OOM: An Adventure in the Making

[le_centre]

 
Courfeyrac had come to Bossuet and Joly's room many hours ago. Now, it occurs to him that perhaps he should attempt to remember why, because the purpose is bound to be important, or at least will distract from the cherubs glaring down at him with what he's sure is reproach.

'Who are you to judge?' he tells them, a bottle of something clutched to his chest. 'Why, you of all Heaven's being are sure to know what it is not your place; save it, dear children, and allow me to-'

...wait, he has forgotten. Is this absinthe? He squints at the label, and then holds it up in the air.

'Bossuet, what are we drinking?'

Comments

[le_centre]

He feels it would probably be unwise to mutter, 'are we with the boches?' to Bossuet, but cannot easily guess what the correct answer should be. She does seem very fervent, and looks as though she knows how to use that gun.

He glances over, and decides to try and brazen it out. 'We are for the people, mademoiselle!'

This is furnished with a wide grin. It quite often works on women!

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Stupid question," someone says flatly from behind the woman with the gun. It's another woman with a gun, in fact. Older: forty or fifty to the girl's eighteen or so. There are two or three men in the room too, and quite a lot of weaponry. "They're not going to say yes. --All right, Mr. For-The-People, who are you really? Nina, check them for weapons."

"My name is Lègle," Bossuet begins to volunteer, but he stops open-mouthed when Nina-with-the-gun steps forward and starts briskly patting him down.

Oh my.

[le_centre]

Courfeyrac's eyes go wide. Well! That is most unfair, seeing as he is the one who spoke to her first.

'And I am Courfeyrac,' he volunteers, perhaps hoping to elicit the same response from Nina.

In the meantime, he turns his smile on the older woman. 'Believe me, madame, that is an erroneous question. Even we are not sure who we are much of the time. We have no weapons - you may check if you like, mademoiselle Nina-' it's worth a go, '-and all we currently wish is to not get shot.'

A pause.

'And possibly some wine, if there is some available.'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Lesgle is wondering about his sudden stroke of luck, when the girl takes away both his bottle and his flask. "Oh, now, that's not fair--"

"They're not just stupid, Mom, they're drunk. Too scared to go out into the street sober." She tosses the bottle and the flask to the nearest of the men, who gives them a quick inspection, and turns to Courfeyrac. She'll be taking his bottle as well, yes. "Should have stayed in if you didn't want to get shot."

[le_centre]

He does, it must be noted, put up a little resistance at having the bottle taken away; for a moment there is a small tug-of-war, which he tries to turn into a flirtatious game by grinning again.

But really, no, do not take the alcohol away.

'I beg your pardon, mademoiselle,' he says, as the thing slips from his grasp. 'But having been shot more than once, I have no desire to be so again. Indeed, it would be quite unnecessary.'

He is suddenly hit by the remembrance of Gavroche, and his cry of 'they are shooting my dead men for me!' He snorts a laugh, both amused and sorrowful, and then pushes the thought firmly away.

'We seem to have stumbled into something unprepared. Well, why not? Lesgle, what say you? Should we take up arms again?'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"I have it!" he exclaims suddenly, with a look of revelation that suggests his mind has been somewhere else. "The Resistance, surely. Courfeyrac, this is marvelous, this is remarkable. Haven't you read about it? Mademoiselle, is it 1944? Ah, the summer--August, I think?"

The little group in the café has moved away from them, except for the young woman and one of the men: and those two look embarrassed and annoyed in the way of people who have had strangely-dressed confused drunks thrown at them. "Well--never mind, Mademoiselle. Courfeyrac, your instinct is correct. We shall take up arms! For Paris, for France, for the future!"

This is met by their quasi-captors with looks of irritated, patronizing, doubtful amusement, rather than cheers.

[le_centre]

'Yes!'

Courfeyrac looks instantly delighted, and clasps Bossuet's arm in excitement. A chance to fight again for France! He will never say no.

The man, though, is looking suspicious and mutters something in the young woman's ear. Her eyes narrow, and she says, 'Courfeyrac and Lesgle? Are these code names?'

It takes a moment for Courfeyrac to understand what she means, or at least, a part of what she means. The context is still quite new to him. But then he beams, and says, 'no!'

Because surely if she has read that book, she will know they'll be on her side? And also she should like them quite a bit, seeing as they're famous.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Bossuet pats his hand where it grips his arm. "I promise you, friends, you have before you the very original Lesgle de Meaux, if not the original L'aigle de Meaux--"

This isn't producing the desired effect, if the desired effect is welcoming laughter. But before anyone can quite tell what effect is produced, the sound of gunfire bursts suddenly much closer. The fighters in the café react instantly, some dropping down to cover and some stepping to peer sideways from the windows.

[le_centre]

One of the advantages of having experienced firefights first hand, is that the reaction to duck becomes instinct. Courfeyrac ducks behind a table without a second thought, and the smile on his face has turned fierce.

