Jean Prouvaire (
vivelavenir) wrote in
ataraxion2013-10-16 09:35 pm
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[Video] Fashion Disaster
[In light of all this... mess, really, going on with everyone's minds (it did seem to be contagious), perhaps now was not the time to explore new things. Perhaps now was the time to really hold in place what one's personality ought to be, and to cling to it.
Despite that, Jehan and Courfeyrac have decided upon now to finally take the foray into modern fashion. Jehan can't say he's thrilled with the result, but the clothing items they have lifted from the Cyllene at least fit... for the most part.
Being rather dismal with technology still, he'd meant to put in a call to Combeferre, whom he thought might be amused with the antics (...and might tell them what he planned to do with those dresses, finally.)
Instead, network, have a man in his early twenties, from 1832, in front of the camera wearing a streamlined, white jacket. Which might not have been so bad, if he had not insisted on wearing it with a bright tie, which he had fashioned into a bow around his neck.
Courfeyrac had done... something to his hair, with some form of goo he'd found in one of the bathrooms on the other ship, and he had not liked it. It was sticky. He'd tried to comb it out with his hands, and the result was that it now more-or-less stood straight up, tilted to the side violently, and had frozen like that, as if in shock.]
Is this-- is it recording?
[A pause.
He had no time to be embarrassed. He had a few questions.]
This is absurd. The buttons on these costumes-- they have no button holes, the half of them. Are they meant to connect to nothing?
[In his attempt to figure out why on earth a jacket would have buttons that were only for show, he's fastened two into the same hole, in a few places; with a herculean amount of effort.]
And some of these pockets are stitched shut.
Is all clothing like this, past our day? Do men really wear pants quite so tight; and how do you go about fitting suspenders onto pants that have no buttons in the back?
[He has figured belts... to an extent. As the pants he'd taken sat much lower than he was used to, he'd used the belt to fasten them nearly to his waist, putting it through only one loop and pulling tight. Over the jacket.
The result is more or less a disaster, and he'd readily admit it leaned towards more; the clothes simply didn't make sense.]
Really, I cannot say I imagine I am wearing this... absolutely correctly. But is it made correctly? These are pieces we have found, and I've seen all manner of clothing on board this vessel.
Are such things really comfortable? I can't say they seem useful, exactly...
Are all pockets in the future stitched shut?
[Someone has to ask the Serious Questions, Tranquility.]
Despite that, Jehan and Courfeyrac have decided upon now to finally take the foray into modern fashion. Jehan can't say he's thrilled with the result, but the clothing items they have lifted from the Cyllene at least fit... for the most part.
Being rather dismal with technology still, he'd meant to put in a call to Combeferre, whom he thought might be amused with the antics (...and might tell them what he planned to do with those dresses, finally.)
Instead, network, have a man in his early twenties, from 1832, in front of the camera wearing a streamlined, white jacket. Which might not have been so bad, if he had not insisted on wearing it with a bright tie, which he had fashioned into a bow around his neck.
Courfeyrac had done... something to his hair, with some form of goo he'd found in one of the bathrooms on the other ship, and he had not liked it. It was sticky. He'd tried to comb it out with his hands, and the result was that it now more-or-less stood straight up, tilted to the side violently, and had frozen like that, as if in shock.]
Is this-- is it recording?
[A pause.
He had no time to be embarrassed. He had a few questions.]
This is absurd. The buttons on these costumes-- they have no button holes, the half of them. Are they meant to connect to nothing?
[In his attempt to figure out why on earth a jacket would have buttons that were only for show, he's fastened two into the same hole, in a few places; with a herculean amount of effort.]
And some of these pockets are stitched shut.
Is all clothing like this, past our day? Do men really wear pants quite so tight; and how do you go about fitting suspenders onto pants that have no buttons in the back?
[He has figured belts... to an extent. As the pants he'd taken sat much lower than he was used to, he'd used the belt to fasten them nearly to his waist, putting it through only one loop and pulling tight. Over the jacket.
The result is more or less a disaster, and he'd readily admit it leaned towards more; the clothes simply didn't make sense.]
Really, I cannot say I imagine I am wearing this... absolutely correctly. But is it made correctly? These are pieces we have found, and I've seen all manner of clothing on board this vessel.
Are such things really comfortable? I can't say they seem useful, exactly...
Are all pockets in the future stitched shut?
[Someone has to ask the Serious Questions, Tranquility.]
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Monsieur, you are as good as the opera!
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You do not mince your words, Eponine.
Is it really so ridiculous?
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[Oh, how she enjoyed watching the wealthy, the intelligent, struggle with such mundane tasks. Not that she knew how to dress herself properly - but luckily, her dress was big enough to pull on over her head.]
