Courfeyrac says, "So, Joly, I hear you have a new mistress."

Joly nods a bit, "Word spreads quickly... did Bossuet tell you this?" he asks with a smile.

Courfeyrac smirks. "No, I imagine he'd have said 'We have a new mistress.' Grantaire confided the news to me. He's jealous of you two." He quotes, "'Even our coughing doctor and his bald brother can find a woman. There must be someone for me, but where is she?'" and adds, "And then he drank more. He won't find the person he's looking for there."

Joly gives a soft chuckle, "What, Grantaire? The same Ladies' man I know?"

Courfeyrac shakes his head. "He hasn't gotten so much as a kiss in all the time I've known him. Of course, if he were really after women, he might."

Joly looks interested, "Hm? Our Capital-R?" he questions... obviously he had been taken in by all his talk of 'good wine and good girls'.

Courfeyrac narrows his eyes. "For heaven's sake, Joly, haven't you met the man? Yes."

Joly blinks, and sits back, putting it all in place. "/Re/ally." he comments. "Well... yes, it does make sense." he admits.

Courfeyrac looks moderately sympathetic. "He's a lost cause. He should just take what he can get, because he'll never get what he wants. Maybe he'd listen to you, since you seem to know so much about getting whomever you want."

Joly turns his head at that, "I've had a teacher myself..." with a slight smile, "In between the medical lectures, I've found time yet for a few extracurricular lessons." he looks down to a few books he has with him, and, removing a small one from in between the medical tomes, he places it on the table. A Latin text by P. Ovid Naso, the _Ars Amatoria_ (Art of Love).

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows. "I don't know if you could get our Grantaire to admit that he doesn't know about love, but maybe you could explain some of it to him."

Joly hms, "Better yet..." he stands, takes up the book, and discreetly places it among R's belongings (who is, of course, out like a light).

Courfeyrac watches. "That's most charitable of you. Have you learned enough?"

Joly rubs the end of his nose with his cane. "Plenty." he smiles a bit.

Courfeyrac laughs, shaking his head again. "Are you going to give lessons to the unfortunate, then? 'M. Joly's Series of Lectures on how to Find Love.'

Joly smirks, "Perhaps... when I have rid myself of this terrible pain in the head."

Courfeyrac looks at him wickedly. "Think of all of the patent medicines you could buy if your lessons were a success."

Joly scratches his chin gently as though thinking it over, "Why, I'd have so much, I'd be perfectly numb, from head to toe, and never have to hurt again." he laughs at the idea.

The edge of Courfeyrac's mouth quirks. "But then none of the love would do you any good at all."

Joly laughs harder, then coughs a bit. "For goodness' sake, bring on the pain! Bring on the pleasure!"

Courfeyrac winks. "If we must have one to have the other, well, c'est la vie. At least you can have them in equal amounts."

Joly grins. "Hopefully so... the imbalance of one or the other, then, must be a heaven or a hell."

Courfeyrac leans a little closer to Joly, and speaks in a more confiding tone. "If you'd teach me a thing or two, I'd be terribly grateful."

Joly smiles, "You must always pine for her... do your best to look pale, lean, and haggard, as though you are wasting away without her. If she knows that she's given you an illness which only she may cure, her maternal instincts with take over, and she will want to comfort you."

Courfeyrac considers that. "That certainly sounds like you, but I don't know if my Manon has any maternal instincts at all."

Joly ponders, "Try always being there when she's in need, no matter what small task she needs done... someone to fetch her something from the market... someone to hold a hand-mirror steady while she makes up her face, no matter what slavish task she would have you do, do not shrink from it, but do it with perfect willingness and zeal. As to gifts, nothing too expensive. This will save you from breaking yourself, and not risk her feeling like she's being bought over. Carefully chosen small cheap items... a crisp perfect apple that caught your eye in a shop, something of the sort."

Courfeyrac nods. "That is sensible advice. And how did you win your bald admirer? You held his hand-mirror steady while he buffed his pate?"

Joly smiles, "Coincidence, merely. We happened to have certain things in common, politics being one, and the other being that we had more expenses to pay than we had income. Thus, we rented a flat together. As the Master himself said, "Notitiam primosque gradus vicinia fecit - tempore crevit amor."

Courfeyrac says, "That's funny. I've been spending time with you for years, and I don't love you."

Joly turns his face in a mock pout, "You /don't/? Oh, Courfeyrac, I thought we had something special..." then he laughs a bit, and returns to normal, pointing out, "Yet, we have never lived together."

Courfeyrac stares until the fact that Joly's kidding dawns on him. "No, we never did. But darling, you never invited me!"