'Do you have more weapons?' he says to Nina. 'Come now, we will fight with you; if you do not believe it, let us prove it with courage. A rifle, a musket, a bayonet even! You must have supplies, mademoiselle.'

He does not stop to ask Bossuet his opinion, because he does not have to; when it comes to fighting for freedom, they are all of one mind. And Nina, glancing from the window to the two of them, looks uncertain, but the man with her appears more pragmatic.

'Let 'em,' he grunts, and raises his gun to aim out of the window. 'We need all the help that offers. If they come at us instead, we'll shoot 'em.'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Someone slides a pair of extra pistols at them, with a grunt that seems to confirm a general willingness to shoot "Courfeyrac" and "Lesgle" as needed.

"Grouchy lot," mutters Bossuet under his breath, as he has a look at the gun. It's...not really what he's used to. Presumably one can still point at something and fire, but--

"Christ, it's already loaded, do you think we're fucking around?" That's Nina's mother. Bossuet quails before her. Or anyway, he shuffles closer to Courfeyrac and nods in the direction of a window. They'll just try to be useful, shall they?

[le_centre]

Courfeyrac's mouth falls open a little at that - a mother using such language? Not unheard of, of course, but still. She looked so respectable! He raises his eyebrows at Bossuet - yes, certainly they must try - and wriggles forward on his belly until he's free of the table. Then he moves into a crouch, and peers out of the window.

There is a column of men marching up the road. Their uniforms are unfamiliar, as are the shape of their helmets, and the style of weapon in their hands. But the formation is not so new.

And behind them...Courfeyrac nudges Bossuet, and gestures with his head. A giant green thing, and it doesn't even have wheels. It seems to slide on runners. But that thing sticking out of the front is absolutely a gun, and it is immediately obvious that the pistols in their hands are not going to be a match for it.

'I think I have read about those,' he mutters. 'Oh well. No matter what magic exists, I am still sure a man cannot die twice.'

And with that, he points his gun out of the window, aims it and fires.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Definitely Paris," he murmurs in response to Courfeyrac's eyebrows.

The guns shoot astonishingly true, though there isn't much time to think about it once the soldiers start shooting back. Their guns are just as good.

If it weren't for the--tank!, Bossuet suddenly remembers--the fighters in the café would stand a fair chance at holding the location and scattering the enemy troops. And indeed, Lesgle is entirely game to hold the position as long as they can. There's something improbably comfortable about that familiarity. But as the tank turns towards them--turns its gun, that is--one of their new companions thumps him and Courfeyrac on the back and shouts in their ears, something about a cellar door and a fall-back point.

[le_centre]

He shoots until the last second, because this is something he knows how to do - dare he say, even some part of it is fun, though that is likely because he has already died the once. And these guns are better, and their cover is inside an actual building, so surely their position is good.

But then the machine turns its giant gun in their direction, and dead man or not, Courfeyrac has to fight to swallow the ball of fear that crawls up his windpipe. He shoots until the pistol shoots empty, and then someone hits him on the back and starts to yell, and yes, a fall-back point would seem prudent at this juncture.

He and Bossuet seem to go through the door together, and as they do there is an almighty BOOM and the walls and floor shake as though the ground is going to crack open. He scrabbles to close the door after them...

...and wherever the are now, it is rather quieter than the place they have left behind.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

It's true. Some part of it is fun. This is a much better gun than Lesgle has ever handled, and the noise and the fear have his heart racing in a way it hasn't since he died. So when they tumble through the door into something like quiet, he almost (almost) regrets it. (Or maybe it's the sudden space to think about what they were just doing.)

He scrubs his faec with one hand. "Now what?"

[le_centre]

Courfeyrac pushes his curls out of his eyes, and looks around. Paris, yes, to be sure. They're back on the street again, and he thinks he recognises the area. He can smell the river again.

But that'll have to wait a moment, while he hastily puts his gun away. There are people looking at him strangely, and he does not want to be accused of trying to kill someone.

'Paris,' he says, to Bossuet. 'This Labyrinth seems to like the place. Well, I have no objection to that; I have always been fond of it myself.'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Bossuet hastily follows suit with his gun. Nothing to see here, folks. Just a pair of sweaty and disheveled students from the 1830s. (At least, Bossuet is sweaty and disheveled. Courfeyrac probably makes it look better. He generally does.)

"An excellent city," he agrees. "Though apparently not the most pacific of holiday destinations. Now we seem to be..." He turns around, looking about him for clues about the Paris they've found.

[le_centre]

Someone passing says something to them, but it sounds to Courfeyrac like 'nice cosplay, bros,' which is clearly nonsense, so he ignores it. Which must mean things are strange, because Courfeyrac usually loves nonsense.

'...ah,' he says, his gaze travelling along the street filled with things he has only seen in pictures. Cars, they are called. They make the air smell funny, and it's rather warm, and there are a lot of people. All of them wear clothes in the style he has seen around Milliways, and it still feels faintly scandalous, on the women at least.

