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Memory Lens

Discussion in 'Pandora, Year 1 - 7' started by John Silver, May 8, 2018.

  1. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    April 10th, Year 7
    @Grantaire
    Photography Project


    Ten days.
    It had been ten days now since he's left rehab. Life was hell, still. Even more so than before, perhaps.
    Now, he was alone - with the memory of how it had used to be, and the world had no mercy on him. He had to get used to that, still; to life without chasing highs - to life the way it was, bleak and heavy and painful all the same, just that it's always held beauty in John's eyes, but now he was having a hard time finding it.

    Taking a drag from his cigarette, the former sailor tilted his head back to look towards the skies.
    The sun was shining quietly, warming his skin and making him impatient for summer to finally come around. He was more used to the heat, hoped the sun would make the world appear more colorful to him.
    Partly torn jeans and blue converses instead of the now-too-warm combat boots, were accompanied by a low cut, loose light greay t-shirt and a thin leather jacket with pushed up sleeves atop.
    His curls were trimmed again, the considerably heavy bag in his hand consistent merely of his camera and purse.
    Cigarette smoke wrapped around the silver rings upon his fingers like some kind of omen, and John paused when reaching the street he's made out to meet with one of the participants of his little project.

    Frankly, he had no idea why the hell he was doing this.
    It was such an aimless, corny thing. But maybe, it was just too hard for him to smile for himself lately, and maybe he needed desperate proof that the world wasn't a place made only of shadows and memories dearly missed.
    That it wasn't all loss and pain and bleak, meaningless seconds ticking away while the scenery passed by unnoticed.
    It was hard, and John couldn't claim otherwise - it was really fucking hard to convince himself that sober was better than high, that the world had lost none of its beauty - he merely had to relearn how to see it.

    For a moment, the sailor closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall while smoking his cigarette.
    This project might help. It was helping, actually. It was nice to see people happy, recall times that had shaped their reality in all the good ways. But even this project didn't chase away the pain in his leg and the flashbacks of war that caught up with him still, on occasion, despite the pills they've prescribed him for it.
    And yet, he owed this to Aaron, and he owed it to himself, and hell, he would not give up trying now.

    A last drag and then he let the cigarette fall to the ground, choking the last gleam of fire beneath his shoe.
    He crossed the street towards the little cafe which was to be their meeting point, and after a short scan of the cafe's little terrace, John believed to have spotted the man at one of the tables.
    He put on a smile, tightened his grip around the handle of his camera-bag, and went to greet the yet-stranger.

    It was with no hurry that he stepped up to the little table, his smile flawlessly charming as ever, just that the gleam in his eyes that usually came with it was so very dim now - but only those who knew him intimately would be able to make that out.
    The pushed up sleeves of his leather jacket didn't hide the scarred remains of track marks upon his left forearm, but it was another thing which was only noticeable if one knew exactly what to look for. It was noticeable to the touch, however. And sometimes, at home, John ran his fingers along the scar tissue there, over and over again, as if he'd be able to smooth the skin with mere touch. But he wasn't.
    He was still considering a tattoo to cover up those marks and erase even the last signs of this tragedy having ever existed.

    Stepping into the man's line of sight, John offered his hand with a smile across the table.
    "Grantaire? Sorry in case I'm mispronouncing, my French is quite a bit rusty. I'm John - and I've brought my camera. May I?"

    With the same easy charm, he motioned towards the chair still available, his leg silently begging for him to just fucking sit down already.
    He's resented pain killers for so long, now there was little he wouldn't give to get his hands on some, but he knew he couldn't let that happen. The risk was too high, so he'd have to bear the pain the way he always had - with stubborn ignorance and an unwavering smile.

    He knew nothing about this Grantaire-guy, really, but his first impression wasn's really a hostile one, and that was already worth something, right?
    However, somehow, Grantaire looked like a troubled man. Of course, everyone was troubled in their own way, weren't they? But there was something about this Frenchman that made John wonder why he'd even be interested in participating in something like that.

     
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  2. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Why Grantaire had agreed to this, he wasn't sure. Well, he did know why he agreed, it sounded frankly adorable and reminded him of something Prouvaire would think up. It had his poetic look on life, that was for sure.

