The Marble Man
Disclaimer: All I own is the plot.
AN: SURPRISE! I am still alive! My thesis is absolutely, positively killing me, but it's NaNoWriMo and I have to get at least some work done on this epic story of epicness. Thanks to Mary for the wonderful beta-work, and to Christine for being a wonderful person and for demanding Teacher!Ferre!
Chapter eight:
It takes her two days to realize that the one talk about phones won't cut it with him.
Yesterday she found him on the kitchen floor, staring at the refrigerator light while opening and closing the door slowly, inch by inch until the light went on or off again – he was completely fascinated by the little light. When she wasn't looking, he tried to sneak his hand inside to attempt to figure out where the cold came from inside the machine, and she had to close the door in his face to make him stop.
Only to find him trying again just five minutes later, desperate to figure out how the magic machine kept his drinks and food so cool. R was snickering in the corner – the ass – and watching her try and fail to keep the mighty Enjolras from acting like a curious five-year-old with every piece of electrical equipment in the house. The fridge is just one of many things that he finds so absolutely interesting that he cannot stop staring.
This world is still so strange to him, so curious and terrifying at the same time, and she knows that someone is going to have to help him navigate it – and she knows that it will have to be her. R is much too easily amused by watching Enjolras fail at something or be freaked out by something relatively harmless, and Jehan is too interested in R to have much to talk about with Enjolras. It all comes down to her.
Right now, he is sitting in front of the computer and trying not to reach for it while staring intently at it at the same time. It is just another machine that he cannot understand, and under her watch he stands up and walks away again in the direction of the kitchen. She is perfectly okay until she realizes that the toaster is on and he is about to get the shock of his life if he gets too close to it.
"Enjolras," she almost runs into the kitchen.
Only to find him startled by the toaster as a few slices of hot toast pop out – yep, that is just what she was trying to avoid. His eyes are wide and he tries to reach out for the toast only to recoil when he feels the heat coming off the machine.
He shoots the machine an angry look and then stares at the forming mark on his fingers with curiosity. The anger is the most obvious emotion, and if he were more savvy when it comes to machines, he would be unplugging the damn thing and threatening to toss it out. It is a typical frustrated tough male thing, and she is interested to see that he is not so different after all. Sometimes he's a puzzle – as he is desperately trying to be – and sometimes he is just a man, trying to look strong in front of a woman.
They move to the living room again.
The television is both a source of fear and of excitement for him, as he finds the moving pictures quite interesting, but he does not grasp the concept of broadcasting and he is terrified by the sounds of guns and bombs and weapons that are so often heard on television shows and in movies. She makes R turn on something quieter instead, and Enjolras gives her a grateful look but he doesn't speak, as he rushes upstairs and she hears the door to his new room slam closed.
"Damn it, R," she mutters under her breath.
She stands in the living room for a while, debating if she will follow Enjolras upstairs to try and comfort him, or if she will stay behind and not dent his pride any further than she already has. He would be too stubborn to let her make too much of a difference, she decides – it would be pointless to go upstairs. And yet, she finds herself walking out of the living room and taking the stairs one step at a time.
It is not his fault that he got dropped into this damn world without any kind of knowledge about how it works – and it definitely is not his fault that R is kind of an asshole. Maybe she should get Jehan on the case of R's douchebaggery. That would mean throwing the two of them together a lot, which might actually end with them doing it – which is the end goal of all of her operations involving those two.
Still, first order of business is to try and see what is up with Enjolras, to see if there is anything that she can do this time. He needs a lot of help, and sometimes she resents that – she really wants to be out of this damn town before she lets it actually become important to her. But how can she leave her statue friend behind when she goes?
There is no way that she could just abandon him and hope he doesn't get cursed again or run over by a car he never understood. No, there is no way that she could abandon her only friends like that – maybe that is why she's standing in front of his door, hesitating and thinking about if she should knock or just listen for sounds of frustration, anger, or sadness. Her hand is raised, poised and ready to knock.
"I know you are there," Enjolras calls out from inside his room. "I do not require your aid at this time. Please come back at another time."
