Happy weekend!
Lots of fun stuff!
Joly was a surprisingly sexual man. It was all speculation, of course, but I speculated that he was a very sexual human being. He was like a little kitten when you met him during the day. He was quite possibly the sweetest man I had ever met: He went out of his way to make sure Grantaire and I were in good condition with our respective conditions; he spent extra hours with Enjolras so that the latter would know what to do in case of an emergency; he never spoke ill of anyone, even if they deserved it; and everything he did, he did it with a smile and free of any charge. I just didn't understand how someone could be that nice of a person. But that was beside the point. I was convinced he was a little minx. Several times I saw him and Bousset walking home together, drunk and sober, with actions that would make most people blush (they would probably give Enjolras a heart attack). That would be all fine and dandy, though, if it hadn't been for the girl he toted around during the day. She was pretty little thing, sweet as a peach, and practically made for Joly. Her name was Musichetta. I'd met her several times but hadn't interacted with her enough to pass an honest judgement. I didn't know what dear Joly was up to, but I had a feeling it was both Joly and his sweet peach.
His peach was sitting on the ground in front of me and Elle as Elle taught me how to style hair into simple dos. Musichetta didn't really have much of a choice. She turned up at the maisonette with Joly when the minx came over to meet with some of the Amis already congregated here. Elle had been talking to Prouvaire about certain braiding styles that I needed to know, especially if my child would be a girl (according to Elle), and poor little Musichetta walked in at the wrong moment with the right hair. For her part, she took it fine. Just sat on the floor silently as Elle and Prouvaire explained twists and weaves while I completely butchered the braid.
"It doesn't look," Prouvaire paused, "awful." He ended quizzically.
"I'm sorry, Musichetta." I mumbled.
"For your first time braiding, I'm sure it's fine." The peach smiled warmly at me.
"Don't cushion it." Elle bit at both of them. "'Ponine, this looks like I tried braiding it with one hand. No, actually, that's an insult to my skill. This looks like the wind tried braiding her hair."
"I'm fairly certain Zephyrus and Boreas would have done a better job." Prouvaire tried hiding his laugh with a cough.
"Don't you have some flowers to smell or dust to glorify?" I snapped. I really didn't care for him.
"Jehan," Feuilly popped into the room, coming from Enjolras' study. "We're going to find students in the Fine Arts' building to scout." Prouvaire left for the kitchen to gather his things. Feuilly smiled at us lightly. "Enjolras figured he was driving you nuts." He explained.
"You're a saint." I told him, so close to being honest.
He laughed, "Hardly."
The two of them left quickly, holding some papers Enjolras gave them, no doubt. A comfortable silence settled over Elle, Musichetta, and myself as we waited for inspiration to strike one of us. Elle and Musichetta started up some conversation about some fashion trend that was taking over Paris at the moment. I didn't know what the hell any of their jargon meant. It probably made me a pervert, but I dropped an ear into their volleying when I caught Musichetta say something about Joly.
"It must be so strange to have Lesgle there all the time, though." Elle said, frowning down at something on her dress. So she missed Musichetta's blush, but I didn't.
"Don't Joly and Bousset share a garret, though?" I asked.
"They share a lot of things." Musichetta mumbled.
"What was that?" Elle looked up.
"Joly and Bousset," She shrugged, deceptively nonchalant. "They share a lot of things."
"It must be a male thing." Elle chuckled. "For the entire time I've known Enjolras and Grantaire, ideals are the only thing they don't share."
"And Eponine." Musichetta added.
"Not from what Grantaire says." I rolled my eyes at Elle's comment.
"I care deeply for both," I clarified for the peach. "Just not in the same way. Grantaire's my other half, and Enjolras is-"
"The love of your life." Elle finished. I shrugged this time.
Musichetta got quiet, which got Elle curious. "How much do they share?" Elle's sharp blue eyes were trained so intensely on Musichetta, I couldn't believe that the girl didn't burst under the pressure. "You may as well just confess, you're hardly in the company of saints."
It was true.
"It's just," Musichetta inhaled deeply. "Let's just say, Joly's hypochondria is the only thing Bousset doesn't share."
I knew it!
Elle's eyebrows shot up, but she nodded. "So maybe his complete unluckiness is just karma for his complete luck in other areas."
Musichetta laughed, "Maybe so." Another silence settled before Musichetta felt comfortable enough to bring a topic to light that had been avoided by most, "If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" She asked Elle.
"You know how in the East," Elle said after trying to find the words to correctly explain the situation. "There are men who can charm a snake out a basket with their music?" Musichetta's eyes at that. I rolled my eyes. She probably thought she would get lucky enough to see those men one day. Newsflash, peach, you're lover boy won't set foot in a country where a whole new degree of diseases are waiting for him. "I can charm a sober from a drunk." That's sugar coating it.
"How?"
Elle smirked, admiring her nails, "I find I can be very persuasive."
"Are you bribing him sexually?"
Elle laughed a pretty laugh. It almost made me forget what a bitch she actually was. "Grantaire wants nothing a lady has to offer."