Bahorel turns around at the next table over, hears that, and shakes his head. "This bunch gets weirder every day," he tells Prouvaire.

Joly offers a goofy half-smile, "You might well have been, if we two had been so bad off, as to have needed a third to help pay the rent."

Courfeyrac pretends to consider it. "Well, I might have accepted. Just how big is your bed, anyway?"

Joly hms, "We had two, to begin with... then we got one fairly large one... we might sell that one, however, and get one even larger, if things work out with 'Chetta." He looks pleased, "If she moves in, that is."

Courfeyrac shakes his head. "You certainly do have an interesting life for a pathetic, sick boy."

Joly coughs, "Pathetic, sick boys have all the fun."

Jehan Prouvaire hears the bed comment and tells Bahorel, "I think you're just jealous."

Courfeyrac nods. "It certainly sounds that way, to listen to you. I don't think Marcelin goes for the pathetic look, though."

Joly shrugs, "Enjolras is a horse of a different color."

Courfeyrac says, "Really, I don't know what he would like. Maybe he can only love a society."

Joly comments, "... or a country."

Enjolras comes into the cafe.

Courfeyrac glances toward the door. "Speak of the Devil."

Joly looks up, then back, "Should we wave him over? Perhaps he's got something to contribute to the discussion?"

Courfeyrac looks appraisingly at Enjolras. "No, I doubt it. Loving everyone in the country has to take something out of a man, you know?"

It takes a moment for that to sink in, but then Joly just cracks up. His face turns just about blue from lack of air.

Jehan looks over again and sees Joly laughing hysterically while Courfeyrac smiles in a self-satisfied way. "I think our young doctor is looking to take someone else home tonight."

Courfeyrac waits for Joly to catch his breath, and then adds, "Besides, what would we say to him? 'What could Grantaire say to you to make you love him?'"

Joly ponders that, and comments, "You'll never know unless you ask. However, knowing Enjolras, asking would also probably get us kicked right out of the cafe."

Courfeyrac agrees. "In a heartbeat."

Joly nods, "Well, there goes that plan." he looks up, and watches Marcelin placidly for a bit. "What's he up to, now?"

Courfeyrac shrugs. "What is he always up to? Waiting for the chance to change the universe, and take us with him. If he wasn't so right, he'd scare me."

Joly nods. "Why do I constantly have the feeling that he'll take off without telling us so much as 'hold on tight!' first?"

Courfeyrac says, "Because you've met him, and he assuredly will."

Courfeyrac glances at the unconscious Grantaire. "It must be difficult to love a man like that. We do love him, all of us. It'd be worse for Grantaire if he got his wish, though."

Joly nods, "To be so close to a firework is to get burnt when it goes off."

Courfeyrac gestures to the room. "Don't you think we're close enough to feel the sparks?"

Enjolras falls into conversation with Combeferre. Their animated voices rise through the underlying chatter in the room, punctuated with words like 'emeute' and 'change.'

Joly nods, "Definitely... but how bad can a few spark-burns be, trailing after a rocket which might bring us close to heaven?"

Courfeyrac looks much more serious than he usually does. "I wouldn't leave this for anything. It is more likely to take us straight to heaven, though."

Joly sighs softly, "Ahh... well, getting there is half the fun, right?" he however looks also serious, a little thoughtful.

Courfeyrac shrugs. "For you, maybe. Our sleeping friend is going through hell. I hope your book helps him."

Joly agrees, "We can only hope... perhaps he'll take to heart the bit about how unpleasant someone highly drunk appears to a prospective lover."

Courfeyrac grins. "We can only hope."

Enjolras pounds his fist on the table. His voice carries across the cafe. "Combeferre, you can't be serious. Joly wouldn't....Bossuet wouldn't...."

Joly nods lightly, then blinks as he hears himself mentioned, looking to Enjolras, then back to Courfeyrac, with a questioning look as though he might have heard more of what's going on.

Enjolras shakes his head. Still not lowering his voice, he continues, "I think you're just reading too much into it. They live together because Bossuet's broke and Joly's sympathetic. Not...what you said."

Courfeyrac listens harder when Joly's expression changes, then mutters, "I think Grantaire's going to have it even harder than we thought."

Joly coughs lightly, and blushes a bit, realizing. He grabs a glass of water off the table and sips at it for his throat. "Perhaps so."

Courfeyrac smiles deviously. "Isn't it nice to be infamous for a while?"

"Oh, yes." Joly sips the water. "Very nice. I just hope Marcelin doesn't decide I ought to be decapitated."

Enjolras listens very impatiently to Combeferre's attempts at explanation and shakes his head. "You're wrong. I don't believe it at all." His lovely voice carries as well as it always does in the little cafe.

