A/N: Okay, so really the point of this was to add a little bit more to my
final product. I was originally going to write this in 1st person then
decided it wouldn't work, so I changed it to 3rd person. Since there was
all this other stuff that could be written about /before/ Marius got to the
café, I decided to go back and add that. Hope you like this little
extension. Most of the chapter is the original bit. It's just the
beginning that is new.
========
**Les Amis de L'A.B.C.**
The café Musain was quite empty.
There were only two patrons that afternoon, one of which was Enjolras. He was hunched over a map of Paris, marked with several red pins. Next to it lay a paper full of incomprehensible scribbles and figures. Every so often he would look up at the other patron of the café, shake his head reprovingly, and perhaps scowl. Grantaire was slumped on a table nearby, dead asleep with his head on his arms. A bottle of wine, no doubt half-empty, sat lonely next to him. Enjolras didn't want him there; his snoring interrupted his concentration. But he couldn't kick him out-it was, after all, not his café. With a sigh he went back to work. A few minutes later the door opened. Enjolras recognized the voices as those of his friends, but he still did not look up. "I hear that at Notre-Dame they've already prepared sections," Combeferre said as he held open the door for the others. "And at Rue de Bac they're literally straining at the leash!" Feuilly added. Courfeyrac dropped his coat and hat on a chair. He moved towards Enjolras and slapped him on the back. The young man looked up rather grumpily. "Did you hear that, Enjolras? Students, and the workers...everyone, coming to our side." Courfeyrac said.
"Indeed," Enjolras said as he leaned back. "Indeed, the time is near." He watched as everyone took their seats. Feuilly went to Grantaire and pounded a hand on the table, causing the drunkard to wake rather violently. He gave a start and looked around with bewilderment. Feuilly chuckled and patted his shoulder, then moved back to his own seat. Enjolras glanced around and frowned. "Where is Marius?"
Combeferre had already pulled out his tablet, ready to jot down notes as they came to him. "Late again, no doubt." He remarked.
Jean Prouvaire almost went to suck on the end of his pen and stopped himself, realizing that he was not using a quill. "He'd make a very good lover, you know." He said as he inspected the ink in the pen with one eye.
"Marius?" Feuilly scoffed. He laughed and shook his head. "Surely not. The only love he has in his heart is for his country, just like Enjolras."
"He's a dreamer, have no doubt about that." Prouvaire returned. Feuilly shrugged.
Enjolras was half-listening. He had returned to staring at his map. "We'll start without him, then." he said without looking up. After another moment he stood up and rubbed his hands together, then put a foot on his chair. He looked over at Combeferre. "Who have you gathered today?"
"Those near Notre-Dame, and a small section of workers near Rue de Bac."
Enjolras nodded. "Good. They can feel the time drawing near, as well." He looked around. "Can you not feel it stirring the blood in your veins?" Those in the room looked at each other and nodded. "Yet, be cautious. Don't let the wine go to your brains." He nodded towards Grantaire. A laugh went through the room and Grantaire looked around aimlessly. "This is no jest, my friends. The army we shall fight is a dangerous foe, to be certain. They've got a number of men and arms that we'll never match. The little squalls of fighters we can handle, but the Garde Nationale will be harder to catch." He paused and brought his clasped hands up to his mouth, almost as if he were praying. "We need a sign. Something that will rally the people! Call them to arms. Bring them in line."
The door creaked open and Marius slipped in. He immediately pressed himself against the back wall, hoping to not be noticed by his studious companions, all of whom were listening intently to whatever Enjolras was saying. He knew it must have been important, he could hear his voice from half-way down the street. But Enjolras, alert and wary as ever, spotted him even while he spoke.
"Marius, you're late." He remarked, stepping down from his chair and wiping his palms on his coat.
Naturally, all eyes turned to the pale Marius. He shook his head and started to go to a chair.
"What's wrong with you today?" Joly asked from his cushioned chair. "You look as if you've just seen a ghost."
"Here, have some wine and tell what's going on." Grantaire said, offering his half-empty bottle to Marius as he entered the room.
Marius waved away the bottle and moved through the uneven maze of chairs and the occasional table. Pausing near Joly's chair, he was struck with some sudden inspiration, and turned on his heel to look back at Joly.
