lesamisdodw | Drinking Party At 'Ferre's

Drinking Party At 'Ferre's

Who: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Bossuet - the Amis not lost in Africa (Joly, Jehan, you wanna come play too? -- no idea about Marius/Feuilly?)
Where: Combeferre's apartment.
Notes: Amis converge on 'Ferre's apartment for a night of drinking before they get serious about going after Enjolras and Grantaire who are currently, to their best knowledge, marooned somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Africa and very possibly in danger.

Status: ONGOING!

--

Combeferre had a little time before his friends came over, and decided to fill up the fridge a bit. He had been emptying it, part because he didn't want to leave anything perishable for when he was out of the country, and part from a lack of desire to trudge through the grocery store.

He picked up snacks and another six pack at the store, trusting that Bahorel and Courfeyrac at least would bulk up the booze supply, then, on the way back, stopped at the bookstore for some crash courses in Swahili. Maybe it wouldn't help, but it couldn't hurt -- better a chance of the locals speaking that than English or French, anyway.

Combeferre couldn't help worrying. Eight days now, with no word from Enjolras or Grantaire. He was still utterly and completely certain that Enjolras couldn't be dead, and he was less certain that Grantaire was stubbornly stuck to his side -- like, Courfeyrac had said, a barnacle. It was an apt description, anyway. He didn't expect, not really, that he and the others could just fly into Nigeria and take a powerboat down the river and find Enjolras and Grantaire huddled alone in a makeshift hut, ready and waiting to be rescued. No. If he knew Enjolras at all, his friends certainly weren't going to be waiting at the crash site--wherever it might be. He knew they'd have to find the crashed remains of the plane and ascertain a trail before they had any hope of finding Enjolras. And God knows how long that could take. Still, he wasn't despondent and he would hold out hope.

But what he shouldn't be doing, and he knew it, was worry himself to death. So he ruthlessly cleaned out the rest of the things in the living room. He piled the unsorted boxes in Enjolras' bedroom -- he considered it small payment for the worry and fuss his friend had been putting him through -- and tossed out all the old takeout remains from the past week. He figured it was clean enough for his friends, and loaded up the first Rosetta Stone disc while he waited for the others to arrive, or text him for directions.

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"A pirate. What was your pirate name?" Combeferre furrows his brow. "I wasn't a pirate. I was a doctor. And... something." He finishes the beer and slams it down on the table, misjudging the distance via blurred depth perception. "Oops. Can I have some of that? I've never had rum. Or if I did, not by itself."

Combeferre scratches his head thoughtfully. "I dunno. What do you wanna play? I'll kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit, you know that. Maybe something that relies more on luck would be fairer to the rest of us."

He reaches for the beer bottle, and goes to take a drink before noticing that it's empty. Staring forlornly with one eye at the lonely drop of beer at the bottom, he keeps talking. "Did you know that the game Battleship has been around since before World War I? When people used to play it with pencil and grid paper? I'm sure it was just as fun back then. People call it by lots of other names, or at least they used to, names like Broadsides or Battleboats or Warfare Naval Combat. There's like 60 alternate names in different languages that all kinda just mean Battleship. I think that's kinda funny, don't you? I want another beer."

"Warfare Naval Combat. I like it. It's a mouthful of a name, and you don't get long game names all that often. I think we should play that, if four people can play it."

Combeferre wants to try rum. And he wants another beer. Courfeyrac can manage that. Grabbing another beer out of the fridge, he frowns at the bottles. Did they get more rum? He's not sure. Oh, well. At least he knows where one bottle is.

Walking back over to Bahorel, he leans against his arm and pulls on the rum bottle. The first time he reaches for the rum with the hand that already has the beer bottle in it. That doesn't work so well, and he carefully transfers the beer to his other hand before reaching for the rum, leaning more heavily against Bahorel as he does. "Combeferre wants that, so we're pillaging it, my bonny pirate."

Was he ever a pirate? Maybe. He's not sure, and he really doesn't want to start searching for memories right now.

