OPEN♔POST

[tinkertank]

❧Dance ❧With ❧Me?




➷ Pick A Muse
➷ Post a prompt, picture prompt, or set the scene.
➷ Label who you're tagging.
➷ NO REGRETS, JUST LOVE. We can dance until we die, bb.
➷ ...Something like that!

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[unaccepted]

Grantaire almost gave their secret to the spies around them when he hit the table with his fist, coming from surprise and grief at the loss of his hat. It was not loud enough to catch the eye of anyone in particular, and only shook the table which was rather unsteady in the first place. Alcohol drowned his strength, he would say, just as he claimed sobriety left none in him at all.

"I should have guessed it," he spat, as there suddenly seemed nothing more logical than what Jehan had described to him. "You revolutionaries care not for the cold heads of men! You would toss your hats away, your coats, too, for whatever a conniving fairy might claim. She is laughing at your name this moment, I assure you. She has made a camp in my hat, and has invited her sisters. Oh, the next time I go out, I shall be accosted. What will they take from me next? When we meet again, Prouvaire, I will be without a boot."

He ran a hand through his hair in distress; what he had been threatening Jehan of now seemed too real a possibility. He stood, then, pushing his chair back. He reached out a hand to Jehan. "Then, we must be off," he decided, after a debate within his own mind.

[vivelavenir]

The blast to the table nonetheless drew out a breath of surprise from Jehan, who stiffened into an almost-respectable posture in his mild alarm. It was rare that he sat with his shoulders straight at all, and his body naturally recoiled from the strain of it, and slowly wound back in on itself in the moment following.

He might have said a lot of things, to such a rebuttal. 'Better the laughter of a fae, than the ire.' 'Better a pile of coats with which to make a fire, than one coat against an endless cold.' 'Better to lose a boot for a sister, then...' ...well, no, perhaps not that. That did sound troublesome, he agreed within his own mind, with a bit of a face.

But his hazy, alcohol-snug mind was whisked away from all of that by the hand suddenly offered to him, which he took hastily, on reflex. There was a pause of a moment before he realized he also might stand, and did so, blinking at Grantaire in a slow, bemused manner.

"...You are eager to lose your boot?" Queried, with a darting look at the door. "Or where are we off to?"

Many left the cafe with company, and often. He was not usually among them.