L'APPEL DU VIDE

A VAGUE AMBITION. léon grantaire long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine. ( art student )

[cynicdrunk-blog]

pastchris.

Chris admitted that it took him a matter or a few to try and understand what the man was saying and even now he wasn’t sure he knew. “I’m… I’m a witch. So I can make potions. I think I have made something to help return people’s memories but it’s still in trial stage.”

“a witch?” r repeated, making sure he’d heard correctly. this town was filled with such inspired creatures. “marvellous, monsieur! how exciting that must be. how does the potion work?” the artist asked, approaching the potion master’s table and eyeing everything closely, without touching.

[cynicdrunk-blog]

ircnveined.

“ that sounds absolutely disgusting, “ pietro replied bluntly. not that he actually cared about the substance, he cared very little for alcohol. “ you’re from the eighteen hundred’s or something ?? “ only a small amount of him was interested. “ pietro, “ he looked at the other and held out his own worn out hand to shake the others. 

“it was,” he confirmed with a small, mirthless chuckle. r didn’t miss the wines of his time, but he almost felt unworthy of these nicer drinks. he cherished it far more than was healthy for any man to do. “eighteen thirty two,” grantaire answered, clasping the other man’s hand. “i’m glad to make your acquaintance.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

// i’m gonna try and bust out a few replies tonight but it’s late and i’m sleepy so they might be a lil garbage ( but hey, same )

[cynicdrunk-blog]

ofmischiefandjotuns.

He blinks, so confused with him, but he can tell the man has seen things and has done things, and for that he can…force himself to be calm and speak with respect.  Especially since there are tomes of him, not like the play he created of himself (though that play was amazing and he will fight anyone who disagrees). “Grantaire.”  He repeats the name to make it familiar to his tongue.  Though the mention of Hel turns his face into a frown.  “Of course Hela would be the cause of all this.”  He hopes it is at least, because when she is defeated all can go back to normal.  

his name sounded smooth in the other man’s voice and grantaire offered him a sad, resigned smile, one that understood his predicament entirely. new names were hard. “man has brought ink to paper and spilled thousands of words to analyse and worship you, monsieur, so surely this earthly prison is not all bad to you.” the artist reasoned, just as calm, running paint-stained fingers through messy dark curls. “though i am no deity of my own right, i am often likened to the god dionysus. or -- i used to be.” he could only hope that the god ( if that’s what he really was ) would remain calm. “i know not how to remedy this misfortune but with sweet wines and absinthe. come, sit monsieur, sit.”

[pastchris]

Chris had found a place to get up his potions. He had finally found a spell to help people bring their memories back. He had started with a girl in the cafe but now word has spread that it works. He looked up when someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

“pardon me, monsieur.” grantaire wasn’t even sure he wanted to be there. he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember -- even though he had most of it, what he missed from his old life plagued him horribly. “word on the street is you have a miracle medicine. it seems asclepius walks among us. pray, tell dear dionysus what makes that potion makes of a man?”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

ohalecto.

“So in less complicated words, you like the wine, and are glad you found this place. Okay, fair enough. I don’t feel similar myself, as I hate alcohol.” She smiled at the other person. It was a relief to not hear someone complaining again.

“nothing complicated is laced in my words, madame, for you understood them perfectly.” having previously lived in eighteen thirty two, and being an artist of the time, flowery words and imagery were his business. still, the woman seemed to enjoy the lighthearted banter, and he was to. “do you have a name in which i may call you? i am grantaire, but r is most fine."

[ofmischiefandjotuns-deactivated]

““I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.”  However, I’m pretty sure this purpose was to not be knocked off course and landed in Midgard !”  He growls to himself, delicate hands working and healing the wounds on his body from the long fall.  Healing magic was not something he’s accustomed too but one he has done enough to be efficient in.  He turns to the closest person  “Now tell me before I get furious what is this place ?!”  He usually is less snappy, but with a lot on the Asgardian’s mind his temper is very thin, and waking up here is no exception.

