merryeccentricities: (Default)
[personal profile] merryeccentricities
Joly really didn't plan to spend his Christmas dead, although he would always have allowed it was a distinct possibility. But he did always plan to spend it with his closest friends, trading stories and presents and good wishes and getting variably drunk. And through the oddness of Milliways, there's no reason he can't carry out that plan.

So the Blue Cherub Room is temporarily also the Red and Gold Cherub Room (with ornaments), there's an enormous amount of food taking over every non-sitting flat surface in the lower room, and the other Amis will find notes slid under their door (in Bossuet's handwriting, and thus legible):

Join us for a Holiday Party in the Blue Room on Christmas Eve! Bring yourselves; nothing else is needed.

(ooc- slowtimed to as long as it takes!)

Date: 27 Jan 2015 02:57 (UTC)
pro_patria_mortuus: (je ne comprends pas)
From: [personal profile] pro_patria_mortuus
Enjolras glances over at these proceedings from where he's been unwrapping the box Bahorel thrust into his hands. It's white, and festooned with a quantity of quite shiny red ribbon, and unexpectedly heavy for its moderate size.

Some people, when confronted with the prospect of tipsy friends setting off experimental future fireworks out a bedroom window, might react with alarm. Enjolras, instead, regards the entire proceedings with the same mild concern one might give to an overfull glass of wine: it may or may not end up making a mess of the carpet, but things will generally be fine, no doubt.

Keeping an eye on Courfeyrac and Joly's explosive adventures, at any rate, doesn't prevent him from opening the box once he's undone enough ribbon. It's...

...a plant?

Several tiny plants. Some of them have tiny spikes.

Date: 27 Jan 2015 03:33 (UTC)
pro_patria_mortuus: (let us welcome it gladly)
From: [personal profile] pro_patria_mortuus
Enjolras touches the plants, experimentally. One of them feels as if it's covered in hair; another is studded with tiny needles that prickle warningly at his fingertip, and another is soft and fleshy.

The fact that Enjolras doesn't quite understand why Bahorel feels a pot of little exotic plants will help him keep a sense of time doesn't change the fact that it's clearly a gift given with thought and affection. He smiles in return, touched.

"I'll read them, then. Thank you."

Combeferre will be fascinated, anyway. He'll probably know what they all are, and Linnaeus's names for them besides.


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