Stagepageandscreen- Oh… I'm sorry to disappoint you! But thanks! And I have another one that's just as terrible… *warning alert*

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo- GTFO.

TheIbis2010- Thank you!

Big thanks to Almost an Actress and Frick6101719 for the names! I've used some of your suggestions :) I've been having a ball with these obscure Irish names. I was thinking about throwing a Titanic reference in here and I was like… Yes.

"Monsieur Enjolras?" The secretary asked. Henri looked up from his (rough) copy of the third table cloth and stood, ready to be received. He was shown into a grand office. An older man with laugh lines around his eyes stood up to address Henri with a bow.

The two men sat after a benevolent greeting. "Excusez-moi, Monsieur." Henri said to the university dean. "I detest myself that I found it so pressing to bother you with something as trivial as art-"

"Speak not of it!" The dean exclaimed, clasping his hands together neatly on his desk. "Anything for an Enjolras. If I am not mistaken, a relative of yours was a student around ten years ago… Oh, sore subject. My condolences."

Henri managed to push a smile through his grief-stricken grimace. "It is actually after an acquaintance of his that I am searching."

"Ah, yes, so you said. What was the name again?" He asked, opening his desk drawer to rummage through some papers. He looked up quickly- his brown eyes meeting Henri's gray- to let him know that he was indeed still listening.

"Grantaire. Of course, I do not know the boy's first name, for he signs with a pun to his last. Simply a capitol 'R'." Said Henri. "I was wondering if you might have any old projects of his, or maybe some more personal information- all for the sake of this young man's talent in art. I would hate for his works to be forgotten by history."

"Even better than old projects," The dean smiled, handing Henri an old, dusty textbook. Henri curiously wiped the dust off the cover, allowing him to read the title. 'Renaissance Art'. "Petit Grantaire tended to use his textbooks as a medium for art –the little devil! - but after his tragic demise, I didn't have the heart to sue his family for the damages. Instead, I've kept it as my own. There is a story in there, and it is not in writing, I assure you. Although merely doodles, the art is nearly... melancholy. I suggest you look at these with a collector's eye rather than a cousin's." The dean suggested kindly. Henri nodded, nearly wordless with excitement.

"Thank you, monsieur. How much do you wish for it?" He asked, but the dean shook his head, gently pushing away Henri's outstretched coin purse.

"Nothing. This is quite nearly a family matter, you can consider it yours through inheritance." The old man's eyes widened in that moment that occurs when one remembers what one has forgotten. "And the young man's address! Of course," The dean scribbled a few numbers and le nom de la rue before handing it to Henri. "The concierge is quite a lovely woman. It was from her that I received the late Philip's textbooks and final projects. I believe that her young daughter was somewhat infatuated with him, and she kept most of his things. Who knows? There may be some hidden treasures amongst his belongings."

Henri barely managed to wait until he got to his flat before eagerly opening the book and observing the first few sketches. In the first chapter, most of the drawings were of the young men that took the space of the first table cloth. There was one amusing sketch in particular that depicted the one Henri recognized as 'Courfeyrac' attempting to balance an overflowing bottle of wine on his head.

It was in the second chapter when Henri stumbled across a picture of the girl. It was just her from the shoulders up, and her face held an expression of intense concentration. Her eyes gleamed with a kind of interested light, as if she heard all the answers to the secrets of the world. Her little hand rested below her chin, a finger tracing up and barely brushing her lower lip. Her hair was slightly pulled back so that it twisted over one shoulder with naught but a strand falling over her right.

November 1831, Henri read. Then there was a large smudge, as if Grantaire had crossed something out and then tried to redeem himself by rubbing out the scratched portion. The only letter that Henri could pick from the smudge was a 'k'. After the mess, written carefully in neat letters, was Ceara listening to Enjolras rant for the first time.

"She's returned!" Cried Courfeyrac, tossing a lean arm over the young girl's shoulders and leading her further inside the room. There were a few greetings and many raised glasses, but overall the welcome was much smaller than the jubilant Courfeyrac wished it to be. "I said, our lovely little Ceara has returned to our company!"