"A ghost, you say?" he asked. The confused Joly nodded his head. "Perhaps.she was just like a ghost to me. One minute, she was there, and the next, gone!"
Enjolras appeared to be paying no attention to the musings of Marius, having turned to the map on his table, but he was listening, and rolling his mind's eye. Joly and the others all looked at each other and nodded knowingly as Marius went on, muttering "she". Jean Prouvaire even went as far to as acknowledge Feuilly with a look of superiority.
Grantaire rose from his seat. "I am agog, simply aghast! Why, is Marius, of all people, in love? I've never seen him 'ooh' and 'aah' so!" Marius ignored the obviously inebriated Grantaire, and instead crossed his arms and leaned against a table, falling into thoughts of the pretty girl. Grantaire wasn't finished. He climbed up on his chair with much drunken wobble. Combeferre and Feuilly, as well as the others, all jumped from their seats. "You talk of battles to be won, and he becomes like Don Ju- an!" Grantaire threw his hands up in a grand flourish, causing all the students to jump, fearing a fall. "It's quite better than an opera!" he sang.
"Get down before you kill yourself!" Feuilly hissed, grabbing at Grantaire's flailing arms. He and Joly finally managed to pull him down and set him in his seat once more.
Enjolras put his forehead in his hand and groaned. He waited patiently for the ruckus to die down once more. Marius was clearly paying no attention to any of it.
Finally the noise died away, save for Grantaire chuckling to himself. Enjolras paced the front of the room.
"As I was saying.before Marius found it in his heart to join us..we'll need something more to catch the Garde Nationale. We all need to decide, here and now, who we are. Are we simply rich little boys, fighting for the right to go to the opera? Have any of you, friends, any of you at all, asked yourselves of the price you'll be willing to pay?" He paused and picked up a large red shroud that was lying draped over a table, and held it up. "This-this is what it is all about, friends."
He looked over at Marius, who was still not paying attention. With an exasperated sigh he leaned over Combeferre and ripped off a blank sheet of paper from his tablet, crumpled it up and threw it at Marius. It hit him squarely in the forehead and bounced off, drawing him from his reverie.
"Marius, pay attention for once, damn it!" Enjolras said angrily.
Grantaire burst into crazed laughter and he was not alone, many of the others joined him in having a good laugh at Marius.
"You're no longer a child, Marius. I have no doubts that you mean it well, but now there is a higher call." Enjolras picked up the red shroud and shook it, then threw it at Marius. The lovesick youth caught it, looked down at the flag and then up at Enjolras once more. "Who cares about your lonely soul? We all strive towards a larger purpose. Our little lives don't count at all."
Grantaire leaned back in his chair and gave a mock sigh of content. "L'amour.will you send her roses, Marius Pontmercy? Take care to make sure they are red, like the color of revolution." He stared up at the ceiling absently, a rather silly grin on his face.
"Red." Enjolras whispered suddenly. "Red, like the blood of angry men." He smiled and snapped his fingers, then jumped up onto his chair. "That's it, don't you see it?" He looked around at all of his friends, waiting for them to catch on. Joly and Courfeyrac exchanged confused glances.
"I once heard of black roses, as well." Said Grantaire, as he nodded his head wisely.
Enjolras grinned. "And black, like the dark of ages past!" He wiggled his fingers excitedly, feeling his speech start to take shape. The others all started to grin as well, catching on finally. An excited fervor lit up the room. Enjolras held his hand out to Marius, motioning for him to return the flag. Marius tossed it back at his friend, who held it up. "Red, like a world about to dawn!"
"And black?" Combeferre prompted.
"The night that ends at last!" Enjolras cried. The students, Marius included, all threw their hands up with a jubilant cry. Enjolras jumped back to the floor. "Well Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns? Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is running short!" He paused and glanced at Grantaire, who was sitting placidly in his seat still. "Grantaire, put that bottle down! Do we have the guns we need?"
Grantaire chuckled. "Just give me my brandy, and it'll all be fine."
"Surely," said Feuilly, leaning over Grantaire's shoulder. "One whiff of your breath and the entire Garde Nationale will pass out."
Enjolras waved a dismissive hand and turned aside.
