#zeebsdarling

[lalaleliana-blog]

zeebsdarling replied to your post:nother part of that #illness[[MOR] Enjolras...

im laughing so hard this cHILD

this is important, ey needs to explain, everyone has to UNDERSTAND

[lalaleliana-blog]

zeebsdarling replied to your post:hey a couple people have already read this but ive...

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I HAVENT WRITTEN THE SCENE YET WHERE THEY GET BACK TO THE APARTMENT BUT IM GONNA TRY AND DO IT TODAY BTW

[lalaleliana-blog]

nother part of that

Enjolras stumbles into the kitchen, tousle-haired but alert, the next morning while Combeferre is making coffee and demands, in a loud, clear voice, “Combeferre, where's my phone?”

The color has come back into eir face, but it's in the form of a feverish flush covering eir cheeks and nose; eir eyes are very wide and very bright, and eir gaze unyielding as ey catches his arm and pulls him over.

“I need to know where my phone is,” ey says very urgently, shaking Combeferre by the shoulder. “It's important, I have to make a phone call.”

“You need to go back to bed,” he says, gently extricating his arm from eir grasp.

Ey shakes eir head, trying to grab his arm again. “No, no,” ey protests. “I have to make a call! I have to tell him he's got it all wrong. It's a misunderstanding, Combeferre, I have to fix it, I can't let him be wrong about it, he needs to understand.”

Combeferre, having given up on keeping his one arm free, reaches up to rest the back of his other hand against eir forehead. “You're running a temperature,” he says very firmly. “Go back to bed.”

“No,” Enjolras says again, looking outraged. “This is important, I need to explain! It's about priorities, that's all, it doesn't mean everything else doesn't matter, he doesn't get it -”

“You're delirious,” he tells em.

“I'm nothing of the sort. I wasn't thinking very clearly last night, I wasn't feeling well, I didn't understand, but now I do. Everything makes sense now. I have to explain, I didn't know what was wrong before, my head hurt too much to think, but it was all a misunderstanding, you see, I have to set it right, I have to explain.”

Ey says this all in precisely the tone ey would use discussing politics in the Musain, intensely focused, fiercely passionate, eir voice steady and unwavering. The chief difference, it seems, is that ey has completely failed to make any actual point.

“Therefore,” ey adds haughtily, “you can surely see why it's of the utmost importance that I get my phone.”

He shakes his head in bewilderment at em, standing in the kitchen fevered and disheveled and completely convinced ey's made a flawless argument. “Actually,” he says, “I don't think I can.”

Enjolras is indignant; ey draws emself up sharply, lifting eir chin, eir eyes burning no less with righteous fury than if ey were leading a march on the street. “Listen,” ey says. “I care, don't you understand? Do you of all people not believe me? It's vital that I make sure everyone understands! I know where the logic falls through, I see it now, but I have to correct it, 'Ferre, I have to explain! It's got nothing to do with caring or not caring, don't you see? Don't you believe that too? You must know I do care! I only have priorities, that's all!”

Combeferre has no idea what any of this means, so he decides against trying to argue or agree with it. “Alright,” he says instead. “But so do I, and right now my very highest priority is to take care of you.”

“I'm not a child,” ey says, looking sullen. “I can take care of myself; I'm a perfectly capable adult.”

“Then get yourself back into bed,” he replies, electing to say nothing of the fact that he's had the dubious honor of looking after eir well being for the past two years. “I'm going to call Courfeyrac, and then I'll look for your phone, if you rest.”

“I need it now,” Enjolras insists, but doesn't fight as Combeferre puts a hand on eir shoulder and guides em back to eir room.

Once he's sure ey's at least lying down, he closes the door firmly and returns to the kitchen as he pulls out his phone so he can pour himself a cup of coffee while he listens to it ring on the other end.

“Morning, ma joie,” Courfeyrac says sleepily when he picks up the phone. “What's up?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Combeferre replies, only a little sorry. “It's Enjolras.”

“Ey's still sick?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Ah – yes. A little better, I think, but feverish. And delirious.”

Courfeyrac grumbles and groans, and there's the rustling of blankets as he moves around. “I'd better come over,” he says. “Ey's all you can handle alone on the best of days. Be there in ten.”

The phone goes silent, and Combeferre drops it on the counter, taking a moment to collect himself while he sips his coffee. He did promise he would find Enjolras's phone, but he's got a feeling it may not be terribly wise to let em actually make any phone calls. On the other hand, he's a little worried ey'll start a one-person riot in the apartment if ey doesn't get it.

The best course to take, he thinks, is probably to distract em as well as he can, and see if while he's at it he can figure out what the hell ey's so upset about to begin with.

-

When Courfeyrac arrives, it's to find Enjolras very distressed and raising eir voice at a slightly perturbed Combeferre.