Yeah, like something like that would ever work on her. She knows that she should not enter a guy's room when he says something like that – because it usually means he has his hands down his pants – but she knows enough about Enjolras to know that he obviously is not doing that right now. It just would not be proper, and she knows how much he loves it when things are proper. He literally could not wait to get his own room because sharing a room with a woman before marriage was just not proper.
She is starting to think that "proper" is his favorite word.
"Hands over the blankets, I'm coming in," she calls out, reaching for the door handle.
"Will you disregard my every wish like this?" Enjolras is particularly prickly.
He is actually sitting on his bed, but his hands are nowhere near his pants. He is staring into space blankly while holding a book open in his hands. She takes a peek at the cover only to notice that he is, in fact, trying to understand The Catcher In The Rye. The book would not be particularly hard to understand, were it not depicting a society Enjolras has no understanding of. He would not understand cabs and the city of New York – New York might not have been called that, or might not have existed yet when he was turned into marble. He is reading the words, but not understanding them.
"Pretty much," she shrugs happily.
As he once again attempts to understand the words of Holden Caulfield, his face scrunches up and she is struck by how adorable he can be if only he lets himself be off guard. He does not have to be so hostile all of the time.
There is so much for him to be upset about, but having her bear the brunt of it is tough and pretty unfair to her. She wonders if she could be blamed for all of it, since she is the one who brought him back from the damn curse. She wonders if he ever even wanted to be brought back into a world he could not understand. Sure, the curse is wrong and terrifying and he deserved to be released from it – but she wonders if he would not rather be dead and with his family than with her in this damn time.
"Do you like the book?" she asks, breaking the silence.
He continues to stare at the pages as if the answers to all of his questions are to be found in lines of dialogue and the thoughts of a teenage boy in the 1950s. Holden Caulfield is not a character she ever imagined him relating to, but she can see how both men hold on to their pasts in lieu of seeing the future. It will be an observation she keeps to herself.
"It was one of my favorites when I was in high school," she keeps talking anyway.
It feels as if she is talking to thin air, and she wonders why she even tries with him, because it is obvious he will not want to talk to her today. She doubts that he wants to talk to anyone at this point, and she is ready to throw in the towel.
"I don't know why I bother," she shrugs, resigned, as she heads back in the direction that she came from. "I'm here if you want to talk, if you change your mind."
Her hand is on the doorknob when she sees movement from the corner of her eye.
"Wait," he says, hesitant. "I know that I have spoken too harshly to you. I know that this is improper because you are a lady and you are my savior. I simply find it difficult to be out of my time in this way. I went to sleep in one time and woke up in another, completely different era. This is not the town I grew up in. The world is wrong."
The speech is very formal, but that does not mean he does not mean what he is saying to her. This is an apology from him, and one that means a lot because it comes from him, the marble man who is harsh in everything. He is harsh in his apology as well; at least, she can tell that his facial features are not actually softening with something that is supposed to be a rather vulnerable action.
He appears to be thinking on something rather serious, face still locked in a frown as he stares at the ceiling rather than at her or at the book he is still clutching. She waits almost breathlessly for what he will finally decided – she knows it is stupid, but she hopes this will lead to another revelation about who he is.
"We are always fighting," he speaks up then.
"That much is true," she acknowledges it, shrugging to give herself something to do.
She is awkwardly standing near the door, not wanting to lean on anything or touch anything in a room that is obviously his. While he may want her inside his room to talk right now, it would be good to not act too familiar with the tired man in front of her. He is rubbing at his eyes, the dark circles showing obviously and revealing that his new life has been more stressful than he has been willing to show her before.
That's why she is biting her tongue so hard, because she really wants to point out that he is the one who is always starting those damn fights. He looks so tired and at least he is making an effort now, with this equivalent to an olive branch, so she can stand to bite her tongue a bit longer. She will not add on the temptation to start a fight this time.
"I am tired of this fighting," he then continues, finally not rubbing at his tired eyes any longer. "I do not like that we always have to argue."
