of effort into remaining so. Enjolras, on the other hand, seemed not even to have heard.
Courfeyrac pouted, and gave up.
As they were leaving when their meeting was over, he felt Enjolras's hand on his arm. They were the last two out the door. Courfeyrac forced a grin. "I think our pamphlet will be helpful in drumming up support," he said. "And I really don't think it will be too dangerous, for us or for the workers who helped us write it—Combeferre is right to be concerned, but you know I think perhaps he worries too much."
"Yes," agreed Enjolras calmly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, "if we wish to be helpful to those in Lyons, we can't be frightened of any lions we may encounter in our way." At this, Courfeyrac let out a loud, melodramatic groan and made a great show of burying his head in his hands, whereupon Enjolras looked excessively pleased with himself.
Courfeyrac nearly danced all the way home.