    It just made him warm inside to think about his old friend, so when he heard about this whole picture business, it was hard not to decide to join in. It also made Enjolras happy to see him doing something that wasn't just drinking, finding one-night stands and wishing to have more of whatever that vampire had used on him when biting him.

    Not that he let Enjolras know that last part. There was no hiding the attack, and Grantaire felt terrible enough making Enjolras worry about his safety, he didn't want his Apollo to start worrying that he had agreed to live with someone so fucked up that he actually wanted to be bitten by a vampire again.

    No, that was Grantaire's burden to bear on his own, and he was starting to find a solution to his little problem. As such, he was able to force himself out of bed in the morning, ignoring the trembling and nausea the lack of venom was causing.

    Instead of focusing on that, he simply focused on the coffee he had ordered. To most people, he probably seemed utterly at peace as he watched the birds outside fight over a scrap of bread. As usual, his choice of clothing managed to indicate several different Grantaires, from artist to street-punk to hippie. The leather jacket clashed with the beret and the torn converse and tie-dye shirt contrasted with the khakis. It was his style and he loved it.

    He was only halfway through his coffee when someone approached his table. As he accepted the outstretched hand, he couldn't help but laugh slightly at the terrible pronunciation of his name. "If you find it too difficult, you may simply call me R." He gestured for John to take the seat, no reason to refuse after all.

    The Enjolras inside his head warned him not to be a complete asshole to someone he just met. As usual, he merrily ignored Enjolras and said with a laugh, "I was curious when I heard about this project of yours what kind of person would be so invested in such an optimistic little venture. I had assumed you would be taller." Obviously, as someone who was average height in the 19th century, he was very short for Pandora, barely over 5'4".
     
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  3. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    The handshake was exchanged and the chair offered, and John gladly let himself sink into it, in good old habit tucking his right ankle beneath his left knee to take the weight off his fake leg.
    The man's first words lured a soft laugh from the sailor and he nodded his genuine gratitude - French had never been a language he's been in any way skilled at, but he couldn't quite say he felt bad about it, either.
    "Thank you, you're saving me a lot of trouble here. R it'll be."


    It was easy to see that the other was a very straight forward person - sometimes that was helpful, it made it easier to understand someone and usually one knew exactly what they were in for. But being straight foward could also bring quite a few difficulties with it, at least for someone like John.
    This time, however, he almost found it oddly refreshing - a stark contrast to all the concerned faces and trying-too-hard-to-sound-reassuring words.

    I had assumed you would be taller
    Surprised, the former sailor arched his eyebrows, not really seeing the context here, but soon he was grinning again - never taking offense where it clearly hadn't been meant.
    And it was true, after all, he wasn't exactly a tall man. Especially for a sailor.
    "You mean, because only tall people can be photographers, or because only tall people can be optimists?"

    He left it up to the other to decide whether the joking question required an answer or not.
    "To be fair, I am not small for someone from the 1700's."

    Which was true.
    Admitted, he's still been one of the smallest on the ship - but who could really be surprised to find out that sailors were considerably tall in height? After all, they performed physically highly demanding work, and a ship was pretty big - being tall definitely came in handy.

    Leaning back in his chair, John thoughtfully tilted his head and observed the other for a moment.
    "I am pretty certain I'm still taller than you, though."

    He remarked eventually, the thoughtful expression soon slipping into a smugly amused smirk again - he wasn't about to just let someone tell him he was small after all.

     
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  4. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    "I believe that is the first time anyone was grateful to hear anything I have to say," Grantaire replied, good humor shining through his words. Sure, Enjolras had started treating him less like a burden once they arrived in Pandora, but from Grantaire's perspective, he would never be glad to hear what Grantaire had to say. It was an assumption, but one that he felt very justified in having.

    Of course, John was proving to be much more accepting of Grantaire's more obnoxious thoughts. Merely laughing at the comment on his height. As with most things Grantaire said, he didn't really have a point to it, but he also had a good response to give.

    "The second, definitely. Not that I assume all of them are such, but when I picture optimists I can only think of a specific one, and he is much taller than me." Though, upon getting to Pandora, it seemed that Enjolras was no longer abnormally tall, instead simply average height.

    When John mentioned what time period he was from, a curious smile grew. Fascinating, someone from the past of a world like his, he was assuming. Meeting those from magical worlds who were demons or vampires or the like was interesting, but someone who was in a similar boat to him was altogether different.