Those blue eyes finally focus on her with those words, and she yet again finds herself struck by their color. Those blue, blue eyes are boring into hers and she is starting to think about why they would ever fight. Those blue eyes are filled with hurt and pain and she knows well enough that this pain is mirrored in her own brown eyes.
"I have decided to be kinder," he proclaims, making another vow. "All I have ever done is fight. I started fighting in my youth and all I have done in the many, many years since then is argue with someone in some way. Now I find myself weary of this combat."
He looks it. And coming from someone who has spent most of her life fighting against someone – usually her father – or something, that is harsh judgment. She knows that when done right, the fight can keep you thriving and going almost indefinitely, but she is seeing the fight go out of him now because he can't go on like this anymore.
"Besides," a sardonic quirk to his smile, "the fighting is obviously what got me into such trouble in the first place."
And here he is making yet another oblique reference to his past, one that is only for him to understand. She wishes she could understand what he is talking about, but she knows that there is very little that she actually knows about him. His secrets are kept close and unless she lets him into her life, she will never know about his.
"So we will call it a truce," she holds out her hand.
"I guess we shall," he shakes it once, firmly, and then lets go.
It seems as if he is still somewhat hesitant to touch her – women were obviously not a big part of his life before, she knows that much. He is so much more awkward around her than he is around Jehan and R, and he is such a big fan of using the word proper against her that she wonders if he even notices there is a thing called woman. There is no awareness that he is an attractive man who could notice women, nothing at all.
It is a close call; she almost opens her mouth to tell him that she is here to help, but she quickly closes it because she does not want to lie to him. She is not truly here to help, she never asked for this when she pleaded with the damn statue to just be real.
"I can help you," she offers instead, "if you let me."
Still, she is so curious about him, and about the mystery surrounding him, that she wants to help him figure everything out – and learn more about him on the way.
She plops down on the bed next to him, wanting to make it less awkward for her and easier to look at the book together. She figures it might be something that she can explain to him without antagonizing him and starting a fight, but judging by how he straightens his back, she has already made him uncomfortable without even trying. It is quite the sight too; them sitting on the bed together while he is so tense that he can't even move. If he moves just an inch he might just actually touch her accidentally, and it seems as if he cannot stand the idea of that. She pretends that does not hurt.
"What do you think of Holden Caulfield so far?" she ignores his posture.
"I find his world to be a complicated one," Enjolras tries to be subtle about his move away from her – but he fails miserably. "I have no knowledge of this city, New York."
That is another revelation about just how long it has been since he has been turned into marble, but she pretends not to pay too much attention to that. She knows it takes a lot for him to reveal anything.
"It would be a difficult novel to start out with," she agrees, perusing the shelves in front of her for a book that might be easier for him to read. "Fantasy books would be a lot easier for you to understand. There is no technology there."
With her final sweep over the stacks of books, she can find a favorite that he might actually enjoy. She leans forward to grab it, accidentally brushing past him and sending him into a frantic movement away from her. The snort that escapes is purely accidental and hopefully not loud enough for him to hear. It was just too much, seeing him almost terrified of coming into contact with her and almost falling on his face to prevent it.
"This book is called American Gods," she pulls it from the stack and hopes that won't make anything fall over. "It has nice reflections on our contemporary culture and how we deal with faith and idols, but it's not too technical. I think you'd like it."
There is a terrifying moment where the stack wobbles and she wonders why Jehan stores all of his family's books this way, but then everything stops moving and she is reassured again. She sits up on the bed then, attempting to imitate the straight-backed posture that Enjolras seems to be so good at. She hands him the book, knowing all too well the kind of impish grin that is currently playing over her features.
"Thank you," he takes it, still so awkward.
It is so obvious that he is still uncomfortable around her, so she makes it easier on him by getting up from the bed and letting him breathe again. She rolls her eyes secretly when he lets out a deep breath he has obviously been holding for a while.
There is no verbal response from him to any of this, awkward as he is. She wishes he would realize that she is not out to hurt him and that for all her talk; she is not worlds apart from him. They are both still human, and there is nothing to be afraid of in her actions. Oh well, she probably has to take it one step at a time.
"Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed," he only speaks when she's closing the door to his room behind her, speaking so softly she almost doesn't hear it.
She does not even know if he is still talking to her, she does not know if he even remembers that she isn't gone from the room yet. Still, it is nice of him to say this – even though she will not risk startling him with any kind of response.
This is what they call progress.
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"I need a teacher," she speaks up as soon as the door opens.
Combeferre has a serious case of bed head, and he is staring at her as if she is some kind of mirage or hallucination. It is quite obvious that he was not expecting any kind of visitors at this hour, and especially not she.
"What would you need a teacher for, Éponine?" Combeferre rubs at his eyes.
"Can I come in?" she asks in return.
There is no way that she is going to talk about Enjolras in public where she can be overheard by just anyone and taken to jail because those damn gendarmes still think that she has taken the damn statue. The mere idea of that is ridiculous, but she will allow these stupid men their ideas – she doubts that they will ever find any kind of rational explanation for the statue's disappearance, seeing as a statue coming to life is anything but rational. This will just have to be another of the town's mysteries.
"I am not sure why you are here," Combeferre now looks pretty awkward about this.
"Relax," she rolls her eyes. "I'm not here to jump you. I'm here to ask for your help in teaching my friend. Now will you please let me in?"
Showing up at his doorstep on a Saturday morning might seem more than a bit fishy to him, but she got the idea so randomly in the early hours that she had to do something about it immediately or she would have forgotten all about it. That is just the way her mind works and she really will not care what the rest of the town may think about her being on his doorstep like this. Fuck this small-minded town!
"Please come in," Combeferre returns to his polite self.
"I know this is a bit of an odd time," she tells him as she steps inside. "I'm sorry for disturbing you at this hour, but you're the only one who can help me with this."
The house is a small family home that he lives in on his own; according to Jehan's detailed roadmap and latest gossip he simply had to share. She knows too much about Combeferre's short dating history and how somehow the guy is the only serious one in their group of friends. According to Jehan – and according to the so-called witty comments added by R – Combeferre only became part of their group because he tutored Bahorel back in high school and the two guys became friends after that. Still, Jehan and R know Combeferre is a much more serious and calm guy than the rest of them.
"It's something rather serious, isn't it?" Combeferre is resigned to that role.
"It is something rather complicated," she corrects him gently as she closes the door behind her. "My friend is a bit, well, I guess you could call him different."
She is at a loss of how to describe Enjolras to Combeferre, because there is no way that she can describe him without mentioning the statue and the curse and all of the things that Enjolras wouldn't necessarily want to be shared with anyone. Still, if she is ever going to be able to take him out in public, she is going to need help – and Combeferre is her best option. He is patient and kind and serious, and she knows that Enjolras might actually respond reasonably well to him.
"Who would this friend be?" Combeferre leads her into the living room.
"He prefers to be called Enjolras," she lets him lead, hoping he won't notice how unclear and weird her story actually is. "He – I. It is so hard to explain him."
With a quick look around the sparse furnishing of the house, she sits on a worn down couch and tries to think of things that she can use to convince him that Enjolras is real and that he really needs Combeferre's help. Well, she has decided that Enjolras needs more help than she can give, and she hopes Combeferre will understand.
"Would he have anything to do with the missing statue?" Combeferre surprises her.
"No, he's just," she continues to stammer, not knowing how to explain without revealing everything that she should not talk about just yet. "He's complicated."
There is no reason for her to be even remotely surprised about her friend being so damn quick, since 'Ferre is one of the most intelligent guys she knows. He is more than capable of connecting any dots or following any breadcrumbs to the intended destination or conclusion, being that the mysterious disappearance of Man Protesting is related to the appearance of her new friend. She knows that she will have to tell him the truth anyway, if he agrees to help her teach Enjolras. There is no way to hide it when Combeferre meets him. Still, there is no way she can tell him anything until he actually believes.
