"L'airspace center" se situe tout près de l'aéroport de Charleroi en Belgique avec une espace de vol cylindrique d’un diamètre de 4,5 m sur 15 m de haut, des salles de briefing et d’instruction. L’ouverture au public est prévue le 31 mai, mais le 1er vol test est prévu le 10 avril 2014...
Summary: The front desk in the entrance was manned by a very beautiful girl with hair pulled back in a perfect bun and a pink leotard. She was tall and thin and looked every bit the ballerina. Even as Eponine’s throat grew dry, she recognized that she and her brother didn’t belong in an atmosphere like this. Here everything was beautiful and graceful and soft. The Thenardiers were all hard edges and a questionable moral code. This sort of organized dance wasn’t designed for kids who spent more time on the streets than at home or for someone like her brother who had a habit of eavesdropping and pickpocketing even now, when she was providing him with a mostly stable life. This was a disaster in waiting. But then the ballerina looked up and smiled so welcomingly, Eponine felt her breath leave her body. Maybe they could stay.
Previous First
“Dance lessons?” Eponine didn’t mean to sound skeptical, but her little brother had never expressed an interest in extracurriculars before. In fact he had always gone out of his way to mock them. And yet here they were, outside a dance studio, contemplating that very idea.
“It’s cool!” Gavroche protested, immediately on the defensive. His voice had yet to start changing, so it rose several impressive octaves in his agitation. “One of the teachers is a guy and he can lift his leg over his head. I know! I saw him do it!”
“I’m not arguing, I’m just surprised,” said Eponine, doing her best to be calm. She was curious where this urge had arisen from and didn’t want to crush Gavroche one of the few times he actually asked for something. Normally he was a pretty self-sufficient loner, an unfortunate side effect of growing up with their parents. However, now that Eponine had left high school to pursue a career of providing her siblings with a better home, he was slowly starting to open up and act like a kid again. And apparently this included dance lessons.
“Well get over it, because I want to try them. They’re cool and they’ll make me stronger,” snapped Gavroche, crossing his arms defiantly. She wondered briefly how many days Gavroche had spent spying on the small, independent studio before working up the courage to ask her. After all, her brother had a certain reputation on the street, and dancing didn’t exactly match up with it.
“Okay,” responded Eponine, feeling like she better get a reward for being the best fucking sister ever after all this, “let’s go in and see how this works.”
The front desk in the entrance was manned by a very beautiful girl with hair pulled back in a perfect bun and a pink leotard. She was tall and thin and looked every bit the ballerina. Even as Eponine’s throat grew dry, she recognized that she and her brother didn’t belong in an atmosphere like this. Here everything was beautiful and graceful and soft. The Thenardiers were all hard edges and a questionable moral code. This sort of organized dance wasn’t designed for kids who spent more time on the streets than at home or for someone like her brother who had a habit of eavesdropping and pickpocketing even now, when she was providing him with a mostly stable life. This was a disaster in waiting. But then the ballerina looked up and smiled so welcomingly, Eponine felt her breath leave her body. Maybe they could stay.
“Hi! Welcome to Valjean Studios. How can I help you? Looking to sign up for classes, either of you, or do you just need some new dance shoes?” Her voice was smooth and light and sweet, and Eponine struggled to find her footing.
“My brother’s interested in lessons,” she muttered, aware of how much uglier her harsh tone sounded next to this girl’s. She didn’t even want to think how she must look, covered in grime and sweat from working all day and still wearing her fast food uniform. She probably reeked of hamburgers and fries. And yet she still had her pride, and if this was something Gavroche wanted, well he was fucking well going to get it.
“That’s great. So, actually, my name is Cosette. I’m an instructor here. I can get you all setup.” She turned to Gavroche. “What’s your name?”
“Gavroche, and that’s my sister Eponine. Where’s Grantaire? He said I should talk to him.” If anything, Cosette’s smile grew at the name. Eponine was only glad she didn’t take offense to Gav’s rather rude tone.
“Gavroche, be polite,” Eponine hissed. See, she could raise her brother into a decent human being. She was a good guardian. Well, relatively speaking. Cosette waved a graceful hand.
“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. So you’ve met Grantaire? I bet that’s why you’re interested. Isn’t he wonderful? It just so happens that you’re in luck. He’s choreographing in one of the studios right now. Classes are done for the day, but we can figure out where you want to join. Do you want me to go get him?” Gavroche nodded his head. “Okay, you can to wait here or you can come with me.”