The greetings were louder this time, and even Enjolras glanced up from his work to nod in her direction. Grantaire stood, taking a deep gulp of bourbon- he was feeling for a sweeter taste that day- and approached the two. Ceara stirred uncomfortably under Courfeyrac's hanging arm, and Grantaire managed to ease her away.

"New dress." He said. It wasn't a question, instead an observation. Indeed, her wardrobe had made a change. Instead of her worn-through and white-washed rags, she wore a thread-bare dress that had a more modest neckline and sleeves that actually covered her upper arms. Although the fabric was thin and the dress itself came short of her ankles by a few inches, it provided much more coverage and overall seemed more comfortable.

"Well, monsieur, I came into a bit of money recently." Her kind, clear eyes darkened and Grantaire could tell that it was a touchy subject. Instead, he formally greeted her with a handshake.

"None of this 'Monsieur' business, Ceara. As our fearless leader said on your last visit, you are now one of us." Grantaire insisted, making the slightest of blushes rise to the apples of her cheeks.

"Oi! Grantaire!" a bald headed man called from the main table. "Don't drag our newest member off to your precious corner, now. Share her, mon ami!"

Grantaire chuckled and offered his arm to her, which she jokingly took. Grantaire sat in the empty chair, leaving Ceara standing. Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows and offered his lap, to which she responded by firmly sitting on his knee. Grantaire snickered at his friend's surprised expression- most women weren't so bold.

"So, m'amie. It occurs to me that we don't know your story." Joly smiled warmly to let her know that he wasn't intending to be demeaning. She smiled back. The candlelight was absorbed by her weather-darkened skin, and it seemed as if in reflecting a touch of the light, her body was emanating its own brilliance. "How did a young lass such as yourself make it from Ireland to France?"

She swiped a corner of Bossuet's roll before answering (this drew a disconcerted mumble from the aforementioned party). "There isn't much to tell."

"Of course there is." A gentle face angled itself at her as a small-framed man spoke. "Everyone has a story, it's just a matter of telling it."

"Jehan, save your poetic nonsense for later. The lady has a story. Let her tell it!" Feuilly brushed off Jehan's sweet sentiment with a flick of his hand. The man-made worker had little time for obscurities and philosophies.

"Feuilly, do be kinder to Jehan. It was a deep statement. You should write that down." Combeferre said, and a few of them groaned when Jehan pulled out a little notebook and a small, silver pen and began to write.

"Anyways. Ceara, you may begin." Courfeyrac said from behind her.

Her smile hadn't broken since they began their banter, but now her face became more set, more determined. "Well, my parents perished of a disease, leaving only three Faerghan children. My sisters Tiernan and Llywelya passed as well as my elder brother Zephan. We were refused a home in the orphanage- too many children were left behind by this disease- so we hopped aboard a ship and came to Paris."

She finished her little story to disappointed looks. "How about some more details. What are the names of your surviving siblings? Where are they now? How did you learn French?" Jehan asked, and she sighed and fiddled with a bottle (how did she get it?)

"Well, my younger brother Dubhghlas got a labor job as a builder, despite his young age of twelve they hired him. Ma petite soeur… Her name is Aoibheann.I have not seen her for some time. We have been separated for around two years now. My mother was taught French as a child and she in turn taught me. Aoibheann and Dubhghlas were too young at the time… Does this satisfy your questions?"

She was saved from any further interrogation by the arrival of Bahorel. Enjolras looked up from his work and cleared his throat. The chattering ceased as everyone looked to the leader. Besides Ceara, Grantaire opened up a textbook. He ignored Enjolras' pointed glare, causing Bossuet to have to elbow him to alert the drunkard of his idol's disapproving look.

"If only you gave our cause as much focus as your art class, perhaps we would have more hope." His tone was condescending and disdainful, but Grantaire, if affected, didn't show it, instead retrieving a pencil from the pocket in his waistcoat.

Then Enjolras began to speak.