"I just, my friend can be so clueless," she finds herself simpering as 'Ferre stares at her with a completely blank face. "He needs help with some of the basics, but mostly history and literature, and definitely with technology. He burnt himself on the toaster again and someone has to help him figure that damn thing out."
The corners of her mouth are turned up into an almost fond smile as she pictures Enjolras approaching the toaster like a dangerous adversary he has yet to conquer – she finds him and it strangely endearing even though he annoys the crap out of her with his damn opinions about what is and is not proper. Oh, damn Enjolras!
Combeferre is still staring, and she's getting worried she has said too much already.
"But, that's just because he's new," she tries to think of a proper excuse. "He is still getting used to all these things, but he's trying. I tried to teach him, but he just doesn't understand and for some reason me teaching him is just not proper. Not that anything is proper, the way he tells it. The whole world is split in proper and improper and of course I am always on the wrong end and it is so fucking frustrating."
Even though he has his own room now, a room that is not even on the same floor, he can find the weirdest things improper – and that always leads to yet another argument. For some reason, their truce has not stayed around for that long.
"Of course we always have to argue," she rolls her eyes. "There is no way that he can ever agree with anything that I am saying and he always has to say the complete opposite of anything that I am thinking. He never listens when I ask him to just do this one thing and he avoids me because I am unlike any woman he knows. Somehow he is scared of me and he hates me and he needs me but he prefers to be away from me. He is always in the damn garden again staring at the book he will not even finish because some of the scenes are not proper and his hands hurt because of the damn toaster that still somehow startles him every fucking time!"
She is this close to just tossing the damn thing to keep him from burning his damn fingers, but then she remembers how much she really fucking craves toast with marmalade sometimes and she keeps the thing around for a bit longer. And the entire process repeats itself at least once a day.
"It sounds to me," Combeferre finally speaks up to break up her rant, "like you're suggesting that your friend is not from this time. It kind of sounds like you are suggesting that he is, in fact, the missing statue come to life."
And all this he says in a completely monotone voice, making it impossible for her to read him.
"No, it's just," more stammering from her end, a sharp contrast to 'Ferre's even tone of voice, "there was this thing and the dolt got amnesia!"
His face does not change, but still she knows that she is out of excuses and she might as well start revealing bits and pieces of the truth at this point.
"I put two and two together to make four," 'Ferre is smiling now. "I have lived in this town for years. I know about the curse. I grew up on the story of the Man Protesting. To people in Musain, the protesting man is almost like père noël or la petite souris with the amount of legends being attached to him. Sure, it is not a story that I would find easy to believe. Still, I do not know all the mysteries of the universe, so I cannot claim that this story would be impossible. I believe you believe that this man is the statue come to life, but I will not be able to decide for myself if I believe it until I meet him for myself. Until then, I reserve the right to think you are both crazy."
Well, she cannot blame him for thinking that. She thought Enjolras was crazy too when he first started blabbing about being a statue come to life.
Maybe she should just give Combeferre some time to think about things.
"I turned away for just a few seconds," she still finds herself explaining, "and when I turned back there was this trembling mess where the statue used to be. He doesn't know what is going on, and so many things frighten him, even though he won't tell me so. He needs help and you are the best person I could think of to help."
The rant might be a bit much, but she knows that 'Ferre can handle pretty much anything, so she can excuse herself for sounding as frazzled as she feels. It is just getting too be so crazy – her life is not even close to what she thought it would be when she came into this stupid town. If only she could just leave this place.
"Anything you need," Combeferre easily assures her. "I will help you."
"Seriously, how have you not been snagged up yet by a very lucky lady?" she blurts out, not sure if she is teasing him or actually being sincere. "How are you this perfect?"
Her friend is so perfect that it is actually just kind of annoying her – because she has always thought that perfect people were boring. While she kind of likes Combeferre, and she knows that he is a great friend, she could never stand to be with him in a more than friendly way. She knows that she is a fucked up mess, and all he could ever do was try to heal her and fix her. She does not want to be anyone else's baggage.
"That's the problem, is it not?" 'Ferre just shrugs. "Well, I think I should be able to help you teach your friend about our modern society. I will bring some history books from my collection and we will work from there. When would you like me to come by?"
