WOAH. The response to this story has been AMAZING. AND I HAVE A PLOT TWIST IN MIND AND IT MAY BE SLIGHTLY AWFUL, BUT I DON'T CARE.

Stagepageandscreen- Thank you so much! I always liked Grantaire, and when I read the book I thought he was so interesting because he has all these amazing extra-curriculars that are unappreciated! (Apparently he's a dancer, an artist, a gymnast, and some other things that I can't list because my very annotated copy is… elsewhere) Thus, an idea of a story revolving around art came into being! Thanks for the review, hope I don't disappoint!

Almost an Actress- *cough* I am in love with your profile picture *cough*. And I feel really honored that I am the only one! Wow, you're making me blush :) And thank you for the suggestion, although I think I already found a name!

TheIbis2010- Thank you! Although, as the story progresses, the girl and Enjolras' relationship will be a close second to our R's art :)

Frick6101719- Thank you for all your help! It means a lot and it brightened my day when I saw your PM (*cough* Patron-Minette *cough*) I apologize for my sleep deprived self… I make really awful puns…

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo- You're not my favorite ConcreteAngel, you're my only… And, um, excuse me… WHAT?!

Henri found himself looking at the drawing more than he was proud of. Each time he did, he noticed little things. He noticed how R had meticulously added a certain gleam to the girl's mysterious eyes, as if she was tensed and ready to run despite her relaxed smile.

Henri would give anything to know her name, not for any creepy purposes, for he was a forty-something burgoise and was married. Instead, he just wanted to be able to put a name to a face, and that face just happened to belong to a beauty from the past.

He received a letter several days after he bought the drawing, from the owner of the café Musain. Curious and overly excited, he broke the seal and opened the letter.

Dear Monsiuer,

I have heard word that you are eager for more of the treasonous artist's paintings.

At this, Henri frowned, but he continued on.

Well, I have in my possession some old table cloths on which the artist enjoyed drawing. I will sell them for ten francs apiece. There are two, and you will be quite pleased to know that they are almost completely covered in portraits of his friends and all have a date attached. There is one lovely one in particular that our waitress begged me to keep the day after he drew it. You can pay extra if you wish for that one as well.

Henri personally found ten francs to be slightly much for a table cloth, but R fascinated him, and there was the slightest chance that he could find out more of the girl's story. The next day, he took a fiacre down to the café Musain and met the grinning owner. He payed a total of thirty-five francs for the three table cloths, and Henri couldn't help but feel like a fool as he returned to the fiacre, holding bundles of what appeared to be soiled cloth.

He returned home and laid out the works in his bedroom. The first one, chronologically, was labeled earlier than that of the girl. It was a series of faces. There were no shoulders, necks, or clothing items. Just faces. They were done in the correct style, and Henri felt even more foolish when his heart leapt in excitement.

The first face depicted a young man with strong features. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken too many times. He wore a smirk often associated with Pool players and dandies. He had hair that was worn in the popular style of flopping over his ears, and from the way R had shaded it, his hair was most likely a light brown. Bahorel, the fighter, December 1830.

The next was of a jolly youth with a handsome face and hair that came around his head in messy school-boy curls. His hair was shaded to be dark, and R had taken extraordinary caution to add a charming (and yet wicked) gleam to the man's eye. Courfeyrac, the center, December 1830.

Following 'Courfeyrac' was a depiction of someone who looked quite nervous. This one was different from the others, for it was drawn entirely as if from a cartoon. The boy (for surely he wasn't older than that) had marks drawn around him to suggest that he was shaking, and his mouth was pulled tight in a grimace. His eyes had a wild look to them and his nose was shaded to appear red. Joly, the hypochrondaic, December 1830.

Then there was one in his usual style of a balding man. Despite his lack of hair, his facial features suggested someone of a relatively young age, specifically less than twenty-five. He had a fairly handsome face, and R had drawn the man so that his eyebrows were cinched in an apologetic manner. L'aigle des Meux, the bad-luck, December 1830.

After those, the faces became harder to see, as if someone had spilt something over the table. From the smudgy mess, a disappointed Henri was barely able to pick out a few features and a name here and there.

He saw a pair of glasses associated with the name 'Combeferre'. There was a somewhat clear portrait of a shy young man with girly features and a flower behind his ear, but no name to go along with it. There was a rather plain man whose face was half gone, and whose name began with a 'F'.

He moved to the second table cloth, and he started when they were all of the same man, and a familiar one at that. This man was depicted with a fiery passion emanating from his very being, and R had taken extra care to add dimension to his wild curls. The man's eyes were boring into Henri's, and although he knew that it was naught but a drawing, he shivered. The man was shown speaking, smiling, frowning, and sitting. There was one doodle done in the cartoon style, with the man's curls bigger than his body and his arm tiny as he waved it about, saying, "Grantaire, mis ce bouteille vers le bas! ". Also depicted was an unfamiliar man with a rather ugly face and a bottle clutched in his hand. He also had a paintbrush tucked behind his ear.

Henri inwardly cheered. He had found the full name of the artist. 'Grantaire'. His signature really was a terrible pun…The youth who R seemed to have a fascination with was called, simply, 'The Leader'. He remembered the label on the girl's portrait, and he knew this to be the Apollo he was referring to. However, he also now had a table cloth full of doodles of his deceased cousin….