Grantaire, when Enjolras took a small break to take a gulp from his glass of water, spared a look over to his little companion that had somehow managed to sneakily slip into the lives of his friends. What he saw nearly made him spit up his gulp of wine. She was entranced- Grantaire was sure that if he were to move his hand in front of her face, she would not waver. Her eyes were open and with their strange clear color they seemed bottomless. She had a crease between her eyebrows that contrasted deeply with the slight expression that alleviated her smile into her hollow cheeks.

Grantaire found a page with a big enough margin, and he began to draw. His pencil found that it quite liked her small, frail hand and he put extraordinary detail into that. He made sure that he got the perfect image of her slightly curled fingers and they way her middle finger grew naturally crooked so that it bent slightly into her pointer finger. Just as he was drawing in her bold eyebrows, she gently brushed her hand over the drawing.

"You're really good." She said, awarding him a sweet smile. "Why do you enjoy drawing so much?"

"It gives me a reason." Grantaire answered. He didn't know if he meant a reason to watch. A reason to not wash his hands. A reason to drink. A reason to call himself a tortured artist. A reason to be.

He began his label, spelling her name 'Kiera'. She quickly grabbed the end of his pencil and pulled it away from the paper, shaking her head. "No, no. It's spelled C-E-A-R-A, Grantaire."

He looked up, shocked. "You can read?"

She rolled her eyes. "For someone who is a member of a People's Rights group, you are very judgmental." She said it lightly.

"To be fair, I'm here for the entertainment." He winked, before realizing that he just vandalized university property with incorrect spelling.

He cursed and tried to just scratch it out, but when that caused a major blemish in his textbook, he attempted to rub the led off the page, which only resulted in a larger stain.

Enjolras made a noise, causing the two to look up. "I'm sorry, was our meeting interrupting your conversation?"

"Your meeting was interrupting our conversation." She replied quickly, causing Combeferre to snort into his drink- he was met by an indignant stare from the leader- and Courfeyrac to emit a howl of laughter.

"Oh, Grantaire, do keep your friend around more. She is a breath of fresh air!" Exclaimed Bossuet, who attempted to gently pat her shoulder, which resulted in the thin gamine falling off her chair. "Oh! I apologize."

She stood up quickly and brushed off her dress and Bossuet's apologies with a breezy smile. "It is fine, Monsieur. Nothing worse than I usually receive."

Enjolras heard this and frowned. It was a fleeting expression before his face returned to its usual smooth façade, but the blonde's admirer caught it. "Well, I somehow highly doubt that we are to do anything productive today." Enjolras said, retreating back into his corner. Joly and Bossuet took their leave, speaking of late nights and a mistress who couldn't be left alone in the apartment.

When Ceara heard the usage of 'our' and 'mistress', she frowned deeply. "Did they mean both their mistresses are waiting for them?"

"No, my dear, they literally mean 'their' mistress." Bahorel said, smirking at her shocked expression. "Indeed, it is a little taboo, but they are happy, and quite frankly Joly may need more than two people to keep an eye on him."

"It's not that it's… taboo… necessarily." She said, measuring her words carefully. "It's just that I'm jealous of this woman- that she can get two kind men to love her while I am stuck with-"

She stopped herself, her eyes darkening again and an unpleasant rosy hue creeping up her neck. Grantaire raised his bottle. "I'll drink to that."

The men agreed, each taking large drinks out of their respective containers. Enjolras, from his corner, murmured, "You'll drink to anything."

After a moment's consideration, Grantaire added, "I'll drink to that as well."

So I've decided that along with the French words, I'm going to italicize a few English words that are intended to be spoken in English (While the dialogue is supposed to be French), like 'Lass'.

I freaked out because it started raining. On barricade day. I was at a competition (that got cancelled), and while we were leaving, my friend (ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo) started spinning and singing 'A Little Fall of Rain'. So that was my barricade day.

(Along with a Les Mis marathon in which we watched the movie, the 10th anniversary, and watched various medleys on YouTube. I even had a tri-color rosette.)

Review!