Why We Don't Let Enjolras Write Fan Fic.
"It was a bright sunny day in Paris, and Adrien Enjolras…"
*Cough* Liz stopped writing as she heard a noise behind her. "You're not writing another one of those stories are you?" a voice laden with contempt enquired. She sighed, turning to face the blond figure skulking in the corner.
"And what if I am?" she demanded. Enjolras sighed.
"Because…" he began, as though talking to a very slow and not particularly bright child. " Because, the last time you took it into your head to write something, you made me sleep with… with…" he broke off spluttering. "That!!" he finally managed to choke out.
"I take offence at that!" A reproachful voice from the floor piped up as Grantaire joined the conversation. "You weren't complaining at the time from what I can remember! In fact, now I think about it, weren't you the one who…"
"Anyway…" Broke in Enjolras hastily. "My point is, that I do feel you are totally incapable of writing a decent story about me. I mean, how out of character can you get? If I were going to choose to sleep with anyone, it most certainly wouldn't be with him. Not that I ever intend to waste my time with things like that anyway, but still, I do feel that you could have given me a little more credit!"
"Of course, you're saving yourself for Joly aren't you?" Grantaire added, seeing that Enjolras was working himself up into a full blown fit of self- righteous indignation and seeing no reason why he shouldn't be perfectly entitled to give him a helping hand in that direction.
"What * Achooooo* was that about *sniffle * me?" A voice croaked from the sofa. Really, they were all too cruel, making him think when he had a cold. Of course, it wasn't your normal everyday cold, oh no, this was a very serious version. It would probably develop into Pneumonia, or the Plague or…well, the possibilities were endless really. What were they all talking about?
Liz groaned as Joly, finally giving into curiosity (and also driven by the need to gain a second opinion on his already dangerously swollen tonsils) made his way over to the group gathered by the computer.
"Enjolras was just telling us that he'd rather sleep with you than with me." Grantaire explained helpfully to his ailing friend, watching with interest as Enjolras, already an interesting shade of pink, proceeded to turn increasingly more scarlet by the second. Joly looked perplexed.
"I don't think that's a very good idea." He informed them, looking worried. "I've got this cold and…" he broke off to blow his nose loudly. "Well, I really wouldn't want to give it to anyone else. Sorry Enjolras."
"I don't want to…" Enjolras sputtered, almost incapable of speech as he looked around him for something, anything, that he could throw at that imbecile to make him shut the hell up.
Meanwhile, Liz had taken advantage of the quarrel to turn back to the computer. "It was a bright sunny day in Paris, and Julien Combeferre…." Unfortunately the tapping of the keys had caught Enjolras' attention.
"You're writing about Combeferre?" He asked in disbelief. " I thought you were writing a story about ME!" Liz groaned in frustration.
"Well I was!" she exclaimed. "But you objected so strongly that I decided to write about Combeferre instead…"
"You could always sleep with him…" Grantaire added thoughtfully as the newest arrival walked over to them.
"You called?" With impeccable timing as usual, Julien Combeferre entered the room. "Why is Enjolras bright red?" He added amiably as he saw his friend's face.
"Because he's not going to sleep with me or Joly and he got left out of the fanfic so he won't even be able to sleep with you now either." Answered Grantaire, always happy to fill in the details for those who were late comers to the conversation. Combeferre did a double take
. "Oh… " he began, blinking rapidly, then trailed off. "That's…nice…." He tried again, trying to figure out what on earth everyone was talking about. Maybe he should just go back to his book… Enjolras, who by this time was doing a very good impression of a beetroot, finally decided he'd had enough.
"LOOK!" he almost yelled at Grantaire, who was now sitting on the table so he could get a better view of how Enjolras was getting more and more wound up by the minute, "I don't, never have done, and never will want to sleep with Joly. Or Combeferre. And definitely never with you!! NEVER NEVER NEVER!!! Do you understand me?!?!?" Reflecting on how much Enjolras now looked like a human windmill with his arms thrashing around like that, Grantaire just looked at him. "AGH!" the tortured youth added as a final point, then stormed off to seek solace behind the rubber plant.
"Don't worry, there's always Courfeyrac…." Grantaire added, a comment which was rewarded with several muffled bangs as a head made contact with the wall.
At this point Liz, sighing, switched off the computer. She should have known this would happen. It always did when that lot interfered…. Laughing to herself she left the room, closing the door on Enjolras (now thumping the floor and crying "Why me????" in a full blown fit of hysterics) Grantaire (still helpfully trying to offer advice such as "I'm sure Feuilly wouldn't mind if you asked him nicely…") Joly (*achoooo*) and Combeferre, on whom it was finally beginning to dawn what they had been talking about and who had come to the conclusion that he should have gone with his instincts and gone back to his book….