“I’ll come with you,” muttered Gavroche skeptically, as if he didn’t quite trust her. Chances were that he didn’t. Eponine hovered uncertainly as Gavroche followed Cosette until the ballerina looked over her shoulder and laughed.
“Aren’t you coming, Eponine?” Well, who could resist a question like that from so beautiful a lady? Eponine couldn’t. So she trailed after them down a skinny hallway lined with cubbies for students’ dance bags. It was empty right now. A few open doors led into spacious, empty rooms lined with mirrors. At the end one was a light framing a moving figure. This must be Grantaire, Gavroche’s new friend.
He danced around the center of the room, pencil in his mouth and notebook in his hands. He would do a few steps, stop, do them again, scribble into the notebook, and then repeat the process, humming all the while. Cosette knocked on the door, and he turned in a graceful spin.
“You’ve got a friend here to see you.” Taking the pencil out of his mouth, Grantaire grinned when he caught sight of Gavroche. Eponine waited with a frown. She was unimpressed. She wanted to see how they interacted first. She wouldn’t trust just anyone with her baby brother, not when most adults in their life had let him down.
“Hey, Gavroche! Good to see you. Hey - hey, did you decide you wanted lessons? Cosette, did I tell you about Gavroche? He’s a natural. Some of the best first time chaînés I’ve ever seen.”
“I want to learn to dance. You said I could.” Eponine watched with amazement how Gavroche simply perked up when Grantaire said his name and complimented him. It was very, very rare that Gavroche took a shine to anyone. If this guy hurt him in any way, she would rip out his teeth one by one.
“Yeah absolutely. And who’s this you’re with? Your sister?”
“Eponine Thenardier,” she said gruffly, extending a hand.
“Pleasure,” he nodded in return. His hand was calloused but gentle in her firm grip. He also smiled unflinchingly at her most intimidating glare. Gavroche quickly pushed between them, knowing that Eponine would probably make a threat or something.
“Yeah, but can I have dance lessons? You said I could, even if no one could pay. Ponine can’t afford them, I’m pretty sure. How’s that going to work?” Grantaire smiled at Gavroche without any of the usual patronizing that adults usually directed towards Eponine’s brother.
“There are plenty of scholarships available. You’ve met Cosette, yeah? Well, her dad runs this place and his philosophy is that if you want to dance, we make it happen. So I don’t want you or your sister to worry about that if lessons are outside of your budget. But first we need to see what class you’d fit best in. Do you have about a half hour? I can teach you a few moves and see how you do.” Eponine was about to suggest they come back later when it wasn’t so late as she was exhausted and had been working all day, but Gavroche interrupted eagerly.
“Yeah! Eponine, go and talk to um, Cosette or something. I don’t want you watching, okay?” Eponine let herself be pushed out of the room, hiding a smile. It was good to see Gavroche so excited about something. It didn’t happen often enough. She could put aside sleep for another hour or two if it made him so happy.
As she left she briefly heard Grantaire say, “Okay, want to start with some, hm, footwork? How about a ball change, pas de bourrée. Just watch my feet, okay?” Then she was out in the hallway with Cosette. Alone. Eponine swallowed nervously. She just needed to ignore that Cosette was one of the most beautiful people Eponine had ever seen.
Cosette turned to her with a friendly expression. Eponine tried to copy it and ended up glaring. The dancer faltered somewhat at the frightening expression. Shit.
Summary: “Are you two, uh, dating?” There was a sudden snap and Grantaire looked over in alarm at Enjolras who was holding two pieces of a broken pencil and staring at them in confusion. He hastily apologized and then Grantaire returned to the question at hand.
Next Previous First
So today he was uncharacteristically antisocial with his friends and stayed hunched over his notebook, muttering counts and steps under his breath. He barely flinched when Bahorel walked by and didn’t even react at all when Feuilly greeted him. And he didn’t notice when Marius and Courfeyrac entered with a new recruit - the news of Marius’ new friend had traveled fast through the club. He was completely immersed in his work.
“Grantaire,” hissed Bahorel suddenly. This was accompanied by a sharp poke. He jerked up from his notebook to see Marius smiling tentatively at him. Beside him was -
“Cosette!” Grantaire cried, setting aside the notebook for the first time that evening. He jumped up to embrace his friend. Despite the fact that they had seen each other just a few hours ago for dance class, he had missed her. Smiling, he pulled her close. She had showered after work and smelled of honeysuckle.
