“They all thought it was the right thing, and I ain’t arguin’ that it wasn’t. But who told em to do it in the first place? You was the one who started it, same as me.”
The same way he’d gotten them all beat to hell, gotten Crutchie locked up, that same focus and disregard for consequences, was what Enjolras had done. Jack couldn’t help but feel relieved to hear Davey’s”no one died” echo in his mind.
Enjolras gritted his teeth. ”I gave them the opportunity to leave. I told them — all who wished to, they could have gone.”
He’d been in over his head. He’d faced his own mortality that night, and then in the morning died. It would have happened no matter what. ”And good for you, you won your day with minimal price.”
If he was bitter, he had reason.
“If it were me,” Jack paused, thinking of an appropriate way to describe exactly what he’d’ve done if he told the guys to beat it and they hadn’t. “I’d’ve dragged ‘em all streets and locked ‘em in the basement till I was sure things’d cooled off.”
Getting them hurt was more guilt than he ever wanted to shoulder, seeing one of his friends killed for followin’ him? Never gonna happen. Not for all the papes in the city, or even the ticket to Santa Fe. He’d get himself shot first, and hope to God it scared them off.
21st May 2013
Reblogged From intheconventionsaint-just
Notes: 24
“If you’dda quit it they all would’ve. Could’ve tried again, tried somethin’ different. You was in charge, means it was your job to keep ‘em all safe. You didn’t exactly do too good.”
Jack knew what it was like to dream, to have a painting in your head so clear you’d do…
“They all thought it was the right thing, and I ain’t arguin’ that it wasn’t. But who told em to do it in the first place? You was the one who started it, same as me.”
The same way he’d gotten them all beat to hell, gotten Crutchie locked up, that same focus and disregard for consequences, was what Enjolras had done. Jack couldn’t help but feel relieved to hear Davey’s”no one died” echo in his mind.
“Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pick a fight, but I just don’t get it. They was your friends, how could ya just, let that happen. You had a good cause, and I respect that an’ all, but ya gotta know when your beat.”
“They made their choices. They knew the danger they were facing.” It…
“If you’dda quit it they all would’ve. Could’ve tried again, tried somethin’ different. You was in charge, means it was your job to keep ‘em all safe. You didn’t exactly do too good.”
Jack knew what it was like to dream, to have a painting in your head so clear you’d do anything for it. But there had to be limits, lines, without them, without them is how you got your friends killed.
“You was in charge, weren’t you?” A tinge of accusation seeping into his tone, and Jack made no effort to stop it.
“I was.” Enjolras says it without inflection, refusing to give away any emotion about it.
“Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pick a fight, but I just don’t get it. They was your friends, how could ya just, let that happen. You had a good cause, and I respect that an’ all, but ya gotta know when your beat.”
“Name’s Jack Kelly. Newsie Union Leader of Lower-Manhattan. Me and my friends lead the strike against Joseph Pulitzer and the World” Jack suddenly made a connection. “Wait a sec, I’s heard a you! My wife used to read about you. You’s the ones who got shot on all the furniture!”
Enjolras did not flinch, but his expression tightened marginally. It was always strange when he met people from worlds where his story, and that of his friends, was a fiction.
“That would be us, I suppose. The barricade was primarily constructed of overturned carts and furniture that the people gave us.”
He nodded. ”I haven’t heard of those newspapers, but congratulations on your presumable success.”
“You was in charge, weren’t you?” A tinge of accusation seeping into his tone, and Jack made no effort to stop it.
“Well then, who’m I meeting? And where, or when too I guess, are ya from?”
The more he thought about it, the more he was unnerved that he was, indeed, alone. It felt, unfair, almost. And definitely unnerving.
“My name is Enjolras, and I died at the siege of the barricades in Paris in June of 1832.” He felt no shame for his own death — he died for his ideals, died a martyr and maybe even a hero.
“What about you?”
“Name’s Jack Kelly. Newsie Union Leader of Lower-Manhattan. Me and my friends lead the strike against Joseph Pulitzer and the World” Jack suddenly made a connection. “Wait a sec, I’s heard a you! My wife used to read about you. You’s the ones who got shot on all the furniture!”
“Well Christ, everyone dies. Don’t gotta look like ya just came from the funeral.” He takes a swig of his drink. “But I will give ya that this place ain’t exactly normal/”
“It’s not. Apparently, it’s where every universe ever written down bends and meets. Time and space mean little, and you’re bound to meet people you wouldn’t have ever even imagined.”
Like last week, when the bar had been full of giant, sentient metal men — they called themselves ‘Autobots’ and ‘Decepticons’ — and the week before there had been several of King Arthur’s knights in attendance, each with a lady dressed like a showgirl in red, white, and blue on his arm.
“And there is more to my mood than simply the fact of my death.”
The circumstances mattered more, in the end.
He stopped himself only barely from turning to be sure that Grantaire was still in his corner of the bar, still the constant he had been up until their final moments. He didn’t need to remind himself. He could trust Grantaire with this, if with nothing else.
“Well then, who’m I meeting? And where, or when too I guess, are ya from?”
The more he thought about it, the more he was unnerved that he was, indeed, alone. It felt, unfair, almost. And definitely unnerving.
“You look like you had a hell of a day” Jack remarks with a hint of sympathy and inquiry. The guy looked at best like he’d lost a bet and at worst like he’d been witness to a murder, and like he didn’t want to be bothered. Which was to Jack, naturally, an invitation.
“Hell…
“Well Christ, everyone dies. Don’t gotta look like ya just came from the funeral.” He takes a swig of his drink. “But I will give ya that this place ain’t exactly normal/”
Jack sat beside him, one stool separating them. He’d sent the guys home before they could stay out too late and get into more trouble than usual.So he sat alone, waiting for Katherine to finish her piece, as he did on many occassions.
He’d tried to keep them all on their…
“You look like you had a hell of a day” Jack remarks with a hint of sympathy and inquiry. The guy looked at best like he’d lost a bet and at worst like he’d been witness to a murder, and like he didn’t want to be bothered. Which was to Jack, naturally, an invitation.
Enjolras sat at the bar, uncharacteristically alone. His friends were already gone home, but for Grantaire, who was lurking, as was his wont, in a corner somewhere.
He was lost in thought, Enjolras was, about what had been.
There was much to think about in the aftermath of the barricade; what he could have done differently, how they could have won the day, how it all could have happened differently…
How his friends may have lived.
Jack sat beside him, one stool separating them. He’d sent the guys home before they could stay out too late and get into more trouble than usual.So he sat alone, waiting for Katherine to finish her piece, as he did on many occassions.
He’d tried to keep them all on their best behavior after the strike, not wanting to give anyone the chance to target them for revenge. He couldn’t bring himself to stop feeling like he had to protect them, even if things were better, now.
