Lesgueules, Lesgle, L'aigle, Legle [de Meaux]

Bossuet was a gay but unlucky fellow. His specialty was not to succeed in anything. As an offset, he laughed at everything. 25, proud member of Les Amis de l'ABC.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Young Volcanoes || Bossuet & Bahorel

[r-i-o-t-o-u-s]

As usual, Bahorel entered like a hurricane. He bade a very polite good night to the landlady and then ran up the stairs and burst through Bossuet’s door. The news was very bad, a storm larger than any he could ever hold within himself was speeding over the horizon, but the night was as yet young. He wanted to defile Paris, and immediately he turned to his partner-in-crime, both in and out of the bedsheets.

"Put on your coat!" he ordered. "We are going out, and we have a very tight schedule to keep. What’s this?" He walked over to the bed and picked up the thick tome, leafing through it cursorily. It looked incredibly dull and unintelligible, so he tossed it back onto the sheets and turned around to survey Bossuet. "Dress comfortably, and don’t wear anything too nice."

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Bossuet let out a small cry of surprise and then grinned to see his regular accomplice. "Salut, Bahorel. It's a book of medicine." He fixed the man with a very serious look. "I'm leaving Les Amis so I can train to become a doctor."

After a long moment, he cracked, laughing aloud. "It's Joly's. All right then, let's go!" The man went to grab a jacket and fastened the buttons, having already chosen a vest and other clothing. He fixed his hat once more in the mirror, frowning before looking at Bahorel with a smile. "Where are we going, may I ask? Have you selected a place already or are we improvising?" He could already feel himself getting excited with the rush of anticipation that seemed to always accompany Bahorel's presence.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Young Volcanoes || Bossuet & Bahorel

The ex-lawyer sat on his bed with his feet propped up on a wooden chair, flicking idly through an old book on medicine that Joly had lent him. He'd gotten severely sick the day after he'd received it, and Joly hadn't quite wanted it back when he found out Bossuet had sneezed on it and then continued to read it. In a twist of uncharacteristically good luck, he'd gotten to keep the book, so the whole ordeal hadn't gone too badly!

Of course, he still understood none of it, so he quickly tired of examining the diagrams and attempting to decipher the medical terminology. Instead, L'aigle went to his window, watching a fiacre stumble by in the street. He felt rather like a damsel in a fairy tale, waiting for his knight in shining armour to come pick him up and take him out for the night. Or, at least, that was what he assumed Bahorel's plans for him were. They could be staying right here.

The man blushed at the thought, glancing over towards his bed, and then headed to his closet to grab a hat and fix it over his balding scalp. He forced himself to purge his mind of thoughts of sodomy, instead becoming excited for the night ahead.

[mayainks]

Bad news, mes amis

General Lamarque has fallen ill. The doctor would refuse to tell me how serious it was, nor he would let me see him. We must pray for his recovery.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

[is sombre for once-- the look doesn't suit him] Poor fellow. I will pray for him.

[mew-see-chay-tah]

Has anyone seen my boys?

[mew-see-chay-tah]

Something was too dangerous for you? That truly must have been serious… I’m glad you’re safe and all right now, my love.

You know I’m not trying to limit your involvement in this whole cause of yours, but you must understand I worry sometimes.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

It was serious, but I think I'm all right. It's only more dangerous than usual because of Montparnasse's old gang.

I understand, ma chérie. It's all right-- I promise to use what little luck I have to keep Joly and myself safe.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

I was just made the victim of an unsuccessful pickpocketing attempt, but I talked to the young gamin and they seemed to just be hungry rather than malicious in any way. So I gave them my lunch!

This is why we fight-- for children like that.

[nefer-nefer-nefer]

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Sex In A Car || Bahorel & Bossuet

[r-i-o-t-o-u-s]

"Oh, everyone’s fine, it was a friendly tussle," Bahorel joked, and started up the stairs. He skipped the creaky one in an effort to be kind to his neighbors, but all that did was put him slightly off-balance. Before he could fall, he sat himself down on the top step as though that had been his intention all along. (It had not.) He put his face in his hands briefly to keep the room from spinning. Little starbursts of cyan and magenta lived and died swiftly behind his eyelids.

