A/N: I'm BAA-AACK! I haven't written any Les Mis fanfiction in so long, mainly because my friend and I finally managed to form a band and it's taken up so much of my time. We do originals, so I've had to write a bunch of music, and practice it, and change it, and so on. But I'm here now, maybe I will come back permanently if I have enough time to do so. (And if you guys give enough positive feedback, hint hint)
But hey, you probably don't care 'bout me and my personal life, so just enjoy chapter 4.
Oh, but before you do, keep in mind that I know almost nothing geography-wise. So if most of the locations are wrong please DON'T bother correcting me. And yes, I do know that Grantaire is a lil' bit OOC in this chapter. Don't worry, he'll probably be fixed by the next chapter he's in.
The next morning found Grantaire at the train station, awaiting the 10:57 train to Brest (he would take a boat from there to Scotland) with childlike eagerness; this was a side effect of his hangover medication.
"Heh heh heh. I'm gong to a town called Brest," thought Grantaire's brain, which due to alchohol poisoning on numerous occasions now had the maturity of a fourteen-year old boy.
Grantaire sat down on a bench and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for 10:57 to arrive, so he could embark on his journey to the magical land of the Scots. But you can only twiddle for so many hours before it starts to get to you. By the time the train arrived, Grantaire had already developed severe arthritis in both hands, not to mention the permanent trauma he now suffered form being forced to twiddle for six hours straight (he had arrived at the station a little earlier than neccesary).
But he perked up immediately as the train pulled in. Jumping up in the air, he shouted, "Hooray! Hooray! I'm going to Brest!" As onlookers covered their childrens' eyes in an attempt to protect them from the sad sad sight of The Crazy Man At The Train Station. Grabbing his bags, Grantaire barreled onto the train the second the door was open.
Finding his way into the first compartment he saw, Grantaire settled into his seat comfortably, not noticing the other passengers or the fact that he was completely invading one poor businessman's Personal Space Bubble.
It wasn't long before the boredom of having nothing to do on a long road trip but twiddle your thumbs set in on poor Winecask, and there was no way he would be doing any more twiddling anytime soon. After trying to get a conversation started with a few of the other passengers, all of whom just sort of stared at him, Grantaire finally decided to check and make sure that the Vest was still in his suitcase. Why it wouldn't have been there he didn't know, but it never hurt to be paranoid.
Grantaire slowly opened the suitcase (which was excruciatingly painful due to the arthiritis in his hands), suddenly very aware of the other passengers- or were they all thieves? Theives, every one of them after the sacred Vest that he had been charged with protecting, that the other Amis were counting on him to keep safe. How dare these common crooks even think that they could get past GRANTAIRE! How dare they think that he wouldn't be able to tell who they REALLY were!
Without warning, Grantaire suddenly yanked a glass bottle of liquor from the suitcase (he always brought a bottle of liquor everywhere he went, he never knew when he might get the urge to drink himself into a dazed stupor) and jumped up, brandishing the bottle like a club above his head.
"Hey, wait, didn't I just do this last chapter?" Grantaire considered. "Damned authoress must be running low on ideas again. Ah, well." Without further contemplation, he continued glaring menacingly at the other people in the compartment.
"SO! You thought your tricks could escape my eyes, eh? You thought you could get your hands on this, did you?" At this, he held up the vest for all to see. "Well, THINK AGAIN, you fools! And all this time I thought you people were my friends. I thought we were all the best of buddies. But NOOOO! You were just in it for the Vest after all. You horrible, sick, twisted maniacs! I hated you all from the start of this journey. You're all just a bunch of no-good dirty thieves, that's what you are! And YOU-" he pointed to the businessman he had been sitting by- "YOU have COFFEE BREATH!"
By this time, Security had heard his crazed screams, arrived at the compartment, and began forcibly beating Grantaire down with their nightsticks, with were basically the 19th century equivalents of tazers. Grantaire put up a valient fight, but it was a battle never meant to be won. He was down in like ten seconds, and the next thing he knew he was spending the rest of the trip in the Time-Out car.
When the train finally arrived at Brest, Grantaire was feeling a bit better after his "little incident." Getting on the boat bound for Scotland cheered him up even more, especially when he found out there was an on-boat bar. He drank himself into a drunken stupor before the boat even left port, and by the time the boat had set off he had passed out on the floor of the bar, his favorite place in the world to be.