JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME

[nukeoleptic]

THE TEST DRIVE MEME

• Got a character you're thinking of reserving/apping this round? PUT THEM HERE! • Threads here can count as your third person sample! • Comment with your character's name and canon! • This is open to everyone! Also, test drivers can tag other test drivers. :) • Make up your own scenario or have them walk into all the doors or leave it blank for others to do it for you! Reserves are here, and open on December 29th at 12:01AM CST. Application information (including the list of pending apps) is here, and they open on January 5th at 12:01AM CST. OPTIONAL SCENARIO: After your character receives his or her bracelet and the run-down from the faceless maids in the castle, they walk out to find the city again blanketed with snow. Today, the children of the city seem to have taken up caroling instead of snowball fighting. Since Christmas isn't a native holiday, however, they seem to have latched on to any song they can find from the Travelers's worlds, so don't be surpried if they stop your character to belt out some classic songs from the 90s boyband era in an effort of holiday cheer! Make sure to have fun, and as always, feel free to hit the mods or players up with any questions you might have! ♥

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enjolras | les miserables

[member]

[ when it first started, enjolras was sitting by himself. ]

[ the first natural inclination was to find some clothes to cover his bloody ones- as well as ones that were more suitable for the weather. but of course, finding clothes would mean he intends on staying here, which he doesn't, so instead his attention is drawn to his communication device, trying to a) figure out how it works and b) read up on any and all posts since the start of asgard. ]

[ naturally, it's time consuming. and he's sitting at a bench when the first child comes up to him and asks what he's doing. leaving, he says promptly, and continues on. ]

[ the children keep coming. enjolras isn't so much annoyed as he is facing obstacles- not trying to shoo them, but certainly not being kind enough to make them want to stay either. but, of course, they do, and enjolras instead starts talking with them to hear what they might say. never undermine the smaller folks. he's learned that. ]

[ in a matter of minutes, there's three children braiding his hair, another one gallantly jumping off the bench as he tells a story, and another child lifting up snow and placing it down on top of enjolras' boots. ]

[ he is annoyed now. ]

[aimable]

[ Jean appreciates the walk. He's always been pensive, always been a thinker. Now that the weather is at last much colder and much more familiar, he feels more familiar. Then again, he supposes that's simply getting used to the place. Getting used to the idea he'd never see any of his friends ever again.

He does manage to exit a shop with a journal in hand. He hasn't made much of late, but enough to buy a journal. These bracelets do not seem private at all.

As he exits the shop, the hustle and bustle and noise of the crowd of children draws his attention. He meant to give only a glance, or a stare long enough for a grin and to catch pieces of what songs they sing (time to learn the music of Asgard, he thinks). But something catches his eye.

Blond curls. Red.

Lots of red.

The man the children will not leave alone is ... No. That cannot be. But who else could it be, dressed like that? He approaches them slowly, almost afraid it were a mirage that might crumble as soon as he realizes. The children pester him with questions and chatter and he ignores all of them. His voice is oddly deep, yet so very unsure. ]

Enjolras?

[member]

[ enjolras doesn't particularly notice him when he approaches- it is, unfortunately, less groundbreaking for him. watching friends and brothers die at the barricades was only made soft when enjolras considered meeting up again with them in the after life. jean did, honestly, get one of the more gruesome deaths- a death that struck enjolras closer than most, but he's not surprised to see the other man, as he promised himself they'd meet up once more. ]

[ and so they do. ]

[ his lips quirk up faintly when notices, trying hard not to flinch when a little girl tugs at his hair. he debates standing ( wrapping his arms around the other man, kissing his brow and thanking him ), but that would only make the children wild, so he nods a bit at the bench next to him, gesturing for him to sit down. ]

Jehan.

You look well. Are you?

[aimable]

[ Jean is not burdened with the knowledge and experience of any death. His only weight is that of the unknown. Of questions. Of things he probably should not ever know.

There are so little words (and for Jean that's saying something) for what he is going through at the moment. He too wishes to take the older man in his arms and squeeze until Jean is sure he's real. As real as anything can be here in the land of motorbikes and microwaves. He catches the attempt at a grin and gives one back.

