tushanshu | {Video}

Entry tags:

{Video}

There is a reason why Saint Valentine is so very popular in France! Who does not like a handwritten note and a little favour at their doorstep, handed over by some pretty damsel-- or stripling? Hm? One should be willing to Rome very far indeed, to execute such a token with care to friends and loved ones, with all the haste of flying on a Cupid's wings!

Indeed, I wonder that everyone does not have a few recipients in mind already, for such favours? And to such an end, this question, most serious:

Is there a shop well-known for sturdy, pretty stationery and good pen-ink? Nothing pigmented, if you please!

If anyone knows of such a place, please point me in its direction. I'd thank you for the tip.

Ah! And for those of you who do not know me yet, salutations and introductions. I am called Joly, and I am a medical student, lately of Paris, presently as shell-shocked as the rest of the company. A pleasure to meet you!

Now, to end with a little seasonal joke, for the medically-minded among us:

Gapeworm is red, Cholera is blue,
Honey helps the lymphs, and lemon does too.
Thou are my love and I am thine;
So stay warm and dry, my Valentine!

It's very sound advice, at that. The winter months are dastardly.

Happy writing!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I do prefer Marius. [She takes a long drink. There was no sipping with her.] I was at your barricade for him, Joly. Come, let me show you this.

[She takes another drink before setting her glass down and turning her back to him. She flips her hair over her left shoulder, before taking the sleeve of her right shoulder and dropping it down, baring her shoulder-blade and the circular scar. Once she's satisfied that he has seen it, she replaces her sleeve and holds up her palm of the same right hand.] That bullet was meant for him.

[And another, longer drink.] I do love him. But I care for others.

[Well, it was not over-often that a woman walked in through his door unannounced and hence began to tug her shirt down for him, but all the same-- any mental or physical interest became purely scientific upon the reveal of the scar, which had his eyes widening and his lean stooping a bit nearer to peer at it.]

Why, 'Ponine... surely, such a wound would be usually quite fatal.

[He's not totally engaging with the idea that they're all dead.]

Was it stitched here?

It was.

[She shakes her head, but doesn't put her shirt back over her shoulder. She likes the way Joly stands over her.]

It was healed when I arrived. Etienne made sure it was.

Ah; he's outdone himself.

[A pause, before;]

May I?

[He'd want a closer look; really, the fact that it had healed over at all seemed miraculous.]

You may.

[She misses being touched, even if it's clinical. It's been such a long time, since anyone was at all tender with her.]

I put my hand in front of the barrel.

[With a nod, he is stepping closer and peering down, pressing a thumb gently against the mark and breathing a light, low noise of surprise; admiration, really.]

Raised, as they all must be, but the suturing must have been well-done in the extreme.

[Letting his hand up, he tilted his head in the direction of her hand, with a blink.]

Usual bravery, for anyone. You're fancy to our Marius must be quite great. ...Though I might suggest not putting health at risk in favour of it.

I love him, [She breathes, taking a few moments before she turns to Joly.]

He does not know. I told him. I do not believe he remembers. He still speaks to me of Cosette. As though I care for her! [She laughs, and finishes her wine in one gulp.] I do not! She has ruined me and my family! She and her father both!

You told him, and he does not know? Well. ...Well, that is very like him.

[He was forced to admit.

Still, Eponine seemed rather out of sorts now, and he is gentleman enough to refill her glass; though with some casual note of caution.]

Cosette being... his lady of interest then, I suppose?

And the girl my family raised, [she remarks with bitterness, taking another drink. She needs to move, Eponine realizes as her feet take her across the room and then back again, still holding her glass.]

He does not know, and he shall not- he shall never love me then. Why does he not realize? He will not have her until he returns! What use is loving someone lost when I am here? When I am wiling to give myself to him? I have slept in his bed, Joly, felt his breath on my neck, calmed him in his night terrors! Has she? No! It is only me that knows, that has done so for him.

[She laughs again, taking another drink. The idea hits her, and she moves without fully recognizing it, dashing the glass against the wall of the suite.] I hate her as I love him! If only someone could look at me the way he looks at her! To feel that way! But I am a monster. Unloveable. I died unloved and shall always remain so!

[Joly was versed in the way of drunkenness, and of rants. Grantaire had always comported the two together, in a manner that rather mimicked an art form. He had sat through such things; about the topic of love, most certainly, and on Marius, a little less certainly; and at louder volumes, even.

He had also dealt with the pouting of women. His Musichetta pouted so, and could be so sullen when she wanted something, or saw an ill in his manner which must be corrected-- with better precision than a doctor's hand, was a woman's staring silence.

But the combination of loud ranting and a woman was rather... novel.

He might have handled it with some cooing charm in effort to calm her, but the glass hitting the wall (and then the floor) with a clatter and a crack, the burst of wine against his floor... well! It rather frayed his nerves.

The mess, certainly. (But maybe less likely for him to admit to, the loudness of that noise, the suddenness of it, the similarity to a certain other bursting sound that out his teeth on edge.) He had flinched, absolutely, and was left staring gingerly, fingers poised on one hand against his table, rather like an animal that had frozen when a danger was too near to ignore, and too far to skirt away from.

After a long moment:]

There is not a woman on earth who lives, or dies, unlovable. I believe it, very truly, it is a certainty. Anything else is a perjury.

Edited 2014-02-13 05:12 (UTC)

[Had she not been the one creating the noise, such a noise would have thrown her back to whence she came, back to the barricades and that fatal shot that split the night and her life.