    The next thing he knew, however, his little joke was being turned back on him. Grantaire gave an open bark of laughter at that and shrugged. "Well, I am of rather average height for the 1800's. I suppose it is all of my cynicism. I rarely reach for the skies, so I am left on the ground."
     
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  5. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    I believe that is the first time anyone was grateful to hear anything I have to say
    Though the humor clearly made the words sound easier, the indication behind those words was one too genuine to be taken as a joke - and John wondered for a brief moment whether that was actually true, or whether the man simply suffered from very low self-esteem.
    Neither option was appealing, perhaps because the sailor knew what it was like to put up with such a thing. But he didn't comment on it, nor asked further. He wasn't here to ruin anyone's mood.

    Apparently an optimist was supposed to be tall - the more you know.
    Though, clearly, R's opinion was heavily bias. A specific one - could be friend or foe or lover, but it made John arch an eyebrow anyway. Lover, he decided to himself, if only out of gut feeling and perhaps a kind of warmth he believed to have spotted gleaming up in the other's eyes.
    Of course, were they friends, he would have made a smug comment now - but they weren't friends, they were almost strangers still, and he wouldn't like losing participants of his project simply due to his clever tongue. It wouldn't be a new happenstance, either. So he kept his mouth shut, merely nodding his aknowledgement.

    The laugh that came then was welcome, and John felt like they'd get along well.
    The 1800's, however, he hadn't expected. Perhaps he should have expected it - taking the man's rather old-fashioned way of phrasing his sentences, and his ... confusing fashion sense. But it was hard to really judge in Pandora, what with the crazy amount of worlds the inhabitants originated from.
    "As long as you are on the ground, you can see the path ahead. I see no fault in that, quite the opposite."


    Whether the words were to be taken serious, he once again left up to the other to decide, though he made no effort to make them sound playful either.
    John couldn't really tell whether he had his feet on the ground or his head in the clouds, perhaps a little bit of both. He saw opportunities everywhere, and he never lost hope. But he had never been an idealist, always sticking to realism, never willing to sacrifice everything for a dream.

    "So what's 1800's France like?"

    There was genuine curiosity in his voice - as there tended to be when he was actually interested in something, for John never bothered hiding his curiosity, not seeing it as a bad thing. He wanted to learn, what was bad about that, truly?
    And they still had a little bit of time before he'd pull out his camera, after all.
    A little chat would do no harm.

     
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  6. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Grantaire was quickly growing to like John. His mouth curved even more at the wisdom or joke the man gave him. It didn't matter how serious he was about being on the ground, it was clever enough that Grantaire simply enjoyed it. He could have argued that he rarely saw the path ahead, simply the potholes, but he decided against that.

    Instead, he nodded as if he had been expecting such a sentiment. "Quite right, quite right. Also, much less likely to smack my head against low door-frames." He then sipped his drink with the air of someone who had delivered such great wisdom that he had to let it sink in.

    "Who said I was from France?" he asked, looking almost horrified by the mere thought that he could be French. Of course, he could only pretend for so long, his frown turning into a smile and a small snort escaping as he shook his head in amusement.

    "Apologies, I was unable to resist. Now then, France? To put it in one word: revolutionary. I had been pulled not 50 years after the Grand-R Revolution, where the reigning monarch was beheaded for the populace to see. Must have been quite the sight. Those I associated with were hoping to create another one, following the death of a beloved general and everything from food shortages to a cholera outbreak leading my friends to believe that an uprising was the only solution."

    Despite his best attempts at sounding casual, his voice did become slightly weak when discussing his friends. He hadn't seen their bodies, but just knowing that such intelligent, creative, worthy souls had been cut down for what they believed in was hard for even him to make light of.
     
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  7. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    Also, much less likely to smack my head against low door-frames
    The words made John snort in amusement. It was always easy to talk to people who had a matching kind of humor to one's own - though that issue did sound like a very peculiar one. Especially for someone rather small in height.

    When the waitor walked by, John ordered a latte before returning his attention to the other man.
    Who said I was from France?
    John arched a playfully amused eyebrow - clearly, he wasn't buying it. And, clearly, R realized that, too, soon enough.
    There wasn't really much of an explanation that the former sailor had expected at this point. After all, it was hard to summarize the situation of an entire country, especially since it surely differed for everybody. He had little doubt that the English Noblemen back from where he came from, would have little to complain about other than the dirt on the streets, while anybody with close to no money would have quite a few horrifying tales to tell.

