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's look only became more troubled as Jehan continued, his eyes genuine in their concern for his hat. With a scratch of his chin, he dropped into an available chair by the side of Jehan and leaned himself on the table in interest and intoxication.

"So the fiend travels! I knew you were the man to come to, yes, you of all people have that ethereal look in your eyes, and speech better suited for the creatures of myths. It must be that when you look to the clouds, you are traversing another plane. You see, I know as much of you as you of me. No doubt those beasts have seen me near you, and decided to play tricks on us both." He muttered something only to himself, and then fixed his eyes profoundly on Jehan. "Then, did you trick this thief into relinquishing our goods? Do not leave my head cold, give me an end to this adventure of yours!"

[vivelavenir]

"Tricks?" Jehan grew closer as well, hunching; halfway because it was natural, to hunch, it came comfortably to his attempts at ruined posture and hiding his height in the relative safety of a balled-up form, and half because the conversation seemed quite made up of conspirators. To speak of mythic beasts with one's companion hunched so far forward, it had in it the hint of something clandestine... even if it was just that Grantaire was drunk, and being a bit flush with wine himself, he'd become giddy.

To think that it was a secret added a flare of drama, and from the flame of drama one could draw the warmth of excitement! They were telling tales here, and nothing was so good as a well-made story between men.

"I do not think that she would play a trick on me, for you see, she had bright, clear eyes, as wide as the night is long, and as tender as the day is bright. I trust this brand of eyes to belong to only a sort of oracle; and thus, I took her upon her word that your hat has some great future, some dear destiny to accomplish. It leaves your head cold, yes; but in favour of a hotter tomorrow, a summer of mankind. You must suffer the winter to find the summer. And so, in conclusion: the wee one said that she must have your hat, and taking it as a matter of urgency to mankind's fortunes, I let her go with it. We parted ways in well, and she swept my glove off along with your hat. I assume they are wonderful allies now."

Was he making absolute sense? Possibly not. In his own mind he had certainly made enough sense that he himself was entertained; and so, he was pleased with his own rebuttal, and end to the tale.

[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.