Drinking Party At 'Ferre's
Jan. 9th, 2013 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
decipheredhieroglyphics posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
lesamisdodwWho: 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.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-11 03:47 am (UTC)Combeferre doesn't like women in his porn, and had hoped to not have to discuss his personal preferences with his friends, though apparently he wasn't about to get that option.
"I thought I'd put it all away. I should've known better." He sighs, running a hand through his hair, making his hair stick up all over the place. "I'm definitely not drunk enough for this," and veers off for more beer.
(No problem. :D Hopefully Bossuet comes out of hiding, too.)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-12 01:37 am (UTC)He wonders, briefly, about the content of the videos. The ones he recognizes are all male-oriented; the ones he doesn't have covers and titles that suggest they're likely similar. Good information to file away for the future.
Resting his head on Combeferre's shoulder, he grins. "No need to turn so red. You have good taste in porn. If it'd make you feel better, I can let you see my collection sometime."
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-12 01:45 am (UTC)"So you're into the dudes, huh?" He studies the cover. Not bad, he supposes. But then, it was hard to be a porn star if you were ugly. Still, hard to tell from a glance if they were his type, or not.
"I wonder why so many of us turned out gay this time? Or at least, open to the idea." He muses outloud, tossing the film lightly down to join its kin. "I mean, was the potential always there, and it just took the right climate to bring it out?... Or was there something in the water when we were born?" He laughs.
Striding over to the the other two (who were nestled up close again, he notes), he puts on hand on both of their heads and pushes them forward, just enough to throw off their balance. "Guess I'll have to keep an eye on the two of you." He teases.
Walking past them he picks up the bottle of tequila, "You sure you don't want that shot, 'Ferre?"
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-12 01:53 am (UTC)Maybe they had just enough beer in the fridge after all, and he lets himself lean slightly against his friend before fetching another two beers for himself.
"I'll pass on the tequila, Bahorel." He holds up the beer, as if to say 'this is good enough for me.'
"To answer your question, I thought I was straight until I got most of my memories back. Then ... well, women lost their flavour after that, somehow." He shrugs, figuring he might as well admit it now.
He isn't drunk enough to fall over when Bahorel tries to tip him over.