Marionette non Lieu: Prologue [Les Miserables/Friends of the ABC Fan fiction]

A/N: This is the beginning of a really long fan fic. Three OCs here. This part occurs around two years before the stirring and the death of Lamarque. :) PLEASE critique away!

  It was the usual commotion in the Corinth bistro where the Friends of the ABC would meet. Spring nights in Paris were chilly ones, and what other way to warm yourself up than with a good bottle of wine, great friends and free food. The Friends were complete that night and they went on about their own likes as some would play cards, start the race on who’d get drunk faster, debate on social issues, read books, discuss on other things and just sit quietly at one corner trying to decode a secret.

Enjolras was the quiet one who sometimes participated in Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s debates but the three of them had other plans for tonight. Combeferre was making a business layout for their family’s shop, Courfeyrac was psychologically in a different world, immersed in a the same book he was reading five days ago and Enjolras was in a daze as he stared at a 23”12 long poster on his table where there was four more posters, a notebook, pencils and his cup of tea.

It was natural for him to be quiet while the others talked nonsense and un-revolutionary matters but, this time he actually looked very confused with something. He’s been rereading the paragraph over and over again trying to over come this challenge laid out for him by an extremely stubborn person. He didn’t like being frustrated at riddles especially since it was made by someone much younger than him by seven years. Annoyed, he threw away another piece of paper while grunting. He took another sip of tea and before continuing, sighed. He shifted to the next poster.

He was in this state when Bahorel, Grantaire and Jean Prouvaire noticed his unusual behavior. The three of them looked at each other and back at Enjolras who was now looking intently at the poster as if wanting it to melt or burst in flames.

“Let’s see what’s up,” Grantaire said smirking. They approached their Chief.

“So Enjolras, what’s that?” Grantaire asked him as he sat across the irritated rebel.

Enjolras looked up at him with a despising glare then looked back down again.

“Nothing that would ever concern you,” he said grumpily.

“You’re right,” Grantaire said. “Nothing ever concerns me, so why should I even ask?!”

Jehan was just studying Enjolras while Bahorel took Grantaire by the arm with an iron grip as he whispered harshly at him, “Grantaire, you fool! If Enjolras is that somber with something—“

“He’s always that somber!”—Bahorel knocked him hard on the back of the head—“OW!!!”

“Listen,” Bahorel said seriously. “If he’s so aggravated because of whatever it is that he’s thinking, this might be serious.”

Grantaire scoffed and shook his arm free. “Of course, might.”

“Enjolras, what are you thinking of?” Jehan asked.

When Bahorel’s arm reeled back for a punch in Grantaire’s face, Prouvaire suddenly spoke up in a small curious tone, making the two look at him. The sudden question did not shake Enjolras’ determined face and concentration when he answered:

“A girl.”

Grantaire and Bahorel’s jaw dropped. They thought that the last judgment was coming and they haven’t even lived life to the fullest yet. Joly, Feuilly and Lesgle stopped playing cards to glance at chief with a bewildered look. Combeferre’s writing suddenly drew up at surprise, cutting the paper in two as he also looked up.

They all shared the same thought: WHAT?!?!?!?

The only ones who weren’t disturbed were Courfeyrac who was still reading his book seriously and Prouvaire who was expecting this day to come. Jehan smiled a little and raised his brow, curious to find out more of the topic.

“Why?” he asked.

While Enjolras was still trying to process that question, Grantaire and Bahorel still wanted to know if it was Enjolras who was hallucinating or them.

“He can’t be serious!” Grantaire said.

“Who are you and what have you done to our chief?!” Bahorel said, teary-eyed and unaware that the others saw the scene they were making.

“She’s special and we need her,” Enjolras said frankly ignoring the two.

Prouvaire leered. “’We’? Or you?”

Enjolras looked up and nodded, looking at the others casually.

“Yes. I need her.”

Dead silence. The others couldn’t believe what they heard.

“What in God’s name for?!” Grantaire yelled.

“W-what do you mean—?” Enjolras got interrupted by Grantaire again.

“You know too damn well, what I mean, Enjolras!”

“You don’t mean anything, Grantaire,” Enjolras said coldly as he stood.

“What do you need that girl for, chief? I thought it was all: ‘ooh, I’m Enjolras and I’m such a war freak, I don’t need romantic love! Vive le France! What’s a woman? What’s love? Does it have anything to do with freedom? No? Oh, then it’s not important.’—Grantaire clears his throat and tried to mimic Enjolras’ voice—‘My men don’t need that we have better things to do than worship finite things such as women.”

How was the room when Grantaire spoke? Combeferre was scratching his head in confusion; Joly, Feuilly, Lesgle and Bahorel felt like laughing at him, Courfeyrac was still reading while covering his ear in irritation, Jehan felt like strangling Grantaire while screaming, ‘Women are just as important as men!’ and Enjolras felt twice as lost and annoyed as before.

“What in INFERNO are you talking about, Grantaire?” Enjolras said. “I never said I was romantically attached to this girl, you dolt! She’s a highly potential recruit.”

The room echoed with a big “OH…” and the other Friends were all nodding in full understanding. Enjolras noticed this and furrowed his handsome brow and scanned them all with his blue eyes. He swept his finger, pointing at all of them.

“Wait, you all thought I was?”

“Guilty.” Joly shrugged and answered for all of them, smiling.

Enjolras suddenly chuckled and shook his head at them as he sat back down, studying the posters again. “My friends are very amusing.”

Combeferre stood and walked towards him saying, “Well, now that that’s settled, mind telling us about this girl and why you’ve been studying those?” He got behind Enjolras and was speed reading the paragraph he was reading.