"I don't think 'bonny' is a good pirate word." Bahorel protests with a frown. He holds the rum out away from Courfeyrac. "It sounds like a girly hat."

"Stop grabbing, 'Fey. You don't pillage from pirates, they pillage from you." He shoulders him gently (he thinks) out of the way. "I can pour 'Ferre some rum."

He grabs a new cup, and pours some rum into it, mostly succeeding in getting it in the glass. Then he hands the cup of liquid out to Combeferre. "Here ya go."

"I don't know my pirate name. But I definitely was one."
He plops back down by his own cup, and rescues another game piece from Nerium. "Stop it, fuzz."

The world is getting a little fuzzy. He's had a good bit of alcohol. He's not drunk to incapi.... incapata.... not being able to do stuff yet. But he's had a good bit.
He sips some more rum.

Nerium meows threateningly at Bahorel and then runs into Combeferre's leg.

"Rum." He drinks it, and it burns going down. Blinking fiercely a few times, he decides he likes the burn. "S'good."

Then he reaches down and picks up the kitten by the scruff of its neck. Nerium meows again and starts kneading Combeferre's lap. The damned kitten seems to like him better than Bahorel and Courfeyrac, which is fine with him as here on his lap Nerium won't be eating any battleships.

"Fifteen men on--onna dead man's chest," intones 'Ferre right before another gulp of the rum. Which sets him to coughing.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" Courfeyrac grins, raising the beer in toast as he straightens back up following Bahorel's push. "I think I need a glass of that, too, if we're all going to be pirates. Pirate karaoke time!"

He tries to think of pirate songs. Combeferre already stole the literary one. That's all right. He can be non-literate.

Wait. That's not quite the right wording.

Ah, well. Leaning against Bahorel again, since he's the closest one, more on guard for sudden violence, Courfeyrac starts the song. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for us!"

"No games then? Time to sing." Bahorel tosses the little plastic ship back into the Trivial Pursuit box.
"Where's the music? Or are we doing oc.... um... just voices."

He takes another swig of rum, and picks up the line after Courfeyrac. Why he can't remember certain words, but he can remember the pirate song, he doesn't know.

"We pillage, we plunder we rifle and loot. Drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

Oh. Maybe that's why.

"Um... da da da da.. something. I don't know the words. I was never a pirate." He notices an unopened beer in front of him. "I thought I finished my beer."

"I've never been any good at singing."

Now Combeferre has his glass of rum in his left hand, a beer in his right, and a purring kitten in his lap. He's really not sure what to do now.

"You don't need to be good at singing." Courfeyrac tries to move over to Combeferre and stumbles. Why does gravity not seem to like him recently? He doesn't think he's done anything to annoy her. "It's the spirit of the thing. Just find a song that you like and sing it! It doesn't even have to be a pirate song. Though there're probably more pirate songs you know."

He thinks there was something about being close to Combeferre that he was supposed to be remembering. Not getting too close? Was that it? Maybe. Since he brought him the beer, though, it's probably all right to stay just a little close.

Settling down on the floor, because standing's too much work, he rests his head on the couch by Combeferre's leg and reaches out to pet the kitten. "How about this one? 'Oh, better far to live and die under the brave black flag we fly than play a sancti-ti..monius part with a pirate head and a pirate heart!"

Is it all right for them to be pirates? He supposes some of the pirates had legitimate reasons for doing what they were doing--reasons other than greed. And Enjolras would look awesome standing on a ship, with the wind and the waves and the rest of them behind him, ready to pillage in the name of justice and equality. Like a Robin Hood pirate.

"Or if you don't want to sing like a pirate, that's okay too." Bahorel offers, "you wouldn't have been a pirate anyway. Sing something closer to you. Like..." He waves his glass around, at a loss, "A song about books? Do they have songs about books? There's gotta be some geek songs out there."

He finishes off his glass of rum, and with a grin, plops down on the floor, on the other side of Combeferre, mirroring Courfeyrac. The alochol is definitely getting to him now. It feels good.

It's a little weird to pet the kitten while it's in 'Ferre's lap. But the little guy is soft and fluffy. Let 'Ferre protest if it bothers him.

