AN: First off, a round of applause to Toff for betaing! Next, many thanks to Erin number one, KazeNyv for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her, and for giving me plenty. And for putting up with my procrastination. Thanks also for driving me tonight. Um, though I don't think we can really start anything until next semester anyways because I'm selfish and want to be there for all the action. And, well, I want to handle it myself. Because I have a big ego. Deal. You know I love you. Hmm. This chapter is dedicated to Erin number two, LesMisLoony because her secret lover (hehe. She doesn't know it yet) has more of an appearance in this chappy. Just for you.
Tired of my ranting? Well, here we go.
LESGLE
Second period, Mr. Orioril's junior/senior Calculus, was never a joy for Lesgle, or any of The Spoken, for that matter. However, as Enjolras, Combeferre, Joly, and Courfeyrac were also stuck in hell during this hour, it was always a good time to catch up on any news.
Class was trundling along as usual, Lesgle desperately hating every second of it and wishing for a way out. Nine fifty-four… Only six more minutes… He turned surreptitiously to glance at Joly, attempting to catch his eye. To no avail.
Lesgle turned back to glance at Orioril. He had his back turned to the class and was scratching out notes at a furious pace, a marker in his hand squeaking at an impossible volume. Lesgle turned again to the desk one row over and three desks behind him where Joly was now examining a spot of ink on the back of his hand with an intensely concerned expression.
Rolling his eyes, Lesgle snapped his fingers in Joly's direction. "Psst!" No result. He looked back at Orioril and then leaned further into the aisle. "Psst!"
Enjolras looked up from his notebook, an exasperated look on his face. Lesgle caught this look and stuck out his tongue in reply. Enjolras shrugged and turned back to his work, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm not letting you copy my notes, this time. Or Combeferre's…"
Lesgle hooked his ankle around a leg of the desk and leaned out even further, a pencil in his outstretched hand. "Pssssssssssst!" He threw the pencil at Joly and fell into the aisle in surprise as the PA system came to life, the desk crashing down on top of him.
"Attention, all students! In compliance with an exciting new Governmental act…" Courfeyrac scurried into the aisle with Joly and lifted the desk from a stunned Lesgle. The class snickered audibly and Orioril motioned for silence. Unnoticed, Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged a worried look. "…We ask that at ten o'clock, all students bow their heads in silence for a five minute prayer…" There was another crash as Enjolras' desk toppled, its occupant having stood suddenly and violently. "…Beginning in five minutes' time. A special belltone will sound to alert students to the beginning and ending of our sessions."
Orioril glanced at Enjolras, alarmed, and then at Lesgle, his expression bordering on amusement. "Please take your seats, gentlemen."
Lesgle was now occupied with restoring his desk to an upright position, and did not obey immediately. Enjolras, however, made no motion to comply. "I have a few questions to ask of you first, sir."
Orioril sat behind his desk, Calculus forgotten. "By all means." He motioned with his left hand for Enjolras to begin.
"How will this prayer be lead?"
Orioril reached into a desk drawer and retrieved a badly-Xeroxed sheet of paper. He gestured for Enjolras to approach his desk. Combeferre stood and began to collect his books; Courfeyrac caught his eye and began to do the same. Joly and Lesgle, identical grave looks upon their faces, commenced in following suit. Enjolras stepped deftly around his desk and strode up the aisle, taking the paper and scanning it swiftly.
"This is a prayer to the Judeo-Christian deity."
"That is correct."
"A prayer endorsed by- as well as for- our Government."
"For our Government, among other things. But yes, it is endorsed by The Victors; that is correct."
"This will be a daily occurrence? Or did I misunderstand the announcement?"
Orioril nodded. "It will be routine; yes, everyday at ten o'clock."
"This is mandatory for all students?"
"It is mandatory that all students bow their heads and observe the silence. What you do in your mind is, of course, your prerogative." Orioril gave Enjolras an almost sympathetic look. "Is that all?"