He doesn't scold or warn the children about tugging on his hair, so much as ask them if they would like it that much. Talking to children seems a little easier than adults. Jean moves one little girl so he may sit next to Enjolras, as easily as if this were any other day. She seems completely fine with taking up his lap and playing with his hair anyway. ]

I am. [ His expression softens as the rush of disbelief starts to wear down. His voice does much the same but for a different reason entirely. ] I thought-... Did you just arrive?

[member]

[ there is something calming about children, though enjolras would not say so at any other time. he's not upset with the small fingers knotting around in his hair, nor is he upset with the snow cascading down his worn boots. if baby cherubs want to toy with him and the curls on his head ( that have so often been referred to as angelic ), who would he be to say no? there is nothing now, he considers. no france, no revolution, only the heaven which calls itself "asgard". ]

[ he's not entirely sure how to feel. there's emptiness, solitude, but is it from missing his brothers or missing his patria? ]

[ there's interest while he watches jean with the child, smiling more realistically to himself after a moment. everyone loves jean- why enjolras thought little angels would be any different escapes him. it is not surprising. not even a small bit. ]

I did, yes, I believe so. Have you been on your own? Surely you must have seen the others.

[ enjolras starts to wonder why he did not wake beside grantaire, hand in hand. ]

[aimable]

[ He dwells on the answer a little longer than he should. Jean's hands keep around the girl's middle to keep her from falling. She's still at that clumsy age and he needs to do something to keep himself from-- he doesn't know. Losing composure, he supposes.

He shakes his head. ]

You are the only one in over a week.

[ Yes, little one, they've met before. He does manage a small but unsure smile as he talks to her. She wiggles free from his grasp in favor of making snowmen by their feet like one or two of the others. Jean bites his lower lip as he turns to Enjolras a little more easily. ]

Are you alright? [ And then a thought strikes him. Those clothes are not suited for the cold at all. ] You must be freezing.

[ He sits up to take off his coat so Enjolras might warm up. He would be alright, for some time. His actions pause as if in stutter. His thoughts certainly did. It's only then that he realizes why exactly Enjolras's clothes are red in all the wrong places. As he hands the coat to his friend, he gives a look even he isn't sure of the meaning. He knew what was to come the next morning. ]

[member]

A week?

[ there's an obvious taste of confusion in his voice- one he couldn't fight, even if he tried. enjolras realizes all at once that he knows nothing of how the afterlife might work- how time passes, how every person relates to another. this is another world, he knows. things must be different. and a week- well, a week could mean any variety of things. ]

Jehan. [ he holds his hand out, palm facing the other man- not accepting the coat, because he has no yearning for materialistic possessions, even if he's cold. he'd never take it, not when it would mean jean to be cold in his place. he just shakes his head and set his hand back down, bending to dust some snow from his shoe. he doesn't mind the bite of ice. it lets him trick himself into being alive again- like he can feel anything, though he knows it to be impossible. he felt the sting of bullets, yes, he definitely did. eight of them through the chest. ]

[ he shifts, and the boy at his feet complains that he ruined the snow that was being packed around his boot. enjolras offers a sympathetic smile and nothing else. ]

Jehan. What does a week mean to you? Do you speak in riddles or- or are we thinking of similar time frames?

[aimable]

[ Speaking more with his frown than words, he tries to protest with wide eyes. He knows better than to keep trying. It is an offer he should have made all the same.

Despite the little ones trying to gain their attention, Jehan puts on his coat and keeps his entire attention on Enjolras. He has a talent for that, keeping attention.

Back down he sits. And the more confused he gets. ]

A-... A week means seven days? [ Is this some sort of riddle? He is honestly puzzled and not mocking in the least. As his sentence trails on it becomes more of a mumble. His body stiffens and not just from the cold of his coat. ] I know I have been here longer than that by some but not much.

[member]

Seven days.

[ he nods. there's not much else to it other than that, nothing much there's left to do. jean wouldn't lie about anything, and enjolras believes that with such fierce intensity that it does not even cross his mind. it was just- the truth, which enjolras is always impartial to. jean has been here a week. fair enough. ]

[ but also incredibly not fair, seeing as though enjolras heard, rather than saw, his death a number of hours ago perhaps. there was simple no way it had been a week since they'd last spoken, last shared loving comments on the revolution. ]

[ enjolras' lip is set tight in thought, the girl tugging relentlessly on his hair to get his attention. he does not give it to her. ]

I... forgive my being brief. I simply know I have seen you a sum of hours ago- not a week, you see.