He blinked back tears, for Henri Enjolras was not one to cry. He picked up the piece that the waitress wished to keep, and he smiled again.

At first glance, the picture was that of a pretty grisette punishing a deserving gamine. However, upon further inspection, he saw the features of the scolded girl to be identical to those of the 'Patria' depicted in his new favorite sketch. The girl was terrified looking, and her eyes appeared to be glaring at the artist, as if daring him to do something.

There was no name, but there was a date. October, 1831.

The meeting at the Musain was particularly heated that day. Enjolras had seen a child beaten by a police officer in the street, fueling him to be particularly angry at everyone and everything that dare opposed him. Grantaire, who was wise (although he rarely showed it), decided it was a good day to sit in the back corner and nurse his bottle of Brandy without saying a word.

Suddenly, interrupting Enjolras, there was a loud scuffle behind the closed door. Bahorel rose to his feet, ready to fight if need be. Enjolras raised a hand, though, and calmed the overly excited man. When at first thought the men believed it to be the police, instead they only heard women's voices.

When Courfeyrac realized this, he leapt to his feet and strode towards the door, far too ready to see two grisettes pull hair and bite soft skin. Combeferre rolled his eyes at his friend's antics, however no one stopped him when Courfeyrac opened the door to see the waitress, Louison, with a vice's hold on a young street urchin.

"Je suis désole, Messieurs." She said, blushing at the glorified sight of Courfeyrac. She tugged forwards the weak girl and pointed at her, saying, "This wench was listening in on your conversation! Couldn't have that, now could we?"

"Release her, she is one of us." Enjolras stated, coolly. There was an ice to his eyes that froze poor Louison, who was just doing her job. She mumbled another apology and released the girl before leaving and taking care to slam the door in her wake.

Grantaire, from memory, began sketching on a corner of the table cloth. His muse returned, and he was going to draw as much as he could. As he drew, he heard his Apollo ask, "What is your name?"

The girl, who could only be described as confused, murmured something that could not be heard by most of the men. Enjolras appeared not to care, for he pulled a chair for the girl, allowing her to sit down.

He took Bousset's plate away from him (he didn't even protest- it was just his luck) and placed it in front of the girl. After a few wary seconds, she dug in, her small fingers almost gently putting food in her mouth. She finished the plate with all the men's eyes on her, and she pulled away and stared at them fiercely.

Grantaire, finished with his sketch, stumbled over with his bottle. He took her soiled hand and kissed it, smiling at her. "It's lovely to see you again, ma Cherie."

"You're drunk, Monsieur." It was the first thing she'd clearly said, and it brought about a roaring laugh from several of Les Amis de l'ABC. Even Enjolras' marble façade cracked a smile.

"I believe I could get used to her." He said, and the girl looked up at him almost shyly before taking the bottle from Grantaire's hand and taking a deep swig right from it. This earned cheers from Courfeyrac and Bahorel.

"I do believe we can all get used to her, mon ami," Courfeyrac said with a suggestive wink. "So, Grantaire, do tell, how do you know such an exquisite creature?"

"She allowed me to draw her portrait for an art project." He responded, simply. He was slightly annoyed that his bottle was taken from him, however he was pleased to have his little muse back. She had grown even skinnier since he last saw her, and she gained dark circles around her clear eyes. However, she seemed to have enjoyed washing up at his flat, for her clothing was considerably neater and her face mostly clear of grime. He felt a surge of pride that she felt enough self-preservation to try to stay clean, and he was the one who first made her do so.

"I must see this portrait!" Courfeyrac exclaimed. The girl rolled her eyes and carefully wiped her hands on her skirt.

"You, Monsieur, are a pig." She said, prodding his chest. This also brought about a good amount of chuckling, and she turned red as if unused to the attention. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, ma Cherie." Grantaire assured her. "It's just enjoyable to watch our faults be pointed out so bluntly."

"Oh," She murmured, placing the bottle on the table and looking around carefully. "So am I really one of you, or-"

"By 'one of us', I meant a citizen of France." Said Enjolras. "However, it can't hurt to have someone who will willingly point out when one of us steps out of line. Consider yourself an honorary member."

"Actually, I am not a citizen of France," She confessed, grinning. "Ireland."

"That explains your accent!" Exclaimed Bossuet. "I was wondering where that pleasant tone came from."

"May we have your name, then?" Joly asked, and she nodded.

"You are the first to ask for my name in many years. Je m'appelle Ceara." Her cheeks blushed a lovely red shade when Jehan sighed at the romantic sound of it.

"That is beautiful. It means fiery red, does it not?" He asked, and she nodded.

"Well, Mademoiselle Ceara, it was a pleasure to meet you." Enjolras nodded at the odd group of students as he reached out to shake her hand as if she was a student like them. "Welcome to Les Amis de l'ABC."

Translation- Grantaire, mis ce bouteille vers le bras!
(Grantaire, put that bottle down!)

So, Ceara's name is pronounce like 'Kira'. I saw that the meaning was red (Enjy's favorite color), and although they probably meant red hair, oh well.

Review!