*here would be a handsome young man (maybe not quite as handsome as his broad, charming smile would have you believe, but handsome all the same,) fashionably dressed ( Read more... )

*Look, it's another one of those Frenchboys! This one, however, has a rather battered hat perched atop his bald head, and a distressingly-coloured pink and blue coat. He manages, admirably enough, to walk straight onto the deck and slip, and then laughs and picks himself up ( Read more... )

Oh -- ! Oh -- dear, this -- is certainly new -- ! I don't quite -- I'm sure I'd remember being on a boat. Where am I?

A boat-? Oh dear... how did he end up on a boat? Is there much risk of death on boats?

He's a young man, a youthful malade imaginaire: at twenty-three he considered himself a chronic invalid. He holds his handkercheif to his mouth with the same hand in which he carries his cane, looking at the seascape in some alarm.

Mon Dieu... all this air can ( Read more... )

*totters in drunk, wine-stained clothes and all*

Where did you lead me, oh capricous Green Fairy?

Grantaire from Les Mis. I am heartily sorry.

He'd been travelling and it had been very hot, so he'd lay down under a tree to rest during the worst of the heat. The cool ocean breeze is what wakes him. Now he's standing leaning over the rail, letting the wind tangle his hair even more.

This is not Artigat.

But the enormity and beauty of the ocean catch his attention again.

typist: Arnaud du ( Read more... )

Jean Valjean enters purposefully, a bag haphazardly thrown over his shoulder that contains the doll belonging to his beloved daughter, Cosette. He surveys his surroundings and sighs, directing his attention skywards.

Look after them.

Typist: Jean Valjean, from Les Misérables. Taken from just after he leaves Marius and Cosette.

Combeferre wanders onto the deck, his nose in a book as usual, not noticing where he is until ocean spray splashes onto his face, splattering his glasses. He removes them to wipe them dry, puts them back on, and.... stares.

Oh dear. I must have taken a wrong turning somewhere.

The young girl, though grubby and wearing clothes that have seen better decades, let alone years, looks around with a defiant expression. She doesn't know where she is, but she's never let the little details get in the way of her personal narrative ( Read more... )

A wealthy looking man armed with a pistol arrives on the scene, looking about him with unease and being on a boat. He stands very tall, as though he has been a soldier or policeman of some sort. His eyes narrows as he mutters, "God's work is never done, it seems."

(It's Javert! Ahhhhh!!!)