Enjolras sighed and made a gesture calling the others to his side as he narrated what happened that made him so perplexed.

“I was walking around LuxembourgPark and saw someone putting up these liberal posters. I had read each and every one of these and realized that the author was highly influential and very convincing with her words. She had defended her works flawlessly when a monarchist criticized it. But then she was alone. She wasn’t part of any rebellious movements or societies, which is good for our part. We need her on our side.”

As he spoke, the others started getting the other posters and reading them too. They were easily influenced and they started to have a different spark in their eyes: an enlightened spark.

“And how do you know for certain that she isn’t part of any society?” Lesgle asked as he moved from one poster to another.

“She told me so herself,” Enjolras said while looking at Courfeyrac at the other table, not joining them. Why isn’t he here? This definitely interests him.

“She’s a liberal feminist!” Jehan said smiling.

“Very much that, yes,” Enjolras said nodding.

“So you know her?” Feuilly asked.

“Not exactly.”

“If you’re so intent on bringing her here, why don’t you?” Joly asked.

Enjolras sighed and sat back. “That’s the problem. She doesn’t want to come with me.”

Bahorel had a spit take and coughed on his wine.

“W-what?!” he said. “She refused to go with you? You must be joking!”

Enjolras frowned at him. “Yes, she was very much reluctant to go with me and I’m not joking.”

Bahorel smiled and turned around, waving to Courfeyrac as he said, “Hey, Courfeyrac did you hear? Enjolras’ petticoat hypnosis is wearing out! You have a chance!”

“Huh?” Courfeyrac looked up from his book for the first time that entire night.

“Thank you Bahorel, for getting his nose out of that novel,” Enjolras said. Then he glanced at Courfeyrac and said, “Come here and help us solve this riddle.”

“What riddle?” the other eight asked. Enjolras took a deep breath before continuing.

“The reason why she didn’t want to come with me is that she says that she won’t go with anyone who doesn’t know her name.”

“Have you tried asking?” Courfeyrac asked as he was in their circle around Enjolras’ table.

“Every dog has its day and every rebel has his stupidity,” Jehan said plainly. “If he did ask her name and got it, she would be here, right?’

“So you want us look for her name?” Combeferre cleared out. “How exactly?”

Enjolras showed his notes to them with the words ‘prophet’, ‘woman’ and ‘resurrection.’ He looked at them.

“She said that the one who has read all her works would know her name on sight. I have come up with these three constant words in all five posters. I just need something to tip the scales to assure me that this is what her name means.”

“What her name means?” Feuilly asked. Enjolras nods.

“That’s where Bahorel and Prouvaire come in.”

“Excuse me?” two said in unison.

“You two know Latin and Greek—the etymology of names come from there.”

Grantaire shook his head and said, “Let me get this straight, we find the name, you get her trust and then we’ll be having an addition to the group?”

“We can hope for that, yes.”

The Friends looked at each other.

“Sounds insane…” Joly said.

“…But worth it,” Lesgle continued.

Bahorel smiled and got his pen as he said, “So, where do we start?”

They went on with searching for clues for an hour already but they haven’t gotten much luck. Enjolras was taking a break since he’s been reading too much about feminism and it was giving him eye strain. He looked around the room and nodded in determination as he can see that his people were working hard and in harmony… except for one.

“Courfeyrac, why did you get that book again?” Enjolras asked as he was starting to get very annoyed with Courfeyrac’s actions that entire week.

“It’s not a book, it’s a manuscript,” he answered as he was glancing at the poster and displaying a very troubled face.

“You promised to help,” Enjolras said firmly.

“I am helping.”

“Reading that and the complicated posters at the same time will only confuse you no matter how much you deny it.”

Courfeyrac looked up at him with an amazed look.

“It’s the same person,” he said with certainty.

“What do you mean?”

“The author of this manuscript and these posters is the same person!” Courfeyrac said as he waved poster number three. Enjolras’ eyes dilated in question.

The Friends heard him.

“So you know her?!” Lesgle asked.

“No!” Courfeyrac said. “But I think this is why we don’t come up with anything! She said all her works!”

He got the manuscript and flipped to a bookmarked page. He scanned the text and when he found the paragraph he needed, laid the opened book next to the first poster. The first three sentences of the two matched.

“You,” Combeferre muttered. Then he spoke more audibly. “You have that manuscript. Who’s the author then?”

“I don’t know.”

“How is it that you don’t know the author?!” Enjolras said, fuming.

Courfeyrac suddenly jumped from Enjolras sudden outburst. Then he had to collect himself and recalled what happened that day…

“I was just at the publishing house to deliver some of the articles for the next issue of the paper when I suddenly heard yelling in the front office. Being a servant to the liberal arts, I had to conceal myself to listen to the conversation.

It was between some girl who didn’t have her manuscript published and our editor-in-chief. She was very determined to have it published since she said that “It would open the people’s eyes and help a lot more than most would expect from a novel!” I thought that she could be of use to us.

But before I could go out and see her, the fight had ended and she had left, leaving her manuscript. I took the manuscript with haste and immediately read it.”

“Her name wasn’t on the cover?” Feuilly asked.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “She said something about wanting to stay anonymous and also something about wanting to refuse her family name.”

“So she’s a girl who refuses her family name to join rebellion?” Joly asked. “I’m liking her already!”

“What’s the repeated word then?” Enjolras said, concentrating still.

“’Prophet’ and ‘Woman’” Courfeyrac said gravely. “Prohetess.”

Silence fell upon the room.

Enjolras, Comberferre and Courfeyrac turned to Bahorel and Prouvaire who were in deep thought. The two looked at each other and suddenly it all made sense. They both said it at the same time.

“Her name’s Sybil.”