Dieu, what a week. Dominic Bahorel kicked back a little in his chair and took a desultory glance 'round the Musain's back room. Would you look at that, everybody but Capital-R had managed to show up safe and sound. Relatively sound, anyhow, seeing as Jehan had his ribbons tied in perfect bows and Feuilly was being his usual mad scribbling self. The Gemini were once again glued together at the hip, which, Dieu be praised, meant no more of the Eagle's long faces. It wasn't natural to see him with a frown. Combeferre's hovering over Enjolras didn't really count, on account of he'd never stopped in the first place.

Dominic turned his head toward Luc and caught a whiff of…what the hell? He gave a snort of laughter. "Dieu, Luc, what's the matter with you? You smell like a woman."

"And you smell like a pig." Luc grinned and smoothed his hair carefully – worse than Jehan. Meant he had a woman. Damn it, what did Luc want a woman for? On a long-term basis, that is; Bahorel had absolutely no objections to a woman or three on the short term. Nothing wrong with having a woman until it started making you late to meetings and keeping you from going out with your amis and wearing something god-awful that smelled like flowers. Ah well, sooner or later Luc'd break with her and he'd get his friend back. But it had damn well better be sooner.

"Well. Seeing that we're…all here," Enjolras said loudly and none too kindly. That meant Capital-R had to have arrived while he wasn't looking. Ah, there he was, looking all kinds of hungover, but still pleased with himself. That was R for you. "I think it's best we get started."

Luc's elbow dug into his ribs suddenly. Was he supposed to be paying attention? Pah. Enjolras wouldn't get to anything really important for at least five minutes. He elbowed Luc back with a grin. Luc sniggered and swatted his arm in turn. What, was he supposed to just ignore that? Of course not. This cried out for retribution. Whap.

Enjolras coughed rather loudly, making both of them look up. Combeferre had his trademark over-the-glasses glare trained on them, and most of the others were looking at them with various degrees of amusement and disapproval. Luc stopped mid-swat and pulled his arm back with a slightly abashed smile. Dominic took Combeferre's glare as a challenge and proceeded to begin a staring contest, which…Combeferre lost. Perhaps now it was time to focus; Enjolras was talking again. You just had to conserve your energy for the moment you needed it most.

"Anyway," Enjolras went on, "has anyone got any further news? Anyone?" He was met with a lot of head-shaking and apologetic frowns.

Combeferre spoke up, predictably. "I found several new interested parties, but I will bring them up later when we move on to that subject, Enjolras, if you like."

"Thank you. Anything else?"

"Well, our printer's still stalling on getting those pamphlets printed," Feuilly said, "if you can call that news."

Combeferre made a note somewhere in the orderly stack of papers that seemed to follow him like a cloud of gnats. Really annoying gnats. "It's a problem, but not an unassailable one."

"True," Feuilly admitted. "It's been harder convincing him it's a safe job to take since we all got arrested, though…"

Luc nodded and joined in. "Oui, a couple of my contacts won't talk to me anymore either. Think it makes them a target or something."

Oh, were they moving on to sob stories now? He could top that. "That's nothing. I actually got kicked out o' one place last week. I was still sober and everything!"

"Some of my professors requested I change classes," Combeferre said quietly, but angrier than Bahorel had seen him in a while. Of course, anything that cut into class time had to be evil. He glanced around the room again; Feuilly appeared to be positively simmering as well, L'Aigle and Jolllly looked deathly worried, and Enjolras was glaring down at Grand-R like the drunk'd just announced his intentions to marry his sister. Not that Enjolras had a sister. Dieu, but that'd be interesting…oh, R was looking at him in total confusion now, obviously just as much in the dark as he and Luc were. They shrugged at him and he turned back to his wine.

"So," Enjolras said rather pointedly, "I think we can say that overall this has been an extremely detrimental event."

Combeferre nodded along like the good little lieutenant he was. No offense to Combeferre, but Dominic had always thought Enjolras needed men of action more than men of…whatever it was Combeferre was a man of. Books. Pah."It has done substantial damage."

"Right, damage to our situations as individuals but more importantly, vastly more importantly, to our situation as an organization."

"That's the truth," Luc said. Enjolras was really getting into it now. He was really a glorious sight when he got worked up in the name of the Cause.

Then Grantaire broke into the gloriousness. "Hell, at least you're out of prison now, eh? Not rotting away in a labyrinthine dungeon at the mercy of our evil oppressors." He had a point. That cell had been right awful, and even getting in a laundry sack and spending an entire week cooped up with the spoilsports who passed for his friends had been worth getting out of the Prefecture.

Enjolras didn't seem to see the point. "As I've reminded you many times, Winecask - you aren't welcome here. Especially not now."

Grantaire met Enjolras' trademark icy glare gruffly, setting his glass down on the table and looking up. "…why, Apollo? What have I done to merit your wrath this time?"

Enjolras was still icy, but it was like seeing a cage of ice containing a column of fire. Utterly fascinating, that man, when he was really in form. A bit terrifying too – not to Bahorel, of course. But surely to anyone more faint of heart. "Someone," Enjolras said sharply, "had to have let the officials loose on us. No one knows we meet here except ourselves - and you. I won't belabor a dead point."

…oh, Dieu. Well, that would certainly explain why he was glaring so furiously. But – Grantaire? Turn them in to the cognes? Not in a hundred years. The man barely moved from his chair in the corner except to stumble home in a drunken daze. He didn't have that kind of deviousness, or capability for planning, or cleverness, or anything like that. At least not when he was as pickled as he'd been for the last several…well, as he'd been.

Capital-R was silent, leading Enjolras to set his sheer-marble face against him. "At the risk of wasting my breath, I tell you to get out."

Luc was looking at the ceiling uncomfortably. Feuilly's brow was creased, the over-naïve Jolllly looked positively aghast, Jehan looked a bit curious – he'd never been fond of R anyway, Dom knew – and Combeferre had that over-the-glasses look focused on the poor confused drunkard in the corner. Finally Grand-R spoke up, simply, weakly. "I didn't."

"Your word is worth nothing here," Enjolras said cuttingly, in full archangelic blaze now; the sight was almost pathetic. If Capital-R hadn't been involved he could have by now come up with half a dozen mythological analogies at least. Bahorel didn't bother with that kind of thing.

"Enjolras…please."

"My forgiveness is not my own to give," Enjolras said. "Even if it were, you have fallen too far for me to advise you to seek it."

Grantaire went white as the king's Sunday linen. Slowly he got up, his eyes flickering around the room. Nobody could meet them, and Dominic presumed they all felt as uncomfortable as he did. Looking at no one, the dishonored drunkard dropped a few coins onto the table for his drink and crept from the room in shame. He left an awkward silence in his wake that no one wanted to break, interrupted only by Joly sniffling a bit and giving his twin a sad look that evidently meant 'I've forgotten my handkerchief, might I borrow yours'.

Dear Dieu. Accusing Grantaire of being the rat who'd cost them a bit of freedom? Enjolras was never wrong – that was a given – but perhaps this time he had gone too far.