"Yes. Thank you." Enjolras strode back to his desk, righted it, and placed his books in his book bag. "I'm walking out."
The five exited the classroom, Courfeyrac taking up the rear. As the last to exit, he grasped the doorknob, sticking his head back into the room. "Good riddance!" The door slammed with a resounding bang as the bell rang, signifying the beginning of the prayer.
D. JAVERT
Five people- students- walking down the front walkway away from the school? They were walking purposefully, in a single-file line. And they were lead, it seemed, by Him. The blond one. She couldn't tell from this distance, but his stride was particularly distinctive... Leaving during the prayer? To do so was not only against the rules; it was sacrilegious.
She ran quickly through the empty atrium towards the doors. Almost there-
"Ouch!" She slipped, sliding away from a puddle that most certainly hadn't been there ten minutes ago! And the puddle was much too big to be an accident. And it was still spreading.
Dominique got to her feet and determined that she had not gotten wet. She then crossed to the door and pushed it open.
The five boys were nowhere in sight.
Dominique bit her bottom lip, her brow creased. She turned away from the door, the cool of the school's darkness hitting her skin sharply after the warmth of the sunshine streaming in through the doors.
She began to walk towards the first floor maintenance closet to retrieve a mop but froze in her tracks at a shrill and highly unwelcome sound.
A giggle.
Somebody was laughing. At. Her.
She whirled sharply, catching sight of a head of dark blond hair ducking behind an open door. She recognized that head!
"Gavroche. Come out. Now." She was met with another snort of derisive laughter and the sound of racing footsteps.
Oh no, he doesn't.
She raced after him, turning into the computer wing's winding hallway in pursuit, running through many sets of doors, relying only on the sound of the younger boy's pounding footsteps. She could tell that she was gaining on him when-
"ARGH!" With a muffled cry, Dominique crashed headlong into a closed door. She pushed on it. Locked.
She turned and walked briskly back to the main entrance way. As she passed by the front doors, she caught sight of what appeared to be four more students turning away from the end of the school's walkway.
It was not turning out to be a good day. She strode to the open maintenance closet, grabbed the mop viciously, and returned to the puddle.
The moment that she had sufficient proof, that Gavroche kid was going to get it.
EPONINE
She planned to skip her fifth period class so that she would have two lunch hours; the first being her normal one, and the second being the one that Cosette Fauchelevent had. The first started out as was expected; Gavroche bragged about his latest exploit involving Javert; Azelma bemoaned her grades, parentage, and life in general; Montparnasse "pick pocketed" the trays of any who came too close to the table; and Eponine sat in silence, gazing across the room at the back of Marius's head.
She came to, however, when Montparnasse elbowed her arm sharply.
"What, Parnasse?"
"I asked you a question."
"I didn't hear."
He smirked. "I need to know when your father wants to do the next house. Think you can remember? Or do I need to give you a reminder?" He glowered, and she looked back coldly.
"I'll ask for you. Whose house, this time?"
He gave her a look and then fished a piece of paper out of his pocket. "This address," he said, handing the paper to her elegantly before turning back to his numerous desserts, none of which he had paid for.
She unfolded the paper. "This address looks familiar. Who is it?"
He swallowed an ice-cream-covered French fry. "Fauch-something."
Eponine gave him a calculating look. "It's not Fauchelevent, by any chance, is it?"
"Yes; I think that was the funny name…"
Her eyes widened comically but Parnasse had gone back to his food and so didn't notice. She bit her lip, her teeth piercing her flesh until she bled.
ENJOLRAS
It was a little past noon, and The Spoken- minus, of course, that love-struck Marius- were clustered in the dining room of Enjolras' house around the oversized circular table.
"How much do you want to bet we get expelled for this?" Jehan asked glumly.
Grantaire shrugged. "Expel a potential Valedictorian? I think not," he said, glancing at Combeferre. "Though my money's still on Javert," he added as an afterthought.
Combeferre raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Enjolras stood. "Does anybody need anything?"