"If only you’d gotten here sooner," he noted mournfully. "I’d have asked you to drink with me— I don’t know how much there is left. Please drink it so I don’t." He laughed then and looked up at Bossuet in the semidarkness. In actuality, he hadn’t expected any of his friends to check up on him so soon. Sure, tomorrow he could see Combeferre tsking and Joly moaning and Montparnasse- well, he and Montparnasse were at an understanding, he thought. This was not the case with Bossuet. They had always been quite close, but that was true of many people- and yet they were not at his door in the middle of a winter night. Had it been Grantaire or Courfeyrac knocking, Bahorel would have been enthused and invited them to finish his vodka instead, but Bossuet’s presence made him feel warm and euphoric and on his toes.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Lesgle watched his friend stumble up the stairs with sharp concern, and as Bahorel practically collapsed onto the top step with an air about him that Lesgle might usually attribute to a drunk or an invalid, the eagle stepped forward. He followed his friend up the steps (and he, of course, accidentally stepped on all the creaky ones), and stopped a few below him to stare at him with worry. Bahorel's face was hidden in his palms but Bossuet still could not help but lean forward and take his hands away. The bruises were turning beautiful and alarming colours, and Bossuet tsk'd him gently. "You should rest, perhaps... I could call a fiacre for Joly."

At Bahorel's request, Bossuet nodded. "I'll finish your drink, then." He continued to hold Bahorel's hands in his, staring at him. "I know it's late, I just-- my mind was troubled, and I wanted to know if you were all right."

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Sex In A Car || Bahorel & Bossuet

[r-i-o-t-o-u-s]

Bahorel was very drunk.

Upon returning home, he had immediately stripped himself to the waist in order to examine the violent sunset painted across his stomach. It had become an atlas in full color: here were continents of violet and indigo, trenches of dark crimson, all edged in reefs and coves of yellow. The sight was off-putting, to say the least. With any luck, his face looked better. (It did, barely. The skin was split just below his cheekbone, and the bruise had spread like a puddle of ink, reaching up to his eye with dark tributaries of burst blood vessels.)  He removed a bottle of vodka from his cabinet, crossed his fingers that none of his ribs were cracked and began to clean his bleeding knuckles in the washbasin.

He had just finished wrapping his hand when a knock came at the door. Half the bottle was empty- an uncertain amount had been poured over his scrapes. When a moment passed and no one had yet stirred in the house- it was growing late- he sucked in a breath and limped down the stairs to answer it.

"You’re a sight for sore eyes," Bahorel commented as soon as he opened the door. He had been expecting a visitor for the girl upstairs, who often had lady callers late at night, or the police. A small part of him had worried that Patron-Minette had come to say hello, but when he looked out into the street behind Bossuet things were as normal. Gooseflesh rippled up his skin, and with some surprise he remembered that he was still shirtless. "Come in," he said, pulling Bossuet inside, and shut the door behind him.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

The eagle started, and were he an actual bird his wings would have surely swung out in surprise as he squawked a curse of surprise. There was bruising all along the man's chest and face, and his knuckles were bloodied up as well. Lesgle was too instantly distracted to even appreciate Bahorel's state of undress (which was a tragedy that rivalled the Bard's). "Mon dieu--" was all he was able to blurt out before Bahorel's strong arms reached out to pull him inside.

Lesgle began to pull his boots off, still staring at Bahorel with concern. "What has happened?" he implored. "Did you run into a wall? Perhaps a wall we both know. Is Montparnasse all right-- but, first, are you?" He leaned in close to look at the man's face, making sure his gaze was only concerned and slightly impressed and showing no pity. If he looked at Bahorel with pity he could instantly be thrown out onto the street once more. "How does the wall look?"

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Sex In A Car || Bahorel & Bossuet

After bringing Courfeyrac safely to Joly's house, Lesgle was pacing the streets, no cap on his head. He was troubled-- concerned for his friends, and even worried for Montparnasse. These new criminals who appeared only just recently had already created so much danger for him and his friends. The eagle was fairly sure that as of late they'd had more discussion of Patron-Minette at meetings than of any revolts, and he was severely troubled about it. At least the fire of revolution would be a controlled blaze, one that they started; with men like Babet and the enormous elephant man, there would be no telling who was in how much danger. Lesgle chewed at his lip in worry, crossing his arms as he walked and then uncrossing them to swing them indecisively at his sides.