'It is the future,' he adds, though this is no doubt clear to Bossuet seeing as he's been here before. 'Do you recognise any of it?'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Yes! Yes!" Lesgle begins to celebrate by thumping Courfeyrac heartily on the back. "That is to say, no! But it's evidently the same sort of Paris I visited before. Witness: cars, and streets, and advertisements, and half the population talking on a little small computer-telephone-camera. Whatever you call those things."

Right on cue, someone pauses and snaps a phone picture of the 1830s gents, barely bothering to hide that he's doing it.

Lesgle thumps Courfeyrac's shoulder again for good measure, and then someone knocks into them with a brusque apology, because they are very definitely taking up space on a busy sidewalk.

[le_centre]

'Ow,' he says, on the second thumping, but it's followed by a laugh...and inevitably, a grin at the phone pointed at him. He knows what a camera is! But mainly, he just grins when someone looks at him, unless he already knows he doesn't like them.

'Oh, for a shoulder of stone in your company, my friend. No matter! This is-'

He stops, as he's shoved again.

'...a thoroughfare of no little traffic, it seems. Shall we walk? The Labyrinth seems as though it will grab us as it wants, so we may as well see where we are. And I think I would not mind seeing the old place with its new clothes on, though I confess,' he looks around, his face blank, 'none of this seems a real Paris.'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"Yes, we'd better travel in the direction of traffic." He offers Courfeyrac his arm, as one does for a stroll.

"This isn't where I came in before. Before, it was--well, in point of fact, it was about the site of the Musain. Now a different restaurant, something called Quality Burger. Hannibal Lecter seemed shocked by it, but--" Bossuet shrugs a shoulder. Do they really want to speculate about what would or would not shock Hannibal Lecter?

The street names are marked with little blue placards. Once they're out of the thickest foot-traffic, Laigle draws closer to the corner of a wall to get a better look. The name doesn't mean anything to him, though. He looks over to Courfeyrac and shrugs again.

[le_centre]

He takes his arm without thought, as always. If there are one or two odd looks, Courfeyrac doesn't know what their problem is.

'I would not like to think how bad something must be to shock Lecter,' he says, darkly, and peers up at the street sign.

Rue Rambuteau. He returns Bossuet's blank look and pulls a face. 'Either it's entirely new, or just a new name for something old,' he remarks, and looks around again. There is nothing to give a particular clue, not even the ground itself. There are no cobbles any more, the gutters no longer run down the middle of the street, and everything is smooth and shiny.

'Keep going?'

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Laigle steps out into the street again for a better look. Ugh, tourists, mutters an inconvenienced passer-by, which he ignores. It's beautiful in its way, this Paris: just ahead are some wonderfully round glass buildings, glittering, and up the face of a building across from them a sort of class-encased stairwell, perhaps? Beyond that, buildings of stone, which is at least a familiar form if the buildings themselves are unrecognizable.

Here and there brightly-colored awnings jut out over cafés. "It's too bad we don't have any money," he remarks. "And that our drinks were confiscated by the Resistance. Not that I begrudge them! But still, something about an open café makes a man think of meals..."

[le_centre]

...

...

'...if you were not so dear to me, I should be vexed at you.'

Because food. He hasn't thought about food since they started drinking all those hours ago. But now, at a single mention, hunger punches him in the gut with frankly disgusting force. He clutches his stomach, and pulls a face.

'I begrudge the Resistance.'

He doesn't. He does glare at the cafés a little, and then walk on. But any vexation, real or imagined, melts away less than a minute later.

'Look.'

Rue des Prêcheurs.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Bossuet is laughing at Courfeyrac with reasonable sympathy but no remorse when the sight of the street sign leaves him silent a moment.

"...Well. Well!" The first time he came here he was at the doorstep of the Musain; now it's the Corinthe's turn. The two spots Hugo chose to bookend his life, or at least the portion of it of interest to a novelist. "Well. Paris has picked itself up and brushed itself off prettily, hasn't it. If we retrace our steps..."

Going back the way they came they reach the unfamiliar Rue Rambuteau--was it once the Chanvrerie??--and quite plainly a sign for the Rue Mondétour. "Welcome to Corinth, Courfeyrac."

Much more conspicuous than the street signs is a blue awning that reads BODY ONE lingerie.

[le_centre]

Lingerie. Lingerie.

...well, he has no complaints about that, though he can only imagine Enjolras's face at seeing what the old place has come to.

He walks to a certain spot and stares off down the street, heedless of the people tutting at him as he refuses to yield. After a moment, he turns to look at Bossuet.

'It does look rather different from here.'

Is it maudlin, standing on the spot where you died? Probably. He throws it over almost at once, for that very reason, and comes back to look at the BODY ONE place.

'We should go inside,' he says, decisively. 'To see if it has changed much, yes? It's practically research.'