Courfeyrac pushed back his chair to join him. "Lunch. Sandwiches. I'll help you make them."
"No meat for me or Jehan," Joly muttered.
"Peanut butter?" Courfeyrac smirked.
"Whatever."
Enjolras and Courfeyrac left the dining room and stepped into the adjacent kitchen, leaving the door open behind them so that they could still hear the others.
"I don't think we'll be expelled," Bahorel said uncharacteristically carefully. "I can definitely see suspension, but they wouldn't expel us over something like this."
"Oh?"
"What would be gained from expelling us?"
"Everything! So they have to get rid of two of the school's best students; so what? They're getting rid of the school's unofficial drunkard, the school's crazy liberal radical, half of the medical staff's workload, and the two students that are, perhaps, the worst troublemakers that history has ever seen…"
"You know, Lesgle, I really take offence at that," Courfeyrac called, emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates, each featuring two sandwiches. Enjolras followed close behind carrying two more plates, between which were distributed five more sandwiches.
The Spoken raised an eyebrow in unison; five of the sandwiches seemed to have more peanut butter on the outsidesof (rather than between) the slices. The remaining four were neat and perfectly quartered.
"Uh… Courfeyrac?"
"Hmm?"
"You know you're not very good at…" Joly trailed off at a furious glance from Enjolras who sat at the table, taking one of the neat sandwiches and passing the plates to his left.
"Now. In continuation of our conversation. I don't believe that we will be expelled; we may be suspended, but that's only temporary. In any case, we must decide what exactly we're going to do about the situation…"
"You mean, about the prayer?"
"Precisely." Enjolras was silent for a few moments. "Five of us have Orioril during the prayer. He does what he's told, but I suspect that he's the most opposed to The Victors on the staff."
"And you're thinking that he might make an allowance for us?" Combeferre asked skeptically.
"Well, yes; unofficially."
"And for those of us not genius enough to be taking Calculus? What of us?" Jehan asked, an eyebrow raised.
Enjolras bit his lower lip. "This solution is only temporary, of course… You might see if you can't get your study period moved." He sighed softly. "You see, though, that these two courses of action are hardly action at all. If we want change, we must make it ourselves."
"…But we all want to graduate," Combeferre added with a slow nod.
Enjolras frowned. "I hardly think that our actions should be motivated by fear of expulsion…"
"No. We're not getting kicked out, and that's that," Combeferre said. "If we're expelled, it'll mean that we have no pull for the rest of our lives; nine PhD's have more influence than nine non-high school graduates. Plain and simple."
Enjolras dropped his gaze and studied his knees.
Combeferre gave Enjolras a calculating look. "Oh, God; Enjolras, what are you planning?"
"I'm not planning anything…"
"Spill." Combeferre rolled his eyes, and then gently laid a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "We have a right to know what your ideas are. If you don't tell us, you're no better than them."
Enjolras' posture stiffened visibly, but he raised his gaze to Combeferre's face. "Kindly remove your hand from my shoulder. You're getting peanut butter on my shirt." Combeferre nodded and, drawing back his hand, leaned back in his chair. The Spoken watched Enjolras carefully as he placed both hands palm-down on the table and began to speak.
"I'm not planning anything; I'm simply observing the state of things." He paused, furrowing his brow before continuing. "The massacre was an awakening. Those blind to the confluence of events have either awoken, or will as a result of the government's actions. School prayer! It will not be long before even more unconstitutional action is taken… It is unlikely that the people will remain dormant. We have, indeed, reached the turning of the tide…"
"What are you trying to say?" Asked Combeferre, a look of disbelief mixing with one of sudden understanding on his face. Enjolras again dropped his gaze, not speaking.
"We said that within the next fifty years, there would probably be a Revolution," Joly said, his brow furrowed.
"And it was always our intent to attempt to see it succeed," Bahorel said, a gleeful smile spreading across is face.
Enjolras raised his head sadly. "What I'm saying, Combeferre, is that before you have a chance to graduate, we may well all be dead."