Combeferre pulled out a piece of paper. Courfeyrac leaned over his table and said, "In St. Antoine they're with us to a man."
As he scribbled down words, Combeferre nodded. "I hear in Notre-Dame they're literally tearing up the stones in anticipation." He remarked as he wrote.
"Twenty rifles, good as new!" Feuilly piped in.
"With twenty rounds for every man," said Joly.
Suddenly the café door burst open and little Gavroche ran in, shouting and waving his arms about. "Listen!"
"Double that in Port St. Cloud." Jean Prouvaire said to Joly. Combeferre started scribbling madly on his tablet. Marius had joined Enjolras, smiling once more.
Gavroche kept on waving his hands. "Listen to me!" he yelled.
"Seven guns in St. Martin," Lesgles said to Combeferre as he was writing down the numbers.
Finally Gavroche resorted to climbing atop a table and shouting at the top of his lungs: "Listen, everybody!"
The café fell silent and all eyes turned to the street urchin. "General Lamarque." he puffed, pausing to catch his breath. ".is dead!"
A wave pattern rippled through the room as all heads turned instantly to Enjolras. Marius, ashen-faced once more, put a hand on his friend's arm. Even Grantaire appeared to have sobered.
"Lamarque.is dead." Enjolras echoed faintly. At that moment the Garde Nationale could have come storming into the café, and no one would have taken notice. "Lamarque, the people's man."
Jean Prouvaire, a sudden frown on his face, turned to Gavroche and lifted the boy off the table to set him firmly on the ground.
The look in Enjolras' eyes suddenly turned from one of despair to one of realization. "His death is the hour of fate, do you not see it? His death is the sign we have been awaiting!" He stepped away from Marius, looking at each and ever many (and boy) in the room before continuing. "On his funeral day, they will honor his name. It will be a railing cry that will reach every ear! In the death of Lamarque, we can kindle the flame- they will finally see that the day of salvation is near. The time is here, my friends!" Smiles had returned to every face once more. "Let us welcome it gladly, with courage and cheer!"
The students all raised their voices in cheer. Even Gavroche joined in. Enjolras grabbed the red flag and jumped-skipped, rather-towards the door.
"Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts, and with a jubilant shout they will come one and all!" he cried. Again the students replied with an excited cry, and flooded out the door.
========
**Les Amis de L'A.B.C.**
The café Musain was quite empty.
There were only two patrons that afternoon, one of which was Enjolras. He was hunched over a map of Paris, marked with several red pins. Next to it lay a paper full of incomprehensible scribbles and figures. Every so often he would look up at the other patron of the café, shake his head reprovingly, and perhaps scowl. Grantaire was slumped on a table nearby, dead asleep with his head on his arms. A bottle of wine, no doubt half-empty, sat lonely next to him. Enjolras didn't want him there; his snoring interrupted his concentration. But he couldn't kick him out-it was, after all, not his café. With a sigh he went back to work. A few minutes later the door opened. Enjolras recognized the voices as those of his friends, but he still did not look up. "I hear that at Notre-Dame they've already prepared sections," Combeferre said as he held open the door for the others. "And at Rue de Bac they're literally straining at the leash!" Feuilly added. Courfeyrac dropped his coat and hat on a chair. He moved towards Enjolras and slapped him on the back. The young man looked up rather grumpily. "Did you hear that, Enjolras? Students, and the workers...everyone, coming to our side." Courfeyrac said.
"Indeed," Enjolras said as he leaned back. "Indeed, the time is near." He watched as everyone took their seats. Feuilly went to Grantaire and pounded a hand on the table, causing the drunkard to wake rather violently. He gave a start and looked around with bewilderment. Feuilly chuckled and patted his shoulder, then moved back to his own seat. Enjolras glanced around and frowned. "Where is Marius?"
Combeferre had already pulled out his tablet, ready to jot down notes as they came to him. "Late again, no doubt." He remarked.
Jean Prouvaire almost went to suck on the end of his pen and stopped himself, realizing that he was not using a quill. "He'd make a very good lover, you know." He said as he inspected the ink in the pen with one eye.
"Marius?" Feuilly scoffed. He laughed and shook his head. "Surely not. The only love he has in his heart is for his country, just like Enjolras."
