"VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE!" Enjolras stuck his head out the window at the sound of this cry.

"Combeferre!" he shouted. "There are other revolutionaries around!" Enjolras looked as happy as though he had discovered life on a distant planet.

"They better have alcohol," muttered a slightly sober Grantiare.

"That's the last thing we should worry about," Combeferre told him.

"What should we worry about?" Grantiare asked him.

"Maybe surviving. You know food, water, etc. etc."

"Shut your philosophical pie-hole!"

"Silence you stupid drunk!"

"Wine-Cast, Combeferre!" Enjolras silenced the two.

"Enjolras?"

"Yes Pontmercy?" asked a very irked Enjolras.

"I miss Cosette," complained Marius.

"Mon Dieu, we could die, Pontmercy," cried an exasperated Enjolras "And all you can think of is that stupid girl!" An creepy silence filled the old abandoned house Les Amis de l'ABC were staying in.

"This dust can't be good for my condition," said Joly, breaking the silence.

"Why is that?" asked Courfeyrac.

"I'm allergic to dust!"

"AGH!"

"Enjolras?" asked a concerned Combeferre. Enjolras was massaging his throbbing forehead.

"I cannot stand you people anymore!" screamed Enjolras. e tuned around to lookout the window.

"You're mean," complained Grantiare.

"My heart is breaking, Wine-Cast," said Enjolras with a hint of sarcasm. Grantiare frowned.

"What're you doing?" Courfeyrac asked Jean Prouvaire.

"Writing poetry," the poet answered simply.

"Can you write me on to send to my mistresses?" asked Courfeyrac.

"Sure," Jehan said. "But I don't think I could write 42 poems before we die a terrible death." Courfeyrac growled at Jehan who only grinned .

"I've lost count again! Will you all be quiet?"

"Count of what?" Combeferre asked Feuilly.

"The ceiling tiles," Feuilly answered, pointing up at the ceiling.

"Or lack there of," chuckled Courfeyrac. He was right. They had either fallen off, or were currently in the process of falling off. They had originally been a pretty pure white, but now they were an ugly, puke-green color.

"You weren't hit by one," said Grantiare rubbing his still throbbing head. The day they got there, the welcome he received was a falling tile on his head.

"I'm bored," complained Joly.

"Then entertain yourself," Feuilly (who had given up on the ceiling tiles) told him.

"I think we should investigate the cry," Enjolras told them.

"What cry?" asked Grantiare, who had honestly forgotten.

"'VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE' Remember?" Enjolras reminded him.

"Oh right," said Grantiare.

"So shall we go?" Enjolras asked them.

"It sounded like a girl. And girls are only good for one thing right?" Courfeyrac said.

"Fine! I'll go!" Enjolras screamed, walking out the door.

"Poor Apollo," muttered Grantiare. One by one the rest of Les Amis walked out the door and joined him. The headed down the street to where they first heard the scream.

A/N: Newsflash: Popularity for Courfeyrac is down for female fanfic readers. That was basically all dialogue. Wow.