Joly smirks, "He doesn't believe it at all. I don't know whether to feel relieved or alienated."

Courfeyrac suggests, "Be relieved."

Enjolras glares at Combeferre. "I'm just going to have to ask him myself," and strides across the room to the table where Joly and Courfeyrac are sitting.

Joly attempts a relieved and blissfully ignorant attitude. It works, thankfully, and he looks up cheerfully as Enjolras arrives, "Why, salut, Enjolras."

Courfeyrac drinks to hide his expression, then says, "Salut," as smoothly as he can.

Enjolras runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. "Courfeyrac. Joly, you need to have a word or two with Combeferre. He's sullying your reputation."

Enjolras is unaware that all of the eyes in the room are on him. Even a pair that have been previously assumed to be shut.

Joly feigns a shocked glance back to Combeferre. then up to Enjolras, smoothly, just like he's had to deal with these a million times before, "Oh?" he blinks.

Enjolras points melodramatically across the room. Heads turn. He declares, "He says that you..." and falters. His voice gets quieter, as does the room. Everyone wants to hear this. "You and Bossuet...don't just live together." His voice is very quiet at the end, and if he ever blushed, he would be blushing. Then, relieved to have said it, he goes back to his normal tones. "Is this true?" he asks, and he might as well be haranguing a recalcitrant witness in court.

Silence.

Courfeyrac and everyone else look at Joly, waiting for the answer.

Joly blinks, a completely innocent hypochondriac is he. "We share a flat, we dine together often, he's my best friend. We share everything. How would this sully my reputation?"

There is a collective sigh.

Enjolras smiles radiantly. "Ah. Just what I told him. Thank you, Joly." He claps Joly on the back like a proud father and walks back to Combeferre with an I-told-you-so look on his face.

The hum of conversation returns.

Courfeyrac looks at Joly. "Well, that was very nicely done."

Joly turns back, smiling, "Thank you, thank you."

A hoarse voice cuts through the returned voices. "Just what do you think they share?" Grantaire asks Enjolras, standing unsteadily.

Courfeyrac stands and comes to Joly's defense. He raises his glass. "Joly is generous. He is sharing wine with me."

Joly looks up, raising his own glass, "And some water, as well. The wine does not well on my sore throat."

Enjolras looks disdainfully at Grantaire. "Some of us should share our wine more frequently."

Joly frowns a little at that. Poor Capital-R.

Grantaire crosses the room, holding onto a few chairs for balance along the way. "I would share anything with you that you asked of me."

The room suddenly seems silent again, and all ears are on the two.

Enjolras looks at Grantaire as he would regard a maggot in his food. "I do not want to share anything that you have touched. Go back to your bottle."

Grantaire frowns and stumbles a bit, "Anything you would want to share of mine, I would happily sterilize it for you in some hot water and with soap... There wouldn't be the least chance you might catch a germ of my skepticism, to grow, a weed, among the garden of your pristine ideals."

Courfeyrac shakes his head. "Well, the spotlight is back on our normal whipping boy."

Courfeyrac looks at Joly and says, as quietly as he said the last thing, which was just an undertone, "Aren't you glad Bossuet doesn't treat you like that?"

Enjolras frowns. "Your thoughts are the least repugnant thing about you," he tells Grantaire. "I would be more likely to catch some foul disease."

Joly nods... "After a few minutes in the spotlight of infamy, I definitely feel a bit more sympathetic for him." then, "Definitely."

Courfeyrac shakes his head. "No one deserves this treatment."

Grantaire looks amused a second, "Now, for a second there it sounded like you were the one sharing 'a flat' with our doctor friend, he seems to be rubbing off on you."

Enjolras glances over at Joly, but he's too busy smashing the drunken cockroach to consider the accusations against Joly. "Better him than you."

Joly nods toward Courfeyrac, not even acknowledging the accusation this time.

Courfeyrac tries to distract the antagonist. "Grantaire, come and drink with us. We will share with you."

Grantaire pauses at that... "Well, so I am so disgusting, that you seem willing to try something which disgusted you just a minute ago? I see." He stares plaintively at Enjolras.

Enjolras looks positively horrified. "I will try nothing, particularly not to spite you."

Grantaire smirks, "There's the fine statue I remember." he speaks of the horrified expression. Flailing about, then, he turns, "Now! Who said something about a drink?"

Courfeyrac holds a full cup out for Grantaire and pulls out a chair at the table.

Courfeyrac says firmly, "You are welcome. Here." His tone makes it clear that he's talking about the table, not the cafe as a whole.

Joly scoots over his chair a bit in a welcoming gesture to give him room.