[cynicdrunk-blog]

“i do not deal in the trade of norse mythology. i fear the greek gods are my specialty,” the frenchman began, brushing something from his green waistcoat -- centuries old, though not as old as the design of the other man’s clothes -- and nodding. “but the shock is unkind, and you have my sympathies monsieur. you remember yourself, in the very least, and even if you didn’t there are countless tomes on your glory.” grantaire told him. “we are restless in something of a hel, it seems. worlds collapsed and fallen into one. ask me not how, for i can give you no answer. i can give you a name, and specifically my own: i am grantaire.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

hyfrkillian.

“ you are fooling me, i was not making sense at all and luckily for me i am aware of it, ” he said quickly, thinking about the stuff he just said he indeed had to make sure he was aware of it so he would not sound too idiotic. as the male listened to the explanation of his nickname he had at first frowned, before he unsterstood it and chuckled softly. “ that is clever, i do like that, ” he confirmed to the male, he liked clever word puns and this was a great one of those. killian tilted his head as he glanced at the male, just drowing into his own thoughts again. he wondered where he kept his money; he should not be that poor if he were captain hook, but possibly he had left without bringing any money. “ i owe you one, mate.. i truly do,” he said. he probably had to get a job here if he was going to stay. when he heard the word RUM his eyes lit up, nodding. “ aye, ” he replied, to him it meaning ‘yes’.

the artist laughed. “you misunderstand! not making sense is my business. no, it is my very nature! this man’s heart beats to an irregular thumping. i dance do a dionysian drum.” he confirmed. drinks where best shared, he knew from experience of both lonely afternoons and boisterous nights. pouting at his now empty glass, he smirked. another drink was indeed in order. “it is my treat, monsieur. my drink is yours.” grantaire said, gesturing to the bartender for two more drinks -- grantaire would try this modern rum, for he imagined it greater than a libation he was used to. “so, what shall i call you? rather, what do you call yourself? a man cannot be nameless for so long. i should like to address a man by his label.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

blcdypetals,

“ why are we talking like a shakespeare manuscript ?? “ every time she thought that this place could not get any stranger - the world constantly decided to prove her wrong. then again, was riverdale normal ?? definitely not. mentally sighing in frustration as she forced a smile  “ want to purchase me some wine so I can experience the magic of it as well ?? “ she asked.

he eyed the redhead and sighed. drawing the glass from his lips, grantaire spoke lightly. “we are talking the way we are taught, mademoiselle, for in eighteen and thirty two, i was an average man. fortuna has blessed me, at least, with an english language.” r placed his glass down on the tabletop and laughed. “how old are you? only a child would ask a penniless man for a cup of sweet nectar. can you not purchase the wine yourself?”

[mvllyii]

“ i was THINKING about working at– or starting and ICE CREAM or FROYO shop… “ ( did people still like froyo ?? ) “ but the IRONY might just be too much, “ bobby chuckles, his hand turning into PURE ICE. that’s one way to get someone’s attention. 

[cynicdrunk-blog]

“i will admit i have never heard of such things, but i recognise a pun when i hear one.” grantaire smirked, nodding towards the other man’s hand. ice cream, ice hand, he got it. “although i fear i have taken too much to the blood of dionysus. by god, man, you’re the opposite of on fire.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

hyfrkillian.

“ somehow it reminds me of being a kid, knowing how life does work, but still needing to figure out a lot; not knowing a lot about your life just yet, it is nearly horrifying, ” he said. thinking about it he decided that this place might be horrid both ways, for those who forgot.. to not know what life could be like back there; and for those who do remember.. to have lost everything and knowing it. “ which is ?? ” he asked when he heard him tell about his nickname, narrowing his brows. “ i could understand, indeed. i did not bring anything, was not expecting to get here, i guess.. i would be grateful. ”

