Boxes, dozens of them, of all sizes, materials, colors and weights laid strewn across the small apartment in random formations and stacks as if they were left that way after being thrown about in a drunken fit. A large stack of boxes made of stretched leather were heaped in a pile almost as high as the ceiling in one corner of the room, another smaller box had overturned, scattering sheaves of paper all around the floor. A copy of Plato's Republic lay neatly in the middle of the haphazard pile, as if revelling in the mayhem around it. Enjolras groaned; moving all those boxes was going to be impossible by himself.
He, contrary to his fragile, angelic looking appearance, did have muscle and strength, thanks to his years of training in fencing, cane du combat and savate, but even Enjolras wasn't stubborn enough to insist that he could move all these materials by himself. Besides, he had a deadline; he had to get all of his possessions out of his apartment before midnight fell or he'd be met with a rather unwelcome visit from the local police force regarding his clandestine revolutionary activities. Gavroche had tipped him off the day before about how the police were after him and had found out where he lived and it was then that Enjolras had hurriedly threw together all his possessions into whatever boxes and suitcases he could find, paid off his landlady, asked Combeferre at the Musain if he could temporarily move in with him and wiped all evidence of his existence off of his apartment.
Enjolras massaged his temples; it was so tiring spending the entire last night wiping off fingerprints, packing boxes and doing paperwork that would redirect mail and sensitive information to another address. He would have much rather spent the night writing a revolutionary speech or rereading Robespierre's works. But no matter; his hard work had paid off. Almost all his possessions were packed now and he was ready to send the boxes over to Combeferre's as soon as the others came with him to help load the boxes. Thank God it was Friday, Enjolras thought; he had a few lectures at the university during the daytime but all those lectures were light, with minimal amounts of homework given and on subjects that he was very familiar with already. All he had to do during the school day was to breeze through his classes, do some of the homework at lunch and then he was off school and back to his apartment, ready to tackle his exodus from the police. It was an added plus that most of the Les Amis d'ABC were free on Friday evenings and could help him. It wasn't like they could really refuse though; it was Amis tradition to help another Amis in moving flats and Enjolras could recall all the humorous moving occasions that had happened. Jehan's flower strewn Bohemian apartment filled with light and quirky poems pinned up on the wall, Joly's almost unhealthily sanitized flat that smelt of medicinal rubbing alcohol and sanitizer along with a rather nasty surprise of dissected arms in one of the cupboards, and Grantaire's surprisingly neat rooms with various artsy drawings that he had drawn pinned up on the wall. Enjolras had been surprised that, when helping Grantaire pack, he had found a portrait of himself, lovingly sketched and in watercolour, in one of the boxes.
Enjolras shook the portrait out of his mind; he didn't need distraction in the form of analysing and dissecting why Grantaire had drawn a portrait of him when he was on the run from the police. Time to head to the Café Musain to ask his dear friends for assistance with the move.
"You – Apollo – is asking for help?"
"Yes Grantaire, I'm asking for help." replied Enjolras in an irritated voice. What was the big deal anyways? He wasn't that proud as to refuse help when needed… was he?
Grantaire took a rather large swig from his bottle; apparently, the notion that Enjolras needed help shook his nerves. "Well, this must be the first and last time that Apollo, god of the glorious sun has needed help in pulling his chariot of fire over the surface of the Earth to distribute his rays across the face of Mother Gaea –"
"I just need help moving! And I need to be out of there before midnight!"
"Why do you need to be out there by midnight?" Joly asked, a curious expression on his face. He had stopped looking at his tongue in his compact mirror.
"Because the police found out where he lived and they're paying him a – ahem – visit tonight." Combeferre replied, calmly polishing his glasses. Enjolras had told him about the situation when he had come to ask Combeferre for permission to stay with him. "And we can all guess that the visit won't be very innocent." He added darkly.
A wave of nods and rumbling mutterings swept through the Les Amis gathered at the Musain. Everyone was present, along with Éponine, Marius and Gavroche although Feuilly was absent, saying earlier that he had a large shipment of fans to make and thus could not attend that night's meeting. They were all casting dark and worried looks at each other, obviously worrying if their covers were blown as well and what that could mean for their organization. Bahorel muttered darkly and cracked his knuckles. "Stupid gendarmes don't know not to stick their noses into Les Amis' businesses."
