Disclaimer: I own Alianne, her family, Josseline, Madelein, Seléne, and Thérèse.

Chapter 2

Even as serious and dismissive of the petty things as she is, Alianne still enjoys a good party (and ball, much to her consteration) and so she is overjoyed to hear that there is to be a dinner party at the Meyette home, hosted by her dear friend Madelein, who has only recently returned from a holiday. She's also looking forward to the diversion it will create from the endless listlessness and boredom that the end of summer has brought. Personally, she'd still rather visit Paris and sit in on a lecture than gossip with some of the more airheaded of Madelein's friends. However, she has not seen Madelein in months, nor a backstabbing traitor that didn't bother to write her letters while she was off having fun in the countryside and Alianne was roasting like a Christmas goose in the heat of mid-summer Bordeaux, as Alianne so delicately put it as a complaint in a letter to Madelein. I do speak of Josseline Coté, Alianne's dearest friend.


I think I might say a bit about Alianne's friends here, as the subject would have come up eventually and this seems like a good place to bring it up. There were originally five of them, schoolmates at the Ligueux Abbey – Josseline, Alianne, Madelein, Seléne Jeanfreau, and Thérèse Painchaud (néé Lacossé). Seléne was boarding at the school and went back home to Lyon when they left at the age of 15, and Thérèse, horror of horrors, got married to a family friend who lived in Paris. So it was just the three of them left in Bordeaux, unmarried and intending to have as much fun as they can while still being relatively respectable.

Josseline was like Alianne in many ways – they both loved learning, resented not being able to go to any kind of school after Ligueux, and were what could be contrued as lazy. However, for one, Josseline had silky, beautiful blond hair and blue eyes that made her stand out while Alianne, with her long wavy brown hair and green eyes often blended into the background. In addition, Josseline was also much more fun-loving than Alianne and less skeptical.

On the other hand, Madelein had a bit of the Spaniard in her, a bit darker-skinned and brown-eyed. She was the most dramatic of the quintet, and Josseline often joked that she was going to become a theatre actress someday, which was always met with a stony glare and a declamation of some line from a play or another.

Seléne was the quietest of the group, very bookish, and – dare I say it – homely, with brown eyes and hair of an odd blond color that was almost orange. However, when she could be induced to speak, she was also the wittiest of the group, and her little sayings that would go unnoticed if one didn't listen closely were often more present in her letters than in her actual company.

Thérèse had been the first to marry for good reason – she was the belle of the ball where ever she went, and had a boatload of charm to boot. The most lighthearted of them all, admittedly, Thérèse's educational standards were not nearly as high as Josseline, Alianne, and Seléne wished for them to be, but she more than made up for it with her optimism and cheer. She was also the comforter of the group, a much-needed personage with Alianne's pessimism.


Alianne has not seen Seléne in five years or Thérèse in one and a half, but they kept up a good correspondence through letters. As a matter of fact, in an odd turn of events that show that yes, it is a small world, Thérèse's husband, a lawyer, employs one of Alistair Enjolras' closest friends as his secretary. Consequently, while Alianne knows next to none of Alistair's friends, she did run into Nathanael Courfeyrac once when she was visiting her friend. Perhaps this explains the constant correspondence between the two; perhaps it is better explained by the simple fact that Courfeyrac is a girl-chaser – always had been and always will be. Either way, Alianne met him at this point (and discovered that he was very close friends with Alistair), and grew close to him quite a while before they could actually spend time together. Surprisingly, however, their relationship remains entirely platonic, partially because of the whole long-distance issue and partially because both Alianne and Courfeyrac have no wish whatsoever to enter into a commited relationship.

Nevertheless, it comes as a great surprise to Alianne (and to Courfeyrac) when she sees him pop up at the party at the Meyettes'. Well, at least a good part of her surprise comes from the fact that Courfeyrac is accompanying Thérèse, who Alianne most definitely was not expecting to show up at all. Not at least without telling her in advance. Naturally, Alianne makes her way over to where Thérèse is sitting, resplendent in a deep crimson gown, a few feet away from where the skirts of the elite of Bordeaux are clustering.

"Thérèse! What on earth are you doing here? And where's Blaise?" she asks, naturally filled with curiousity.

