A/N: I'm sorry about the formatting of the first chapter. My computer is
being evil. If anyone has any suggestions for correcting this problem,
please let me know.
A large banner hung from one of the building's windows proclaimed the words "Café Musain," in big black lettering. Enjolras stood, staring admiringly up at it. "Are you going in, or shall we sit here and gawk at the windows all day, hmm?" As if to answer Bossuet's question, Enjolras resolutely approached the heavy wooden door and nudged it open with the toe of his shoe.
Once inside the café, Enjolras squinted his eyes, partly to keep them from watering at all the smoke, and partly to help them adjust to the dim light. He could barely see Bossuet, who was up ahead, chatting with a waitress. "The back room, please, Louison."
"Anything for you, Monsieur L'aigle. Messieurs Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly are expecting you." Louison smiled pleasantly and ushered them inside a hallway, running between the main café and secluded back room. "L'aigle!" Enjolras interrogated the older student. "You told me your name was Bossuet. And another thing. Why are they expecting you?" He was abruptly cut off.
"No, you misunderstand. I'm descended from a certain Lesgueles, and somehow, my surname was shortened to Lesgle, then to L'aigle. Don't ask why, I'm in no mood to tell a long story. I am sometimes called Bossuet. And as to the other question, you'll see." He knocked soundly on the door to the back room. A young man with glasses perched on the end of his nose rose to greet them.
"Who is it?"
"Bossuet, and a newcomer. Let us in, Combeferre."
"Very well." Combeferre slid back the bolt on the door and welcomed them inside. One of the other students, whom the others addressed as Courfeyrac, lit a large lamp in the center of the room, and a glass of wine was poured for everyone. Somehow the clinking of bottles and glasses caused a disheveled looking young man asleep in an old armchair, who had been dead drunk, to stir faintly and open his eyes.
"I hear wine. Who's pouring? Is that Feuilly?" He squinted, willing his tired eyes to focus. "I'll take a glass of wine."
"Who's that?" Enjolras asked Bossuet, who, in return, sighed.
"Enjolras, meet Grantaire."
"Is he.drunk?"
"Hardly surprising, you'll find." Remarked Bossuet while pouring himself another glass.
A large banner hung from one of the building's windows proclaimed the words "Café Musain," in big black lettering. Enjolras stood, staring admiringly up at it. "Are you going in, or shall we sit here and gawk at the windows all day, hmm?" As if to answer Bossuet's question, Enjolras resolutely approached the heavy wooden door and nudged it open with the toe of his shoe.
Once inside the café, Enjolras squinted his eyes, partly to keep them from watering at all the smoke, and partly to help them adjust to the dim light. He could barely see Bossuet, who was up ahead, chatting with a waitress. "The back room, please, Louison."
"Anything for you, Monsieur L'aigle. Messieurs Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly are expecting you." Louison smiled pleasantly and ushered them inside a hallway, running between the main café and secluded back room. "L'aigle!" Enjolras interrogated the older student. "You told me your name was Bossuet. And another thing. Why are they expecting you?" He was abruptly cut off.
"No, you misunderstand. I'm descended from a certain Lesgueles, and somehow, my surname was shortened to Lesgle, then to L'aigle. Don't ask why, I'm in no mood to tell a long story. I am sometimes called Bossuet. And as to the other question, you'll see." He knocked soundly on the door to the back room. A young man with glasses perched on the end of his nose rose to greet them.
"Who is it?"
"Bossuet, and a newcomer. Let us in, Combeferre."
"Very well." Combeferre slid back the bolt on the door and welcomed them inside. One of the other students, whom the others addressed as Courfeyrac, lit a large lamp in the center of the room, and a glass of wine was poured for everyone. Somehow the clinking of bottles and glasses caused a disheveled looking young man asleep in an old armchair, who had been dead drunk, to stir faintly and open his eyes.
"I hear wine. Who's pouring? Is that Feuilly?" He squinted, willing his tired eyes to focus. "I'll take a glass of wine."
"Who's that?" Enjolras asked Bossuet, who, in return, sighed.
"Enjolras, meet Grantaire."
"Is he.drunk?"
"Hardly surprising, you'll find." Remarked Bossuet while pouring himself another glass.