[aimable]

[ He wondered (wonders) about the difference in time. If it is different at all. It must be so. Perhaps they could apply the math, but no. Not now. Now they have to focus on much more important things. As difficult as it is with the children playing about them.

He looks more confused, at first. Trying to make sense of it all. He looks back up to his leader and when their eyes meet Jehan can't help but to soften his gaze. He shakes his head. ]

That cannot be.

[ Jean moves closer, his hand resting close to Enjolras. ] Were we ambushed in the night, even before we could begin?

[ He glances at the clothes. The blood. That must have been it, if they had only been hours apart. He doesn't wish it to be so. What explanation is there? But he has to have hope, there has to be some kept alive whether it's foolish or not. ]

[teashops]

[ 'Do you know why they call me Hatter?'

'Because you wear a hat?'

It's not. Well, it is. But not entirely! He's the Hatter, a man who wears a hat, and he's got this nifty little trick with it. Throws it up in the air - stays still - and it lands on his head. Up - wait - down. Perfect every time. Almost every time. It never lands exactly in the middle either, but that's more of a feature than a bug, because the part where he adjusts it a bit at the end looks like part of it! Rounds it off nicely, really.

Except that sometimes he forgets to adjust for things like wind speed or curvature of the planet or leap years, and it doesn't go so well. His next throw, for example: takes off like a jubjub bird to land squarely on the wrong head of curls. They're the wrong colour, for a start. And attached to the wrong person. He could go on.

Looks a bit severe though, the wrong person to whom the wrong coloured curls are attached. Probably the gaggle of little'uns crowding him, crowing now at the accidental brilliance of the trick. It's like ring toss! And for a moment, he's a hero! ]

Oops. [ Hatter grins, not looking particularly sorry at all. Or yet moving to reclaim his hat. ]

[member]

[ the children look amused. ]

[ the set of wrong curls on the wrong body, however, does not. ]

[ there's a momentary confused look that he spares, before he pieces it all together- this man's "oops" and the small round of applause coming from the children scattered around him, excitable faces chanting do it again! do it again!. enjolras straightens the hat on his head before picking it off, a few of the kids making grabs for it. ]

[ which, perhaps it's his irritation that lets them have it, a little victory in his heart while the kids try to repeat the trick, tossing the hat up and letting it land a few feet away, where another child picks it up and tries it again. good luck in getting it back, he wants to say, but he keeps his mouth shut. ]

[ instead, he bows his head towards the hatter, picking a little girl up from behind him still and setting her down in his lap. ]

Apologies, stranger. The children are fans, apparently.

[teashops]

[ The grin slips slowly from Hatter's face, leaving dismay behind it as his shoulders slump and, well, his hands-on-hips pose doesn't quite look so triumphant anymore. ]

No - no, you can't do that!

[ He should take it off them. He should. They're getting it all, they're getting it wet! But they're just kids, and the part of him that hasn't been able to watch children play out in the open air in Wonderland for years can't bring itself to let him march over there and demand it back. ]

I need that hat. [ he explains, pointing emphatically at the exciteable rabble, with a Very Serious Look for Enjolras. It's about as threatening as (and actually looks a bit like) a frustrated chipmunk. ]

[member]

[ it was maybe a slight bit childish of him, enjolras considers, after seeing the look on hatter's face. not that he's intimidated- no, it's more of pity, like looking at a kicked puppy. stuck out in the rain. ]

[ enjolras sighs. he's honestly no better with children than the next person, in fact he's probably worse, but he can at least think of a dozen kind ways to get the hat back. he bounces the girl on his knee a bit, letting her giggle, and letting himself feel happy about it. ]

You should offer to show the trick once more.

[ his curls will just have to suffer, he guesses. ]

[teashops]

[ Hatter is a tea man. Was a tea man. Tea is not for children. What would they want with it anyway? When they're little, they still feel everything with a brightness and clarity that's lost with age - that the Hearts Casino teas supplement, replace, enhance! Innocence, Excitement, Passion, whatever your shrivelled little heart desires.