Her friend waves a nonchalant hand. "Lying low. Me, that is. Not him." Alianne's expression (head cocked to one side, lips pursed like she'd eaten a lemon) tells Thérèse that an explanation is in order, and so with a sigh, she tells the story. "So, you've met Nathanael here, right?" A small mutter of protest escapes Courfeyrac's lips at being referred to by his first name, but of course Thérèse ignores this. "And you know how…flirtatious he can be." Another muffled noise. "Well, so he keeps on flirting with me, and normally I don't mind it."

"Obviously," Alianne mutters. "Being you."

Either Thérèse doesn't hear this remark or simply chooses to ignore it, but she continues with her explanation. "And, not being the sharpest knife in the drawer, Nathanael decides to do it in front of my husband."

"Hey!" Courfeyrac protests. "I'm in law school, aren't I?"

Thérèse rolls her eyes as she lifts a glass of wine to her lips. "Anyways, you could imagine Blaise's reaction. He was none too happy about it and accused me of cheating on him."

"Finally gotten jealous, has he now?" remarks Alianne, snatching a petit four from a passing tray. "Not that you've ever actually done anything…"

Shrugging, Thérèse sighs. "He's under so much stress lately, it doesn't take much to get him riled up. Nathanael here decided it would be in his best interests to leave Paris for the time being, and as Blaise was extraordinarily mad at me as well – you wouldn't believe it, Alianne – I decided to leave too." (At this moment Courfeyrac decides to walk towards the skirts.) "Josseline agreed to take me in for the time being because I don't think I would have been able to stand Madelein's theatrics, charming as the girl is."

"And Courfeyrac is staying with Josseline too?" Alianne asks out of curiosity.

Her friend nods. "It's not the most desirable arrangement, but it'll have to do. Thank God Josseline has no interest in him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find Madelein – I haven't talked to that girl in who knows how long. Nathanael probably went to find the ladies. Just look for the clump of overly expensive cloth and you'll find him."

She walks off, leaving Alianne staring after her. "Overly expensive cloth?" she mutters. "Ah well, I'll go and find him. Maybe rescue some girls in the process."

Strangely enough, Courfeyrac is standing in a corner, nonchalantly sipping from a glass of white wine and watching those of the upper crust of Bordeaux mingle and chat. Alianne spies him, appearing as if he's hiding behind a curtain. She quickly makes her way over to him and taps him on the shoulder while he's looking the other way. He sputters and turns around. Smiling, she curtsies lightly. "Monsieur Courfeyrac? I believe we have met before."

He cocks his head, thinking (and amusing Alianne with his muttering, e.g. "She can't be that one – she was from the north." "Not Claire either – somehow doesn't look like one." "Maybe Arielle?" "Or Margaux?") Finally, he gives up. "I'm sorry, miss, I cannot remember your name for the life of me, although I would be most pleased to make your acquaintance again."

Alianne laughs. "Forgotten my face already? In the two minutes or so that have passed since you left our converstation? Oh, for God's sake, it's me, Alianne. I don't know how many women you consistently write non-love letters to, but it can't be that many, what with your flirtatious tendencies."

"Mon Dieu, I'm an idiot," he says as he laughs along with her. "To think that I've forgotten your voice already, Alianne!"

Shrugging, Alianne replies, "My voice isn't that unique, is it? Anyways, what are you doing in this corner? Thérèse and I both thought you would be out there socializing and, well, forming some not-so-platonic relationships."

"I would be, if it wasn't for one of those girls in that crowd. Can't even remember her name. Paula, Pauline, something along those lines. She remembers me though, most unfortunately."

"What did you do to her? Jilt her at the altar or something? I wouldn't put it past you to do that," Alianne smirks.

Courfeyrac sighs. "Come on. I'm not that bad, am I?"

"You kind of are, Courfeyrac. I just thank God every day that you've not decided to flirt with me, too." Alianne looks around for a servant bearing a tray of red wine – she's getting thirsty. She finds one and waves him over, taking a long-stemmed glass from the silver platter and taking a sip.

"You know, if you were thirsty, you could have had some of mine." Courfeyrac holds out his own glass.

Rolling her eyes, Alianne sighs. "My luck has run out, it seems. Now the famed Nathanael Courfeyrac has finally deigned to flirt with me as well."

"That's not f-" he protests weakly.