    Yet, R provided more of a summary than John had assumed the other would, and he found himself genuinely interested. Sure, he didn't know what status this man had had back in his world, how much change he's had in his pockets, whose side he's stood on if one at all, what he's fought for, what he's believed in. But John knew how flawed the retellings of history were - in the end, it was always written by the victors and shaped to fit their narrative. Thus, all the textbooks should be taken with a grain of salt at least.
    Nothing was ever black or white, good or evil - especially not in history.

    The Revolution R touched on shortly was not one John was familiar with - he hadn't lived to see it, and frankly he's been busy with his own war.
    But the words sounded so oddly familiar, it was almost painful. History really did run in circles, didn't it?
    His smile slipped a little, and he didn't miss the way the other's voice seemed to falter.
    "Sounds familiar to me..."

    The half-mumbled words didn't sound optimistic either. And John still refused to even attempt to take sides in his own story - everyone had been right and wrong at the same time.
    The only thing that was certain was that too many had given their lives.

    The coffee arrived, being placed in front of him and John thanked the waitor, being pulled out of his thoughts. It was better this way. He was here to make happy memories, not the opposite.
    Clearing his throat and taking a sip from his coffee, John smoothly returned to his smile without even batting an eye.
    "Thank you for sharing. But let us not dwell on what's behind is for much longer. After all, I've come here to hear a happy story."

    With these words he reached for his camera bag and carefully pulled out the device, starting it up with a hum and adjusting the lens but letting it rest on the table next to him for now.

    "Are you ready?"


     
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  8. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Revolution had been a rather consistent theme in Grantaire's life. Even before he met Les Amis, he was an artist in Paris not 50 years after one of the most dramatic and bloody revolutions in history. So, he could probably tell so much of the situation that most people's heads would spin. He tried not to, though. Speaking of it only served to give him hope, something he was determined to see as false for as long as possible.

    Of course, joining a group of revolutionaries wasn't conductive towards that effort, and damn Enjolras for actually managing to get some hope out of him. Even if he never thought they'd actually succeed, he couldn't help but think that Enjolras would manage to change the world, because that was what someone like him should have been able to do.

    He was so caught up in his own reflections that he startled slightly when John gave his own opinion. It was rare that he actually managed to forget he had an audience. Though, perhaps that was because he tended to fight the history as it tried to drudge itself up. He had enough melancholy without considering what had happened in the past.

    Fortunately, John seemed to agree, pushing the conversation towards the happy story Grantaire had. What would have normally been a sardonic smile ended up slightly apologetic as he replied, "my story does involve the revolution. Though, more accurately, the one who managed to make me believe in it, if only temporarily."
     
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  9. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    The past was such a sensitive topic for so many people, and now John understood why that was the case.
    Perhaps he had always understood, but it had simply been much easier to ignore it, not think about it in the first place, not bother for even a moment why he could not even speak of all the events of his childhood and the years that had led up to adultry.
    Why even the thought of speaking of such events made him sick.

    And though the past that had caught up with him now was a more recent one, he understood that it was not always possible to keep it buried, no matter how much one tried.
    Yet, he would not stop trying anytime soon. Because burying his past six feet under and pretending it had never existed was the only way he really knew how to live at all.

    The other's apologetic smile lured a soft smile from John in return and he gently shook his head.
    "That's fine - all I care about is that it's a positive memory for you."

    Taking another sip from his coffee, he grasped his camera then, switching it on and adjusting lens and light.

    "I know that's not easy, but just try to ignore the camera, alright? Relax, lean back. And start talking whenever you're ready, no rush."

    With an encouraging smile, John adjusted his own position in the chair until he could hold the device comfortably in his hands. Switching through a few more settings until he was satisfied with the adjustments, he then rested the camera in his lap to be used when he thought the moment most suitable.

     
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  10. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Grantaire nodded as John reassured him and took his advice, leaning back in his chair to figure out just how to explain everything. Forgetting the camera wasn't going to be hard, he was sure. Whenever he started even thinking about Enjolras, the world had a tendency to slip away.

