11:41 a.m....2002-07-25
Mardi Gras: evening.
We stumbled through the streets of revelers, our glittering knot-- Eliot, Blanchette, Dominique and myself, having adopted the nom de guerre Damiano, for the evening. Or Damiano-Phillipe, as the butterfly on my arm suggested subversively, to my utter delight.
I had had nothing to drink when we set out, and nonetheless was not tempted to start. My company in and of itself provided all the intoxication and the addlepation I could've borne in one evening. Grantaire provided less of a difficulty-- for the evening, there were no such creature. He became, inexplicably, this Blanchette, this White Lady, and, attended on by her all-too appropriate cavalier, I found that spectacle easy to comprehend.
With Courfeyrac-- Dominique-- Jean-Baptiste... ach! You see, I had more of a problem. As far as costume, as I have described, I could find no imperfection. The blush and flush, the way of swirling the skirts, the glimpse of stocking and leg, the coquettish wink and giggle... I suppose intimate knowledge of so many ladies-- by my own witness, so you may not think this my supposition, based on his boasting-- had provided my friend with the template to create the ultimate demoiselle to catch the eye and captivate the spirit. Which Dominique did, in fact! Were I not, to be bold, somewhat intimidating of stature, my little coquette should have been mussed and fussed from Admiral Briux to Marechal Davout! But when that pretty pink mouth opened, a silvery voice kept sallying and serving at me with jests and jokes that were no one but Jean-Baptiste Courfeyrac. As well as the disconcertingly familiar spark of wickedness in his-- her-- damn! green eyes. The color of which, I'll have you know, I'd not truly noted up until that very evening. These discrepancies, and the truth of how well they integrated with each other and with the prevailing madness bothered me in secret as we sailed into their usual tavern, the Musain.
We passed Enjolras on the way in, which was good for a laugh! He nearly walked right past us, save we removed our dominos upon entry. So he did a double take, gaping at Courfeyrac, who became utterly our ami in that moment, and too breathless with laughter to do anything but splutter, "H-happy Carnival, Enjolras!"
Enjolras' expression I cannot describe, though I assure you that Louis-Phillipe does not mint a coin or print a scrip that could have purchased it, nor the memory of it!
"Goodnight." He said tonelessly, with a slight bow of his fair head, and left. I do not believe he noticed Blanchette-Grantaire, for that was the only moment in the evening that I percieved Blanchette's regal ice-queen slip, to reveal our beloved and amiable Grand-R. Subsequently, we did not spend much time in that café, beyond stunning those of our friends present with our charm, grace, and wit. Dominique seranaded us all with a husky love song from the edge of a table, and I believe she managed to infuriate the grisettes present, on the arms of their respective guardians. She truly did make them gray, in comparison, and I had not known that... ah, I had never heard my friend sing, truly. His-- their voice has the very light timbre that the tenors in the opera house strive for and altos dream of. And I had dreamt nothing more fair than a ticklish soprano! After Dominique's aria, I resolved to give the huskier-voiced chorus-girls a second chance, next time I dallied at the opera.
If I do not remember much else, after we left the Musain, it is because it blurred together into a web, a quilt, some woven confection of sparkle, colour, light, darkness, and laughter. We went places where I was known, but my friends were not, and the other men stared at my companion enviously, not privy to her secrets. I could not help but be sneakingly satisfied at this, and at the way she clung, breathlessly to my side, winking at them and then whirling into my arms as we danced one more measure to piping and stomping and whistling.
We lost Blanche and Eliot somewhere in the midst of this, but I cannot say that I noticed terribly. Rather I recall spinning into an alleyway to catch the breath, leaning against the wall with my arms full of my wil-o-the-wisp. Though not so wispy she proved to be, leaning full against me, gasping with glee, arms around my neck.
"Good Lord," She whispered-- Dominique's voice though the words were Courfeyrac-- "So this is what it's like to be on the other end of an evening with one of our lot." He, she... they looked up at me with a grin of unabashed, devilish delight. "Lucky the girls!"
"Lucky lucky." I echoed, surprised both by the growl in my voice and at how overwhelming some situations can feel. For a moment, I saw panic on their face, and then I cannot say that I saw more, for there was more to a lady's night with me than my friend and his alter-ego had yet experienced. I tightened my arm about their waist and caught their chin in my hand, and then I kissed them, soundly, and with as much force as I could muster. Like so many things, this did in no way relieve my tension, but only served it to build.
to be continued...
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