Grantaire sits flamboyantly, "Thank you! At least someone has some manners." he takes the glass and drinks deeply.

Enjolras glares at Courfeyrac in the same manner that he has used on Grantaire and turns away.

Courfeyrac ignores Enjolras and smiles at Grantaire. "Don't forget your book, Grantaire," he says, gently.

Grantaire looks puzzled. But, often feeling puzzled, he covers it up with a knowledgeable nod. "Of course." he says, and drinks.

Conversation remains low enough to hear any more outbursts.

Enjolras asks Combeferre, "Tell me again what you think is going on."

Joly smiles a little and sips at water, coughing "So, Capital-R, you too are against me?"

Grantaire drinks the wine, hoping to kill the memory of Enjolras' face and voice, only not too much. "No. I envy you."

Joly comments, "And I envy you not... that is one harsh mistress you hope to win."

Enjolras argues vehemently with Combeferre about how Joly couldn't possibly be doing anything but living with Bossuet. After all, he has a new mistress, right?

Combeferre briefly comments about how that should be, they have a new mistress.

Courfeyrac pours more wine for Grantaire. "You'd be better off with anyone else. You're better off alone."

Enjolras finds it impossible to believe that anyone would share a mistress. More eyes look at Joly speculatively.

Grantaire drinks to kill the pain. "I can't leave, even when he rejects me. I need him. If only he needed me."

Joly frowns, "Do you sleep outside his front door?"

Combeferre reminds Enjolras that they share "everything".

Grantaire looks blankly at Joly. "He would spit on me in the morning if I did that. No. I can only watch him here."

Enjolras stares at Combeferre and says more loudly that surely Joly didn't mean Everything.

Joly nods sadly...

Combeferre just shrugs at that, "If that's what you believe..." he gives up.

Courfeyrac glances at Enjolras, who isn't heading over to interrogate Joly. Yet. Then, he turns back to Grantaire. "You have to accept that he will never give you more than this, no matter how much you want it."

Joly nods, "Enjolras is impossible." Somehow that sounds just as correct as the original phrase, or even more so.

Grantaire holds up his empty glass, and Courfeyrac refills it. "I know what he will give me. It is better than nothing."

Enjolras clears his throat. He's standing directly behind Joly's chair. In a very cold voice, he asks, "And just what about me is impossible, Monsieur Joly?"

Courfeyrac stops himself from answering immediately.

Joly looks up, and his usually pale face looks almost human with blush. "Oh. Merely the fact they you are quite unwilling to change your views, once you have come to a conclusion on something."

Enjolras looks steadily at Joly. "To what are you referring, Monsieur?"

Courfeyrac glances at Grantaire, who is basking in the nearby presence of Enjolras, and jumps in.

Courfeyrac thumps the table to catch Enjolras' eye, and catches everyone else's too. "You should give Grantaire another chance."

Joly had his mouth open to reply, but he pauses. After Courfeyrac, he comments, "Precisely."

Enjolras raises one eyebrow. "And what would inspire me to do such a thing?"

Joly smiles, "To prove... that you aren't quite so impossible?"

Enjolras' lips press together in a thin line. His voice is controlled, but in the sort of way that means he's Not going to get mad. Not. Not. No way. "I see. And why does it matter to me that you think I am impossible?"

Joly says "An impossible leader... might deter his pupils."

Enjolras glares at Joly, and at the company he's keeping. "Pupils who insist that their leader humor the dregs of the street might not be worth their keep."

Courfeyrac objects. "That's hardly fair."

Enjolras turns his wrath to Courfeyrac. "Do you know what your friend Monsieur Joly has been doing?"

Joly looks almost angry. It's not fair how Enjolras is treating Grantaire, and it pisses him off. He fumes with all the fumosity of a sick lad.

Courfeyrac says, "Yes. Because I am not impossible, I can accept that he is enjoying his life in good company."

Enjolras is working his way toward a particular shade of scarlet. You know the one.

Grantaire definitely knows the one, and he watches in fascination. "So, how's about it? Another chance, for the wine cask?"

Enjolras is more comfortable being in a towering rage at Grantaire. It is more familiar to him, and it's easier for him to come up with a cutting insult. "I wouldn't give you another chance if you licked my boots clean. And as for the rest of you," meaning Joly, "I don't want to know anything more about your life. I don't care."

Courfeyrac laughs. "That's a lie."

Joly jumps out of his chair at the first bit, and at the second bit, scowls, and firmly socks Enjolras on the jaw.

Enjolras staggers back and runs into a table. The people there get out of the way, giving them plenty of room for anything they need to do.

