The Price of Freedom

God Fucking Shit

Darude-Dankstorm 10 hour version is 10/10 would listen again good writing music

Jean Grantaire was only 21 years old. He loved Shrek so much. Just kidding. But he was still only 21. He was the son of one of your dime-a-dozen white Republican politicians. Because of his father, Grantaire was often in the eye of the public, but when the cameras were off, Grantaire was a drinker. It's how he coped with his careless father and cheating mother.

"Hey sweetie! I bought you a drink!" said a short, curly-haired man flirtily as he scooted in next to Grantaire at the bar. Grantaire looked up from his drink at him "By the way, my name is Courfeyrac."

Grantaire looked back at his almost-empty glass. "Sure. And my name is Grantaire." His way of thinking was that a free drink was a free drink. And who knows? Maybe he'd get laid.

So Grantaire listened to the man talk as he drank his free drink. The man, Courfeyrac, talked about his friends and his little, blond dachshund puppy, Bonaparte Tesla Lamarque. "Should've just named it Linda," Grantaire had said. As the amount of liquid in his cup shrank, he felt drowsier and drowsier.

"Come on. Let's get you home," offered Courfeyrac, wrapping his arm around Grantaire's waist to help him stand.

Grantaire vaguely remembered leaving the bar, but not much after that. "Did you drug me?" he had asked he and Courfeyrac left the building. Then he collapsed.

*******************************************************

Grantaire awoke with a pounding in his head. He reached up to rub his aching temple and found that he was handcuffed to the table on which he had been resting his face. God Fucking Shit he thought. I've been kidnapped.

 The door opened and thoughts of worry flooded Grantaire's curly head. "Oh great," he said when he saw who it was. "Why am I not surprised."

"Ah, Grantaire! It's been so long!" said Courfeyrac, shifting whatever it was he had under his shirt and taking a seat across from Grantaire. "I have something to show you."

"It better not be your penis."

"Even better." Courfeyrac removed his arm from his shirt to reveal a little yellow dog

"Hello Linda," Grantaire said sarcastically.

"I wanted to show you something happy before you met Enjolras."

 Shit, I've heard of him. "Friends of the ABC Enjolras? The anarchist?"

"The very one."

 Shit shit fucking shit. You know who you can blame? Your good for nothing father. God dammit. Grantaire let his head drop to the table. "And this is why you don't accept drinks from strangers," he thought aloud.

"Even good looking ones," Courfeyrac added, petting the pretty little dog.

"Courfeyrac, get that rat out of here," growled a new man as he appeared in the doorway. Grantaire looked up at the stranger. He was tall and blonde, and as some may say, pretty.

Courfeyrac picked up the soft little dog and left. On his way out, he teased, "Enjolras, you know you let this rat sleep in your bed. Probably the only thing, too."