After a moment he realizes he's quietly singing Indestructible by Disturbed. Given how fast-paced the song is, he's really quite impressed that he's getting all the words right. He thinks.

Fucking awesome song.

Fuzzily, 'ferre thinks that maybe if he were sober he'd find something wrong -- or at least funny -- about the thought of two of his friends petting a kitten that's currently sitting on his lap, but right now he just thinks it makes sense. After all, the kitten is soft and pettable, and it's not like they're petting him.

Well, maybe Combeferre wouldn't mind if they petted him. Hmmm.

"I'm not much of a singer, Courfeyrac," he slurs the name a little. "That's 'kay though. I like that one Bahorel's singing."

Bossuet grinned, watching Nerium get plenty of love and attention. At least 'Ferre had the good sense to keep him away from the edible game pieces.

Raising his phone, he snaps a picture of Bahorel petting the little fuzz ball. Grantaire will appreciate this, and he has no intention of letting Bahorel ever forget or deny this moment.

"We're singing now? Can't we just meow instead? Might sound better."

"'Determination that is incorruptible, from the other side a terror to behold, annihilation will be unavoidable...'" Courfeyrac trails off, frowning as he considers the words. "Do you ever get the feeling that a whole lot of songs could be applied to us? Or am I just thinking about things way too hard?"

He scratches Nerium under the chin, earning a purr from the kitten and causing her to start kneading with her claws. At least it's a good image, thinking of them with a song like 'Indestructible'. Lions and tigers and black mambas beware, when facing Enjolras and Les Amis annihilation is unavoidable.

Turning to Bossuet, currently taking pictures of them, he grins. "We can totally start meowing songs. We can meow Christmas carols, and put all the barking dogs to shame."

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Courfeyrac kneels down by Bahorel, trying not to laugh too much as he studies the man's now very damp clothes. "That didn't work too well. Lost the kitten and the drink. You must be fine if you're still drinking, though."

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes and frowns. Still drinking Combeferre's drink. He's going to have to rectify this. Reaching out carefully, he tries to pull the drink out of Bahorel's hand. "'s not yours, you know. All of the rum does not belong to you, even if you're apparently going to be using it as cologne now."

"Nonononoo, it's okay." Combeferre gets up. "Ha, I can stand up." And stumbles over to get the bottle of rum. "I have the whoooole bottle now. Mine."

He drinks straight from the bottle, then goes to sit back down on the couch. And he makes it, sort of, falling down into Courfeyrac's lap.

"Kitty left, though," he mumbles into Courfeyrac's leg.

"Aww, you two are adorable when drunk," Bossuet teases. He pets his newly returned kitten and takes another swig of beer.

"T'smell ff rum is good." Bahorel points out. Nothing wrong with smelling like rum. It worked for pirates, didn't it?

"S' my glass. I saved it. I drink it." He struggles to a sitting position. His clothes are very wet. He picks at the front of his shirt, pulling it out away from his chest to examine it. Yep. Very very wet. He lets it go and it quickly goes back to stickily clinging to him. Then he polishes off the rum in his (purloined) cup.

He would have offered to fight for it. But 'Fey doesn't seem to want it anymore now. Which is good, because it's empty.

He looks down into the empty glass. The rum left a faint golden tinge at the very bottom. It was pretty.

When he looks up he notices Combefr face down on Corfrac's lap. Were they like that before? He laughs anyway.

Courfeyc has Combfre, and Bosut has a kitty. They match.

"We can get you another kitty." Courfeyrac smiles down at Combeferre in his lap. His fingers bury themselves in Combeferre's hair without his really telling them to, stroking Combeferre's head as they had Nerium. "Or get that kitty back. I don't think Lesgle's going to eat him. Probably."

Turning to grin at Lesgle and the kitten, he nods. "We're adorable any time, but it's easier t' be adorable when drunk. Nothing else pesky taking up neurons. You and the kitten are 'dorable, too. And Bahorel's pretty cute smelling at his shirt. Yep, we're all 'dorable."

