They entered the house and were immediately rushed to a door on their left; Enjolras strode in confidently though inside he was feeling rather nervous, while Lynette followed behind him with a guise of slight timidity—how a lady would be feeling, she'd decided—though in reality she was, all things considered, decently confident. They were, as always, a perfect yin and yang: what one lacked in a moment of weakness, the other was thriving in.
"Please, sit! Make yourselves at home... of course you are home, so that's not to say—"
"Thank you, Mother. We will," Enjolras cut her off, smiling and kissing her cheek.
l'Madame beamed. "Oh, of course, love! I'll go get your father... how eager he was to see you and meet Miss Lynette!" she exclaimed before scurrying back out of the room. Enjolras froze, his entire body tensing as it hit him that the man who had driven him away from the estate in the first place was now on his way to greet them. "Eager to see you my ass," he growled through grit teeth. Lynette rubbed his arm supportively. "Everything will be fine. We'll say hello, then ask to rest for a while. Alright? Just hold onto your composure until then," she assured him softly. He looked her in the eyes, taking a deep breath. "Alright, alright. I'll behave."
They sat there in silence until the silence itself was broken by the slight creaking of the parlor door and the dreaded sound of two pairs of feet shuffling in. Lynette stood, pulling Enjolras up with her.
Marcelin Enjolras Senior was a very tall, imposing figure with a belly that had obviously been swelled with age and a face that might have been handsome if it hadn't been etched with the ghosts of past scowls and disdainful expressions. His large, ring-covered hands rested stiffly beneath the lapels of his coat; a position which allowed his back to be drawn up to its straightest possible stance, his head to be held up highly in pride, and his just-barely-blue ice eyes to fall upon them in what may not have been disapproval, but looked it just the same.
Discreetly looking back and forth between them, Lynette dared to think that Enjolras was all but the spitting image of his father, apart from his mother's warm brown eyes and the fact that she had actually seen him smiling while with his elder counterpart, she could not even begin to imagine such a thing.
Abruptly, his eyes flew up to lock with Enjolras's, icy blue against burning-ember brown warring viciously, though both of their owners fought also to appear civil and unrattled by the other's presence. It was funny; in the moment their eyes met, Enjolras couldn't help remembering another man whose eyes had attacked him so similarly: the spy from the barricade so many months ago, Inspector Javert. And as soon as the man's stony, heartless, merciless face came to mind, Enjolras nearly ruined all the poise he'd built up by snorting in bitter amusement. Did all men with those grey-blue eyes of winter come to possess them from lack of empathy and a mortal soul? Or was such an accusation unfair to make when he'd only met two and gotten lucky with their cruel characters?
"Marcelin," his father's gruff voice cracked through the silence, never breaking their contradicting gazes.
"Father," Enjolras responded tautly, nodding towards the man who had raised and simultaneously ruined him.
Madame Enjolras glanced back and forth between them with a beam, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room whilst blinded by the image of her two best men at long last together again. "And look, Marcelin dear... Junior has brought his fiancé to meet us!" she exclaimed, wrapping her fingers around her husband's arm.
"I resent that title," Enjolras muttered to himself, frustrated with having lost even his name when his entered the room. Lynette heard this—despite its near inaudibility—and gravitated discreetly closer to him, brushing her shoulder against his arm in a silent act of support. He sighed quietly, relaxing slightly, but his tension returned but a second later when his father's eyes fell upon Lynette. His hawkish eyes looked her up and down, and when Lynette herself saw this she smiled prettily at him, thinking that perhaps such a warm gesture would make things easier on her future husband. Monsieur Enjolras didn't bother smiling back, but he did turn to l'Madame a moment later and said, "Well, she is pretty."
"I said the same!" Madame Enjolras gushed in reply.
"It is very nice to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Enjolras," Lynette cut in smoothly, curtsying gracefully with an air Enjolras had never seen her use before. Marcelin the Elder turned back to her, staring at her as if taking a moment to physically analyze the statement as it hung in the air. Lynette stared back with an impeccable dignity and an utmost self-confidence, and Enjolras found himself watching her in quintessential admiration and awe.
Monsieur Enjolras didn't know if he liked the way she radiated with confidence; he didn't know whether he liked the fervent look in her eyes though the rest of her face remained all but expressionless apart from a tiny, decorous smile. She'd said but one simple sentence and already bemused him, and that was something he was certain he didn't like. Despite this irritating notion, he dipped his portly body into a curt bow. "Likewise, Mademoiselle." He then turned to his delighted wife, asking, "Will we be having supper soon, then?"
"Oh certainly! I've made Junior's favorite—"
"Actually, we will not be joining you for dinner, mother. Our travels have tired us immensely," Enjolras interposed, forcing an apologetic smile to his mother. Her face fell slightly, but she returned his expression and had just opened her mouth to respond when l'Monsieur cut her off. "That is rather rude, Junior; rejecting your mother's dinner invitation after she has just telling you that she has cooked a meal especially for you."
"Oh no dearest, I understand completely! They must be exhausted—" Madame Enjolras began sympathetically.
"That is not how we raised you," Monsieur Enjolras continued with a sniff, ignoring his wife's understanding dismissal. Lynette saw something in Enjolras's eyes explode, and just as he was opening his mouth to tell his parental off, Lynette grabbed his arm and squeezed it, saying, "I'm actually very hungry! Enjolras and I would love to come to dinner, Madame."