Drawing back, Grantaire grinned and looked her over. He rarely ever saw her outside the studio. She was resplendent in a baby blue sundress with yellow flowers and pink tights. The tights, Grantaire knew, were her ballet tights. She still looked every bit like the ballerina that she was, standing with perfect posture and holding her arms lightly by her side. Smiling fondly as him, she held his hands.
“I should’ve absolutely known this was the club you’ve mentioned,” she laughed lightly. Marius looked between the two, confused.
“You know each other?”
“Work friends,” answered Grantaire. While he wasn’t embarrassed by his favorite hobby, he wanted to keep it private. Dance was his. He didn’t wish to share it with anyone else. As he spoke, his hands easily found their normal place on Cosette’s small waist, and she twirled gracefully to stand next to him. They were very tactile friends and dance partners. Personal bubbles were nonexistent in dance, after all. As she glided in his hands, Marius’ eyes widened even further.
“Are you two, uh, dating?” There was a sudden snap and Grantaire looked over in alarm at Enjolras who was holding two pieces of a broken pencil and staring at them in confusion. He hastily apologized and then Grantaire returned to the question at hand.
“No,” he answered cautiously. It was a common question, as they had a real familiarity. Cosette rested an elbow on Grantaire’s shoulder and winked playfully.
“However, R, you neglected to mention that you were in a club. I thought you didn’t believe in school participation.” Grantaire rolled his eyes at her teasing.
“I don’t. I just made an exception this once.” Her eyes flickered to Enjolras who was still clutching the poor pencil with tense hands and watching them. Grantaire didn’t know why the marble statue looked so upset and bothered. He must be thinking of something else. Or maybe he was annoyed that Marius’ introductions were taking time away from other things. Nonetheless, he didn’t miss the wink Cosette sent him.
“Uh huh, I’m sure.” Bahorel caught her meaning and let out a loud laugh. She pulled Cosette into a rough hug.
“I like you. Please say you’re coming back.” Cosette laughed merrily.
“I could be persuaded.” Grantaire rolled his eyes, glad that two of his best friends were getting along. He glanced at his watch. Speaking of work...
“I’ve got to get going. I have a shift. See you guys later.” Throwing his notebook into his bag, he ducked out of the cafe. His intermediate class’ competition was this weekend, and they were fitting in one last rehearsal tonight.
He arrived at the studio twenty minutes before his kids and spent the time stretching and warming up. When they came, he greeted them with a wide smile and they started rehearsing. Soon everyone was well occupied with a series of pliés and Grantaire was immersed in the world he loved best.
Summary: Everyone finds joy in different things. Bahorel loves starting fights. Cosette likes to find people to add to her best friend hit list which she promises is not as terrifying as it sounds. Enjolras would be satisfied with smashing the patriarchy, removing oppression, and restructuring the government. Grantaire? Well, above all things, Grantaire finds joy in dance.
Part 3 Part 2 Part 1
Bahorel was not a sentimental person. She was much too rough and antagonistic. And yet at the sight of her friends gathered together in the Cafe Musain, she couldn’t stop the warm glow of fondness in his chest. Bellowing out a loud hello which nearly unseated poor Bossuet, she clapped a friendly if strong hand on Courfeyrac’s back as he passed. Then she slipped into her usual seat besides Grantaire, who was downing coffee with an almost desperate air.
“Late night?” she commented mischievously. Grantaire spared a second to flip the bird at her before returning mournfully to his coffee. Chuckling, Bahorel leaned back on her chair, enjoying the creak and moan of the old wood as it struggled to sustain both her weight and precarious angle.
“If your chair breaks again,” cautioned Grantaire, his voice directed to his mug, “I am not patching you up.”
“Oh fuck you,” she responded easily. She enjoyed the banter she engaged in with Grantaire. He was usually as blunt and sarcastic as she was, plus he was good in the ring. Bahorel boxed for the college and her favorite partner was Grantaire. Although he didn’t professionally partake in the sport anymore, he had once trained in it and was still very talented. He was quick whereas Bahorel was a heavy hitter, and she preferred fighting him, as he didn’t get mad when she almost always won, unlike her other partners.
“Sorry man, you’re not my type,” Grantaire said as the first smile of the day graced his face. Without pausing, he slid the cup over to her, and she drained it happily.
“How many of these have you had?”
