And raise what's left of the flag for me
Mornings were beautiful on Tabula Rasa. With few professional obligations to see to, its residents were more likely to sleep late. Humanity's noise was absent from the jungle, but that did not mean noise was absent. The rustle of trees, cries of birds, fall-off calls of unknown animals were all the grander when their stranded neighbors were still abed. It was, Combeferre thought, a sight to see.
The morning should have dawned darker, if there had been any poetry to it, but the young doctor found that nature rarely cared about poetry or any other human endeavor. It was comforting to watch the jungle as it stretched out from his perch on the roof, beautifully ignorant of the date that meant so much to him.
There was no sleeping in for Enjolras that morning. There'd been precious little sleep at all, for that matter, and he rose with the sun after hours of lying in bed with the ghosts of the date milling restlessly through his mind. He strode past the kitchen and out into the discordantly cheerful island morning, sighing as he took a few steps away from the stone building. His eyes moved slowly across the scenery as he tied his hair back, ascertaining that he was alone, or so he thought.
But Enjolras wasn't alone. Despite his somber mood, Combeferre found himself smiling softly. He could already picture his friend's reaction, all eyerolling and despair. He waved from high atop his perch and called out Enjolras' name.
Enjolras looked up, rolling his eyes as he spotted Combeferre on the roof. It seemed...silly, dramatic. But if there was anyone's company he wanted on this day, it was his best friend. He sighed and shook his head, making his way onto the roof to join Combeferre. "Is there a reason you're up here?" he asked dryly as he reached Combeferre's side.
But Combeferre shrugged, even as he flickered a welcoming smile at Enjolras. He was not a man of many words, least of all on a day such as today. "It offers a good view," he answered matter-of-factly. He turned to look out over the jungle again, expression going quieter, more distant. "I wished to look at something beautiful."
Enjolras snorted quietly and shook his head. Beautiful scenery was not what he desired, especially today. He wanted action, progress, a way to regain some of what he'd lost on this date, centuries ago and worlds away but always close to his heart. His friends, his cause, his revolution had all fallen, but here there was a second chance, an opportunity to learn from past mistakes and perhaps ensure the happy civilization he'd dreamt of for his Paris. "We should make the most of today," he remarked bluntly to his friend, eyes narrowed as he looked out at the land they now called home.
"And we will," Combeferre answered, as calm as ever. "The island hasn't woken yet. We have time enough." His friend was right, in essence. June sixth, bright and clear, was not a day to be wallowing in misery. That was not the memory he wish to carry, the legacy he wished to continue.
But one hundred and seventy-six years ago to the very day, he had his friends had lost their lives on a Paris street for a failed cause. For a moment, just for a moment, he needed to sit in silence and remember.
[Failed revolutionaries onna roof! Again. Timed for early Friday morning. Tag Enjolras, tag Combeferre, tag them both. Immediately slowtimed because I have to be getting off to work, but there will be tagging asap.]
The morning should have dawned darker, if there had been any poetry to it, but the young doctor found that nature rarely cared about poetry or any other human endeavor. It was comforting to watch the jungle as it stretched out from his perch on the roof, beautifully ignorant of the date that meant so much to him.
There was no sleeping in for Enjolras that morning. There'd been precious little sleep at all, for that matter, and he rose with the sun after hours of lying in bed with the ghosts of the date milling restlessly through his mind. He strode past the kitchen and out into the discordantly cheerful island morning, sighing as he took a few steps away from the stone building. His eyes moved slowly across the scenery as he tied his hair back, ascertaining that he was alone, or so he thought.
But Enjolras wasn't alone. Despite his somber mood, Combeferre found himself smiling softly. He could already picture his friend's reaction, all eyerolling and despair. He waved from high atop his perch and called out Enjolras' name.
Enjolras looked up, rolling his eyes as he spotted Combeferre on the roof. It seemed...silly, dramatic. But if there was anyone's company he wanted on this day, it was his best friend. He sighed and shook his head, making his way onto the roof to join Combeferre. "Is there a reason you're up here?" he asked dryly as he reached Combeferre's side.
But Combeferre shrugged, even as he flickered a welcoming smile at Enjolras. He was not a man of many words, least of all on a day such as today. "It offers a good view," he answered matter-of-factly. He turned to look out over the jungle again, expression going quieter, more distant. "I wished to look at something beautiful."
Enjolras snorted quietly and shook his head. Beautiful scenery was not what he desired, especially today. He wanted action, progress, a way to regain some of what he'd lost on this date, centuries ago and worlds away but always close to his heart. His friends, his cause, his revolution had all fallen, but here there was a second chance, an opportunity to learn from past mistakes and perhaps ensure the happy civilization he'd dreamt of for his Paris. "We should make the most of today," he remarked bluntly to his friend, eyes narrowed as he looked out at the land they now called home.
"And we will," Combeferre answered, as calm as ever. "The island hasn't woken yet. We have time enough." His friend was right, in essence. June sixth, bright and clear, was not a day to be wallowing in misery. That was not the memory he wish to carry, the legacy he wished to continue.
But one hundred and seventy-six years ago to the very day, he had his friends had lost their lives on a Paris street for a failed cause. For a moment, just for a moment, he needed to sit in silence and remember.
[Failed revolutionaries onna roof! Again. Timed for early Friday morning. Tag Enjolras, tag Combeferre, tag them both. Immediately slowtimed because I have to be getting off to work, but there will be tagging asap.]