You look as if you act the part of a fool. They were always my favourite parts, though, the clowns.
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Colouring to his very ears, he cleared his throat and raised a brow slightly.]
I cannot say I am particularly flattered, but I suppose it's well deserved for... for whatever this attempt has turned out to be.
You look a shade brighter when you smile like that, anyway, so I suppose the humiliation to be well-worth it? [Not especially, but he's looking for the silver lining, and trying not to literally asphyxiate of embarrassment at that... very horrible description. Though if they were her favourite, it was perhaps not so bad as all that, as a statement.]
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[She looked positively alarmed at his words.]
Why are you humiliated, Sir? It is like I with... well... you know. We have not seen such things, Sir. How are we to be able to use them?
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The humiliation is my own, I promise it. It is rather more because I seemed to have either failed so especially at this endeavor, or because in succeeding, I have managed to learn I am not very comfortable or... suited? To such a style.
You speak wisely, you know. I suppose we should not fault ourselves so entirely, for not knowing what we have not seen before. Thank you; the reminder is good.
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I should like one of muslin, maybe, or silk, in a nice colour, like pink, perhaps, or purple. And a bonnet to match. But the one you gave me is lovely, of course. But you see what I am trying to say, don't you? I think we are supposed to prefer what is familiar to us - at least as far as clothes, Monsieur, for I would be a liar if I said I preferred life at home.
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You're very right.
[He could indeed imagine the luxury of underclothes, for he wore them himself; though he would dally from going so far as to imagine a lady's. On the point of the other fashions, which he did not know quite well enough to comment on, but seemed to please her, he agreed,]
It is not so wrong at all, to wish to represent what we have been raised to know. It is in our culture. And as that is the case, you would likely carry a dress with big sleeves and a corset better than any on board.
[Though, on the topic of preferring here to home; of worrying matters; his brow furrowed somewhat, recalling the note under his door, a few days prior.]
Ah-- you know, Eponine, I have been remiss. I have not yet thought to ask you how you fare of late?
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[Her eyes lit up at the compliment.]
Do you really think I could look like a lady, Monsieur? We could be a right pair, couldn't we? Dressed in our finery - and your friend, Monsieur - is it Combferre? We could stride through the boat arm in arm and look like true kings and queens.
[But her smile disappeared with his question about her welfare; she at once became guarded, her expression clouded.]
You need not trouble yourself, you know? I am always okay, Sir...
[She studied Jehan, ignoring for the moment his ridiculous get up. Could she trust him? Could she open up enough to him to talk to him? After perhaps a minute or so of silence, she whispered,]
Have you seen him? Monsieur Javert?
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I really do think it could suit you.
[He gave, not quite wishing to lie; for she had the marks of her hardship upon her, and perhaps they were really nothing to be ashamed of so deeply, but they would prevent her from looking as whatever image it was she held dear and precious in her mind; but he all the same thought that it would be silly to say someone was unsuited for a certain aura, or knowledge, or destiny, simply because of their current state of progress.]
And yes; I do have a... well-dressed friend by the name of Combeferre.
[He waited though, while she took her time with the next part, before replying mildly,]
It's no trouble. And yes; the Inspector? I have seen him on board. At the latest jump, we met.
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[Which basically meant she thought the three of them could look ridiculous. Eponine might have cherished the idea of looking like a lady, like Cosette, but she was under no illusion as to what she looked like, and how scarred, how worn and weary she looked, and how comical she would look dressed up. It was a nice dream and a safe one as well, for she knew it could never be. Especially now. Especially with him here. She tilted her head, still studying Jehan.]
He doesn't like me, you know? He'll tell you stories about me - he'll tell them to everyone. Him and that horrid Monsieur Mordecai. And then you won't speak to me again - only, Monsieur. You won't believe him, will you? What he says isn't true.
[She was lying, of course. What Javert would relate was the truth. But Eponine was a good liar - she could even convince herself of her stories. So hopefully, she would convince Jehan, or at least make him listen to the men with an open mind.]
no subject
[His brow scrunched a little, lips pursing, trying to equate Combeferre with... well, that. Not that it was difficult to, per say, all things considered... but perhaps she had meant Courfeyrac? Not that he felt particularly comfortable hearing the term 'opera clown' and correcting her to Courfeyrac on an open network, which Courfeyrac was browsing over.
So, deciding not to... further investigate, or correct her, he simply cleared his throat.]
I am sure that... we could look a sight, yes. It's kind of you to include me in it, considering my current version.
[As to the Inspector... and whomever this Monsieur Mordecai was, it earned a soft frown.]