"He's a dreamer, have no doubt about that." Prouvaire returned. Feuilly shrugged.
Enjolras was half-listening. He had returned to staring at his map. "We'll start without him, then." he said without looking up. After another moment he stood up and rubbed his hands together, then put a foot on his chair. He looked over at Combeferre. "Who have you gathered today?"
"Those near Notre-Dame, and a small section of workers near Rue de Bac."
Enjolras nodded. "Good. They can feel the time drawing near, as well." He looked around. "Can you not feel it stirring the blood in your veins?" Those in the room looked at each other and nodded. "Yet, be cautious. Don't let the wine go to your brains." He nodded towards Grantaire. A laugh went through the room and Grantaire looked around aimlessly. "This is no jest, my friends. The army we shall fight is a dangerous foe, to be certain. They've got a number of men and arms that we'll never match. The little squalls of fighters we can handle, but the Garde Nationale will be harder to catch." He paused and brought his clasped hands up to his mouth, almost as if he were praying. "We need a sign. Something that will rally the people! Call them to arms. Bring them in line."
The door creaked open and Marius slipped in. He immediately pressed himself against the back wall, hoping to not be noticed by his studious companions, all of whom were listening intently to whatever Enjolras was saying. He knew it must have been important, he could hear his voice from half-way down the street. But Enjolras, alert and wary as ever, spotted him even while he spoke.
"Marius, you're late." He remarked, stepping down from his chair and wiping his palms on his coat.
Naturally, all eyes turned to the pale Marius. He shook his head and started to go to a chair.
"What's wrong with you today?" Joly asked from his cushioned chair. "You look as if you've just seen a ghost."
"Here, have some wine and tell what's going on." Grantaire said, offering his half-empty bottle to Marius as he entered the room.
Marius waved away the bottle and moved through the uneven maze of chairs and the occasional table. Pausing near Joly's chair, he was struck with some sudden inspiration, and turned on his heel to look back at Joly.
"A ghost, you say?" he asked. The confused Joly nodded his head. "Perhaps.she was just like a ghost to me. One minute, she was there, and the next, gone!"
Enjolras appeared to be paying no attention to the musings of Marius, having turned to the map on his table, but he was listening, and rolling his mind's eye. Joly and the others all looked at each other and nodded knowingly as Marius went on, muttering "she". Jean Prouvaire even went as far to as acknowledge Feuilly with a look of superiority.
Grantaire rose from his seat. "I am agog, simply aghast! Why, is Marius, of all people, in love? I've never seen him 'ooh' and 'aah' so!" Marius ignored the obviously inebriated Grantaire, and instead crossed his arms and leaned against a table, falling into thoughts of the pretty girl. Grantaire wasn't finished. He climbed up on his chair with much drunken wobble. Combeferre and Feuilly, as well as the others, all jumped from their seats. "You talk of battles to be won, and he becomes like Don Ju- an!" Grantaire threw his hands up in a grand flourish, causing all the students to jump, fearing a fall. "It's quite better than an opera!" he sang.
"Get down before you kill yourself!" Feuilly hissed, grabbing at Grantaire's flailing arms. He and Joly finally managed to pull him down and set him in his seat once more.
Enjolras put his forehead in his hand and groaned. He waited patiently for the ruckus to die down once more. Marius was clearly paying no attention to any of it.
Finally the noise died away, save for Grantaire chuckling to himself. Enjolras paced the front of the room.
"As I was saying.before Marius found it in his heart to join us..we'll need something more to catch the Garde Nationale. We all need to decide, here and now, who we are. Are we simply rich little boys, fighting for the right to go to the opera? Have any of you, friends, any of you at all, asked yourselves of the price you'll be willing to pay?" He paused and picked up a large red shroud that was lying draped over a table, and held it up. "This-this is what it is all about, friends."
He looked over at Marius, who was still not paying attention. With an exasperated sigh he leaned over Combeferre and ripped off a blank sheet of paper from his tablet, crumpled it up and threw it at Marius. It hit him squarely in the forehead and bounced off, drawing him from his reverie.
"Marius, pay attention for once, damn it!" Enjolras said angrily.
Grantaire burst into crazed laughter and he was not alone, many of the others joined him in having a good laugh at Marius.