“I need to,” ey's saying, “they don't understand, Combeferre, I have to make sure everyone sees - they need to understand, don't you get it, I have to explain. It's vital that I clarify for everyone, I can't let this misconception continue -”

“Okay,” Combeferre says, “I've gotten that part, but I think you should wait until you're feeling better, alright, you can explain then -”

“No, it's important,” ey shouts, grabbing his sleeve. “I need to do it now.”

“Um,” Courfeyrac says from the bedroom door, staring at them both. “Care to explain what's going on to me?”

“Courfeyrac!” Enjolras says, eir head snapping around. “You're just who I need to see – you'll understand. You would know, you're good with people, you understand them, tell me – Courfeyrac, I need to know, it's important, I need to know if the others understand. You know, don't you? That the group means the world to me?”

He looks at Combeferre, who stares back helplessly. “Well,” he says slowly, “you do devote probably more of your time and energy to it than to literally anything else, so, yeah.”

Apparently that's the wrong answer, because ey looks at him with the kind of wounded outrage that ey usually reserves for insults to eir work. “No,” ey says, “no, that's not the point at all, I don't mean that – you mean to say you feel the same? As if beyond all that you're irrelevant? That's not true, Courfeyrac, I was certain you must realize -”

Ey breaks off, anger giving way to desperation. Courfeyrac stares at em, utterly bewildered. “I don't think that's what I said at all,” he says.

“I don't mean the group as a whole,” Enjolras says, rising, pushing off Combeferre trying to restrain em. “Everyone knows I care about that! Everyone understands that's my highest priority, but that's not everything, that's what the others don't recognize! It's not only the group as a whole but its constituents! Listen, you have to listen to me, I need to explain it. Perhaps I can explain to you, to both of you, and then you'll see why it must be clarified at once! I care about each one of you!”

“Is that what you're worried about?” Combeferre asks. To Courfeyrac he adds, “Ey's been at this since ey woke up.”

“Haven't I been perfectly clear about that?” ey demands, turning to face him.

Combeferre blinks, opens his mouth to answer, and changes his mind.

“That's exactly it,” ey continues when no one speaks. “I hadn't realized before! But I see now where the error is, I understand where everyone's gone wrong, I only need to explain it so they can be corrected! And before all else I need to make a phone call, I need to offer an apology, I was ill last night, my head was clouded, but now I've gotten better and I'm thinking perfectly clearly.”

“Yes, that certainly seems to be the case,” Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras stumbles forward and grabs at the front of his shirt with both hands, eir head tipped back to look up at him. “Listen,” ey says, “I need to know, it's very important. I need to know if the others believe that I care about them.”

He catches eir wrists to gently remove em. “It would be a terrible misunderstanding of your character to think otherwise,” he says.

“I know that! That's the problem!”

“Enjolras, for God's sake,” Combeferre says, “get back in bed.”

Ey scowls without looking at him. “No,” ey says, “I need my phone so I can call and explain.”

“How about this,” Courfeyrac suggests, nudging em back towards eir bed. “You lie down and rest, and we'll make sure everyone understands.”

“But,” ey protests.

“You can explain in person later,” Courfeyrac says, “when you're not sick. Promise.”

[lalaleliana-blog]

hey a couple people have already read this but ive been working on this thing and beckett reminded me i haven't posted any yet

Enjolras trails off; the room shifts uneasily before eir eyes, the floor wavering under eir feet. It's sufficient to cause a resurgence of nausea, to make eir throat tighten and eir stomach churn.

Shit, ey thinks, but says only, “Mm,” as ey closes eir eyes against the back room's yellow lights.

Someone – Combeferre? - is calling eir name, but if he says anything else it's lost among other noise, of which ey can only understand fragments. Eir head is pounding; under em the floor seems to lurch sideways and a foul taste rises up in the back of eir mouth. Ey takes a breath, hoping to steady emself, but there's just the overwhelming scent of liquor, and smoke, and coffee, and -

“Five minutes,” ey mutters to Combeferre. “Just need some fresh air -” and with that ey ducks eir head and stumbles to the door to step into the alleyway.

It's gotten cold since that afternoon, since the sun's gone down, and the first sharp breath is like knives in eir lungs. Eir eyes water and ey blinks back tears from the chill, tilting back eir head and trying to steady eir breathing.

For a brief moment ey allows emself to think that it really was the thick air in the back room, the combined smell of alcohol and cigarettes, that a few deep breaths of fresh air were all ey needed.

And then eir gut clenches and ey doubles over to throw up in the gutter of the back alley behind the Musain. 