A thought occurred to the ex-lawyer and he turned on his heel so quickly he very nearly fell over. He would go check on Bahorel! Surely if Montparnasse had been found by now, Jehan would have brought the dandy home and Lesgle's friend would have returned to his own home. And if Bahorel was not at home, Lesgle decided, he would go searching for him in the streets until he ran into him. No effort would be too much to ascertain that his friends were all right, specifically Bahorel. Lesgle paused, and then redacted the thought. Specifically any of them, of course, he had no reason to pick favourites-- but Bahorel could be so reckless, so of course Lesgle would worry for him first-- but that didn't make sense either-- 

The man shook his head. It was of no importance as to why. He would go check on Bahorel first, for reasons that were unnecessary to think about. With that decided, the man set his jaw, and quickened his pace until he was standing at his friend's apartments. Lesgle inhaled, and then rapped on the door, folding his hands behind his back so as to look presentable for the landlady if she were to open it.

[mew-see-chay-tah]

Has anyone seen my boys?

They haven’t been home in a while…

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

I haven't seen Joly in a while either, darling, but I've been spending most of my nights at the Musain and, yesterday, the Corinthe. It was remarkably exciting, actually, but I'm glad you were not there-- there was a criminal who led the police straight to the Cafe so Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Jehan's fiance, and I all had to depart secretively for the Corinthe.

Rather too dangerous for my tastes, although everything turned out all right! -- I assume. I still have heard nothing from 'Parnasse. *grins* Perhaps tonight I can come stay with you and avoid running into any more risks?

[atbreakofdayarising]

Monsieur Bossuet! Oh, would you? Thank you so much, monsieur, I truly am grateful. I am entrusting my fate to you, thank you, monsieur.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

I'd hardly say your fate was in my hands, mademoiselle-- only your hand. *grins and takes her hand* I believe it was this way...

[atbreakofdayarising]

Oh, excuse me, is there any chance that someone could direct me to that shop? I…cannot for the life of me remember what its name is, but they sell the most delightful honey-sweetened, sun-dried apricots and the window is decorated with ribbons and jars of all shapes and sizes. Please, if someone could point me in the correct direction, I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

We meet again, mademoiselle Cosette! I believe I know the shop you mean, and I can lead you there if you'd like.

[r-i-o-t-o-u-s]

Aww, you’re making me blush.

But now you are here and we can look at each other all we want. Speaking of which, have you seen Hernani? It’s back in the theatre. It’s quite romantic; lovers killing themselves and all that. You ought to take someone to see it. All you have to do is sit there and not talk. It’d be awfully hard for even you to blunder.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

And it suits you very well! I have not seen Hernani, no. Perhaps I shall take Joly, or a woman-- or were you insinuating that we should go together? I've missed proper opera, I'd love to.

[r-i-o-t-o-u-s]

And I’m glad you’re back. It’s been dull without you.

Not enough… what is it… Bossuet-ism? A combination of good humour, self-deprecation, unluckiness, and beautiful facial structure. Incredible.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Yes, that must be it. Bossuetism, obviously.

Well, if that's the case, then might I add how I have missed the Bahorelism in my life? You know, the mix of cheeriness, brashness, and unbelievable muscle form that makes you so nice to look at and so fun to drink with.

[r-i-o-t-o-u-s]

Where exactly were you, to be engaging in such pinky contortions?

Should I be worried?

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

I was in Belgium, mon ami, staying with some Belgian rebels in their homes and pretending to live as if I were very rich.

No, you should not! I enjoyed myself. But I am glad to be back.

[iliveunderfallingtiles-blog]

Excited for tomorrow; I miss my friends terribly. It'll be a relief to have a drink again without having to raise my pinky finger! Not that I really did that while I was on holiday, but... it'll still be a relief. Could you imagine lifting a pinky? The height of bourgeois--... Mon dieu, I missed this place!