"Yes," Musichetta's smile was just short of endearing. "Joly always worries that the man will end up dying in some ditch with a disease he's caught from one of the street rats." She paused. "I mean no offense, Eponine." I waved my hand, none taken; and Elle let out a howl of laughter. It really wasn't that funny. But Elle was a terrible person who found amusement in other people's ignorance. That's why I kept my curiosity hidden behind my closed mouth. See, I was learning a lot.
"You're too precious." Elle managed between peels of laughter. "For someone so lived, you're still so innocent." The light caught Elle's dark hair in a certain way that illuminated the sides of her crown, giving her the appearance of light-trick horns. How fitting, I thought.
Musichetta let the conversation drop, and I didn't dare pick it back up, so we settled into another comfortable silence. We could hear the boys in the other room: Arguing with each other, laughing at something, shouting words that seemed random to us, and encouraging Enjolras' silly fantasy about this revolution that was blinding them all. And as the words of revolution left the confines of the room more frequently, the comfortable silence among us was chased away. Elle started frowning down at her lap while her fingers twirled strands of her hair absently. Musichetta, who had been sucking her stomach in and seeing how long she could last with held breath, stopped fussing over the pudge she carried and started biting her nails. I noticed it all. I noticed all their movements, noticed the way my baby had began to squirm, and I noticed the heavy air that came with revolution talk. It was tense. It was unnerving. It was deadly. It was death.
"Do you think they know?" Musichetta's voice was broken and a shell of the lively woman who had walked in hours ago.
"No." Elle answered without a thought. "Of course they don't."
"Don't you think they should?"
"Grantaire knows." I muttered.
"And yet he stays?"
"Am I crazier for staying or going?" I'd refuse to admit that I jumped at the sound of Grantaire's unexpected voice.
Just like that, Elle was up and hanging onto his arm, as if she really was sexually involved with him. "Oh, my darling, you're crazy regardless." She grinned at him and wiped away something from the corner of his mouth before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Eponine here was just going to walk Musichetta back home since the boys will be playing a while longer." I was going to do what? "I was thinking she may need a gentleman to walk her, but Enjolras is otherwise occupied. Can you make believe for a little bit?"
Grantaire stared at her for a moment. Elle, with a bittersweet smile on her face, returned his gaze without blinking. These facial expressions were so dominant in the Durand blood that I wondered if my baby would be born with one that his relatives had learned to own so well. Sometimes I hoped that he would, but other times I couldn't even imagine raising a child who was so confusingly expressive. Enjolras and Elle mastered looks that could freeze or burn, so extreme, and I was afraid that my child wouldn't know the middle ground between radical emotions. It was a silly thing to worry about. Enjolras and Elle turned out how they did because of the parents they had and the situations they were dumped into. My child would not be raised by Jean and Christelle, nor would he have to go through life with a silver spoon sticking out of his front pocket. Still, though, there was a part of me that feared that the looks were genetic. Maybe I'd have Musichetta bring it up to Joly. He'd think she's pregnant and freak out, and I would get the information I wanted. It was an all over win for me. Winning and having fun at it.
"Yeah, of course." Grantaire's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I really enjoyed today." Musichetta told me as we walked through the streets. Grantaire followed wordlessly behind us, and Musichetta talked to me while greeting people who passed her on the street. She was such a sweet person. Honestly sweet.
"I feel cheated that Joly's kept you hidden from all of us." I replied.
Grantaire snorted from behind us.
"Oh, I don't care much for revolution talk." Musichetta shrugged. "I'm sure if I went to one of those meetings, I'd never be able to keep my cynicism to myself."
"Actually," Grantaire broke in quietly. "Girls aren't allowed in the meetings. Eponine sort of just shows up without the intention of leaving." I nodded in agreement. No one would kick me out before Enjolras, because they all felt sorry for me. And now no one kicked me out, because I was carrying Enjolras' baby. I knew how to cheat the system. "But if you don't care much for being told to leave by a man of marble, I'd really enjoy the company of another cynic."
She smiled at him as she giggled. "You don't believe in the cause?"
"Joly hasn't mentioned?" Grantaire looked at her skeptically.
"I never thought he was serious." Musichetta ignored a man who called for her. "Like I said, I don't see the point in going if you're not there for the ideas that are the foundation."
"The ideals aren't the foundation, Mademoiselle."
My gaze flickered over to the recovering alcoholic, and I felt a strange sensation run through me. But I refused to give it any sort of attention. It was nothing. So I started prying information about Musichetta's love life from her. She blushed, either from the public setting or the relation itself, as she reluctantly confessed to me and Grantaire. I didn't let her or the drunk see how surprised I actually was to learn how long she had been involved with Joly. And Bousset. Together. All three of them. She said they'd known each other since before puberty, and she had always had a crush on Bousset, but her parents and Joly's parents had this idea that the two of them would be together. I guess their parents were lifelong friends, and what could be better than hitching together your children? Lucky for them, it worked out. Sort of.
Now, I'm no innocent little angel, but I had a little trouble wrapping my head around how the three of them decided, 'Yes, let's all be together in every since of the word,'. I get prickled whenever some urchin on the street stared at Enjolras longer than socially acceptable. These three, though, they would have had to endure that before and during their relationship. As we headed down a less crowded road, Musichetta told us that things sort of went underway over a summer trip to the countryside. It was originally intended to be just for her and Joly's family, but Bousset's family needed a break from him (Musichetta refused to delve into that, so I made a mental note to warm up to the klutz), so he ended up tagging along with Joly.
"They ignored me for the better half of a month," She rolled her eyes as she thought back on it. "I was so upset. They were out gallivanting, doing God knows what, and I was stuck inside practicing my scales and footwork."
"Don't tell me," Grantaire snickered, "They were partaking in a little afternoon delight in the meadow." He fell into a fit of giggles until Musichetta's sharp glare cut him off. "Oh."
"Oh!" They were!
"So then what?" Grantaire asked, completely interested.
"So then I did what any woman who found her betrothed playing doctor with her crush would do." I hid my cackles behind my hand. It's funny, because Joly wants to be a doctor. "I told them that one of them was mine, or I'd make sure they'd never be anyone's."
"Charming."
"I was crushed." Musichetta didn't seem too bothered by it now. "Obviously things worked out, but not in the beginning. I ended up getting Joly." She continued after pointing us in a new direction. "I kept him with me by lying to him and saying that I heard Bousset's mother talking with mine about all these symptoms her son started showing. It drove him mad but kept him in my arms."
"You seemed so sweet."
She rolled her eyes again, "Joly stopped talking about him after a while, so it was just the two of us. And then I ran into Bousset outside of the square one week when Joly was out of town with his father." She laughed softly and looked down at the ground, her eyes shining at the memory. "You know how old crushes die hard." I could see the light pink stain her cheeks. "Neither of us had much of a moral compass that week; and I suppose it was very selfish of me, but I didn't want it to end. So Bousset and I were sitting in Joly's room when he finally returned. You should have seen the look on Joly's face when he saw us."
"I imagine he was a bit horrified." I mumbled. If she'd been telling the boy that Bousset was diseased...
"Somewhat." Musichetta agreed. "Can you close your eyes for a moment?" She asked after stopping us. Grantaire frowned at me and Musichetta before obliging. I followed. "Picture yourself: You're tired, you're feeling lower than grime, and you're just ready to collapse and never wake up. You're just dead to the world exhausted and disillusioned. Then you open a door, though, and-"
"You're home." Grantaire finished for her.
"Yeah." She was beaming when I opened my eyes. I trudged after her while she and Grantaire started walking with so much pep in each step. "Obviously things were awkward at first. Joly was open to our idea, though, and after a few months, things just worked. Of course, we bicker constantly, but at the end of the day, we love each other and we're home." She nodded confidently. "I've never wanted more or less for five years."
Grantaire let out a low whistle.
"Commitment." He shook his head. "Idealism."
"Every cynic has something in their life making it worth living." Musichetta told him. "Well," She sighed, looking up as a brick building between two fancy shops. "This is me. I really appreciate the company you've given me." Grantaire kissed her cheeks, and then the peach latched herself onto me like consumption on whores. "We'll work on that braiding technique next time. Maybe Jehan will let us work with his hair." I crinkled my nose. "He's really quite lovely." She giggled and blew us a kiss before disappearing inside the building.
"I always thought..." Grantaire started but trailed off.
"I had a feeling about Joly." I nodded.
"But Bousset is lucky with nothing."
"He sprained an ankle when I hugged him one time."
"He tripped over a chair when a whore blew him a kiss."
We were quiet for a bit, playing all of Bousset's injuries in our head. Surely he's going to live a short life for this. Not because he's doing anything wrong. Or maybe he is. But who am I to judge? With his history of luck, or lack thereof, he was bound to have something horrible in his future. I frowned as we reached the main street. Perhaps the revolution.
"You're looking good." Grantaire patted my arm awkwardly after a while. We'd passed the street the maisonette was on, but neither of us had made any motion to go home. He laughed when I told him he was looking better. "Got me a healthy dose of Elle." He scratched the back of his neck.
"Why Elle?" I asked him.
I just pretended to be in the know whenever people saw her. Pretending made me feel in control of the situation that was happening under my own roof. Honestly, though, all I was was Bahorel's word that Elle was Grantaire's life raft. And he was right. I mean, Grantaire hadn't completely sobered up. He's come home drunk more than one night since she got here, but he's been sober a lot more than he's been wasted. Obviously, Elle refused to tell me. I don't think I'd quite believe her if she ever did tell me anything, but I knew they shared something that gave her Grantaire's unwavering trust. Bahorel said he knew some of whatever it was, but not enough to be of any use to Grantaire. I didn't like not knowing. I didn't like that Grantaire had a secret when everything about me was written behind his lids.
I grabbed Grantaire's sleeve and pulled us to a stop. "You can talk to me, Grantaire." I whispered. "I love you."
He grinned wide and squeezed my hand comfortingly before kissing my cheek, "You know the effect those Durands have." He winked with an uncharacteristically superficial chuckle.
"You promise you'll talk to me? I'm here for you, and I want to help you." I told him earnestly.
"You know I will."
I knew he was lying.
Thoughts on Grantaire? Musichetta? Amis you can't wait to see?
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