Enjolras looked at her as if she'd just announced a demoralizing betrayal, but she barely had time to shoot a "just trust me" look in return before Marcelin the Elder intruded disgustedly. "You let your fiancé call you by your last name?"
"I let many call me by my last name, Father, as it is the only one that I went by upon arriving in Paris," Enjolras responded, beginning to tremble in ire. Monsieur Enjolras's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his face turning a sort of sickly purple color. Both women could now feel the anger charging up like the moment before a lightning strike—a moment when the air is alive with no energy but that of the deadliest, most terrifying sort... electrified energy that the gods breathe and mortals fear with a stupefied passion. And as much as Lynette now mirrored her other half's rage, she knew that lightning, once it had struck, did nothing but harm and devastate and burn.
"Love, why don't you give me a quick tour of the house before we sit down for dinner?" she inquired, not even waiting for his response before pulling him towards the parlor door. Enjolras simply nodded in reply, his eyes never leaving his father's; at least until the closed door had severed their eye contact. This action seemed to draw him out of his vengeful trance, and no sooner had the latch clicked shut did he turn to her, angrily opening his mouth to chastise her for her submission. She responded just as firmly, putting a finger to her lips and pointing to the so recently shut door, then took his hand and pulled him a ways down the hall before ducking into a large library on her right. She yanked him in after her, then took a deep breath and counted down four seconds, the amount of time it normally took for him to burst when he was angry—
"Why in God's name would you break our mutual agreement to go right up to our rooms after we had met them?" he roared, his eyes flashing in a dangerous way even the fearless Lynette knew to be afraid of. She called upon the same equanimity she'd so unstintingly utilized against his father mere moments before, answering, "Your mother did not deserve to be punished for the behavior of your father."
"Yes, but you sure as hell didn't penalize my father for his behavior! 'It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Enjolras," he snarled. Lynette started to clench her teeth, but then, remembering the last big fight they had gotten into, took a deep breath and responded softly, "Might I remind you, Enjolras, that he had not yet been rude to you when I greeted him in such a manner—"
"And then you just had to accept the dinner invitation after he had openly ridiculed me for declining it!"
"As I previously stated, love; that was for your mother and to keep the p—"
"Oh yes, and let's not forget your submission to him, calling me 'love' after he voiced his disapproval at your calling me Enjolras! Whose side are you fighting for, Lynette?" he hissed, his entire body shaking as agitated thoughts of her mutiny burst into bloom in his mind.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Lynette took a step toward him, her own eyes taking on the likeness of a brewing storm, and dictated through clenched teeth, "Your side, you foolish man! Always yours! I retained my composure and passively interacted with him because I know how hard this trip has been for you as it is, and that the last thing you need is for a biting comment on my part to set him off and further complicate the situation!" She understood that seeing his father had unsettled him, but the fact that he was accusing her of betraying his trust when she had never once give him a reason for such distrust made her turn on her heel and begin storming out of the room.
Enjolras was still boiling, but no sooner did she finish her proclamation than he grasped that it was not her he was frustrated with so much as his father and himself. And as he watched her striding out, he felt immensely guilty for alleging her disloyalty, as well as swearing his heart stopped beating when he realized she was once again walking away from him because he had lashed out at her. He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him and looking at her in sheepish apology. "Please forgive me, Netta; I know you're right. I'm sorry for snapping at you, he just..."
Lynette sighed; the irritation draining from her face with her exhale. "I know, I know. He tries your patience. I'm sorry, too; I should have been more considerate."
Enjolras looked down sheepishly. "Yes... and the way he was examining you!"
"I know. Again why I was using my best mannerisms... I think he was more frustrated with the fact that he couldn't find anything wrong with me than actually with me," she chuckled, winking.
He laughed. "I believe that to be as true as the day is long," his face fell slightly then, remembering the anger in her eyes but a moment before, "I just can't believe he managed to turn us against each other, all within the first few minutes of our arrival."
Lynette looked at him with a fervency which surprised him, taking his hands in hers and saying in a voice soft but resolute, "No. Never against. We're fighting for the same side, remember? I'm always on your side."
He sighed, pulling her into his arms and gently kissing the top of your head. "Thank you."
"Of course. You're not facing this by yourself," she smiled up at him, "Now, shall we to our second onerous battle: dinner?"
A/N: ...ain't Marcelin Sr. just a charmer? Bet Lynette's starting to see why "Junior" was so adverse to the idea of visiting...
And... what's this? Netta/Enjy Conflict? CONFLICT?!
Mme Enjolras: *eye twitching slightly* IDON'TKNOWTHEMEANINGOFTHATWORD, WHAT'SCONFLICT? . .ANDSMILESMADEOFCANDY!
Me: O_e
Ok, new offer... have any questions for Les Amis? Enjolras or Lynette? 'Ponine, Marius, Cosette? Javert or Valjean? Anyone who has appeared in my stories at one point or another?
Well... this is the special INTERVIEW OFFER! Leave a review with an attached question for one (or more) of the characters, and I will happily pass it along to them—
Courfeyrac: *over my shoulder* How... some of us are sort of DEAD.
Me: Shh! *shoves him back* Pass it along to them, and get an answer back to you! Talk to Les Amis! Question Javert on why he's so into the Lawr! Ask Gavroche for a hug! Try and persuade Lynette and Enjolras to tell foreshadow upcoming extras for you!
Enjolras: You'll never break me...
Me: Limited time only! And just because I love you guys... and because I think this will be extremely fun. ;) ~DonJuana