“Six,” said Grantaire woefully. He looked like he was about to fall over any second now. Bahorel cackled at his exhausted state. Wasting no time, Grantaire yanked on the back of her chair, causing her to topple over with a loud crash. The Musain fell silent from the unexpected noise. Bahorel clambered up, grinning. Grantaire, recognizing the expression on her face, made to get away. But she gave him no time to escape and leapt forward, pulling him onto the ground for an impromptu wrestling session.
She made an effort to steer clear of his legs, knowing that those things were like fucking iron rods they were so strong. On the flip side, Grantaire tried to use them to push her off and soon the two were rolling around on the floor, yelling obscenities with matching grins on their faces. Suddenly Bahorel felt her back collide with something hard and living, and Grantaire’s eyes widened.
“You two finished?” drawled the slightly exasperated tones of their leader and the reason they were all gathered at the Musain in the first place. Bahorel quickly scampered to her feet, pulling Grantaire up with her. He was still in shock, waiting to be yelled at for disturbing the peace or some other utter nonsense. He was more sensitive to Enjolras’ comments and remarks than Bahorel thought any person had a right to be. Besides, he always assumed the worst, while Enjolras wasn’t even currently mad. Just a little frustrated, judging by the way he was pinching his nose even as he smiled slightly at them.
“Sorry about that, boss,” said Bahorel unapologetically, flicking a salute toward Enjolras, who just sighed and waved them back to their seats. Now that Grantaire had enough caffeine in his system to power a small engine, he switched to wine. Bahorel happily joined him in drinking. The two traded sips from the same bottle as Enjolras called the meeting to order.
Bahorel was never really sure how she had managed to stumble on this particular group, but she was glad she had. Her mother had recommended she join at least one group outside of boxing, in case she ever got sick of the people she trained with, and somehow Bahorel had ended up here.
The people championing their group during the activity fair had seemed fiery and inspired and held the promise of potential riots and protests, of action, not just hollow words. Bahorel cared about their causes, certainly, but she also liked fighting. A combination of the two was even better.
She had met Grantaire shortly after at a bar where he had involved himself in a fight with a few burly looking fellows and, while she immediately noticed that he threw punches with ease, he was drunk and outmatched. So she had jumped in to even the score and after they had beat up the other guys together, he had promptly offered her a drink and not said a single misogynist thing about her being a girl and a better fighter than most human beings. She had appreciated the easy way he accepted that she was skilled and didn’t feel the need to prove his masculinity. She liked him even better after sharing a few drinks and him agreeing to partner with her in the ring occasionally, as he wanted to stay in shape despite quitting boxing. A few weeks of sparring with him, and she was dragging him to the Musain for meetings with Les Amis de L’ABC. Poor Grantaire had taken one look at Enjolras and never left.
Now two years later, Bahorel counted herself unbelievably lucky to have joined the group and made the friends she did. The feeling only intensified when she felt two familiar hands entangle themselves in her colorful mohawk. She leaned her head up and grinned.
“Feuilly!” Feuilly grinned down at her, zir freckled face open in delight. Bahorel patted the last chair at their small table. Grantaire nodded a greeting to zir as Feuilly sat down. Ze was a severely freckled redhead with a cheerful disposition that refused to be dampered by even the most frustrating of life experiences.
“What’s got Enjolras in such a good mood today? He barely blinked when you two interrupted the meeting,” ze whispered, taking the beer Grantaire offered zir. Bahorel leaned forward towards Feuilly conspiritioiusly.
“Rumor has it that he got a date,” she said with a wink. Grantaire snapped his head from where he was watching Enjolras speak to Bahorel so fast she was almost afraid he sprained something.
“What?” Grantaire gasped like a drowning man. She decided to take pity on her lovesick friend even as Feuilly stifled a snigger.
“Nah, I’m just fucking with you.” Grantaire’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a goldfish, causing her and Feuilly to completely lose it and dissolve into laughter. Still slightly pissed, Grantaire made to knock her off her chair again. Bahorel deflected, but he didn’t give up.
“You fucker,” he growled.
“Takes one to know one,” she sang as she continued blocking his piss poor attempts to unbalance her.
“Grantaire! Bahorel! Please! Either add something useful or don’t distract the rest of us!” And there was Enjolras’ snap and frustrated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at them. They sprang apart like guilty children as Feuilly practically cried from laughter, sprawled out on the table. Bahorel wordlessly agreed, hiding her own snorts of laughter in her cup, but Grantaire, still relieved that he hadn’t completely lost all chances with golden-haired activist, decided to speak up. After all, he had been paying attention.
