Drinking Party At 'Ferre's

[decipheredhieroglyphics]

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.

Comments

[revolution_is_a_riot]

Bahorel took a few minutes to sift through his own stock of video games. Combeferre might have his own copies of Street Fighter, Marvel vs. Capcom, and the other big fighting game titles, but it never hurt to have extras along in case. If they weren't going to let him throw any real life punches, then he wanted to make sure he could throw some digital ones.

Gathering the beer, wine, and other assorted liquor that had survived the previous night's binging, he resolved that a detour (or two) to procure more spirits was in order.

"Let me know when you're ready." He called to Courfeyrac, heading out the door to put his load of bottles in the trunk of his car.

[aneaglefarfromhisnest]

"Hello?" Bossuet called, knocking on the door with one hand and clutching the squirming white kitten with the other. He wasn't sure if Combeferre would like Nerium in his apartment, but if he didn't then it was a short enough walk back to his flat to drop the kit off. Over the past, hellish week, the little thing had grown terribly edgy and clingy, and Bossuet felt horribly guilty for leaving him alone too long. Even though he was a very poor substitute for Grantaire.

In all honesty, the silent waiting was getting to him, too. Lesgles dearly hoped that they would have a concrete plan in the morning. Until then, this would be a good night to get nicely drunk.

[decipheredhieroglyphics]

Combeferre pauses in pinning the label Bahorel had made onto a place of honour on the fridge, the better to enjoy it even long weeks from now, to scritch the kitten's ears. "Of course he can stay. There's no litterbox for him here, though -- just keep that in mind, eh?"

Combeferre opens a beer for himself. "Let's all get drunk in the livingroom. There's plenty of food, beer, and video games for us all -- and now, added to Bahorel and Courfeyrac and Lesgles, we have a cat to keep us all entertained."

It was hard to remember to be sad and fretful of Enjolras with all his friends (and an adorable little kitten) all around him.

[decipheredhieroglyphics]

Combeferre gestured with his beer bottle at the cupboard of the TV stand. "There's lots of movies in there. Some are Enjolras', though."

A part of him was extra glad he hadn't left his porn lying around. Some things were private. But if the video games weren't good enough, the pile of movies should do the trick. Hopefully.

"I have no doubt you can drink me under the table. You do it far more than I do."

The cat was trying to climb up the couch, making 'ferre grin a little, but he didn't reach out to help the creature. He figured the kitten could find his own way around. The couch was leather, so hard to ruin by scratching. At, Combeferre hopes so.

[decipheredhieroglyphics]

"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."