Doesn't touch a drop himself, of course. Thing is, tea is not for children. Tea is for keeping the front up and the money coming in, that he can use to keep children alive. He's not the cute teddybear face, he's the mechanics inside that make it move.

... Alright, he's a little bit the cute teddybear face too. But that's really not the point.

He's got this really expressive face. Always has. And right now, what it's expressing is partly I can't believe you're not gonna be more help than this, partly who do you think you are and partly please help I don't know what to do with small humans. ]

I... right. [ It's the hat. He feels naked without it. And looks a bit weird to be honest, trying to explain to them that he'll show them the trick again if they just - if they could just - just please give it back. It's all a ploy to get it back in his hands of course, but then they turn all these big eyes on him once he's got it, and what's he supposed to do with that? Explain that he didn't mean to do it the first time? Nobody tells the truth to children. He knows that much, he's not stupid. ]

... Ready? [ Hatter asks with an air of defeat, trying awkwardly to line up the throw a second time. ]

[cynicalcoholic]

[There was a time when he thought nothing could bring him joy again. When he felt the hot sear of lead forcing its way through his chest, the warm taste of blood as he fell, and Enjolras next to him. Grantaire had thought it over then- and good riddance, honestly. They had all been marked for death, he's sure of that, and falling was inevitable. Better it be quick than to linger about with bullets lining his heart.

Still, when he moves, he can't feel pain. He should- there's no way that their death had been a dream, he can see the blood on his own chest, clear as day. But he can't- there's nothing there. The explanation by the maids had made little sense to him, and he can't even begin to comprehend the little band around his wrist. Death was not supposed to be so complicated.

God, he could use a drink.

But instead of a place that might sell something stronger than water, he catches a glimpse of a familiar red coat, a swathe of blond hair- the harsh of his eyes, the cut of his jaw, and suddenly he's not alone.

Grantaire swallows hard before moving toward him, as if in a daze. The girl looks up from her braiding as he leans forward, his arms resting on the back of the chair, over Enjolras' shoulder.]

It's a shame I'm out of ribbons- they'd look rather sharp tying off your braids.

[He offers the children a lazy little smile, and one of the girls with her fingers in Enjolras' hair squeaks, looking rather intimidated by the tangles of Grantaire's own.]

[member]

[ grantaire succeeds in spooking enjolras, but he hardly looks the part- only turning his head to meet him, lips set in a firm line. ]

[ it takes two second before he remembers. ]

[ remembers the reason why those blood stains are in grantaire's and his shirts- remembers do you permit it? as they clasped hands and the bullets shot through them, eight, enjolras distinctly remembers feeling eight different pierces that ache at the memory, but they aren't in pain. he feels nothing, honestly, but that's also completely untrue. because he's filled with one hundred different emotions he can't properly distinguish- one hundred different things he has to say, and yet nothing comes to mind. ]

[ grantaire. the little grantaire who begged for a chance and then gambled it away. ]

[ the little grantaire who died for what he believed in, beside what he believe in. ]

[ he's never hidden his disdain for the man before, but there's nothing if not a fond look on his face- either admiring grantaire or respecting, either filled with pride or adoration. either way, it's an attention he's not used to giving the older man, and it's certainly foreign, but it would feel misplaced to fake hate towards him. ]

[ how do you hate the man who held your hand as you died? really- enjolras would love to know how that could possibly be expected of him. ]

Grantaire. [ he nods. a smaller boy comes to plop down in enjolras' lap, and he wraps his arms around him, half a distraction to not reach out and try to hold grantaire's hand. ]

The braids are not staying.

[ the girl lets out a loud whine and tugs at his hair. enjolras feels ashamed for upsetting an angel. ]

[cynicalcoholic]

[Of all the emotions that he's expecting, fondness isn't one of them. Grantaire raises his eyebrows in a muted surprise when there's no scorn or disdain that comes from Enjolras, and he has to look away, distracting himself with reaching out and tweaking at one of the girls' braids. She huffs at him, and he sticks his tongue out at her, preferring her company to Enjolras' while he gets his thoughts in order.