"You're no longer a child, Marius. I have no doubts that you mean it well, but now there is a higher call." Enjolras picked up the red shroud and shook it, then threw it at Marius. The lovesick youth caught it, looked down at the flag and then up at Enjolras once more. "Who cares about your lonely soul? We all strive towards a larger purpose. Our little lives don't count at all."
Grantaire leaned back in his chair and gave a mock sigh of content. "L'amour.will you send her roses, Marius Pontmercy? Take care to make sure they are red, like the color of revolution." He stared up at the ceiling absently, a rather silly grin on his face.
"Red." Enjolras whispered suddenly. "Red, like the blood of angry men." He smiled and snapped his fingers, then jumped up onto his chair. "That's it, don't you see it?" He looked around at all of his friends, waiting for them to catch on. Joly and Courfeyrac exchanged confused glances.
"I once heard of black roses, as well." Said Grantaire, as he nodded his head wisely.
Enjolras grinned. "And black, like the dark of ages past!" He wiggled his fingers excitedly, feeling his speech start to take shape. The others all started to grin as well, catching on finally. An excited fervor lit up the room. Enjolras held his hand out to Marius, motioning for him to return the flag. Marius tossed it back at his friend, who held it up. "Red, like a world about to dawn!"
"And black?" Combeferre prompted.
"The night that ends at last!" Enjolras cried. The students, Marius included, all threw their hands up with a jubilant cry. Enjolras jumped back to the floor. "Well Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns? Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is running short!" He paused and glanced at Grantaire, who was sitting placidly in his seat still. "Grantaire, put that bottle down! Do we have the guns we need?"
Grantaire chuckled. "Just give me my brandy, and it'll all be fine."
"Surely," said Feuilly, leaning over Grantaire's shoulder. "One whiff of your breath and the entire Garde Nationale will pass out."
Enjolras waved a dismissive hand and turned aside.
Combeferre pulled out a piece of paper. Courfeyrac leaned over his table and said, "In St. Antoine they're with us to a man."
As he scribbled down words, Combeferre nodded. "I hear in Notre-Dame they're literally tearing up the stones in anticipation." He remarked as he wrote.
"Twenty rifles, good as new!" Feuilly piped in.
"With twenty rounds for every man," said Joly.
Suddenly the café door burst open and little Gavroche ran in, shouting and waving his arms about. "Listen!"
"Double that in Port St. Cloud." Jean Prouvaire said to Joly. Combeferre started scribbling madly on his tablet. Marius had joined Enjolras, smiling once more.
Gavroche kept on waving his hands. "Listen to me!" he yelled.
"Seven guns in St. Martin," Lesgles said to Combeferre as he was writing down the numbers.
Finally Gavroche resorted to climbing atop a table and shouting at the top of his lungs: "Listen, everybody!"
The café fell silent and all eyes turned to the street urchin. "General Lamarque." he puffed, pausing to catch his breath. ".is dead!"
A wave pattern rippled through the room as all heads turned instantly to Enjolras. Marius, ashen-faced once more, put a hand on his friend's arm. Even Grantaire appeared to have sobered.
"Lamarque.is dead." Enjolras echoed faintly. At that moment the Garde Nationale could have come storming into the café, and no one would have taken notice. "Lamarque, the people's man."
Jean Prouvaire, a sudden frown on his face, turned to Gavroche and lifted the boy off the table to set him firmly on the ground.
The look in Enjolras' eyes suddenly turned from one of despair to one of realization. "His death is the hour of fate, do you not see it? His death is the sign we have been awaiting!" He stepped away from Marius, looking at each and ever many (and boy) in the room before continuing. "On his funeral day, they will honor his name. It will be a railing cry that will reach every ear! In the death of Lamarque, we can kindle the flame- they will finally see that the day of salvation is near. The time is here, my friends!" Smiles had returned to every face once more. "Let us welcome it gladly, with courage and cheer!"
The students all raised their voices in cheer. Even Gavroche joined in. Enjolras grabbed the red flag and jumped-skipped, rather-towards the door.
"Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts, and with a jubilant shout they will come one and all!" he cried. Again the students replied with an excited cry, and flooded out the door.