Combeferre mumbles into Courfeyrac's leg. ""m not adorable. Sexy. Yesh. That's me."

He considers getting up so he can drink from the bottle of rum in his hand, but decides he's comfortable enough as he is.

"Your pants smell good."

"You are very sexy." Courfeyrac continues to stroke Combeferre's hair. "Definitely very sexy. Doesn't mean you can't be adorable too. Adorably sexy. And I'm glad that you like the way my pants smell. I try to keep them clean and smelling nice. I like the way you smell, too. And the way your place smells. Lots of good smells to go around."

Including the smell of alcohol, and he looks at the bottle in Combeferre's hand. "Could I have some, or do you want it all? I don't mind if you want it all. Then you can be sexy drunk adorable."

"Yes, Ferre, you are adorably sexy. We are all adorably sexy. And God, I think I need something stronger than beer right now. Be a good host, Ferre?"

Bossuet grinned devilishly, wondering whether Ferre or Courfeyrac would protest first.

"Get a room!" Bahorel cat-calls from his place on the floor, grinning at them.

"Hey, 'Fey... how c'me I can't havvehis rum, but you're gonna take it? Thass... thats... nonequall alchol rightss." He nods. "Enjlas wouln't like it."

He also nods at Legle's lack of drinks. It should be fixed. "Don' worrry. We got lotsss. Rumm, n' beer, 'n voka, 'n wine, 'n beer, 'n whiskey, n' rum, n' bourbn, nd wine..." He feels like he's forgetting some.

Combeferre holds out his rum, face still buried in Courfeyrac's leg. Hey, this is comfortable.

"Who'ver wantssssit c'n haaave it. Don'tthink I'll be upright enough to drink it."

A pause. "You're drunk 'nough, Bahorel. You're ev'n drunker'n meeeeee."

Then he sighs. "Enjolr's wooont approve of us being all drunk'n his livin'room. But I really miss Enjolras. Like, I really miss Enjolras. A lot."

"I don't think Combeferre's walking very good right now. It's why he's sitting in my lap." Courfeyrac nods at his own wisdom. "Maybe Bahorel can get you something, Bossuet. And there's no non-equality goin' on with the rum. I asked if I could have his rum. I didn' just take it like you did. 'S perfectly fine to ask for someone's drink. Then you can share. Enjolras would like sharing just fine."

He misses Enjolras. He misses him a great deal, and his hand stills on Combeferre's head. "I miss him, too. I want him home with us. I don't want him playing with lions and cannibals and tigers and sharks in Africa. I want him fighting stuff over here, so we can help him."

He has Combeferre here, though, and Bahorel, and Lesgles, and they're going to be leaving tomorrow to get Enjolras and Grantaire back. It's going to be okay. "And Enjolras can't get 'set about us bein' drunk here. 'S his fault. Him and stupid planes."

Leaning over, Courfeyrac kisses the back of Combeferre's head. "'Sides, he's not going to know. We won' tell him this part of our grand adventure of savin' him. It'll be our secret. Even Nerium won' tell."

"I cn por you some stff." Bahorel assures Lesgle. He sets his empty glass down beside himself, and clambers back to his feet. He almost loses his balance twice in the process, but manages not to fall back over.
Meandering over to the kitchen, he grabs a cup and a bottle of bourbon, and proceeds to pour about half of it onto the floor before getting a decent amount in the cup. He frowns at the bottle, takes a swig from it, and walks over to Bossuet to present him with the cup.

"It's not fair Enjls gets to hve allll the fun wthot us. He's offf fightng with liooons, n' sharks, n' koalas n' stuff, and weee're stuck here worryng." He shakes his head. "'S all th plannes fault. We shuld teach 'em. Tie 'm in big knots, 'n see if they cn crash then!" He nods. "If I hd a plaane now, 'd make it pay."

He takes another sip from the bourbon.

"S'no koalas in Afrig--frica," Combeferre points out. Ever the pedant, even when drunk. "They've got lions though. An..and rhinos. I wanna see a rhino."