Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis.
Okay, so here goes Chapter 2. There will actually be some interaction in this one, yay!
Often, Grantaire found himself questioning why he continued to sit through these meetings, though he knew the answer. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to Enjolras and his words, though they were not much more than that. They were pretty words meant to stir the crowd, and they did. The young man was a dreamer, and a foolish one, though that did not stop Grantaire from admiring him so. In fact, he supposed that was the reason that he venerated him as he did. Grantaire found himself unable to look past the harsh realities of life, yet Enjolras set himself above them like Apollo, thinking himself in some sort of control.
And so, Grantaire sat night after night and listened, always hoping that Enjolras would accept him. He never did. But why should he? The Marble Man need not concern himself with Grantaire, for he was little more than a drunkard with enough money to attend school.
The other Friends, though, seemed to have no problem with him or his drinking problem. At least that was a welcome relief, though it was not their respect he was so desperate for.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was being ignored now, probably his own doing - he was far too drunk to discuss politics - but his attention was drawn back to the young girl sitting in the back. He would have thought she would leave by now. But no, she sat alone, the cup long empty and sitting on the table in front of her, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was trying to fend off a chill in a room despite the fact that it was quite warm.
"Hey!" he called out, his words slightly slurred. Why he had called out, he was not sure. Probably because he was lonely with everyone speaking around him, assuming he was in too drunk a state to speak anyways.
A few of the Friends snapped their heads to look at him. He doubted they had even noticed the girl, as wrapped up as they were in their revolution, blind to their cause when it sat right in front of them. Or was this not the point? He often wondered. Perhaps their ideals were good, but the way they were going about it, they were trying to change the world too fast.
Marie's eyes shot up from where they rested on the table in front of her toward the source of the voice that she could tell was pointed at her. The man was drunk, clearly, and her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. She knew the only possible reason a drunk man would call out to a girl like her, especially that time of night. Did he recognize her from the streets? Her faced flushed red with embarrassment, though she held a steady gaze. It wasn't as if she didn't need the money, though the thought of having to go to him and disappear up the stairs into some unknown room while everyone else kindly pretended not to notice, if she was so lucky, made her want to vomit.
"Yes?" Her response was short and laced with uncertainty.
"Why are you sitting... All the way over there... By yourself?" He said the words with a smile, but Marie knew how this went. The words were slurred. He was drunk. There would be false smiles and faked kindess, and then he would toss a few francs on the mattress and disappear.
He motioned for her to join him - for the table he sit at had a few empty seats, most of the boys being crowded around another. Marie had no choice but to stand and go over to him. Despite the fact that she had not intended to work that evening, at least this young man was clean, or at least appeared so. He was wealthy which probably meant a good amount of money, and at least here it was warm. Faking an air of confidence, she sat down, pretending not to notice the eyes that followed her as she did so. Being numb to the world around her was far easier than facing it.
Grantaire smiled warmly, or at least attempted to. His mind was clouded with drink, but he was not as incredibly incapable of functioning as the look Joly was shooting him would suggest. But he could not help but notice the look of defeat in the young woman's eyes as she took a seat across from him. Concern overtook him, as it could be known to do, especially when he was inebriated.
"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" he asked.
Marie was unusually exhausted. "Monsieur, there really is no need to pretend you care," she breathed, looking at him expectantly. This was it, this was when he would ask her how much it would cost him.
"I... I didn't... ?" Grantaire fumbled for words. She seemed so tired and so put off by his words of concern that it was almost alarming.
"I'm not stupid, I know why you called out to me and so do you. And I would really like to get home at a decent time so if we could just-"
Grantaire finally understood the implications of what she had said and was quick to shake his head, waving his hands as if to silence her.
"You misunderstand, that is not why I called you over here," he defended.
Marie would have doubted his words were it not for the sudden realization that was all too clear in his eyes.
Instead of standing and hurrying out of the room humiliated as she wanted to, or arguing with him further, she stayed where she was, her eyes brightening for just a moment.
"Well then, why did you?"
Grantaire paused. Why had he?