1 [Accidental Video]

[tables]

[The feed turns on with Marius lying on a couch, flipping through a few letters on old paper, reading them to himself. He seems to be ignoring Enjolras, who is also in the room, because that's what he tends to do whenever Enjolras doesn't approve of whatever he's doing -- which, at the moment, seems to be talking about one (1) lovely young woman.]

I wonder if she could appear here.

[It's an absent murmur to himself as he folds another letter to set on the table, shifting to one that is a little more worn than the others.]

I daresay she could, but it is rather pointless to speculate.

[Enjolras is sprawled across a chair, frowning intently at his own comm. He is trying to comprehend the whole 'reading on an electronic device' thing and not having much luck with it, unfortunately. Eventually, he turns his attention back to Marius and barely restrains himself from an eyeroll.]

Honestly, Pontmercy, is this all you can talk about? Even Buonaparte would be a welcome break from this -- whatever this may be.


[Marius ignores his initial dismissal, but his attention is caught by the mention of Napoleon, and his lips twitch upward into a slight smile before he tilts his head back to look at Enjolras with a bit of an accusing look.]

You are one to talk of not knowing how to change the subject.

[He returns his attention to his letters, flipping one over to read the back.]

Besides, I remember the last time we spoke of politics. It ended poorly -- and as I have nowhere to escape you on this flying vessel, I think I'll contain myself to speaking of subjects that you cannot possibly argue with, such as the poetry of Cosette's letters.

[An annoyed little tsk.]

I care little for the poetry of your beloved's letters, since I do not intend to read them. They are yours and yours alone, Pontmercy.

[Marius almost retorts with a snippy 'one day you will fall in love and I will have the great fortune of rubbing it in your face', but he stops himself from doing so, because... no, he won't. He will die, as will they all, and the thought seems to give him pause, enough to fold all of the letters up and set them aside, folding his hands upon his chest as he stares at the ceiling contemplatively.]

You would think that you, of all people, would appreciate Buonaparte's civil code of conduct.

I? You know very well what I appreciate, Pontmercy, and it is hardly that.

[He draws himself up in his seat, eyes flashing just a little.]

I cannot understand why you would condone such a man. If you had supported Lafayette I should never have forgiven you.

[That is, actually, a very sore subject even after two years, and Marius would do well to tread carefully. But he dismisses that with a wry purse of his lips.]

This is a welcome change from your letters, at least.

Perhaps I will get a dog and name it Lafayette, so that it may guard my door. Or maybe even show you where your own apartment is.

[But the way that Marius says it, with a slightly teasing tone, indicates that he is far from serious -- and he pushes himself up before he adds a quick:]

You would do well to learn other subjects. Perhaps painting, or maybe even knitting -- crafting scarves would keep you out of politics.

I shall not follow where it leads, in that case.

[There's the slightest trace of a smile, but hey. It's enough, for him.]

I have never been --skilled at that sort of thing. Not like Feuilly or Prouvaire.

Nor I, but there is no time like the present for the mastering of the arts, especially as we are trapped on a floating ship with a various list of subjects we cannot discuss with one another lest we throw each other overboard.

[It's said dryly as Marius stands.]

So knitting it is.

[And the feed turns off as Marius picks up his communicator.]

ooc; Red is Enjolras, blue is Marius! Both will respond. Feel free to comment on their immaturity or their politics or that they need lives. Because they do. Desperately.

Comments

[jilt]

All men? And what of women, sir?

[untamedantinous]

Of course all women are sisters, as well. It is they who we fight for, to make the world a free and equal society.

[jilt]

You fight to give women the same rights as man? How scandalous.

[untamedantinous]

I care very little if it is scandalous or not, mademoiselle, women are the mothers of the Revolution and should be treated as such.

[jilt]

Wherever did you come by notions like these, sir? I imagine you'd garner quite a bit of attention with them.

[untamedantinous]

Have you never read Condorcet? He is quite a favorite of one of my dear friends.

[jilt]

I must admit, to my shame, that my interests never drove me to seek out his writings. My tastes ran to different avenues.

[untamedantinous]

Such as? [It's purely out of courtesy that he asks. Enjolras has never been much for anything, save the revolution and his politics.]

[jilt]

Poetry. Opera.

[untamedantinous]

Ah. Perhaps you would have gotten on well with a few other of my friends, then. Do you have interest in the Romantics, at all?

[jilt]

A very vested interest, as a matter of fact. I'll admit, they were my preference.

[untamedantinous]

We had a Romantic in our group -- a poet, called Jehan Prouvaire. It held little interest for me, but he and Courfeyrac would often attend plays together.

[jilt]

A poet. Were his compositions any good?

[untamedantinous]

I thought so, but I must admit to some bias.

[jilt]

We are all biased when it comes to our friends. You're hardly the first, only the most honest, maybe.

[untamedantinous]

Perhaps. I have never had a great love for poetry.

[jilt]

Really? What a shame. A man who cannot appreciate poetry is a man who can't appreciate the beauty of life.

[untamedantinous]

I appreciate the future, mademoiselle, and the freedom and love that comes with the sacrifices of men like the brothers I fought with.

[jilt]

But there is such poetry in that, is there not?

[untamedantinous]

Justice may be a form of poetry, I suppose.

[jilt]

You suppose? My dear, you simply need someone to show you how poetry dwells in all things.

[untamedantinous]

I am quite content with finding poetry in, ah, poetry, mademoiselle, I thank you.

[jilt]

And therein lies the problem, but I suppose I shall have to let it pass. For now.

[untamedantinous]

I suppose so.