tushanshu | 002

[The picture presented to the network might be jarring to anyone who knows Grantaire, who would rather drink and keep himself occupied rather than tidy, whether it be with reading or with simply being lost in thought. No, the room around him is orderly, at least more than it usually is, with papers neatly piled and bottles all in one corner, and clothes in one place, all recently washed. Grantaire himself is sitting with his feet up on the table (his pink, scrubbed clean feet), in his newly cleaned dressing gown, positively glowing. Literally, much more than metaphorically, because he has never been this clean in his life. Emotionally, he looks rather like a wet, grumpy cat, with his hair towel-dried and even his teeth brushed.

Well, at least he has his friend the bottle of wine at his disposal, and he's already spilled a drop on his dressing gown.]

Let the entirety of La Tortue know that Bryn Zethir is a horrid woman who will make you tidy up if you let her play at Saint George. It's a shame she's great company otherwise.

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[Oh, hello Henry. This is somewhat awkward but at least she has pants on now?]

I believe this most accurately falls under public services. Wouldn't you agree?

[She is one of the public so it counts.]

[Awkward? What awkward? Henry isn't a possessive man, and indeed he is delighted by her exploits.]

Ah, there you are, my dear. I had not realised you were so much of the angel in the house.

[He doesn't seem shocked or disapproving which is good. Truthfully, Bryn couldn't help but worry that he might turn out to be more like the nobles she's used to back home.]

I have my moments, and luring someone into the bathtub every so often isn't all that difficult, Henry.

[If anything, he's approving.]

Indeed, I imagine not, particularly if there are other inducements on offer besides soap.

[He steps away from the console for a moment to piss and this happens? Lovely. He slides back into his seat, leaning an arm against her back.]

You two know each other, I see. I would be surprised but us wretches tend to come together like vinegar in oil.

Other inducements, indeed.

[This, she says to Henry as Grantaire approaches once more. Bryn glances back at him briefly with a smile, and seems quite comfortable with the arm at her back.]

But yes, of course we know each other. Henry was one of the first to make me feel welcome here. Hardly a wretch, though.

[A gracious gesture of thanks.]

Miss Zethir herself is entirely too charming to be a wretch, and you, M. Grantaire, are too amusing.

[Grantaire scoffs, glancing at Bryn before tossing Henry a thoroughly doubtful look.] If you truly believe that than you neither know me nor each other. Monsieur Henri had only to speak for a few minutes for me to know how rotten and hedonistic he is behind that snappy facade of his, and only a wretch herself would drink with a wretch like myself much less her him occupy her. I proudly wear my wretched soul on my sleeve, and should think it easier to not bother doing anything else about it.

[He finishes off with a drink from his bottle.]

[Henry gets a wider, brilliant smile at his compliment, though she turns back to R with a raised eyebrow.]

I would say I do as well, though I hardly think these things about me make me a wretch. And might I point out that they also happen to be the very things you like about me. [She pokes him teasingly.] So why fault me or Henry for our hedonistic moments, really?

[Henry does not appear to be even the slightest bit insulted by Grantaire's assessment of his character. If anything, he's amused. He's also in his drawing-room mode, which is considerably less serious than the face he was wearing when he first met Grantaire.]

Miss Zethir's point is well taken, you know; why condemn one for a healthy enjoyment of life? Or perhaps you believe that wretchedness is an inescapable fact of the human condition, common to all of us?

I don't condemn anybody. In fact I'd say I celebrate it. Long live the wretched hedonist, we shall inherit the world once the good have sacrificed themselves and the bad have been slaughtered. Let is be wretched and pathetic together and enjoy every instant of it.

Et non, Henri, I believe we all have the potential for wretchedness, and that too many of us lack the necessary drive to escape it. That's not quite the same thing as inescapable fact. The inescapable fact is only that we are a weak, selfish species.

I think you're the first man I've known to not only acknowledge but celebrate his flaws.

[She says this with a wry smile and a slight shake of her head.]

[Henry laughs.]

Then we are at least partially in agreement, M. Grantaire.

As to flaws, they say that the carpet-weavers of the East always weave a flaw into the patterns of their rugs, as a sign that no one in perfect but God.

[Grantaire shrugs, shooting an amused glance at Bryn, as if a smug smile isn't slowly creeping onto his face with a drunken lag.]

As you can see Bryn, I have my acknowledgement and acceptance of human error and drunken ramblings, et caetera et caetera, and M. Henri here has maxims and philosophies to fall back on. Perhaps if you were as modest as your oriental weavers, you would have company in your bed as well.

[Bryn elbows Grantaire gently and gives him a look. It's not the smugness that prompts it but:]

You assume he does not already have company in his bed, and whether or not he does is up to him to decide whether to discuss or not.

[Henry is as unpeturbed as only someone can be when they consider the act of congress a happy benefit rather than the goal itself.]

I only discuss such matters if there is a reputation at stake, Miss Zethir.

I would say that yours is at stake, Monsieur Henri de Tabac. Is this not a public forum, for all to see? I think we both know how quick men and women alike are to judge. [The gauntlet is, as the metaphor goes, thrown down, and Grantaire just leans back, nursing his bottle.]

Not yours as well, nor any other's? Be that as it may, M. Grantaire, I do not lack for entertainment, you may be assured.

Oh, he does not lack for entertainment, he says. Bryn, have you heard? I may be assured. Well, I would have to take your word for it, but as luck would have it I rarely take the word of an Englishman. You will have to do better than your word, Monsieur.

[He grins then, taking another drink from his precious bottle and walking fingers aimlessly up Bryn's back.]

But only if you care enough to ensure his belief in you.

[This she interjects with a sly smile as she leans up into the touch of Grantaire's wandering fingers.]

I need no convincing.

Edited 2013-04-11 04:57 (UTC)

[Henry smiles at Bryn, but his words are for Grantaire.]

My dear fellow, it almost sounds as if you are asking for a demonstration.

No chere, that would be you.

[He adds an amused little wink to go with his amused little grin.]

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