At his statement, Eponine laughs again, takign a drink from the bottle on the table and approaching Joly with a sway in her hips.] You say that? Even a creature such as me? Then let's see it. [Another drink as she places herself next to him, her body just inches from his.]

Could you love me? Do you love me? Prove it to me, that it is possible to love me. For heaven knows no one else will.

Any such creature, as you.

[He had kissed that widow's neck, thick as it was, with the sheen of work and nerves, to cool it. Even such a woman as that one in their cafe, he thought mightily worthy of the gentleness that proved that men could be better than their natures.

Women brought out what sentimentality in men could calm them, what affability that could quell them, what calm that could soothe them, and what humor that could warm them.

So, as it was a duty of a doctor to protect the sacredness of the human body, it was the duty of a man to protect the sacredness of a woman's soul, as it must remind him of the existence of his own.

He did believe it, even in the case here before him.

Still, he took on a bit of bemusement at her forwardness, pursing his lips minutely and pressing his chin up at an angle to regard her. Such aggressiveness, he decided then, to characterize as the natural irrationality that sometimes gripped the fairer half of humanity, and thus, dealt with it with care.

He did not move away as he spoke to her.]

But how should I prove it to you? I deem it is so, and I think it very plainly, as I have said here.

But, still: you are for Marius, eh? A woman's heart is fickle indeed, but also true! It will stay true, as it's right that it should!

Here-- put out your hand, and I shall kiss your hand, and then you will sit, and have some water.

[She gives him her hand, but shakes her head.] No, Matthieu. Dear Theo. I am for Marius, but I can love someone, and be in love with someone else. It is how the minds of creatures like myself work.

I do not wish for water. More wine, perhaps- I shall pick up the pieces I have broken, I should not have done such a thing. Talk of the lark and her cosetted... No! We must not think of them tonight! Tonight, you and I, we shall forget them. Forget all beyond this door. We shall drink and enjoy each other's company, and you shall prove to me that I can be loved, even if only for a moment or two.

[And he takes that hand gently, to bring it up and kiss the top of her knuckles lightly, before releasing it, glad to see her calm somewhat.]

...If you wish it.

[He may have been talking about the wine, or even the proof. Or perhaps the idea of not thinking of Marius, which was not at all very difficult.

But more than likely, he meant her offer to take up the cup. The rest, to him, was baffling; but he should not toss her out in such a state, by any means.]

I will get another cup for you, then.

Thank you.

[The words came out softly, surprising even her. Suddenly, the fire in her seemed to turn to embers and Eponine moved to sit upon his couch. Her fingers itched and ached, unsure of what to do with them. So she tapped at her arms, tracing scars from her life before the turtle.]

Do you find me mad?

[She'd been called that before. And if Joly, a man she'd come to care greatly about, and consider one of her best friends, thought her that... She did not want to face it. Montparnasse using it against her had been one thing, given the nature of their relationship. But this would be another.] I do not wish you to think that of me. Please, do not. Sit with me. We shall talk of pleasant things. Perhaps we shall begin the evening over again! Bonjour, Joly, it is I, Eponine! I have come with wine to enjoy your company!

[With that coaxing, it would be difficult to tell her he found her a bit in with hysterics. Her insistent persuasion worked its little magic upon his mood, and he was quite affected, giving at first a flitting smile, and then a more natural one as he went to fetch a new glass, and to fill it.

There, now. The passions and furies had passed on.]

My dear girl; love bends us all sideways if we let it. I do not think you mad, clinically speaking, and bonjour et bonsoir, we will drink to new starts.

[He came over, and handed her that glass, before winking at the mess with a purse of his expression.]

But first, we must have at the old one, eh? Broken glass is very dangerous, indeed.

[Eponine raises the glass to him, but hesitates before drinking, at his next words.]

Oh, no, Joly. Let me get it. It is my fault there is broken glass at all. [She rises. She knows how to clean broken glass and wine stains.]

You must forgive me.

Er-- you are quite sure?

[And there is a look at her, to be certain more that she is capable, than she is willing.

He would of course prefer her to clean it than him, but he would infinitely prefer he clean it well than she clean it half-so-well.]

Of course.

I could have gone into cleaning. Had my father not had other plans.

[She sets her glass down and moves to pick up the larger pieces of glass first, then sop up the wine with a towel. The smaller pieces after, shall be swept up.]

Well! Well. Then, my thanks.

[He will be going, in the meanwhile, to fetch his own glass, and the bin for her, setting it beside her when she seems about ready for it.]

It is nothing.

[It doesn't take her long to deposit the glass in the bin, and to have taken care of the mess in and of itself. Wiping her hands off on her skirts, she approaches the couch again.]

I shall not break another glass. You have my word.

There it is.

[He remarked, giving her a soft, playful wee poke on the nose before straightening up, to take the pail back to its place (and to rinse his hands, just.)]

An unnecessary promise. What glasses break, in either rage or joy, can be replaced.

You are so kind. [Eponine smiles fondly at him, taking her drink now.]

I do quite like spending time with you.

Do you? Well, such is flattery.

[He has a seat beside her now, more at his leisure now that the storm has passed and its red rain has been sopped up from his floors.]

You are considerably improved now, my dear?

Yes, yes, I suppose I am. [She smiles at him, her teeth red with the wine. She leans against him, but only just.]

Now, Joly, you must tell me many a thing about yourself! I know little of you, and I wish to know my dear Theo.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject