A Les Misérables Fanfic
The streets of Paris shone in the dull sunlight, wet from the rain the night before. The clouds overhead were a dark gray, a promise for more rain later. Only a few people milled around outside, the others wary of the threat of rain. One boy walked purposefully through the street, a book-bag held loosely over one shoulder. He was around sixteen or seventeen, with dark brown hair and pale brown eyes that peeked out from behind his glasses. The boy turned off the street into a building with a sign that proclaimed, "Le Café Musain."
The boy stepped into the cafe, taking his jacket off and hanging it on the coat-rack. He carried his bag over to a table where another boy sat, letting the bag fall to the ground by his chair. The boy already seated at the table had dark blond hair and slightly arrogant brown eyes. "Hey Combeferre." He greeted the other boy.
Comeferre smiled. "Hello Courfeyrac." He sat down at the seat opposite Courfeyrac, leaning down to take some textbooks out of his bag. "Remind me again what subjects you need help on?"
Courfeyrac brushed his bangs impatiently off his face and started counting out the subjects in an almost bored fashion. "Math, Science, and Government. I honestly can't understand a word that fool teacher says."
The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes. "That's because you never bother to pay attention." He reprimanded his friend.
Courfeyrac shrugged, unconcerned. "It's not my fault he speaks in a monotone. I doubt the man's ever gone on a date. No girl would ever be able to sit through a conversation with him without falling asleep."
Combeferre sighed. "Must every conversation lead to girls, Courfeyrac?"
The dark blonde smiled in an infuriating way. "But of course? What is life without girls?"
His friend sighed again. "Let's just get onto studying, shall we? It wouldn't do to get you expelled." he said wearily.
Courfeyrac groaned. "Do we have to? Couldn't we just have something to eat and tell my parents we were studying?" He pleaded.
Combeferre replied firmly, "No. You heard what your parents said. If you don't get a passing grade in your classes, you're in for it." When Courfeyrac didn't respond, he added "One day, you'll be living on your own, and then you can do whatever you want. But for now, just humor them, alright?"
The dark blonde sighed. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
Combeferre was about to open the government textbook when he heard the shout of angry voices from the other room. Two men came from the other room, dragging a boy of about seventeen or eighteen with them. They threw him to the floor, where he landed on his hands and knees, turning slowly to face them. The first man, a burly man with thick arms, shouted at the boy, "Let that be a lesson to you, boy. Don't go mouthing off about the king, or we'll hear about it."
The boy glared up at him, his brilliant blue eyes blazing with fury, his pale blond hair falling over his eyes. His beautiful face was terrible in its fury. "The king is a scumbag!" He said in a strong voice, defiant and angry. "Any man who doesn't see that is a fool."
The man made a move towards him, but his companion held him back. "Easy. He'll think twice before speaking out again. Let's get out of here."
The first man hesitated, then nodded. He glared down at the boy. "Speak out of turn again, and next time we won't be so easy on you." He threatened in a deep growl. The two men turned and left the cafe without a backward glance. The boy glared after them, his blue eyes cold in their fury.
Combeferre exchanged a glance with Courfeyrac, then got out of his seat. He came to stand beside the blond boy. "Here, let me help you." he said, extending his hand.
The boy looked up at him, narrowing his eyes for a moment. Then he accepted Combeferre's outstretched hand, pulling himself on to his feet painfully. "Thanks." He said stiffly. Combeferre let the boy lean on him as he led him over to their table. The boy fell into his seat, clutching his side painfully.
Combeferre said with sympathy, "I'm sorry about that. Some people can get a little touchy about politics."
The boy snorted. "It was his own fault. The damn fool kept blathering on about how great Napoleon is, about what he's done for this country, about how nothing better could have happened to France. I simply told him exactly what I thought of his beloved king, and he took offense."
Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a glance. This was evidently not someone to get into a fight with. Combeferre felt a pang of admiration for the bold boy. He told the boy, "I'm Combeferre, and this is my friend Courfeyrac. What's your name?"
The boy narrowed his eyes again, apparently not sure whether to trust the boys who were helping him. "Enjolras." He replied after a few moments.
Courfeyrac brightened. He said "Hey, I know that name. I saw your parents at a party once, when my parents and I lived in Reimes. They got rich off the war, right?"
Enjolras's face hardened, his eyes blazing again with fury. "Dirty money. I won't touch a sou of it. I need no favors from supporters of the king."
Combeferre tipped his head. "So you don't live with your parents?" He inquired.
The blond shook his head. "I left a few months ago. I was causing too much of a stir, speaking badly about the king. Things got too tense at home, so I left." There was still defiance in his eyes, a kind of fierce light that made Combeferre shudder. I'd hate to be the one he was glaring at. He thought. There was a kind of fierce air about Enjolras, a kind of energy that made Combeferre like him. He felt as though Enjolras could speak a few words and have an army on his side.
Courfeyrac asked, "Do you go to school around here?"
Enjolras shook his head again. "I only got here a few days ago." His clothes were modest and slightly dirty and torn, not just from the fight. Apparently he'd been on the road for a while.
Combeferre inquired, "Do you have a place to stay?"
The blond stiffened. "No." He admitted stiffly.
Combeferre thought for a moment, then said, "I think my parents would be okay if you stayed at my place for a while. They're pretty relaxed about stuff like that."
Enjolras looked startled. "You'd let me stay at your house? A stranger off the streets?"
The dark-haired boy shrugged. "This is Paris. Out on the streets, they'll eat you alive. Students like us need to look out for each other." He trusted Enjolras. The blonde didn't seem the type to steal from his host, or betray another's kindness. He was defiant, not deceitful.
Courfeyrac added, "We support no king. Bloody man's too short to look out his window and see what's he's doing to this country. Plus he's got horrible taste in clothes."
His friend rolled his eyes. "Not everything has to do with how one looks or dresses."
Courfeyrac grinned. "Most things do."
Combeferre pressed, "Do you honestly think dressing better would make Napoleon a better person?"
The dark blonde shook his head. "Of course not. He's still too bloody short."
Enjolras watched the two friends bicker with puzzled amusement. When the two fell silent, he spoke in a voice of hesitant gratitude. "Thank you. Both of you."
Combeferre smiled. "Don't mention it."
They talked for a while, Combeferre convincing Enjolras to help him tutor Courfeyrac. He wasn't especially helpful when it came to math and science, but he had an amazing memory when it came to the government and its history. He hated the monarchy, that was clear, but he understood it like no one Combeferre had met. This only increased his admiration for the boy. When Enjolras spoke about the republic they had lost, his voice because proud and passionate, a proud smile on his face, a certain boldness in his tone. He sounded as proud of the republic as if he had shaped it with his own hands, as admiring of it as if he had watched it rise to power.
As the sky grew darker, Combeferre and Courfeyrac bade each other farewell, Combeferre leading a limping Enjolras out of the cafe and into the street. The rain had started pouring, and Combeferre saw relief in the blonde's eyes, as though glad he wouldn't have to sleep outside in this rain. "My house is just this way." He told the blonde.
Enjolras nodded. "I won't forget this kindness." He said solemnly.
Combeferre smiled. "Just help me tutor Courfeyrac, and we can call it even." The two boys walked hurriedly through the streets, talking the whole way.
EDIT2: TWSythar has informed me of my several mistakes with regard to who was ruling France at the time. I would go back and change it, but I like Courfeyrac making fun of Napoleon. I probably will change it at some point, but for now I'll leave it as is. Thanks for your help, TWSythar.
EDIT: Changed the name of the cafe to the correct name and added a few changes with Combeferre and Courfeyrac's dialouge, thanks to Insanemistosingmore's helpful critique.
I'm on a roll with these Les Mis fanfics. I felt like doing something with Enjolras again, but I also wanted to work on more of Les Amis. So I came up with this little piece. I admit this was inspired by Spirit-Lily's writing about Les Amis on deviantArt. If you haven't already read her stuff, go read it now. Here's a link to her page; .com/
Anyway, I'll probably try to write more of these Les Mis fanfics. They're really fun, though coming up with the ideas takes a while.
Again, I will admit that I know nothing about 19th century France (or even 21st century France for that matter.) I don't know what kind of bags they carried their books in. I don't know what they studied in school. I looked up the name of a random city in France and came up with Reimes. In short, this thing is probably full of a million inaccuracies. If you find any, please inform me. Critique on the actual writing is also apreciated.
Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre (c) Victor Hugo and the guys who made the musical
The random guys who beat up Enjy (c) Me