Courfeyrac steps between Joly and Enjolras. "You have to accept that he has what you refuse," he tells Enjolras. "We are not like you."

Joly glowers lightly at Enjolras, then seems to calm a little at the words.

Grantaire looks more than a little shocked. Less than a little pleased.

Enjolras tries to look dignified. "You are not me. No. I would never stoop so low."

Joly says "Right. You're so /perfect/ you've forgotten what it's like to have feelings. You're so determined to fight for humanity, you've forgotten what it's like to be human!"

Enjolras starts getting angry again. "If this is what you call being human, you can keep it. Tawdry affairs and drunken brawls are not worth my time." He leaves the cafe, his proud chin high and bruised.

Grantaire watches quietly, examining the face of the super-human as he leaves.

Courfeyrac pours Grantaire more wine. "He deserved that."

Grantaire shakes his head a little, and drinks, "No he didn't. He's not human, you're right. He doesn't deserve to be treated like one." This statement has a positive tone to it, however, so as to imply he should be treated as a god, or above human, rather than an animal, or below human.

Combeferre walks over briskly through the silent cafe and sits down at the table without asking. "That was amusing," he says flatly, obviously meaning nothing of the sort.

Courfeyrac frowns at Grantaire. "He is human, underneath the veneer of perfection. And not a very nice one, either."

Joly glares, rubbing his knuckles, and thinking he'll have to re-read the chapter in his text on carpal tunnel, while giving Combeferre a 'don't you start' look.

Combeferre looks around the table at his comrades. "I wish our fearless leader had more sense and less idealism. He believes in change, but I hardly think any of us have to be monks to make it happen. Better if we're humans instead."

Grantaire frowns, "You're wrong. You can't see him from my vantage point."

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. "Thank heavens for that."

Joly leans on the table and sips water gently, cooling off, "He needs to realize that he is only human, after all, you're right."

Combeferre adds, "He has us to be human for him, and we do the job admirably well. We have him to be admirable for us. Most of the time, he succeeds."

Courfeyrac takes a deep breath and settles in to explain reality to Grantaire. "If we all adored him like you do, we couldn't see his flaws, and we wouldn't be able to help him. I believe in his ideals. I believe in his personal strength. He's a wonderful leader. He's just not a very nice person."

Grantaire nods a little, "He's not... is he." he mumbles.

Joly nods, admitting, "Most of the time."

Courfeyrac sighs. "We love him anyway. Some more than others."

Combeferre nods. "And we do need him, even if he's not right about everything."

Joly says "Definitely... he's the one who'll bring us to heaven."

Grantaire sighs and leans down on the table, head aching. "More wine?" comes the muffled voice.

Courfeyrac pours the last of the bottle into Grantaire's cup. "Would we deny you that?"

Grantaire lifts his head to drink. /Just/ enough to drink.

Combeferre adds, "Not really more terrible than usual, but enough is enough. How do you put up with that, Grantaire?"

Grantaire, having quickly drained the glass, talks to the tabletop. "I deal. I am hurt, I forget. I am scorned, I return. I am the everpresent earth beneath his feet, let him snuff his cigarettes out on my face with his boots, I shall never fall way from underneath." he pauses. "Though, I don't think he smokes."

Courfeyrac says, "No, he doesn't, R. But it sounded more dramatic that way."

Joly smirks a little. "I wonder how long it'll take for him to forgive and forget on /that/ one."

Combeferre shakes his head. "He never will, Joly. Maybe he'll learn from it, though."

Joly says "One can only hope it wasn't in vain."

Grantaire mutters, "Right."

Combeferre shrugs. "We won't know tonight."

Courfeyrac looks speculatively at the empty glasses on the table. "I suppose a toast to Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta would be a bit out of line."

Joly blushes a little, though he smiles, "We've still got the near-to-full water pitcher."

Combeferre takes it with a grin and pours everyone a glass of water.

Grantaire peers at the foreign liquid oddly.

Courfeyrac takes the glass and lifts it.

Grantaire shakes his head, but lifts the glass.

Combeferre lifts his glass.

Joly blushes humanly at being the center of attention, but lifts his glass.

Courfeyrac says, loudly enough to catch attention from other tables, "A toast for Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. May they make each other happy for years to come."

Courfeyrac drinks.

Joly grins, and makes an addendum, "And may we not be the topic of discussion for any more homophobic aspiring demigods." he winks to Combeferre.

Joly drinks as well.

Combeferre smiles a little at that. "May they have privacy."

Combeferre drinks.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac look expectantly at Grantaire.

Grantaire takes a breath, "May they rub off on Fearless Leader." With that, he downs the water, nearly gags, and falls, dead drunk, on the table.