    "The leader of our little patch of the rebellion was Enjolras," he began, just the name managing to bring out his dopey smile, which only grew the more he spoke, "he is... bright, in every way. He is intelligent, of course, but also so gorgeous that it hurts at times. But... he is also so good, so caring for his fellow man, that it burns. There will never be another, I am convinced, who would devote themselves as wholeheartedly to the people as him. Even when I was at my lowest, detesting humanity as a whole, as soon as I saw him speaking before his audience in the Musain, I was immediately drawn to him. I stayed simply because he was one of few things that managed to cause me to believe, at all.

    "Not in his revolution, though. That ended as I expected, with the National Guard executing everyone. I had slept through most of the battle, drunk because Enjolras had rejected me once again. The light and the dark rarely accept one another fully, you see. And yet, when I woke up to see him with the National Guard's guns trained on his chest, I stood up and declared myself a traitor. I couldn't let him die alone. I was almost expecting him to reject me one final time, but he didn't."

    There was no word more accurate for Grantaire's face in that moment than lovestruck, though awestruck was very close behind. "What still confuses me now, is that he accepted me. He even smiled and took my hand. It... feeling his hand in mine, it was something I never expected to have. This... almost godlike person, not just accepting that I would stand beside him but, but accepting me? As a person? I suppose that must be it.

    "This was when we were brought here, as you can probably imagine. Before the bullets could fly, we were spirited away to this amazing world. Still hand in hand, awkwardly trying to decide how to approach it. I had never seen him as flustered as that moment. It was the most adorable sight I have ever laid eyes on."
     
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  11. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    While John himself was a skilled storyteller, he's also always enjoyed listening to other's stories. Whether they were true or not had never been much of his concern.
    There was a certain kind of enjoyement to storytelling that was hard to explain, a certain kind of almost shared intimacy that came from it.
    John remembered too well the many evenings he's spent around a bonfire on the beach with the crew, and the stories that had been shared across the warmth of the flames and the shared bottle of rum. Or those evening hours below deck, a single lamp burning and the sway of the ship, its creaking wood and the howling of the wind - and one of their crewmates speaking of the depths of the sea and the creatures lurking there. Of love and loss and despair, of bravery and beauty.

    When R started his story, John knew right away it was a meaningful one, no matter how much truth there was to it - the other man held these words close to his heart, and the former sailor appreciated being allowed to get a glimpse of it.
    It was an intimate tale, but John found familiarity in it. A familiarity that hurt.
    I stayed simply because he was one of few things that managed to cause me to believe, at all.
    And how well he knew what that felt like.
    He remembered Flint's speeches, his way of manipulating the men, making them believe in his cause, even when all was lost. And for such a long time John had resisted this man's influence, until he, too, had stumbled into this abyss the Captain had dragged all of them into. And for a while, he had believed - because Flint had believed. He had thought change was possible, if only they fought long enough to see it happen.
    Hell, he had followed an idealist into a war that had been doomed from the start, simply because Flint had made him believe in it.

    John tried to push the memories under violently, shoved them out of the way before he had a chance to get dragged into the depths of guilt and regret.
    He refocused on the other man, on his smile, and the way he retold such tragic events with so much love that it only left John wondering whether, perhaps, his situation with Flint might have turned out differently as well, had he only not gotten scared and backed out.
    When the other's smile slipped into something warmer, softer, and the gaze in his eyes became unfocused, drifting somewhere in memory, John raised his camera, adjusted the lens a last time, and pressed the release button.

    It was a considerably quiet device, luckily, and the moment the picture was taken was hardly heard at all.
    John took two more, just to be sure of the light adjustments, before putting the camera down again and listening to the rest of the little tale - which surely wasn't so little at all. But sometimes it was almost terrifying how easy it was to summarize such heavy events in so few sentences.

    "You did right believing in him, then. His idealism brought both of you here."

    The hint of a smile tugged at his lips, a tad playful, for John knew - of course - that it had not been idealism nor belief or faith which had brought any of them here.
    But it was a nice thought, and he decided to allow himself to take it for just another version of the truth.

    To him it was evident that R loved this man whom he's followed - all the more ironic was it then that John still hadn't realized that what he's felt for Flint back then had also been love. In some way, in its own, complex, intimate way, it had been love. Just that neither of them had ever been able to see where this path might have taken them, because they never walked it to the end. Perhaps, had things come differently, John wouldn't have been oblivious to the complicated emotions he's held for Flint now.
    But it had come the way it had, and the past could not be changed anymore.