Obviously, they can't speak of their death here- not around such children (Gavroche would be about their age, wouldn't he?), but Grantaire can feel the weight of it pull heavily at their shoulders all the same. There's nothing he wants to do more than to move back, say his hellos and then find a place to drown all of these damned words unsaid, but he can't. Not with the way that Enjolras is looking at him now, like he expects something, and-

-and there's no reasoning that Grantaire can give him, so he just tweaks the braid again, bringing it down to tickle the fluff at the bottom of her chin. She yelps and pushes him away and he goes, laughing, to Enjolras' other side.]

Really Enjolras, you'll break their hearts. [But he doesn't push it, instead letting out a little sigh and folding his fingers together over the back of the bench.]

I'd ask if you're well, but I think the blood on your shirt answers for you.

[member]

[ he doesn't offer him a seat, though the bench is plenty empty- it feels almost too friendly too soon, uncomfortable. of course, he wants him to sit, but he's not going to ask, he's not going to offer. the mention of blood draws his gaze down, and he wraps his arms around his torso, hoping the children don't notice ( though, how could they not? ) ]

There was a question-

[ he starts. enjolras rarely falters in speech, but now he has to debate the merit in what he's going to say- whether it will change anything, whether it will make matters worse. he knows speaking with grantaire is walking on the edge of a blade- tilt one way and all hope will be lost. enjolras never really wants to fight him, it's just that the man knows the exact wrong ways to speak to him, knows the know way to speak and the wrong way to move, and everything about him is infuriating. ]

[ enjolras made the mistake of thinking that cynical side of him was the only side of him. ]

There was a question you asked me. It does not make much of a difference now and in this hour, I suppose, and perhaps the look I gave you answers better than any words. However, it is important to me that you know. So you will listen to what I say- you will be quiet for this moment in your life, and you will take what I say with you as your physical body lay in its grave.

[ he breathes. the girl gives a squeak, not a fan of this tense atmosphere, but he reaches a hand back to squeeze hers, and she gladly wraps their fingers together. holding hands with a statue may not be that comfortable, but she seems good enough. a boy comes to tug at grantaire's pant leg, arms raising in a question of being hoisted up. ]

Yes. I permit it. I have, and I bare no regrets.

Do you?

[cynicalcoholic]

[Grantaire turns away at the mention of heavier topics, his jaw tight with apprehension. It's not quite so much that he's dreading what Enjolras will say- no, he expects an eloquent shot of anger from him, the scorn that he's well accustomed to by now- rather, he doesn't quite know if he's ready to speak of this yet. He died under the assumption that it would be recognized and then forgotten alongside everything else in the cold light of death.

Instead of rebuking him, however, Enjolras merely acknowledges what he did, offers his answer as plain as day, where there will be no room for miscommunication. Grantaire wouldn't mind a little miscommunication to be honest, but he recognizes what Enjolras is trying to do and busies himself with hoisting up the small boy, resting the child on his hip.

Little fingers reach up and touch his cheek, and Grantaire smiles at the child- an expression that bears no actual joy- and attempts to nip at the boy's fingertips. It's only belatedly that he realizes that the child is attempting to wipe at the blood that must have spattered onto his cheek when he died, and the smile slowly fades. He lowers the boy back to the ground then, scrubbing his face on a dirtied sleeve.]

Every man has to go sometime. [He doesn't look directly at Enjolras when he says it, instead moving to unbutton his vest, in some vain hopes that the shirt below might be a cleaner front to wear.

It's not, obviously, and he stares down at himself for a moment, before shooing the boy away, his jaw tense as he forces himself to swallow around the lump on his throat. His expression is hidden from his companion then, but his voice sounds jovial as ever.]

I surely did not expect to wind up here, I can tell you that much.

[member]

[ enjolras wants to say no, that's not listening, but he has no power over this man, there is no reason for him to listen. there was no point in his dying beside enjolras and at the same time there was every point- words and feelings they'd not yet told each other, it all came out in that moment. every hateful glance enjolras had apologized for, every time he muttered you're a fool, you're worthless. he took it all back in the short, half smile he was permitted before the rain of bullets cascading upon them. ]

[ at least now enjolras sees some value in him- value he always knew was there, but couldn't praise grantaire until he lived up to it. ]

You've evaded my question. I am left to assume.

