tushanshu | Video I

['The Emperor' was very odd title for a woman, indeed it was.

When Joly had awoken, a few thoughts had stabbed into his mind all at once. That was merely one of them. The first, vaguely and upon seeing a white mist, was that steam was a sterilizing agent. This memory floated past his dazed mind like the tune of a song stuck in one's head; a little incoherent, but familiar. The second was that he happened to be in a tub, which was a sensible enough place to be, if one hadn't just been upon a barricade.

Were he not so weak of limb (myasthenia? dystrophy?) and fatigued, he might have thought upon that harder. Were it not such a difficult thing to think upon in general; smoke, yelling, and that very distinct smell of-- ...well; he might have made a better effort to fish among the depth of those memories, nervous and worried and ailing as they were.

As it was, by the time the whole of the process were said and done, and he was standing, bemused, among a city he did not know, with a device so odd upon his palm that he quite nearly found it charming, he was ready to recount to any who might be hearing it:]

It's very curious, to lead a Republican life, then to close one's eyes for a nap, and awake in the bathtub of an Empress.

[Keeliai, have a young man in a bloodied shirt with a wince on the lines his face but a smile on his mouth. Despite the alarm he could feel roiling in the pit of his stomach, the anxiety clear in his stare, and his confusion as to the glare of the lights and the thrum of his healing body, he took in the new location with a tamed confusion, and idly went to rub some dust from his coat sleeve in an inborn gesture.]

I have a friend or two who'd be much amused by such a thing! Little ironies, et cetra. The oppression of bathtubs, in which the monarchs feed the people lyes. ...And more who'd be severely dispassionate about the whole matter.

[His voice pitched bit higher than usual, keyed up by concern over the fate of his friends, and his own. Despite it, he managed a good-natured look at the... thing in his hand... at his little joke, before relenting to those who might assist him.]

I might ask if anyone has seen such good friends? A fair place to begin. Decidedly.

My name is Joly; lately of Paris, more recently of Mam'selle Napoleon's receptacle.

[And he'd make a little bow, if he knew what at. Instead, he settles for a nervous smile and another idle rub at a part of his body that, worriedly, is still aching a bit. It's difficult to hold down the panic, but he's hinging; possibly literally!; on some news of a friendly face or two. Or all.]

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Joly, you know I have never been ill for more than a day in my life. I am quite well. Why?

[He's so accustomed to Temeraire that he doesn't even realize what's wrong.]

It is possible that today is that day.

[This is rather a lot to take in. Deliverance, magic lights, metal boxed houses, Empresses with bath tubs, sniffling turtles, Grantaire's dramatic stage-left exit, tree houses...

Dragons, really?

Hallucinations were often a side effect of very serious fever. And while dragons should seem no more fanciful than turtle-bound cityscapes on the edge of a dream, well.

...He was speaking to someone a little prone to. Prose.]

Have you felt your forehead of late? Do you feel dehydrated? You do look flushed, a bit.

Joly, I have always looked flushed in your eyes. It is a family trait, as I have told you. I am perfectly fine!

Most issues of wellness are highly familial, dear sir! Do all your family see dragons when they get a bit passionate in temperature?

[Edged, giving him a fretting look.]

Your head might grow warm, but the center of imagination is well in tact. A positive sign!

---oh you think I am imagining the dragons!

[He just laughs]

No, I assure you that Temeraire is quite real, as is Iskerkia or whatever she calls herself, I honestly cannot recall. Ask Enjolras or Combeferre, if you'd like!

[Jehan, this is perhaps what information overload looks like, passing woefully across his face, and pinching it in certain places as the dragons seem to multiply, out of thin air.

...As he really can't bring himself to be incredulous over his friend's truthiness as he can about his state of health, there's really only one question left to ask.]

...And why should it be that a dragon requires a seat at café? With-- all due respect to the Mlles. Republican values.

[He's almost forgotten he's in pain, this is so peculiar. Almost.]

Temeraire is a male dragon. And he is one of us!

Pardon, monsieur and mademoiselle.

[What.]

My friend, you speak of a dragon. In the sense of non-fiction. Fitting into a back room to discuss politics, among the wine and conversation?

I believe one might say the scale of this claim is-- rather bigger than any cafe might hold. That is-- well.

[He's quite at a loss here, friend.]

Your dragon speaks French?

Well, it is more that his head fits in the window as he is really very large. And yes, he does! I believe, anyway. It is rather hard to tell here as everyone seems to speak the same language.

...And you're quite certain there is no trickery in it?

[Because he can't quite think that Prouvaire would be out to fool him, on this re-acquaintance. It's clear that he fervently believes he speaks to a like-minded dragon through the window of a treehouse on free evenings.]

Yes, yes! I swear to you on sacred stones of Notre Dame, Joly, that I am quite certain.

Indulge me a last query then, if you might.

Does it emit fire?

He does not, no. I believe the mademoiselle might, or else just a lot of hot hair.

She is also a red-head?

[Prouvaire, what is this conversation he is having with you. He feels himself growing more fussy by the moment, with lack of understanding. Change and fiction can be charming! Too much is startling.]

...I meant "air", but I will take offense to that nonetheless!

[He frowns, sulking for a moment]

How cruel.

[Really, a red-headed dragon is no more mysterious than one that speaks French!]

I did not know you to be one to be offended by comparison by the root to a mythological creature!

Better not to offend a man who makes a brother of a dragon. In general. Is my understanding, it is.

Indeed.

[Huff]

What is your address, Joly?

ME-2A.

[A beat.]

Might you leave the dragon where he is for the moment, if you're to come over for a visit.

Oh, of course. I am not certain where he is at the moment, anyway. Would you like some wine? I've quite a stock.

Ah, you speak the same version of French I do; wine would be a great deal perfect.

[A beat, before adding with a slightly more fallen expression,]

Do you happen to have lemon, or honey?

I do, yes, though the lemon is not quite what you are used to and the honey is a different color. Why? Are you--oh, damned Fate, I'd completely forgotten to ask if you were well! You have come fresh from the Barricades, I imagine, and here I am babbling on! Are you hurt?

Stinging, somewhat!

[Pressing at his side again and glancing down.]

For disinfectant, not to taste. I'd be much obliged.

Please forgive me, my friend. I shall alert Combeferre to your arrival and send him with the honey, lemon, and wine. I imagine he will be more helpful than I.

Enjolras is onto the topic of alerting, and with you on the duty of supplying, I am wealthy in friendship.

[A pause though, before insisting a little more than he might usually,]

You ought to join the march, though. Come, do.

Are you certain? I would not want to wear you out. Your health is quite delicate, after all.

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