Which, as you can probably tell, neatly sums up why we never let Enjolras write fan fic…
"It was a bright sunny day in Paris, and Adrien Enjolras…"
*Cough* Liz stopped writing as she heard a noise behind her. "You're not writing another one of those stories are you?" a voice laden with contempt enquired. She sighed, turning to face the blond figure skulking in the corner.
"And what if I am?" she demanded. Enjolras sighed.
"Because…" he began, as though talking to a very slow and not particularly bright child. " Because, the last time you took it into your head to write something, you made me sleep with… with…" he broke off spluttering. "That!!" he finally managed to choke out.
"I take offence at that!" A reproachful voice from the floor piped up as Grantaire joined the conversation. "You weren't complaining at the time from what I can remember! In fact, now I think about it, weren't you the one who…"
"Anyway…" Broke in Enjolras hastily. "My point is, that I do feel you are totally incapable of writing a decent story about me. I mean, how out of character can you get? If I were going to choose to sleep with anyone, it most certainly wouldn't be with him. Not that I ever intend to waste my time with things like that anyway, but still, I do feel that you could have given me a little more credit!"
"Of course, you're saving yourself for Joly aren't you?" Grantaire added, seeing that Enjolras was working himself up into a full blown fit of self- righteous indignation and seeing no reason why he shouldn't be perfectly entitled to give him a helping hand in that direction.
"What * Achooooo* was that about *sniffle * me?" A voice croaked from the sofa. Really, they were all too cruel, making him think when he had a cold. Of course, it wasn't your normal everyday cold, oh no, this was a very serious version. It would probably develop into Pneumonia, or the Plague or…well, the possibilities were endless really. What were they all talking about?
Liz groaned as Joly, finally giving into curiosity (and also driven by the need to gain a second opinion on his already dangerously swollen tonsils) made his way over to the group gathered by the computer.
"Enjolras was just telling us that he'd rather sleep with you than with me." Grantaire explained helpfully to his ailing friend, watching with interest as Enjolras, already an interesting shade of pink, proceeded to turn increasingly more scarlet by the second. Joly looked perplexed.
"I don't think that's a very good idea." He informed them, looking worried. "I've got this cold and…" he broke off to blow his nose loudly. "Well, I really wouldn't want to give it to anyone else. Sorry Enjolras."
"I don't want to…" Enjolras sputtered, almost incapable of speech as he looked around him for something, anything, that he could throw at that imbecile to make him shut the hell up.
Meanwhile, Liz had taken advantage of the quarrel to turn back to the computer. "It was a bright sunny day in Paris, and Julien Combeferre…." Unfortunately the tapping of the keys had caught Enjolras' attention.
"You're writing about Combeferre?" He asked in disbelief. " I thought you were writing a story about ME!" Liz groaned in frustration.
"Well I was!" she exclaimed. "But you objected so strongly that I decided to write about Combeferre instead…"
"You could always sleep with him…" Grantaire added thoughtfully as the newest arrival walked over to them.
"You called?" With impeccable timing as usual, Julien Combeferre entered the room. "Why is Enjolras bright red?" He added amiably as he saw his friend's face.
"Because he's not going to sleep with me or Joly and he got left out of the fanfic so he won't even be able to sleep with you now either." Answered Grantaire, always happy to fill in the details for those who were late comers to the conversation. Combeferre did a double take
. "Oh… " he began, blinking rapidly, then trailed off. "That's…nice…." He tried again, trying to figure out what on earth everyone was talking about. Maybe he should just go back to his book… Enjolras, who by this time was doing a very good impression of a beetroot, finally decided he'd had enough.
"LOOK!" he almost yelled at Grantaire, who was now sitting on the table so he could get a better view of how Enjolras was getting more and more wound up by the minute, "I don't, never have done, and never will want to sleep with Joly. Or Combeferre. And definitely never with you!! NEVER NEVER NEVER!!! Do you understand me?!?!?" Reflecting on how much Enjolras now looked like a human windmill with his arms thrashing around like that, Grantaire just looked at him. "AGH!" the tortured youth added as a final point, then stormed off to seek solace behind the rubber plant.
"Don't worry, there's always Courfeyrac…." Grantaire added, a comment which was rewarded with several muffled bangs as a head made contact with the wall.
At this point Liz, sighing, switched off the computer. She should have known this would happen. It always did when that lot interfered…. Laughing to herself she left the room, closing the door on Enjolras (now thumping the floor and crying "Why me????" in a full blown fit of hysterics) Grantaire (still helpfully trying to offer advice such as "I'm sure Feuilly wouldn't mind if you asked him nicely…") Joly (*achoooo*) and Combeferre, on whom it was finally beginning to dawn what they had been talking about and who had come to the conclusion that he should have gone with his instincts and gone back to his book….
Which, as you can probably tell, neatly sums up why we never let Enjolras write fan fic…