Enjolras nodded in agreement with Bahorel and then asked the entire group; "So… may I ask for assistance in moving my belongings?"
A loud resounding "Yes" echoed throughout the room as the Les Amis all jumped up and started volunteering to do various moving duties. Startled by this large display of helpfulness, Enjolras couldn't help wondering if they were just being nice and genuinely helpful or if they all secretly wanted a glimpse at his belongings and at the way he lived. His suspicions were confirmed when he overheard Bossuet and Joly whispering conspiratorially to each other about if they were going to find love notes to Patria underneath his mattress. Blushing at this, Enjolras concealed his embarrassment by making arrangements with the rest of the Amis and with Combeferre about the manner in which the boxes could be transported.
In the end, when everything was decided upon and everyone had a role in the moving, they decided to hire a trustworthy, republic-sympathetic fiacre who could be trusted not to leak the whereabouts of Enjolras' new location to the authorities. Jehan had suggested that particular fiacre driver due to his connections to him through the Freemasons and their mutual friends in various Bohemian circles and after much persuasion and ardent oaths that the fiacre driver was trustworthy, everyone went along with Jehan's suggestion. It was arranged that Enjolras, Marius, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Grantaire and Éponine (who always tagged along where Marius went) were to help arrange and carry the boxes from Enjolras' flat to the fiacre in the many fiacre trips required to move all his books and belongings over while Joly, Jehan, Combeferre and Bahorel helped take the loads off the fiacre upon arriving at Combeferre's flat. Gavroche was to stay on the fiacre throughout all the trips to supervise the driver and also because Gavroche simply liked the novelty of being in a fiacre as he had never been in one before. How he, a ten year old boy, could supervise the driver who may or may not be a police spy wasn't doubted at all. Gavroche could be pretty scary when he wanted to and when he was with his fellow street gamins (which he said that he'd bring with him on the fiacre ride), he and his gang were notorious for their ferocity and strength. With that settled, everyone parted to do their duty, cheerfully laughing and joking all the way and Enjolras led Marius, Courfeyrac, Éponine, Bossuet and Grantaire to his apartment.
By the time they were on the road to Enjolras' apartment, the sky was dark already, making it seem like midnight despite the fact that it was, in fact only 6 o'clock. Alas, that was what winter brought, thought Enjolras wistfully, watching the dancing snowflakes swirl around outside the fiacre window.
He and the rest of the Amis who were stationed at his apartment were crammed together in the fiacre, knees knocking with each other. Grantaire was snuggled uncomfortably close to him with his mop of curly black hair on Enjolras' shoulder and Enjolras, try as he might, couldn't move away since he was hemmed in on the other side by Éponine and thus had to endure the smell of liquor from Grantaire throughout the entire ride. Éponine beside him hardly seemed to notice the crowdedness though; she had only eyes for Marius who sat directly across from her while Marius was completely, utterly oblivious to her love struck gazes. Enjolras had to stifle a strong urge to roll his eyes; was that boy really that blind as to not notice Éponine's affections?
Meanwhile, Marius was encountering some difficulty too; his freckled face was wincing every time Bossuet's elbow jabbed his ribs again as Bossuet slept through the bumpy carriage ride and it was safe to say that, by the time the carriage ride was through, Marius would have a large bruise on his side. Éponine looked as if she was inwardly screaming with fangirl-like adoration every time Marius winced. Enjolras mentally face palmed.
Courfeyrac, charming rogue he was, didn't stop lascivious sending lewd eyebrow raises at Enjolras and Grantaire and mock leering at Éponine (due to Courfeyrac's magnetic attraction to the opposite sex) which Enjolras found insufferably annoying and irritating. At one of Courfeyrac's more lewd Éponine oriented ogling, Enjolras surprised himself by feeling a burning feeling in his stomach and by glaring at Courfeyrac in a distinctly possessive way. Courfeyrac's eyebrows shot up his forehead and suddenly, his expression changed to one akin to "Eureka!" as he madly gestured between Enjolras and Éponine. Enjolras could feel the blush starting to creep up his neck as he shook his head fervently mouthing "No" and mouthed "Patria" back at Courfeyrac. Unconvinced, Courfeyrac swallowed back a Cheshire cat grin and mouthed to Enjolras; "We'll see." Grantaire shifted in his sleep, burying his face even more into Enjolras' coat.