Why would he do this for her when he does not even know her that well? She is just the girl who is staying with his old friends; she is just the girl who showed his class around the museum that one time. He does not owe her anything, but still he is kind.
"Would you have time later?" she figures that she might as well ask. "You could meet Enjolras and talk about whatever it is your old-fashioned polite dudes talk about."
She might as well be truthful to herself and make fun of him a little, because he reacts in almost the same way as Enjolras does when she points out some harsh truths: all righteous indignation with the occasional blush. She likes it when she makes otherwise self-assured guys trip over their words and blush; because the power something like that gives feels astonishingly good. She likes being the one on top.
"I would beg to differ," Combeferre argues. "I am not old-fashioned!"
The guy would definitely rock a pocket watch, or a vintage suit – that's the kind of guy she would picture Combeferre to be in his free hours. That is just another one of the reasons why it is such a brilliant idea to introduce him to Enjolras.
"I have heard you use the word fiddlesticks for fuck's sake," she rolls her eyes.
Okay, so the word is kind of cool, but it is not something that is a part of everyone's vocabulary. It is part of the vocabulary of the elderly and of Mary Poppins, probably – and still in use by dear Combeferre. She is sure some women would appreciate it, but she is just not one of those women. There's something so very sexy about a men losing enough of his control to curse – an actual curse, thank you very much.
"I merely curtail myself seeing as I work with impressionable children," 'Ferre says.
"I just like saying fuck," she shrugs and grins. "See you later!"
With that, she gets ready for her exit.
She loves a good exit line.
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There is no way that she can properly prepare Combeferre for Enjolras or the other way around, so she merely announces to Enjolras that a friend of hers is coming by to help him with some things. That only pissed him off, of course.
"That will be Combeferre," she speaks when there is a knock on the door.
"I do not wish to speak to this man," Enjolras is frowning, ready to bolt up the stairs at the first sight of his visitor. "I do not need to be shown off to be analyzed so you can safely store me in an institution. I wish to go to my room."
Oh yes, this behavior is just childish, but she kind of understands the fear behind it. She can try to explain to him that this is not the purpose of Ferre's visit, but it is best to let 'Ferre do his own explaining, since he's more eloquent than she could ever hope to be.
"He's a teacher, Enjolras," she motions for him to follow her instead.
She opens the door without giving Enjolras or Combeferre any warning, hoping that the former will not flee and the latter will be his normal self. Honestly, if Enjolras could get over himself they might even get along a little, and they can go off and be serious somewhere while she gets the hell out of dodge. Why is she still here?
"Come in, 'Ferre," she tries to smile.
"Good afternoon," somehow there is an easy smile on 'Ferre's face. "Is this the friend you told me about? Hello, my name is Combeferre. It is nice to meet you."
Enjolras still looks ready to bolt – there are no outside signs of fear, but his muscles are tense and he keeps glancing at the stairs. She knows that he is just going for self-preservation, but she is more than a little bit fed up with being the designated caretaker for a former statue who knows nothing about their world. The boys are torn between either being amused by Enjolras and mostly ignoring his eccentricities, and she is expected to solve any and all problems that arise. She never wanted any of this.
"My name is Enjolras," the man in question moves closer. "It is a pleasure."
Surely these formalities are obviously nothing more than formalities, because it is obvious by the clenching of Enjolras' teeth that he thinks this anything but a pleasure.
"Éponine has explained your situation," Combeferre remains civil. "She has told me that you would like to learn more about history, literature, and technology. I have brought some books with me for that purpose, if you wish to peruse them."
Maybe it would be better if she left these two alone to sort things out for themselves, but she is still too hesitant to leave two practical strangers together without any kind of supervision. So she will stick along a bit longer to see what happens when these two actually try to communicate. She predicts that they will get along just swimmingly once the initial awkwardness is over. Ugh, she needs a drink right about now.
"I might be interested in your literature," Enjolras is cautious.
"And we will discuss your toaster problem," Combeferre mentions that so slyly.
