December 2nd, 1774
Grantaire hated water. He was all too familiar with water. Water is not solid, unlike land, water was unpredictable.
The sea was unpredictable, Grantaire was stuck with the sea for three months. Stuck with the salty wet air, stuck with no land in sight, stuck with splashes of water every few seconds onto the always wet deck.
Water is wet, wet is not a pleasant sensation.
Rain never fails to fuck Grantaire up. The ever-present, cool, nagging, wetness does not sit well with Grantaire. It didn't help that his uniform was absorbent. Their job was to protect Grantaire from the shower, not make the downpour even more unbearable.
Grantaire sulked on the ever so slightly moist barstool. His sleeves were wet, his trousers were wet. Dry was something he wasn't since August.
He stared with envy at the candles and the warm fireplace. Water should never have been invented...created, whatever.
The pub was lively and loud, quite the opposite of what Grantaire is. Loud is not how he would describe himself. And right now, Grantaire was feeling entirely abject, miserable, dejected, despondent...insert five more synonyms meaning 'feeling completely fucked up'.
The occasional manic shouts or hysteric laughs would jolt Grantaire out of his thoughts, making him much more disagreeable. The United Colonies were shitty. Massachusetts was shitty. Congress was shitty. The King was shitty. This "Revolution" was shitty.
The most shitty thing of all was this pub. Fifteen fucking minutes and no wine. Mold up all the walls, wet seats that nobody was ever bothered enough to clean, the stench of a freshly burst dead whale, grimy tankards, this was truly a sorry place.
"Good evening matey, out of wine again?"
Montparnasse was hard to describe, Grantaire's friend? Sure. Weird and knocked in the head? Definitely. This conversation is not one that Grantaire would like to have, Grantaire doesn't like conversations.
Grantaire slapped Montparnesse's hand off his shoulder. Montparnasse nonchalantly plopped into a nearby chair and pretended to ignore that.
"Missing England?" Montparnasse asked while motioning towards a disgruntled bartender.
"Very much." Grantaire replied only because society dictates that he has to.
"Can't decide where the weather is worse!" Montparnasse chuckled at his own joke.
Grantaire did not laugh, Montparnasse did not take the hint.
"England's much better than America to be honest. Y'know, when I was young, we lived in the country and we had this huge barn where we had livestock eh? Mostly pigs, and some cows though, but anyways, when I was old enough, my pop decided to teach me how to slaughter 'em. So, I picked it up right away right? Natural talent and very precise with a knife my pop said, quick as a bullet too-"
Grantaire tuned the unwanted conversation out. His long overdue beer finally arrived, taking the leaking mug from the bartender's greasy hand, he took the opportunity to avoid eye contact. Thankfully, Montparnasse received his beer as well (much more promptly than Grantaire to his increasing ire) and the blabbering thankfully came to a stop.
The much welcomed respite did not last.
"This beer stinks! How d'you bear with it?" Montparnasse said while spitting the beer all over the counter and Grantaire.
The bartender looked murderous.
"Wine is wine." Grantaire replied without looking, not bothering to remove his wine soaked coat.
"If we were in England, no pub would have the audacity to serve such a- such a disgusting-"
Grantaire tuned him out once more, returning his attention once again to the scrabbly and off center candles.
He was aware of the stares of the other customers, no doubt patriots. Glares full of disdain were thrown every few seconds.
Montparnasse didn't seem to mind, although perhaps, being Montparnesse, he just didn't notice.
Violence often followed these stares in these times, especially when soldiers were alone. Judging from the usefulness of Montparnasse, Grantaire was better off alone.
"Redcoats."
"Don't be ridiculous Enjolras! Picking fights is not wise! Especially not now!"
"I never said we were fighting them."
"Enjolras, I know that look, c'mon let's go."
"This is ridiculous, they have no right to come stomping into our houses, no right not to be tried in America for crimes they committed in America-"
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Montparnasse's voice was laced with glee, as he noticed the conversation.
"Look Grantaire, look, can we arrest them or something? Fine these idiots? I could use some expensive-"
He was interrupted by a punch to the mouth. Thank god to whoever punched him. He is truly gifted at pissing people off.
Montparnasse surged forward towards his attacker.
Grantaire mentally face-palmed.
The bartender looked as if he could spontaneously combust any moment now.
Grantaire stared down at the passionate love affair below him.
"Well, shit." He wasn't drunk enough for this.
He tried to pull Montparnasse off of the blond man but he was greeted personally by an elbow in the stomach...Montparnasse's elbow, that traitor.
Soon it became a threesome, all just clawing and punching one another. It was absolute chaos, people were shouting, some yelling "stop!" while others cheered the fight on.
Thankfully the fight did not last long. The three of them were promptly thrown out but not before breaking two chairs and chipping a table. Grantaire landed in a pile of mud, he rubbed at the newly attained bruise on his arm, the bar-tender was surprisingly strong.
Grantaire was absolutely enraged. He hadn't even finished his beer, the only reason he came to the bar in the first place was to finally get some alcohol. This was supposed to be a quiet night, but now he had a bloody nose and a bunch of bruises. Not to mention the trouble he and Montparnesse was going to be in.
Grantaire got up gingerly and brushed the dirt and mud as well as he could off himself, just in time to see the other two getting back into it again. He wedged himself solidly between time, taking this opportunity to elbow Montparnasse back in the stomach.
"I am very sorry for my friend over here, he does not speak for me, I apologize for the trouble we have caused you, now let's just move on and go our own ways."
The man huffed and turned away, motioning to his friends to leave.
"Well that was so rude!"
"Montparnasse," Grantaire sighed. "I really need you to shut up."
Montparnasse responded by throwing his arm around Grantaire's shoulder, and this time, he didn't slap it away.