“My question is,” started Grantaire a challenging glint in his eyes, and here Feuilly quickly straightened because it was best to pay attention when Grantaire started going after Enjolras’ ideas, “my question is why bother?” Feuilly shot Bahorel a questioning look, and she shrugged in response. Unlike Grantaire, she had not been paying attention.
“Why bother?” repeated Enjolras, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Grantaire nodded, draining the last of his drink and setting the glass down with a final thump. He smiled lazily at Enjolras.
“Yeah, why bother? So we get gun control. So what? People are still going to be shot every year. You won’t have to give up your guns if you already have them. Because the people that pass background checks, the white supremacists and crazy conservatives are the ones we need to watch out for. They’re the ones killing based on racism, sexism, and anything else that makes them angry. They’re the ones giving guns to toddlers, for fuck’s sake! So how is it going to help? Besides, there is no way the government can take on the NRA. Those guys have too much power. So what’s the point?”
Bahorel watched Enjolras’ face steadily turn stormier and wished Grantaire did not always walk so willingly into these argument. She wished that he did not always volunteer to enter the line of fire. And she wished that he didn’t so often invite the negative attention of the object of his affections. To Enjolras, these discussions were irritations, yes, but they also presented ample opportunity to refine and revise his positions. Whereas Grantaire, well, he gained the attention of Enjolras, but was usually roasted in the process. Anyways, he took it a lot more personally than Enjolras did, even if he never showed it. It was painful to watch.
“So in your opinion, we should just give up because the world won’t be one hundred percent different tomorrow? No one is saying gun control is a cure all, but it’s a step and an important one. And it will make a difference. With guns less accessible, less people will have them. And hopefully gun control will include age limits. No more toddlers with guns. It might take a few years to see a tangible difference. But there will be one, and this is the first step. Just because you believe this untested practice to be ineffective is no cause for it to not be made into law. How do we know if we don’t try? We don’t. So I promise - I will not give up, I will not back down. We will win this victory and it will pave the way to many more. Who’s with me?” Bahorel cheered with the rest. She knew this would mean a protest, and there was nothing she loved more than a good protest, especially since they always seemed to get out of hand with Enjolras around. He was just too inspiring for the crowds to remain docile.
Grantaire was the only one silent as he weaved gracefully through the tables to grab another drink from the Cafe’s owner, Musichetta. She grimaced sympathetically at him, which he answered with a quick “thanks for the drink,” before ambling back to the table where Bahorel and Feuilly sat.
“Better luck next time,” said Bahorel bracingly. Feuilly nodded.
“You definitely had him with some points. But you couldn’t expect to argue against gun control and win. Even you know it’s ultimately a good thing,” ze said. Grantaire shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a smooth roll. Grantaire’s physicality fascinated Bahorel. His movements always appeared so fluid and effortless. He managed to make boxing looking more like a dance, instead of the rough sport it was.
Bahorel, on the other hand, lumbered around like the muscular giant she was. She was not clumsy, per say, but she had a lot of strength tightly coiled inside and a fondness for picking fights. They made an odd set, especially with the addition of Feuilly. Feuilly, who had had a rather rough life zirself and who didn’t like to talk about traveling through the foster system while discovering ze was genderqueer, was pale and red haired where Bahorel was dark and spent most of zir time folding and decorating delicate fans when ze wasn’t working zir three jobs.
Bahorel loved all her friends, but Grantaire and Feuilly she especially held fiercely in her heart, knowing she would do anything for them. Grantaire, because he was her best friend and Feuilly, because ze was just as close, although Bahorel rather liked zir more than friend, which Grantaire took great pleasure in knowing and setting them up to be alone together.
“Anyway, this has been fun, but I have to go shut myself up for about three hours if I want to have anything to turn into my professor tomorrow. See you guys later?” And then Grantaire ambled off. Feuilly shook zir head woefully at Bahorel.
“Man, I wish he would just get over Enjolras or something. If he keeps digging himself a hole like this, Enjolras will never look at him twice.” Bahorel couldn’t help but agree.
“I’m not getting involved though,” she said. “I’m no matchmaker.”
“No,” nodded Feuilly, “That you aren’t. But can you imagine if we tried to set them up?” Bahorel took a second to picture exactly that and broke out in laughter.
“Let’s not do that.” And with that decided, they turned their attention back to Enjolras.
