He's getting sick of this

[antinouswild]

Dear Mun,

I am getting tired of people calling me 'boy' or making reference to the fact that they seem to think that I am 'pretty.'

Both are irritating me.

Please do something about that.

I don't care if you think that they are in your control or not.

Comments

[fitofgrandair]

Oh, Enjolras, why such vexation? It could be far worse. Why, you might be deemed 'a darling cherub' or 'a glimmering and soft-eyed Adonis.' 'A lovely child with locks of gold and and the softest of all tender skin?' 'An infant god singing sweet songs of revolution from the cradle of dear Mother France.'

Shall I go on?

[antinouswild]

Do and I'll punch you again.

[fitofgrandair]

By god, we wouldn't want that! You might break your pretty little hand.

[antinouswild]

Are you drunk again, or are you just laughing at me?

[fitofgrandair]

Moderately inebriated, I would say.

And Enjolras, I jest! Don't worry your dear little head.

[antinouswild]

Drunk enough to think making sport of me is a good idea?

[fitofgrandair]

Come, now. You must know that such fatuous remarks are expressions of my admiration.

If you would like, I can speak as well of myself, the addle-minded lout of no consequence, clown with bottomless aspirations toward speech, spouter of worn-out phrases and perpetual outcast. And drunkard, we must not forget that!

[antinouswild]

I don't have an opportunity to, do I?

[But, he relents. His tone softens, and he looks faintly amused at Grantaire's self-depreciation.]

[fitofgrandair]

There you have me. You must admit that I am nothing if not consistent in myself. In this mad world, wherein it can be such a trial to know anyone at all, we may place great value on consistency.

[antinouswild]

Actually? I for once I cannot argue. This is true.

[fitofgrandair]

Perhaps if you were to listen more regularly, you would find that more often than not, truth is what I set forth. I may speak with bombast, I may speak as if scurrying after whims, but I am not a man to skirt truth.

Which is, I am compelled to add, a tenuous term at best. Certainly, it is not so solid as might be desired.

[antinouswild]

There is truth, solid and real, that all men face. It's whether or not we look at it or dance around it with overblown words that disguise it.

[fitofgrandair]

Do I cover truth? Do I entomb that which is in walls of words? Then perhaps you might teach me to see in star revelatory light, that I may cease my dissembling ways.

[antinouswild]

See? Just like that. You prove my point exactly, my friend.

[fitofgrandair]

And you have yet to fulfill my request. What is truth, Enjolras? What am I to take as true? Tell, oh tell! My ears and mind are open.

[antinouswild]

Truth is something that we cannot see but we know is real, and must be real in order for us to carry on.

[fitofgrandair]

The trick is to be able to accept it as real, and to accept that "real" holds definition. Perhaps we must accept these ideas in their undefinition, perhaps we are meant to believe in some "real" without understanding it, but I cannot adhere to this notion. How am I to take a thought as real if I cannot comprehend it? How might it be real if it remains ungraspable?

But then, I speak as a prime example of those unable to carry on.

[antinouswild]

You do carry on. When you stay by my side, you carry on.

awwwwwww damnit aw.

[fitofgrandair]

Now that this is possible, I suppose you have a point.

Thank you, Enjolras.

Re: awwwwwww damnit aw.

[antinouswild]

I owe you at least that much.

[fitofgrandair]

You owe me nothing. But I welcome your kindness.

[antinouswild]

Have no fear. I was wrong to withhold it.