She laughs. "Yes, it is. When you offer a girl your drink, and it's some kind of fine wine, I would take that as flirting. Ah well, I don't think anyone in a skirt could escape you and your so-called charm."

"So-called?" he sputters, mock-indignantly. "Excuse me, but who was the first one to write a letter to the other?"

"That's because, strangely enough, I found some of your converstation to be marginally interesting, and I wanted to continue the part of it that showed me you actually had a brain."

"Really now?"

"Well, and that I wanted to know what Alistair was up to in Paris that he wouldn't tell me about. That too," Alianne concedes.

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. "So nothing about my exceedingly good looks? Or my charm in general?"

"Exceedingly good looks? The only proof I have of that is what you've told me and the strange attraction many women have towards you. Which," she holds up a hand, "most certainly does NOT apply to me."

"Are you sure about that?" He leans inwards, closer to her, so that their heads are almost touching. She drains her glass and holds it out to the other side, an invisible servant whisking it out of her hand. This distraction gone, she flings her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He wraps his arms around her waist and draws her in for a kiss. Their lips -

Never mind.

Back up, back up, back up.

That did not just happen.

And Courfeyrac wouldn't have cared anyways, girl-chaser that he is. Alianne would have been only one of many Claires, Arielles, Margauxes, Paulines, Paulas, Thérèses…there one moment and gone the next.

He would have been a fleeting moment of pleasure, like a romp in the countryside soon over and forgotten.

And so it goes.

"Are you sure about that?" He leans inwards, closer to her, so that their heads are almost touching.

She laughs. "Yes, of course I'm sure of that, 'Feyrac." Suddenly, she places her hand on his chest and pushes him away. "You seem oddly…amorous towards a girl you've only met once before."

"Letters can mean a lot," he says, laughing as well, unaffected by her (seeming) rejection. "Speaking of letters, has Enjolras made a move on you yet?"

"What? No!" she exclaims, surprised. "First of all, how did you jump from letters to Alistair wanting to walk out with me? And secondly, why on earth would Alistair 'make a move on me', as you so crudely put it?"

He nods sagely, and she laughs as he continues, "Didn't think so. They call him 'Apollo', did you know that? Well, even Apollo had his lovers – Daphne, Hecuba, Cyrene, Cassandra – and ours most definitely needs one."

"If I was a man I would hit you."

"If you were a man we wouldn't be having this converstation, because you're not Grantaire."

"I honestly do not know how on earth to respond to that. Who is this Grantaire?"

"Only Enjolras' most ardent admirer and possibly lover. Although I don't think our Apollo feels the same way about Grantaire."

"Patria, right? While, yes, I do share his sentiments and his ideals, I think falling in love with his country is a bit too much. Especially when the very word 'Patria' in Latin means 'fatherland', implying masculinity," Alianne observes.

"Your point being? He does have that small issue of being so deathly shy around any females. Except for you. I think."

"Can we please move on from this subject?"


The clock strikes eleven, the partygoers disperse, and Alianne is escorted home by Courfeyrac, for some unknown reason that only he knows. She invites him to stay a few nights at her house (after all, Jean is at home right now) and he politely declines. Of course he would, in front of her parents.

She enters her room, changes into her nightgown, climbs into bed, and then sees the letters lying on her desk. She sighs, "I'll get to those tomorrow," and falls asleep.

Dreaming of Paris.

Another note from the one who WANTS REVIEWS (aka tWAtD):

'Sup homiezzz. *gangsta face* I'm trying to figure out how to make the story move faster without making it seem like Alianne's life is just FULL OF ADVENTURE because it's not. She'll be the first to tell you. I kind of just want to skip to the interesting parts (i.e. the part where she FINALLY GOES TO PARIS) but that doesn't come chronologically for a while yet. :P And no letters in this chapter, because, well…I LIKE COURFEYRAC TOO MUCH. Was Courfeyrac's characterization/random appearance too strange? Tell me if you liked! REVIEW PLEASE! Even if it was a short chapter…

Oh, and I AM A TOTAL IDIOT. I forgot about disclaimers. So, you copyright freaks, they are up. (Although Les Mis is public domain… ;) ) And I also realized that yes, Combeferre is the one who gets three bayonet thrusts to the chest. So…

Don't judge my French names. I get them off a name generator because I CANNOT think of any for my life.

-tWAtD or Kestrel