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[identity profile] electrumicity.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] bifolding
Title: Untitled as of yet, Chapter 1
Fandom: Les Misérables [AU]
Pairing: Enjolras/Grantaire (eventually)
Rating: PG
Notes: As said above, an AU that takes place in present day. In NYC. Because I said so. Still unbeta'd, and solely written on my phone while half asleep, so uh. Yeah.



I was never one for activism. Political, societal, whatever it be--it didn't matter to me, even if it supposedly concern me. What does it matter to me who gets elected to office? They're all self absorbed bastards in the end. Who cares about trying to teach the world about "green" energy in order to protect our environment? We're probably going to blow ourselves into oblivion in the next hundred years or so anyway. I've always been perfectly content sitting back and letting the days pass me by, not wasting precious time or energy on fighting for a cause that may sound noble but is ultimately pointless. People seek to provide answers and solutions to all of life's little problems; you might as well save some effort and look for those answers at the bottom of a wine bottle. It has a knack for working. Trust me, I'd know.

With this as such, I always found activists to be rather silly people who are doing nothing but wasting their breath and ruining my nice, quiet day in the park with their damned speeches. Fools, the lot of them, and they were all the same no matter what they were trying to accomplish.

That's what I'd believed for years, until one day, I heard the speech of a golden god.


---

"...it is a height that we all strive to accomplish. Such success is said to be a product of hard labor, but how much of that labor is sweat and bled through the blood of the working class? What do we bleed dry for, if not for them? Why is this still acceptable?"

There was a constant, loud, annoying sound, and it wasn't the fly that had been pestering Grantaire for the better part of an hour. It was persistent and wouldn't shut up. As he came out of his half-asleep daze, the student realized that said sound was some kind of speech over something or other. An activist had taken over the performance stage in his favorite little bar and had designated it as his soapbox. It was the third time this week. Didn't they have anything better to do, like rescue puppies or save the starving children of Africa by trying to re-enact Jesus' miracle of the five loaves and two fish? No. They had to come in there, ruin the relaxed atmosphere with pointless drivel, and be an overall buzzkill.

The dart board was within reach. He wondered if he could get away with "accidentally" tossing a dart into the man's leg. At the least, he thought, it would give the speech-giver an actual tangible thing to complain about. Grantaire continued to twirl the idea around in his mind, when he finally glanced over to get a good look at his potential victim.

There was no such thing as love at first sight, but damned if he wasn't stricken. Icy blue eyes, hair the color and shine of polished gold, skin as fair as Snow White's herself--and that was about when he gave himself a kick for his usual flowery mental ramblings. To put it simply and without purple prose and metaphors, the man was stunningly gorgeous. It was a strange sort of beauty neither simply masculine or feminine, but rather somehow taking the best of both. There was something to be said about his voice as well, now that he'd finally started listening in. While it still didn't make him give any more of a damn as to what he was talking about, there was a certain power and grace in his tone that could lead men to an unwinnable battle against death itself.

A real shame that he had to be one of those annoying activist types.

Part of Grantaire simply wanted to ignore him and go back to his drink, but he couldn't bring himself to. It wasn't that the man's words were all that intriguing, or that he agreed with the message. It wasn't the words at all. It was him. There was something about him that drew an interest, something different from when he'd simply see a pretty face on the sidewalk or in the park.

Before he could stop himself, the brunet spoke up, his alcohol-rasped voice ringing throughout the room in interruption.

"Ah, but do you truly provide the solution? How many of the men you decry started just as yourself, save for the ruthlessness that you instead channel into a less productive outlet? Perhaps you ought to utilize a bit of that bloody passion yourself! Will another French Revolution solve the problems that the first did not across the oceans? Off with their heads, I say, and scramble to pawn off their gold teeth!"

The man onstage, along with the rest of the room, stared baffled at Grantaire. Though the drunkard was well known to many regulars, the outburst was nonetheless a bit odd, as was the nature of it. The pale, beautiful face he had been admiring shifted from confusion to annoyance, and yet the passion behind his blue eyes only seemed to grow.

"And what would you do, hm? Sit in complacency as you and those around you become more destitute? Do you not look towards the sky and curse that which ties your wings to your body, the hawk that seeks to devour its lesser brethren?" he shot back at him. "Do you care nothing of the plight of your fellow man and yourself?"

Leaning backwards in his chair, Grantaire let a smirk cross his features. "Use whatever fancy analogies and imagery you like, but the fact of the matter is that you preach to a crowd that would rather spend the rest of their money on a good scotch rather than give it to the poor or to some so-called noble cause. The gutter is surprisingly comfortable, I'd have you know."

That was apparently all the heckling the man was prepared to deal with at the time being, as he seemed to simply give up and leave the stage. The usual chatter amongst the bar's patrons resumed after a few moments, and Grantaire was about to happily get back to his drink. That was, until he sensed someone standing next to his table. He looked up.

The man was even more beautiful up close.

"Might I be able to help you?" Grantaire asked with a lopsided grin, leaning back in his chair as he took in the other male's expression. Eyes were trained on him with a look that could only be described as disdain.

"I come here to simply say this: I pity you. This is not the first time I have seen your face, nor is this the first time I have seen you more concerned with liquor than the world around you. It's no wonder that I hear that you've been nearly kicked out on several occasions due to carrying alcohol on campus."

That was certainly unexpected. While the man gave off the air of a student, he hadn't any idea that he was a classmate of his. How did he never see this angel before? Before Grantaire could even open his mouth to respond, he was cut off by the blond.

"I suggest learning to hold your alcohol-swollen tongue once in a while, and let the adults talk. It is clear that you are incapable of even aspiring to such maturity." Not giving Grantaire a chance to say anything, he simply turned around, striding out of the bar.

As the door closed behind him, Grantaire only thought one thing: he had to find out his name.
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