Enjolras took a deep calming breath, knowing that this was going to be a long carriage ride indeed.
By the time they had all gotten out of the fiacre and trooped into Enjolras' apartment, stomping snow all over the place, Enjolras was in somewhat of a temper. He had endured Grantaire practically lying on top of him, Éponine sighing with love sickness every time Marius had so much breathed, Bossuet (who sat right in front of him) occasionally kicking him in the shins while he slept and Courfeyrac sending him and Éponine suggestive looks throughout the entire carriage ride. So it was with a not-so-cheerful expression that he told everyone that they had to load the boxes onto the fiacre. Grantaire, upon hearing this, promptly took a large swig from his bottle again and collapsed on a couple of boxes Marius was diligently trying to lift. Éponine swooned again at Marius' hardworking tendencies but stopped abruptly when Marius started singing an off tune ditty about Cosette's eyes. Enjolras rolled his eyes yet again in long suffering exasperation.
"Gee, why the long face, Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked with a much too innocent expression. "Maybe your face isn't the only thing that is long today-"
A glare from Enjolras silenced him.
To his horror, Éponine suddenly materialized by his side (apparently frustrated from watching Marius sing an off tune melody with the name 'Cosette' sprinkled throughout the lyrics) and asked, not knowing the subtext of Courfeyrac's insinuation; "What? What's long?"
Enjolras inwardly panicked as Courfeyrac's expression suddenly turned to one of opportunistic glee. "You know, Éponine, our fearless leader here –"
"Bossuet! Do you have the boxes all ready?" Enjolras said loudly, hoping to drown out Courfeyrac's voice. That Courfeyrac! Oh, when he has the chance, that rogue was so going to get it!
"Yup! Well, kind of…" Bossuet teetered under a much too high pile of boxes. To everyone's horror, Bossuet stepped on his own shoe and tripped, and, suddenly everything seemed to go in slow motion. The large pile of boxes held in his arms tipped forward and flew through the air in a graceful arch, lids opening as they went, paper and books soaring everywhere. Bossuet let go of the boxes completely, using his arms to prevent himself from doing a faceplant and all the boxes previously held in his arms went literally flying. Straight towards the largest pile of boxes. It would have been funny to watch if not for the cataclysmic result that would follow. Enjolras could only watch in horror as all his careful packing was destroyed in less than a second. But it was not over yet, the boxes thrown by Bossuet smashed straight into the largest pile of boxes in the corner, and, the largest pile teetered… tipped to the side… and completely collapsed, pushing all the other boxes stashed on top of each other beside it over. Like a row of dominoes, all the boxes tipped over around the room and broke open, scattering possessions everywhere and destroying the relatively neat sight of packed boxes that been in place of the scattered mayhem it was now.
For a moment, all six of them stood there, mouths agape, too shocked and (in Enjolras' case) devastated to say anything. It was like watching the aftermath of a disaster.
Finally, Éponine mustered up her composure to say wryly, in her hoarse voice;
"Thank you Bossuet, for that wonderful incentive to start working and stop arguing." The last words she directed at Enjolras and Courfeyrac, the latter whom had the courtesy to look ashamed.
Bossuet blushed.
Author's Note: Bonjour mes amis! I hope that you like this story and if you did, feel free to review!
This story will not be just a one-shot; I'll be continuing the tale of Enjolras' moving day and keep your eyes open for an update soon! In between you and I, I'll tell you that the next chapter entails: Joly's sanitation mania, Jehan's very... ahem... unique interior decorating style, rising sexual tension between Enjolras and Éponine, and an appearance of Javert's side burns.
Stay tuned!
Disclaimer: Je ne possède pas le livre, film ou histoire du ``Les Misérables``. Donc, s'il vous plait ne me poursuivez pas.