video; un: R

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire is where he usually is, huddled off with his wine in the corner of a tavern somewhere in Wyver. He doesn’t seem to be too far into this endeavor, considering he’s plenty eloquent when he decides to make a speech to the network.

It’s less than rousing. It's mostly complaints. ]

All this talk of politics has made me weary, friends. To be frank, I hardly understand it at all. I have listened. I drink, it’s true, but I listen. My ears are far better than my eyes or my memory, and no one ever tunes their conversation to exclude the fellow enjoying his drink in the corner.

[ This much seems to be true, given how he’s been rambling at length and no one has bothered to silence him. There’s chatter in the background as people enjoy their own conversations, separate from him as he drinks from the bottle. ]

I have heard things. Things about how the first to wake were welcomed gladly by Olympia, and others still were welcomed by Wyver later on. My ears are fine and well, I assure you, but my mind is perhaps foggy. It cannot comprehend what happened to create this change. Politics. Surely that is the only answer. It always is.

[ He rolls his eyes, taking another drink. ]

Well, I’ll not partake in any of it. I have no love for one city over another, no love for a king over an empress. I do not disdain monarchy, though I do not disdain those who do. I simply disdain politics. Tell me why I should choose one side or another, or why I should change my mind on the matter.

Comments

[winecasks]

It was worth it.

[ No flowery language or purple prose. Straight to the point. It may be one of the few topics he hasn’t danced around or shown conflict over at all. He gained acceptance from Enjolras through his death, no matter how fleeting it may have been.

But again still, her next question brings him pause. She seems to be asking just the right questions, because he doesn’t know immediately how to respond. The last time he was faced with innocents falling victim, he drank himself to sleep and woke only to meet his final moments. He hadn’t watched at all. He had drowned his sorrows and avoided the situation entirely, just so he wouldn’t have to watch or take part or leave his friends. ]

What if I chose to neither act, nor to watch?

[ He feels guilty. He doesn't think he can allow himself to do that again, but he would like her opinion. Someone wise enough to silence Grantaire with questions alone is worth it. ]

[wallofbriggs]

[Not what she'd consider a good death, but everyone had their own definitions and she was a soldier. She could either survive long enough to die old and content she did her job, or she could die doing her job - fighting, protecting for others.]

Going to hide your head in the sand? Pretend that everything around you isn't going to hell and that maybe even one small effort on your part couldn't help someone who is incapable of doing so themselves?

[Her tone turns cold and sharp. There is little love offered to those who would run away from the world they face.]

Find a sword to fall on. It's a quicker and more painless death than most will be afforded.

[winecasks]

[ Again, a contemplative silence. He looks pensive, holding the bottle close to his chest, but not actually bringing it to his mouth to drink. She’s giving him a lot to think about. ]

In truth, I can’t tell if you’ve misunderstood me or if I’ve misunderstood myself. Back home, when home still existed, my friends led a revolution. They were passionate and idealistic. As you’ve seen, mademoiselle, I am apathetic and pragmatic and have no beliefs whatsoever, but they were my friends all the same. When the time came to put their ideals into motion, I remained with them but I drank until I blacked out. I knew what was happening, for a time. I couldn’t have pretended that it wasn’t happening, and I couldn’t have helped them.

[ It was the drunkest he had ever been, but he had begged to sleep off his absinthe among them, rather than be parted from them. It didn’t matter in the end. He slept through a barrage of gunfire until all but one of his friends were dead, and then the two of them faced the last of it together. ]

I wonder—what do you understand that action to be?

[ He genuinely would like to know, because he can’t pinpoint it himself anymore. Grantaire had given up sooner than the rest of them, but was it cowardice, or was it just early grief? ]

[wallofbriggs]

What was the result of your friends' revolution? Did you celebrate their victory as your own or face the firing squad at their side?

The only thing I understand about your actions is that you were simply taking up space. Friends do not win or lose a revolution, but the ones who do are those who get in the way and distract from the fight.

Why were you there? What was the point, or what had you planned to do afterward?

[winecasks]

There was no victory. I faced the firing squad as they did.

[ Not dying for their belief, but dying for the man that he did believe in. It wasn’t a heroic death, but he’ll never claim it to be one. ]

I had no plan. If they lived, I hoped to live with them. If they died, I hoped to die with them. You have been told the outcome. Perhaps I took up space; they would agree, but can a sleeping man distract any more than a dead man?