AN: Grantaire joins the Patron-Minette.


He didn't really like any of them. Montparnasse reminded him of Courfeyrac, but without the charm and warmth of his friend, there was only a pale imitation. Claquesous reminded him only a small bit of Enjolras, he supposed. The quietness, the way he could command the others. And yet everything felt wrong. The burly one, Grantaire didn't bother learning his name, had Bahorel's strength but without the brains behind it. And Babet? Well. Grantaire wasn't sure where to place him.

The worst part of the group were their aims. They had very little aims.

Stay out of prison. Grantaire was fairly adept at doing that.

Rob and kill people. A complete polar direction of what Grantaire had been doing before.

Uplifting humanity, however, ended with most of his friends dead and the reason why he was doing all that he could now to bring about more money. What else had he to lose? He had far more to gain by selling his soul to the devil.

He proved to be an adept hunter, maneuvering here and there amongst the victims. He couldn't bring himself to slit any throats except those who Courfeyrac had deemed as Ultras. Those throats…he almost scared himself with the amount of pleasure he derived while he watched them gurgle their last breath. They always carried such fat purses.

Ah, but the money. He didn't spend it on wine and women as the others did. He took his earnings and gave half to the gamins running about and the other half…

Well. The other half went to pay for any medical treatments Enjolras would need and to the girl who would sit by Enjolras' side while Grantaire went out on his excursions.

On the day in which Enjolras would open his eyes, would walk, and would be without the fevers that kept him in bed, Grantaire would quit this group of thugs. But until then, it was best that he remained in their company. If this was the only way he could make certain that Enjolras stayed alive, then so be it.

What were their lives compared to his anyway?