    And he didn't linger on the past now - or, at least, he tried not to.
    Instead he focused only on R, on his story and his love and his utter adoration of this stranger who had given his everything for a revolution. No matter just how familiar that pattern was to John, he focused only on the man sat opposite him, not his own memories.
    There was no place and time for them here.

     
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  12. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Telling a coherent story wasn't really Grantaire's style. He was better at drunkenly rambling for as long as it took for someone to shut him up. There were usually stories involved in his ramblings, but they were also weaved in with his philosophy that everything was terrible, and his references to everything from Greek Mythology to famous artists. So, explaining something true and honest was different, but he found that he enjoyed it.

    There was something freeing about explaining how he really felt and thought about things. True, his feelings for Enjolras were very different from the altogether negative parts of his psyche. His inability to go without drinking, the deep hole in his mind that seemed to suck any joy out of his mind, they weren't for most people to know.

    Still, once he finished talking, it did feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It hadn't been more than he could handle; it wasn't even that unpleasant, but it still left him feeling freer than he had before. Perhaps optimism had something to it after all. Who was he kidding, it had Enjolras, of course it had something.

    He chuckled under his breath at John's observation, a finger tracing his cup of coffee idly. "I hadn't actually thought of it that way," he confessed, "I suppose Enjolras has done more for me than exist with his perfect, marble features."
     
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  13. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    The camera was rested upon his lap, silent once more after having done its work. John would check the pictures in a moment, make sure nothing was off about them - but that could still wait for a few minutes longer.

    He watched the other run his finger along the rim of the coffee mug, that absent-minded, tender smile returning once more and for a brief moment John wondered whether he looked anything alike when he spoke about Aaron, whether it was equally obvious on him just how much he cared for that man.
    But, somehow, he had his doubts about that. He wasn't prone of displaying feelings openly, and he had his fair share of reasons for that.

    R's words made John shrug lightly, though it also brought a slightly surprised smile to his lips - he had seen people badly in love. He's seen sailors badly in love, and those were arguably the worst. Never going a second without gushing about their beautiful lass, staring across the ocean waters like lost souls aching for home. It had been ridiculous at times, but it didn't take long to stop finding it ridiculous - the moment that same sailor bled out in one's own arms, asking one to deliver their last words to their waiting loved one.

    However - R here appeared to be utterly head over heels for that guy, and John couldn't quite decide whether it was tragic, amusing, or adorable.
    "The world is a nicer place when you try to consider things positively."

    It was true. Without his desperate optimism, John perhaps wouldn't have even survived for as long as he had.

    "Everyone's got their dark spots, those are easy to make out. Much harder, but also much more rewarding, to find the good in circumstances."

    Another soft, easy shrug, his smile never slipping. He' had enough serious conversations in his life, and was perfectly content enjoying the less serious ones now.
    Pulling up his mug, John took another sip of coffee, eyes trained on the other man with just a tad of curiosity.

     
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  14. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Grantaire chuckled softly, just barely managing to keep from sounding condescending. The last thing he wanted was to insult John, after all. Particularly when he found himself in at least mild agreement. Not that his cynical worldview was in danger of being changed, of course.

    "If you ever happen to meet Enjolras," he requested, "don't tell him I said this: perhaps you have a point. Insisting on seeing nothing but negatives has always been easier. Allowed me to glide through life. And then I met Les Amis de l'ABC, and with them complications. Such as affection, and friendship. How dare they." He smirked, managing to only think of better times. He didn't need to be distracted by their fates, and was able to still be lighthearted as he discussed them.

    True, he had joined because of Enjolras, but there was little chance that he would have stayed if not for the rest. They were so open, warm, affectionate and lovable that they had managed to win Grantaire over as well. Enjolras was bold and brash and passionate and everything else Grantaire mentioned earlier, but warm? Well, perhaps once in Pandora and away from the dire need for Revolution, but never in Paris.

    They really had been the necessary counterpoint to Enjolras. The sensitive artists and logical thinkers and even more brash fighters who could give Enjolras perspective on his own actions: Les Amis all had important parts to play, and Grantaire would have given himself for any of them. In fact, he would have gladly allowed any of the others to take his place, helping Enjolras through the transition to Pandora. They would have been so much more help.

