For Athos

[lafaute]

For all that this world seems so equitable in so many ways, there are things here that Gavroche finds entirely unjust. The fact that there are still those that starve or have no homes to go to is the largest of these, yes, but there are others. One which he finds particularly irksome is this notion of ‘legal age’ and the fact that he is allowed in so few establishments that serve alcohol. It is not that Gavroche has any real desire to drink the spirits on offer, but these places are the best to learn things about the city and its inhabitants. Useful things, which will make Gavroche again King of the Streets.

There are a few places that he can go, he has found. Less savoury ones pay him little enough attention; a few even treating him as if he were an expected presence. These are his favourites, and after his classes with Combeferre he often makes a round of them all, charming the staff and listening to the patrons. He has a bowl of soup here, a serve of bread toasted with garlic butter at another – and rarely does he have to pay. It is, he thinks, as it should be.

When he arrives at his final stop of the afternoon, he finds a new face among those that sit at the bar. At least, newish, for the man is one he has seen before, at Porthos’ party. “Bonjour m’sieur,” he says as he clambers onto the stool, smiling when a bowl of nuts appears before him and a glass of what he now knows is coke. “Ah, this place is a good one, is it not?”

Comments

[somepoorsoul]

Athos’ nobility may run deep, but one would not know it by his choice of drinking establishments. Here, as in Paris, he favors tucked-away places that leave most of their customers in shadow and don’t encourage observation. And he has learned that the better appointed bars tend to look askance at the customer who orders before a certain time.

And so he is here, in a darkened tavern not far from his flat, in a bar whose name was once done up in lights that have blinked out, one by one. He’s drinking wine when the boy appears beside him, and automatically checks his pockets to assure himself his purse has not gone missing. Finding a child like this in a Paris watering hole would not be strange, but Athos has come to understand that here, children are not welcome in places like this.

He eyes the boy suspiciously and answers in French. “A good what?"

[lafaute]

That he answers in the language Gavroche is most comfortable with earns the man a warm smile. He was right, then, this man is a friend of Porthos. “A good bar, though I think it is called a tavern.” The word is not one that he is entirely used to, but he likes the sound of it. “They let men such as us in here, do they not?”

[somepoorsoul]

Us. Athos nearly smiles. “I do not think that children are allowed, in fact.” He continues to keep a close eye on his wallet.

[lafaute]

"But what is a child, truly? Who is the arbiter that says my life is less rich than that of say... him." He waves at a young man, likely barely twenty years, drunk with his head down on the table in a puddle of drool. "There is a man who should not be allowed in a place such as this. Me, I know my limitations."

[somepoorsoul]

By God, and a philosopher as well. Athos has encountered his share of gamins in his life, but this one may, in fact, be unique.

He decides not to argue with the boy. Arguing with philosophers, even very small ones, rarely does any good. Instead, he observes, “You are from Paris.” In a city made up largely of foreigners, it’s rather unexpected to find himself sitting next to someone from so close to home, even if that someone is a child.

[lafaute]

“A proper city,” he says by way of confirmation. Darrow is fine in many ways, clean and prosperous. But it has none of the je ne sais quoi that makes his home so wonderful. “With character. Are you as well?”

[somepoorsoul]

Athos merely nods in response. Signaling the bartender, he orders another drink; the man eyes Gavroche suspiciously for a moment before attending to the wine. Athos wonders how long the boy can convince the proprietors not to throw him out, using those implausibly innocent blue eyes of his.

[lafaute]

"Then you are friends with Porthos," he says, not needing the other man to contribute in order to hold a conversation. Gavroche smiles at the bartender and winks, the other man sighing and refilling his cola. "I thought that I saw you at his gathering. I, of course, am Gavroche."

[somepoorsoul]

Well, that does explain a lot. He does seem precisely like the sort of boy that Porthos would encourage to trail after him; Athos isn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Like many schemes involving Porthos, the answer is probably both.

“Of course.” Athos shakes his head faintly. For the moment, amusement is winning out.

[lafaute]

"What is your name, monsieur?" He looks curiously and expectantly at the other man. "Are you also a Musketeer like Porthos?"

[somepoorsoul]

“Athos.” He sips his wine and eyes the boy, offering a brief nod. He isn’t sure what he is anymore, honestly, but musketeer is the only title ever given to him that sat comfortably on his shoulders.

“You ask a lot of questions."

[lafaute]

"Yes. It is the best way to learn, Combeferre says." Actually, Combeferre has never said anything of the sort, but it seems plausible enough, like something that he might perhaps say. "I wish to learn a great deal. It is the best way to get ahead in life."

[somepoorsoul]

“I don’t suppose anyone ever taught you to listen as well,” Athos deadpans.

[lafaute]

"I listen very well. You would not believe the things I have learned." He sips at his soda, smiling primly at the man beside him. "Or what people say because they do not think anyone who matters is listening."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos grunts. That, he can imagine. "And what secrets have you discovered today?" If the boy is busy talking, at least he will ask fewer questions.

And perhaps - just perhaps - Athos finds the gamin's company rather amusing.

[lafaute]

"I have discovered that there are strange creatures roaming at night, and people who fly from rooftops." It sounds fantastical, but he has seen some of each himself, sneaking out quite late to witness these things. "That the gang who control the south side of the city have lost some of their men, and their business suffers. That there is a woman who has a whole house of lewdness, but pays for the privilege to stay unmolested by any of the gangs. Oh, and they water the beer here."