“an apt description, most undoubtedly.” the artist nodded appreciatively, glad that the man could at least vocalise his fears. worries bottled were arguably worse than those bottled beside wine, or so he thought. moderation was not known to grantaire. “my name is grantaire. the nickname -- most ingenious in its simplicity -- is merely r. as in, grand r, or capital r.” his eyebrow twitched in amusement. he could not be sure, but he liked to imagine his friends had bent over in laughter at the reveal of the name, or at least have smiled. he was positive without truly knowing that he would be the comic relief of their revolution. “please, a drink between men is no problem with me. i sold many a piece of mine at the antique shop, so i have some cash before i am penniless.” still, he wore his cockade ( in pride or grief, it was not known ) and could not bring himself to sell it. “rum?”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

hyfrkillian.

the male frowned at the poetic words, opening his words a little to say something about it before he just shut up. there was a male who spoke like a poet and he himself tried too hard to not yell out some obvious catchphrases. “ i would love to, i can not imagine how much remembering must hurt, but i did not even remember my name when i got here, IMAGINE that, ” he scoffed, he spoke, looking at the paint on the male his fingers, narrowing his eyebrows. “ aye, i am just saying that .. prices around here could have been much worse. ”

he had to concede a name was better than nothing. “that is torture in extreme, monsieur. i apologise.” grantaire had been luckier than most, or so he’d been told -- what was luck to him may not have been luck to others. “i got a name. two, in fact; a nickname stayed in tact. it is a pun.” leaning back, the frenchman huffed. he both loved and hated himself for it. humming in agreeance, grantaire nodded slowly. “i see your point. the translation of my currency to theirs was frightful, though. you said you had no money?” the artist asked. “shall i buy you a round?”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

distresssnowflake

“Liberty for france? Right, okay. Yeah that’s not a thing here. Mostly because I’m not really sure what that means.”

“in my time, the people would freeze and starve in the street whilst the rich got fatter. liberty is freedom, mademoiselle.” he sniffed, a little indignantly, but quite french, “i myself cared not for revolution. only revolutionaries.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

distresssnowflake.

“Oh as in like you were alive in the 1800s? Woah, that’s werid and explains why you talk like a dictionary.”

“it is what i recall. political figureheads are gone, but i remember a yearning to fight for liberty for france. not in myself, but in my brothers. france has fought many battles, but i remember an eighteen hundred, yes.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

distresssnowflake.

“Well that’s kind of super weird way of saying you like the wine,” she laughed. 

“forgive me,” he said dryly, not remorseful in the slightest. “the last year i lived was eighteen and thirty two. although --” grantaire smirked against his wine glass, looking to the young woman in front of him. “--my flowery monologues were not appreciated too much then either, i assume.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

hyfrkillian.

“ well, at least you remember some things, i wish i could relate, ” he told the other, yet he frowned. quietly he got his flask, opening it as he took a sip from the rum; if the male was drinking he should do so too. “ i take it is less expensive here, i do not remember anything but the prices are not all that high .. and i did not get a lot of money with me, i bet you can even pay with it here, ” the lad shrugged, taking another sip as he loved the strong alcohol.

it was no good remembering things, not to him. “i would trade your blindness for my fog, monsieur.” he could remember too many things, not enough things, and either way it burned and pained him to the point where he had curled up in the bottom of a bottle of wine. “nobody loves the light like a blind man. when you return to it, it shall be more a relief for you than i.” the artist sighed, running paint stained fingers through messy curls. “cheaper on a different currency. my heart ceased its beating at the prices before i remembered where i wasn’t.”

[cynicdrunk-blog]

hyfrkillian.

“ a maze.. well, that is one way to call this place, ” killian responded while he looked at the male. what would he call it ?? some place where he was not happy, that he knew for sure. he tilted his head, narrowing his eyebrows. “ do ya.. do ya remember where you are from ?? ” he asked, he was aware some did, some did not – but he was curious as to how those who did remember would feel. “ the wine is alright, really.. but perhaps you should try the rum. ”

“it seems i remember more than most, but less than others.” grantaire said, leaning back in his seat. “i have a year and a city, some names, and a barricade.” he told the other, draining the glass. wine had been a favourite of old dionysus, but the mortal who resembled the god all too closely had too fallen in love with the grape -- however, strong rum piqued his interest. “i could scarcely afford it in my own time, but i remember it well. it and absinthe were the only things not watered down.”