    No, no, he wasn't supposed to brood. Grantaire shook his head to banish the dour thoughts and took another sip of the coffee, which was much better than the kind he was used to in Paris. Possibly because he could afford actual coffee and not someone's leftovers in Pandora.
     
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  15. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    A story could tell so much about a person - and often it didn't even matter much how true it actually was, because it was the way it was told that spoke of what was thought of it.
    And once more, John found the other's words to be sounding rather familiar to him.
    And then I met Les Amis de l'ABC, and with them complications. Such as affection, and friendship.
    It was not at all unlike what he's experienced joining the Walrus crew.
    Sure, matters had been harsh at first, complicated.
    But at some point... at some point those men had become family. And it had been the hardest of challenges to watch them die.

    John focused on the coffee in his hands, watching the remains of the liquid catching the sunlight upon its surface.
    They were gone. There was no use thinking back, wondering whether he could have changed anything.
    Wrapping his fingers around the cup, he downed the remains of his coffee, it was almost cold by now.
    "I know what that's like."

    Was what he said eventually, the hint of a smile that tugged at his lips flawlessly steady.
    Perhaps it would have been his turn to share a tale now, but John wasn't certain whether he was feeling ready to do so. Not yet, perhaps. Not quite.
    A moment of silence passed.

    "Thank you for sharing, and participating. I hate to be cutting this short but I really need to get going - I have another job waiting for me at home, and the deadline's in two days."

    The apology was earnest, as was the apologetic smile accompanying it.
    And John wouldn't like to let this opportunity pass him by just like that, just because time chose to make it so.

    "But, if you ever want to chat, please don't hesitate to contact me. I'd be up for a drink any day, really."

    The smile slipped into a soft laugh as he pushed over a card with his number scribbled upon it, before placing enough money on the table to pay for both their drinks.
    He hated having to leave in the middle of a nice conversation, especially when he was enjoying the company - and currently, actually, he was.
    But sooner or later all nice things had to come to an end.

     
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  16. Grantaire

    Grantaire Les Misérables

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    Grantaire's eyebrow quirked at John's words, curiously. He wasn't used to people sympathizing. Mostly because he wasn't used to honestly discussing his feelings. It always felt wrong to him, particularly when it occurred to him that some people were just so kind as to actually care about him, which he really didn't want.

    Still, sympathy was something altogether strange, and simultaneously nice and horrible. On the one hand, he felt less strange, which was always nice. As proud as he was, being the cynic of Les Amis, he did often feel completely out of place.

    Of course, that didn't resolve his own twisted thoughts. Being sympathized with was just as painful as being cared about. They both were banished to the same hole inside his mind, the one that grappled everything to the ground and destroyed it.

    That metaphor was a little strained, but still.

    Fortunately, Grantaire didn't have much time to contemplate those words, as John quickly excused himself. It was unfortunate; even though he felt rather conflicted, he still was enjoying the chat. He couldn't make him stay, though, so he simply accepted the number with a cheerful salute and, "friendly company and a drink? Good sir, you know my weaknesses."
     
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  17. John Silver

    John Silver Black Sails
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    A cheerful salute and a somewhat aloof smile - John would have loved to stay for a little while longer, but Vader was expecting those sketches by the day after tomorrow, and there were still quite a few adjustments to be made.
    John really didn't want to lose his job. He couldn't.
    He didn't know what he'd do should he be fired.

    But, no need to expect the worst right away.
    Picking up his camera, he smiled at R once more, nodding his head in goodbye.
    "I am sorry to say, it is a rather common weakness amongst men."

    The playful response only easing with his equally playful smile.

    "I hope we'll cross paths again. Have a good day, R."

    And with that, he turned to leave - much too soon for his taste, but there was a lot in need of being taken care of - and he was certain, once summer would come around, he'd have more time to truly indulge in good company and conversation.
    And, hopefully, he'd feel more fit to do so, too.
    He hadn't expected it to take so long to find a way to feel comfortable enough in his own skin again to spent more than just enough time amongst people once more.
    But he was working on it.
    It would get better.
    It had to.

    The End




    [ooc: sdfghjk sorry, I really wanna wrap up past seasons' threads.
    But we can absolutely do something with these two again this season if you'd like to!]
     
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