[somepoorsoul]

“Say the last too loud and they will not welcome you here much longer,” is Athos’ advice, though he doubts very much that any of the other drinkers know French, and certainly not the boy’s special class of very Parisian French, full of slang and intonation that even a native could have trouble following.

[lafaute]

Gavroche nods gravely, though his eyes sparkle with delight. He doubts that any here understand him, and if they do, they seem to pay his words no mind. "And you? Why is it that you like it here?"

[somepoorsoul]

"Did I say I like it here, gamin?" Athos asks, falling into the pattern of their conversation despite himself, full of harmless sharpness and observations on both sides.

[lafaute]

"No, but you are here, and you make no move to leave. So there is something about it that you must like, because you stay," he points out. He can not see another reason, people rarely stay places they dislike if they do not have to.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos can only shrug at the boy’s logic. There is, in his experience, a long way between liking a place and not disliking it. This particular bar has absolutely nothing to recommend itself, which is his reason for frequenting it. Men do not want to come here so much as end up here, and they don’t ask questions.

“It’s quiet."

[lafaute]

"Ah," he says with a nod, thinking of the melancholy of Msr. Marius when he had thought his heart broken and would avoid the other men. Grantaire would sometimes sit away from the others too, or even Enjolras, for all of his glory, taken by darker thoughts. "I understand."

[somepoorsoul]

The look in the boy’s eyes is terribly knowing, and far too old for his years. Athos snorts softly and shakes his head, finishing his drink and gesturing at the bartender for another one. From any other child, he would never believe it, but he almost thinks this Gavroche does know what he is seeing, strange as it sounds.

[lafaute]

"Have you met Combeferre? Henri," he says the man's given name, rather than the one they all seem to use. It isn't that his tutor is as dark as this man, but for some reason he thinks they might get on. More than Courfeyrac, or Marius at the least. "He is one of us. French."

[somepoorsoul]

“I have not.” Athos has heard tell of a handful of other Frenchmen, many of them acquaintances of Aramis and Porthos, though that one in particular does not sound familiar. “A friend of yours?"

[lafaute]

"Yes, and a tutor," he says, sighing long at the last word. Even Gavroche will admit that his lessons are somewhat helpful, though they run far too long and contain too much that he feels is useless to him. "He teaches me my lessons."

[somepoorsoul]

“Generous of him.” If the boy chatters as much during his lessons as he is currently, then he must make for a maddening student. “You knew him before this place?” Athos guesses, beginning to sketch in his mind this mysterious Combeferre who dares to look after gamins.

[lafaute]

"Oui. He and his friends, they were my compatriots in the fight for equality," he says with pride. Things here seem to be closer, but there is still a long way to go.

[somepoorsoul]

“Equality,” Athos echoes without bothering to hide his skepticism. He knows things are different here, and doesn’t mind much one way or the other, but in the France he had known? Strangely, he is reminded both of the Comtesse de Larroque and that slippery creature Vadim, and it is an uncomfortable combination. “And how did they intend to accomplish that?"

[lafaute]

"Why, through revolution," he says, as if there could be no question to this. "The people would rise."

[somepoorsoul]

Like Vadim, then. Or, more accurately, Vadim’s foolish friends.

“And then what?"

[lafaute]

"What do you mean?" That was a confusing question. There was only one place for it to go, the new world that would have risen up. "We would have taken the government."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos sighs. He should not be arguing politics with a child; it is a foolish and pointless act, especially in this absurd world where their opinions have no purpose, anyway. “Of course,” he murmurs, thinking that the boy is unlikely to leave it there. Foolish child.

[lafaute]

He knows that sort of tone, and knows that it means Athos is not one of the believers. "It would happen."

[somepoorsoul]

Children, Athos supposes, must hope for better than their lot or die of despair, though he doubts that many of them turn to political philosophy for their wellspring. He will grant the boy this: something clearly changed, somewhere along the line. One only need see the ease with which Porthos can now walk down the street, even sans the deference provoked by arms and the king’s uniform, to realize that not all is as it once was.

Still, he has no time for the sorts of rebels and radicals the gamin speaks of, who tend to get people killed for no reason. Athos sighs and shrugs. It is no matter now. “Very well."

[lafaute]

"Very well indeed." Gavroche nods, tipping his head toward the other man. "But, I should go. I have stayed here too long. They start to notice after some time."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos nearly smiles, imagining the boy being chased out with a broom, or some such thing, only to creep back in the next day. There is no stopping gamins, whatever one might do to try.

“Before you go.” He sips his wine. “I believe you have something of mine."

[lafaute]

That he notices tells Gavroche a great deal. He is observant, and possibly used to the light touches of the pickpocket or thief. Laughing, Gavroche pulls the purse out, holding it out. That it is lighter by a note is another matter. “Well caught.”

[somepoorsoul]

With a snort, Athos only holds out his hand. The boy will take a tax of some kind, knowing his sort, but at least he will have the purse returned.

[lafaute]

"Another time, Monsieur Athos," he says, handing the wallet back and bowing with a flourish. He waves at the barman, looking surly behind the counter before turning and darting out the way he had come - through the back.