𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑪𝒀 || 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬

09. 𝑬𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒔 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔

Chapter 9.

✎ᝰ

February 2, 1832.

THE DIM LIGHT OF the tavern flickered, illuminating the close-knit group gathered around a table littered with half-finished mugs and plates of greasy bread, the air thick with laughter and the smell of sweat mingled with spilled ale.

Lesgle, with his booming voice and contagious laughter, sat at one end, recounting a tale about an unfortunate encounter he'd had with a pig after a night just like this.

Jehan, his eyes sparkling with mischief, interrupted with quips that sent the party into fits of laughter.

The clink of glasses echoed, punctuated by raucous laughter and the indistinct murmur of earnest revolutionary talk.

Outside, the fog slithered through the crooked alleys, wrapping the world in an air of conspiratorial secrecy.

Enjolras sat across from Elizabeth, knuckles white against the mug in front of him, a silent guardian amidst the chaos.

There was a heaviness to his silence, a distaste for the raucous revelry that often came with nights like these.

Elizabeth had grown to appreciate his stoicism, but tonight, a spark of rebellion ignited within her.

"Another round!" announced Grantaire, his voice ringing with the promise of mischief.

He lounged back in his chair, a devilish smile dancing on his lips as he surveyed the group, his eyes landing on Elizabeth with undeniable intrigue.

"Tonight, let's see who among us is courageous enough to accept the great challenge of inebriation."

"You're all fools," Enjolras said, casting a disapproving glance at Grantaire and Elizabeth as they exchanged conspiratorial glances brimming with excitement.

"What purpose could there possibly be in drinking until you can no longer think? We have a revolution to prepare for, not you two gallivanting around like careless youths."

Elizabeth leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand. "Perhaps we want to find out who's truly the strongest among us," she shot back, mockery painted in her voice. "Besides, we can't have too much fun without our dutiful babysitter, can we, Enjolras?"

Grantaire, with his sly grin, nudged her side with his elbow, leaning in as if to share a secret, it was all too familiar for Elizabeth.

"I bet I can outdrink you any day," he challenged, his voice thick with bravado, as though he'd accomplished something most grandeur merely by living another day.

She flashed Grantaire a competitive grin, a mirror of his reckless enthusiasm.

"Is that a challenge, Grantaire?" she shot back, her voice rising slightly above the din.

"Why not challenge the world's greatest writer?" he smirked, lifting his mug to her. "Let's see if the pen truly is mightier than the drink. In this case, anyway."

"No!" Enjolras interjected sharply, his blue eyes cutting through the noise, fixating on both of them. "You two are being foolish. This has nothing to do with strength; it's stupidity."

Grantaire waved his hand dismissively,
"Ah, our dear leader, ever the chastiser. I refuse to let you cramp my style, Enjolras!"

He leaned closer to Elizabeth, "Come on, don't you want to have a little fun? Or are you too busy piecing together the thoughts of a lifetime?"

Elizabeth leaned in as well, echoing Grantaire's defiance as her spirit danced defiantly.

"What's wrong with having a good time, Enjolras? You always seem to be the one standing in the corner looking at the world like a babysitter. Don't you want to join the fray?"