(no subject)
It was freezing. And Henri Combeferre was lying on his back on the small boat dock on the beach.
It was not the most... logical thing he had ever done. Enjolras, who had little imagination for anything that didn't involve revolution or appreciation for poetry that didn't include the Republic would have called him a fool, and Courfeyrac, ever-practical underneath his constant cheer would have concurred. Joly would have promptly informed him of any number of diseases he could catch by sitting out in the cold, so near the water no less. But Combeferre didn't much care.
He was well bundled up, in any case, as he stared up at the slate-grey sky, listening to the ocean lap against the shore and the small boat anchored nearby beat gently against the dock. He wrinkled his nose slightly as the wind tickled his face.
It had been over a month since that strange Halloween day, but there was one image he could not chase from his mind, even as those of monsters and gore faded. Hourglasses. An absurdly simple thing. But he had found the small hourglass near the end of the day, his name etched neatly at its base, only a few grains left in its upper bulb. The symbolism had been impossible to ignore. He had pocketed the thing, but it had disappeared along with the rest of the day's madness.
He had had only a few moments left of life, then, before he had appeared here. He had known, guessed at the very least, but it was strange to have it so confirmed.
He smiled ruefully up at the heavens and murmured to no one in particular, "So that's how it is, n'est pas?"
[He's not feeling as maudlin as he sounds, promise. It's a good time to meet him, actually (*hint*tag someone new people ;) ). Timed for late afternoonish.]
It was not the most... logical thing he had ever done. Enjolras, who had little imagination for anything that didn't involve revolution or appreciation for poetry that didn't include the Republic would have called him a fool, and Courfeyrac, ever-practical underneath his constant cheer would have concurred. Joly would have promptly informed him of any number of diseases he could catch by sitting out in the cold, so near the water no less. But Combeferre didn't much care.
He was well bundled up, in any case, as he stared up at the slate-grey sky, listening to the ocean lap against the shore and the small boat anchored nearby beat gently against the dock. He wrinkled his nose slightly as the wind tickled his face.
It had been over a month since that strange Halloween day, but there was one image he could not chase from his mind, even as those of monsters and gore faded. Hourglasses. An absurdly simple thing. But he had found the small hourglass near the end of the day, his name etched neatly at its base, only a few grains left in its upper bulb. The symbolism had been impossible to ignore. He had pocketed the thing, but it had disappeared along with the rest of the day's madness.
He had had only a few moments left of life, then, before he had appeared here. He had known, guessed at the very least, but it was strange to have it so confirmed.
He smiled ruefully up at the heavens and murmured to no one in particular, "So that's how it is, n'est pas?"
[He's not feeling as maudlin as he sounds, promise. It's a good time to meet him, actually (*hint*tag someone new people ;) ). Timed for late afternoonish.]