That's all right, Eponine; I am certain he cannot be fond of me either. A man who speaks unkindly when someone is not there to defend themselves of it, is not a man at all. The Inspector has not done so, and I do not accuse him of it-- neither do I know any Monsieur Mordecai; but I shall not believe anything I hear and do not see for myself.
I do not have any plans to cease speaking with you. We have our writing lessons after all, don't we?
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[She pursed her lips, frustrated by Javert's presence]
He is not a nice man, that one. And he will not like that they had to let me free - and that my Pa escaped as well - haha, he thought he had us, but we will always beat him. He is a horrible man, though. He will make people not want to associate with me, like in Paris. I can feel it in my breast, Sir. I wish he were not here.
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[And he might be a little alarmed by how easily she feels he could be robbed, but;]
I have nothing for you to take, Eponine, and so even if he thought you willing, there is no capability. His logic would be flawed. I can make up my mind quite on my own, and without input, in who to spend my time with. His opinion will not colour my choices.
[But the crux of the matter seemed really to have less to do with him, and far more to do with Javert himself.]
And Eponine; just as I would not hear him call you horrible, I shouldn't hear it of him either. Should he show some uncouth behaviour towards you, or threaten you in some manner, please; come to us at once, and you will not be harassed.
[But similalry, he worried that it might be Javert who found harassment here, simply by numbers...
A concept he did not think Eponine quite capable of grasping, in her alarm, and so did not bring up.]
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[Eponine actually spat at her screen] That is what I think of that, Monsieur. How are you to know, anyway? Was it you he chased? Was it you who he dragged through the streets of Paris in chains that clanked and declared you a prisoner for everyone? Was it you who he locked in la prison des Madelonnettes? NO!
[She scowled indignantly at the screen. She couldn't understand Jehan's reasoning - in her mind, he had no right to say such things. He hadn't experienced what she had - he hadn't felt the contempt of the law, seen Javert's smug smile as the prison bars swung closed behind her, or his disgust when she had desperately begged for a piece of bread from a kitchen door. Jehan, as far as she was concerned, had no business in having opinions about Javert, unless he shared her vision.]
I don't need looking after. I can take care of myself - better than you toffs anyway. You would simply bore him to death with chatter he cannot understand.
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Instead, he tapped a thumb against his knee, stared at the floor a long moment, and tried to tame himself, and truly hear her argument. The connective tissues, beneath the fissure of explosion.]
I have some experience with what the Inspector is capable of; nothing so long-suffering as your own, and nothing in a shade that might seem quite so cruel. And nothing that you should like to hear of, I am certain, for no comparison can be made.
I do not doubt that he has been horrible to you, if you say it is so. I do not doubt that you have suffered. I also do not doubt that you are capable of handling yourself, in any matter. You will see yourself through; it is an admirable quality.
But; I will make my own mind, with regards to him. And I will not let him change my mind, in regards to you. It is fair to you both, and I would want to be shown the same fairness. I hope you can forgive me that, if you feel it is a weakness of character; I do not agree. Friends do not always have to.
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It is as you wish, of course, Monsieur. I shall not seek to change your mind for you, of course, know best.
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I do not say that I do know better, or best. Only that I would like to learn on my own.
You do not have to begin calling me Monsieur again for it; Eponine, please.
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[With effort, she stopped herself, stopped yelling. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to reply in a quieter voice]
I tell you, it is simply a habit, Monsieur Prouvaire. It saves a space in my head so I can forget names and it be no problem for me.
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I can see that I've upset you, and I don't fault you for your feelings. But I hope that you are not quite so angry with me as that?
[This is becoming mildly exasperating; but it's important to him, to calm her down. To try to understand that she might be right, and it is difficult for him to understand her point of view.]
I apologize if I've really upset you to such a depth.
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I am not as clever as you yet. I forget things that I do not need to remember.
[She laughed as she spoke; it was gentle chuckles interspersing her words. But her laughter was tinged with something more, with bitterness. With desperation.]
It is just correct for someone like me to address you as 'Sir'.
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[Flustered, relaxing slightly again.]
It took a while to grow used to the use of first names here, and I still forget at times. And you are the only woman from our own time, so it had begun to feel-- formal? Excuse me. I was confused, myself.
[He really did hope to press the concept of equality above formality, though.]
Call me whatever makes you comfortable.
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[She cackled.]
You don't have to be formal with me; no one else ever is, and you know it. I don't care. But it's not right for me to call you - what is your name again, Sir? I learn so many that I forget some as well.
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As you say, then.
You were correct; my name is Prouvaire. Jean is my given name.
But call me as you like. [Both, luckily, were common; and hopefully, not too troubling to recall.]
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(no subject)