[ it's stated very matter-of-factly, not asking again, not waiting for a response. if grantaire doesn't want to speak then there's no reason to make him, enjolras guesses, and so he shrugs, bouncing the little boy up and down on his knee. attempting to rid the heavy area he's created, through the sounds of a child's laughter. ]

[ one easily becomes two and then three- children laughing and enjolras does not, he does not turn to look at grantaire, or do anything to acknowledge his presence. not so much ignoring as he is wondering what he could possibly say that won't result in a battle of words or a fight. he searches, until the girl toying with his hair bends and whispers something in his ear- which makes him crack a smile, briefly, before shooting a look in grantaire's. ]

The young mademoiselle wants braids in your hair next.

[cynicalcoholic]

Assume away.

[The retort has no malice to it though, and Grantaire straightens up, vest buttoned again as the girl whispers to Enjolras. In truth, Grantaire isn't used to seeing a smile on the other man's face, no matter how small, and he lifts an eyebrow at it before chuckling at the words.

He skirts around the back of the bench then, resting a knee on the wood and leaving his other foot on the ground- close to the edge, far enough away from Enjolras to fit a small child or two between them.]

If you can tame it, you can braid it. I wish you luck, Mademoiselle.

[It is a rather unruly mop, but Grantaire stays still for her as she shuffles over to grasp at his hair. He keeps his gaze on her, good natured and pleased with the attempt.

Turning his attention to the blond man just past her, Grantaire tries changing the subject, if nothing else then because he's still not confident in his answers to any of the questions that Enjolras might ask.]

What do you make of this place?

[member]

[ if enjolras was more frequent with his smiles, he'd send one at the sight of the little girl toying with grantaire's hair, letting out tiny huffs of frustration but altogether remaining determined. he doesn't smile, but there is that fond look again, that one that says i know what you did, you know what you did, and we both know it meant more than what you're letting on. ]

[ still, there is silence on his part. he still watches- the girl more than grantaire, as he debates the likelihood that she is, actually, a cherub and not just some young lady from another world altogether. ]

[ he's faced with "heaven" or "alternate universe". those are his options. ]

The maids were surprising. [ is what he manages out, not entirely sure what to say. he's starting to doubt this is heaven ( is heaven meant to be so cold? ), but it's simple enough that nothing else makes sense. maybe the frustrations in logic are just something he'll have to accept now that he's dead. ]

I did not expect much past- [ he pauses, with a looking. -dying, is the end there, but he doesn't want to scare the children. if he had known he'd be conscious after losing his patria, perhaps he'd have been more careful with his life- more selfish to spend time with her, rather than living with this france-shaped hole in his dead heart. ] ... and yet, here we are.

[cynicalcoholic]

[And yet here they are. Grantaire nods- but slightly, so as not to upset the girl's fingers as she tries to find a strand or two of his hair that isn't twined with the rest of it. He doesn't wince when she tugs a little too hard, but his nose wrinkles a little and she murmurs an apology before finally managing to start a good braid.]

And what say you, ange? Do they give everyone funny little bracelets in Heaven? [She laughs at the implication and shakes her head, twisting his hair around until it's a somewhat decent braid. She leaves it there and moves on for another section, and Grantaire dips his head to let her have more access, only barely able to see Enjolras out of the corner of his eyes now.]

If this is Heaven, the good Lord could have at least alleviated this bottle ache. [A pause.] -not that I'm entirely vexed, mind. A beating heart is a beating heart.

[And with that he shrugs, looking back up toward the girl with a little smile as she finishes the second braid and pulls back to admire her handiwork.]

[otma]

[ By now, Anastasia has melded so completely into the ranks of the city's children that she's distinguishable from them only by her suspiciously fine attire. Her fur coat and hat, her woollen skirt and leggings, the barely-visible glinting diamonds at her throat; all still the hallmarks of her station. Without, she is a a princess. But from within, the light of childish immaturity and her scant thirteen years shines clearly through.

She is greedy with her playthings. Even when what she has chosen for her plaything now is somebody else's hair. What curious hair, too! Brighter than Olga's and all of a curl, and while she'd set to braiding it with two other girls, she's soon ousted them to other pursuits so that she can embark on such a grand task all by herself. What could be more fitting for the youngest of the Tsar's daughters? ]

How did you come to have hair like this? Are you a duke or a prince? [ Her tone makes it clear that she's already assumed it must be one or the other. ]