Combeferre (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
decipheredhieroglyphics) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lesamisdodw2013-01-09 06:44 pm
decipheredhieroglyphics) wrote in lesamisdodw2013-01-09 06:44 pm
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.
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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Turning the kitten towards Bahorel, Courfeyrac gives him a brief nudge in that direction. The kitten takes two steps that way before veering off and pouncing onto Bossuet's shoes.
"Bathroom'll be good. Anyone have any preferences on what we should play first?"
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"Oh, looks like we've got a fighter." He pokes the little fuzzball a few more times, dodging each resulting paw swipe.
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"He's a quiet little thing normally, but when he attacks, he means business."
The description gave him pause, reminding him of the other young slip of a boy who could raze mountains and obliterate armies when roused to action. Bossuet shook his head, he wasn't nearly drunk enough to carry through that train of thought. Grabbing a beer, he decided to rectify that situation.
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There's still that nagging worry, of course: that Enjolras is dying somewhere while he's lying on his arse in his living room, drinking with his friends and taking his ease. But it's a tiny voice easy relegated to the back of his head. It isn't as though they wouldn't be going after Enjolras soon enough -- and besides, Enjolras can take care of himself and he forces himself to not worry.
"I think the video games would be a lot funnier after we've all knocked back a few, though."
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Glancing back up at the others, he comments casually, "So if we're not going to boot up one of the games... are we going to discuss the long faces that keep flashing up around here? Or keep ignoring them until the alcohol kicks in?"
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It might be the first and last time they all drink together in this life.
And he's not going to think about that. He's going to be cheerful so the others can be cheerful. Forcing a grin, he watches the kitten continue to bite at Bahorel's fingers. "I claim at least some time when we're all thoroughly drunk for karaoke."
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"I--would try to refuse karaoke, but I'm still sober. Ask me again when I'm a lot drunker, Courfeyrac. Right now, though, it's not going to happen."
He settled himself down again after plonking down more beers. "Of course we all want to do something. Drink first, though. Get the fun out of our system, then plan. It's how we always used to do things. Drinking, billiards, wine, girls, song... then we have our fill and go do important things."
He smiled a little, a crafty little grin. "We could always put the karaoke up on YouTube. Or kitten videos, either or."
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"Videos, when we've got the real thing? I think he'd feel cheated on." He waves at the toddling bit of white fur across the room.
Well, we've got a little over half of that list." He laughs, "Drinking, wine (which is kind of the same thing), and song, if 'Fey has his way. Don't know where you're hiding the pool or the girls, though."
Sobering for a moment, he says "Before I'm too many sheets to the wind, I do want to dedicate this drink to Grantaire. I look forward to sharing another one with him when we get them back. And Enjolras. He can watch us all drink, and be fondly exasperated by it." He takes a swig of his bottle. "We will get them back. I don't care what battles we have to fight. Next time we get together like this, they'll be here." He raises his bottle towards the others.
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"There's no room for a pool table here and I'm afraid you'll have to find your own girls."
He does happily raise a bottle for the toast though.
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He drains about half the bottle in one go. Getting drunk by increments is usually more his style, but tonight he just wants to let go and relax as quickly as possible. "I did specify that I want karaoke when I'm more drunk, though. I don't hold a tune nearly well enough to try without a bit more alcohol. As for the pool and girls... I can't do much about the pool, but anytime people want I know some cute girls. And guys. Just name your preference."
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He polishes off his first bottle, and reaches for a second.
"And thanks for the offer, but I think we should keep it to just us, this time. It wouldn't feel right, having others around..."
"We could, however, search up a really bad movie and riff it while we drink. Maybe make up some drinking games for it."
(OOC: Unfortunately, it is drawing near my bedtime, so I will have to bow out for the night. It's been lovely.)
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Finishing off his first drink and reaching for a second, Courfeyrac grins. "Cute kittens, bad movies, and good friends. Sounds like the perfect way to start off the night. Though I vote we make Bahorel take double the shots if we do a drinking game. We want everyone to have a sporting chance, after all."
(OOC: Work tomorrow means I've got to head off for the night. I'd be happy to continue tomorrow evening if other people want to.)
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(Tomorrow it is! This can take as many days as it needs to. :) I'm still AT work, boo. At least I don't have to worry about you guys waiting on me when I leave work, haha.)
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So saying, Bossuet finished his first beer and reached for another.
(OOC: Sounds good!)
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"Or at least, you two." His gesture indicates Combeferre and Courfeyrac.
"Do you have Netflix, or something, 'Ferre? Or do we get to raid your personal collection for something to mock?"