Someone's hands brush the sides of eir face and catch up eir loose curls to pull eir hair away; someone is standing at eir back, gently massaging eir neck, murmuring half-intelligible words of comfort. Ey swallows and starts to straighten, only to retch again a second later. 

“Easy,” says a voice behind em as ey tries to catch eir breath. “Don't strain yourself, alright, steady now.”

“Thanks,” ey mutters, when ey's mostly certain ey won't be sick again.

“Only returning a favor,” says the voice, almost laughing. It's Grantaire's. 

Enjolras slowly stands upright again, lifts eir head to glance at him. “God knows that's true,” ey says with a weak smile. The cold air sears the back of eir throat with every breath, but it's better than going back inside, ey's certain.

“You going to be alright if I go in to get someone?” Grantaire asks, still rubbing eir shoulders with the heel of his broad hand. “Or should I stay with you?”

“Um -” ey manages, blinking. “No, you don't need to get anyone, I'll be alright, I said I only need a few minutes.”

“Not the question I was asking,” he replies. “And I thought there'd been a rule of some sort established that if someone pukes they get taken home.”

Ey rolls eir eyes, which is a mistake, as it reminds em very sharply of eir headache and makes em feel unsteady again. “I think that rule's for drinking, Grantaire,” ey mutters, rubbing eir forehead with one hand.

“I'm expanding it,” Grantaire says. “You can go with me or I can get Combeferre.”

“We're having a meeting,” ey protests halfheartedly, and receives a superbly unimpressed look in reply. Eir resolve a little strengthened, ey adds, “Besides, I'm alright now; I'll finish the meeting up and then go home.” This isn't a lie, exactly, since ey's at least feeling better after having emptied eir stomach in the street.

He shakes his head, his jaw set. “Not a chance in hell,” he says. “I'm calling him out.”

“No,” Enjolras says, “don't do that, you don't need to -”

Ey is completely ignored. “Combefeeeeeeeerre!” Grantaire shouts, turning over his shoulder towards the door.

“Asshole,” ey mutters, leaning eir head back against his forearm and closing eir eyes. Behind em the door opens; there's a swirl of warm air, the sound of voices; hints of smells reach em, but are no longer sickening; briefly a haze of light filters through eir eyelids before the door closes again.

“What's wrong?” Combeferre asks softly. “Is ey alright?”

“I'm fine,” ey says without much conviction.

“Is ey always like this when ey's sick?” Grantaire asks. 

“Ah,” says Combeferre. “Unfortunately, yes.” 

Annoyed, Enjolras lifts eir head and turns to scowl at him. “I'm doing much better, for your information, actually,” ey says.

“Ey's out here feeding eir dinner to the sewers,” Grantaire says loudly over the end of eir sentence. “Perhaps I should show some admiration, since it shows deep dedication trying to go back and finish eir meeting afterwards, but fearless as our leader is I thought it might be best if ey went home. Figured you might agree with me.”

“You're a nuisance,” ey tells him wearily.

“It's my profession.”

“He's also right,” Combeferre says. The traitor. “Go home, Enjolras.”

Ey looks from one accuser to the other, measures the obstinate set of Grantaire's shoulders, the furrow in Combeferre's brow. Ey is not going to win this fight. “Very well,” ey says with all the dignity ey can muster. “On the condition that you stay, Combeferre, and wrap up the meeting. You have my notes already; I trust you to cover what I haven't as best as you can.”

This earns em a soft smile from Combeferre, who nods. “I'll do that,” he agrees. “And you'll go back to the apartment nicely?”

“I'm sure Grantaire will confirm it for you,” ey replies. 

Grantaire squeezes eir shoulder, a very smug smile on his face. “I'll tuck em into bed and everything,” he says. “Send you pictures, if you like.”

“I'll see well enough when I get home, I think,” Combeferre replies, and to Enjolras adds, “I'll see you soon.”

With that he disappears back inside, and Enjolras allows Grantaire to steer em out of the alleyway and towards the apartment.

[lalaleliana-blog]

zeebsdarling replied to your post: @beckett that sounds TERRIBLE and also...

it sucks but it helps, i promise. or if its easier on you, hot tea with lemon and honey is yummy and helps with drainage and a sore throat

ugh yeah i have been meaning to make tea. i will go do that.

[lalaleliana-blog]

@beckett that sounds TERRIBLE and also my throat is already burning from sinus drainage, augh

[lalaleliana-blog]

zeebsdarling replied to your post: Read More →

if ur talking about les mis i love talking about it too! so if u want to talk les mis u should text me :) and i wont think youre being annoying or pushy or anything like that

wwwwwwwww thank you beckett

[lhazaar]

zeebsdarling replied to your post: gunshots fired, unclear if they’re fro...

where?

not sure. i have two different streams open. people are marching + chanting on the south side but the shots fired came from a different one very near the police line