The huff coming from Enjolras is obvious to both her and Combeferre, and she finds herself laughing before she even registers that she is doing so. Sure, Enjolras will be once again be pissed at her because he will perceive her laughter as her way of making fun of him. She cannot seem to do anything right with him, and so she figures that she might as well just be her crude self. Playing anything else is not working anyway.
"I do not appreciate you mocking me, mademoiselle Éponine," Enjolras is angry.
"If you want to think I am mocking you," she shrugs, because she is done with all of this talk, "you can do so. I say that this was not my intention, but whatever."
She is sure that Combeferre will soon try to get Enjolras' attention again and her perceived slight will be forgotten quickly. The other man is a new variable that Enjolras does not yet have a handle on, so he will find solving that problem much more important than dealing with what he perceives as her umpteenth insult directed at him. Some of his actions have gotten somewhat easy to predict as she spends more time with him than she usually does with anyone. They do not get along, but they see a lot of each other these days. She just wants to leave before she starts to appreciate him.
Where has the time gone? She has been in Musain too long already.
"You were saying something about the heated menace?" Enjolras turns to Combeferre.
"I will do everything that I can to make dealing with the toaster easier for you in the future," Combeferre makes a solemn vow.
Once again, she has to stifle a grin, and she is sure she is not camouflaging it well enough for Enjolras not to get annoyed by her again. But still, if this is the biggest fucking issue that Enjolras can come up to deal with, she has done pretty damn well with him.
"Shall we proceed to the kitchen?" Enjolras leads the way.
Oh yeah, she is definitely going to watch the next parts from a safe distance, because this is undoubtedly going to be really fucking hilarious. She has been able to watch all of the previous rounds of Enjolras versus the 'heated menace', and she is damn well not going to miss these next few rounds. Hilarity basically comes with the deal.
Both sides of the battle are in their respective corners: the heated menace in its traditional spot on the counter, and Enjolras on the opposite side of the kitchen, almost pressing himself against the wall to see as far away from the enemy as possible. As she tries to be a mere spectator at this battle, Combeferre is trying to referee to create some kind of peaceful ending to this war – a peaceful ending that is not coming.
The situation just keeps getting more and more hilarious to her. She is standing at the entrance to the kitchen, narrating the entire situation under her breath as if it is some kind of huge MMA fight and the toaster is the defending champion, while scrappy newcomer Enjolras is the challenger and Combeferre is the rattled referee who has been forced to take care of the newbie. Still, she'd be damned before she was made into one of those ring girls in the skimpy outfits, but she can definitely call out the rounds.
"Round number one," she mutters, hoping no one will be able to hear.
She can see the corners of 'Ferre's mouth twitching, so she knows that someone heard her stupid commentary – it'd be better to keep her future comments to herself just to be sure. Also, she really does not want to have to explain her weird sense of humor. 'Ferre seems to find her funny now, but maybe he will not find it as amusing when she is basically laughing at Enjolras. Teachers tend to not like that very much.
In the right-hand corner, we have the returning champion, the one who brings the heat to every battle, the heated menace! And the crowd goes wild! The music for this roaring beast is the very appropriate Johnny Cash classic "Ring of Fire".
And in the opposite corner, our challenger of the night! The mysterious phantom of days past, the awkward new entry onto the scene, our very own mystery man: Enjolras! Some of his more ironic pals appear to have chosen his music: "Born to be Wild".
The giggle that almost escapes her is kept down only by sheer force of will, and she tries to cover it up by humming "Eye of the Tiger" under her breath as Enjolras slowly approaches the heated menace under the close watch of Combeferre. The distance turns from yards to feet to inches, and she is almost holding her breath.
"It is not properly attached to the electricity," Enjolras awkwardly explains when he finally reaches the toaster.
Well, that's an anti-climax of epic proportions!
The battle has ended in a draw! Please stick around for the next round!
AN: Enjolras vs the heated menace might go on for another day, we'll see. That poor guy and all that electrical equipment!
Let me know what you think, and what your favorite parts/lines/moments were!