A/N: I'm not sure where this came from…It's 11:00 PM…Hmm…I have just downed a bottle of iced tea in 2 minutes…What better to do than write torture for dear Enjolras and Co.?
Am not expecting any reviews for this.
Enjolras was panting as he dashed into the back room of the Café Musain. He had just been walking down the street, his mind immersed in whatever revolutionaries' minds are immersed in at 5:40 PM; when suddenly he heard an extremely girly giggle. When I say 'girly', this is quite literal. Boys don't giggle. Do they? Enjolras paused, thinking over this.
And while he thinks, let me get back to the point. He had just heard a giggle, and he looked around cautiously. He was in a deserted alley that was also a dump. This alley, though Enjolras had never known why, was called 'Fan-Girl Alley'. Courfeyrac had attempted to explain this to him once, but Enjolras never listened. Upon hearing the giggle, an overwhelming curiosity overcame our dear revolutionary, and he sauntered cautiously into the direction of the dump side of the alley. Upon reached there, he saw a bonfire, and a gaggle of 5 girls sitting around it. All giggling. One girl, who appeared to be the leader of the group, stood up and announced in a very loud and high-pitched voice, "Let the VIP Meeting of the Fan Girls begin!"; and sat down and barked, "Report, Vice-President!"
"Yes, Miss President, ma'am!" another girl replied, standing up straight, "I didn't catch his name, but he was absolutely gorgeous. I saw him while I was walking outside the Café Musain last night at 8:00 PM, while he was coming out. He seemed sort of shy, and reading this piece of paper in his hands, with a pen perched behind his ear."
"Hair color, eye color?" the 'President' had asked, sounding curious.
"Both brown," the other girl replied, "Medium brown hair, and dark brown eyes that looked sort of dreamy." She had then given a contented sigh, and Enjolras felt a chill. The girl had just described Jean 'Jehan' Prouvaire. Noting that the time was already 5:50, he had then paused, but listened on, his curiosity putting this in front of a Revolution.
"Ooh!" one of the other girls shrieked, "I saw him yesterday! He IS gorgeous!"
"Calm down!" the President squealed, "That's no way for our Secretary to act!"
"You're right," the Secretary said, lowering her head, "Sorry. But it's TRUE!"
"All right, then," the President grinned, "Let's take a vote. All who choose this fellow, say 'I'!"
All of them chorused 'I', in squeaky girlish tones.
"Has our Informative come yet?" a short blonde girl – who couldn't have been more than 14, Enjolras thought, shocked – piped up.
"I'm here," a softer, but more sinister voice whispered. Enjolras and the girls glanced up at a wooden fence, and saw a figure in black perched on it.
"Do you know who he is?" the President eagerly asked.
"No," the 'Informative' replied, "But I do know that there's a beauty of a revolutionary eavesdropping on us called Enjolras."
"Enjolras?" the Secretary gasped, "The Enjolras?"
Being referred to in this tone scared Enjolras, and he started backing away.
"Yes," the Informative replied, "The Enjolras."
The Secretary squealed with delight, and pointed at Enjolras, who was hiding in the shadows, eyes wide with fear. Upon seeing him, 2 more girls (whose rank Enjolras hadn't heard) took up a squealing chant.
"Girls! Girls!" the President called, shocked, "Don't behave like this!"
"SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" had been the reply.
"Girls!" the President recalled, now worried, "Vice-President, help!"
"I would…but…" the Vice President suddenly let out an evil grin, "SQUEEEEEE!"
"You're right girls…" the President sighed, "I hate to react like this, but REALLY…"
The other girls looked at the President, grinning lovesick grins. The President took a deep breath, and squealed: "OHMYGAWDITSLIKEENJOLRASHEISLIKESOOOOOHOTOHMYGAWD!"
This was incomprehensible to Enjolras, but it gave him the information his legs needed.
Run.
Enjolras shuddered on recollecting this memory, and walked over to his usual spot in the room and sat down. On further pondering this hellish nightmare, he remembered that the girls had (except for the Informative) chased him giggling and squealing down the street.
He decided to do what was sensible. Forget about it.
Then realized he should warn Jean Prouvaire.
Snapping out of his trance, he looked around at the ABC, who were staring at him with looks of mingled amusement, horror, fascination, and (in Jean Prouvaire's case) a dreamy look.
"What?" Enjolras harshly snapped.
"Uh…Enjolras…?" Combeferre said, gaping and pointing.
"WHAT?" Enjolras repeated loudly.
"You…you're…"
"I'M WHAT?" he bellowed.
"You're sitting on Grantaire's lap!" Courfeyrac interrupted.
This was news to Enjolras, who froze, then toppled onto the floor in shock. This created uproar at the table. Joly immediately seized the chance to pounce on Enjolras to make sure he was all right ("Are you SURE you're okay? No broken bones? Nothing?"); Courfeyrac started laughing extremely hard and his face was turning red (Bossuet became concerned for him); Combeferre rushed over to Enjolras to help him up; Bahorel choked on his wine, and the rest of the group laughed (With the exception of Jean Prouvaire, who was blushing).
"I'm all right…" Enjolras muttered, pushing Joly away.
"Are you SURE you're all right?" Joly asked again.
"Yes, I'm SURE." Enjolras replied, restraining himself from yelling.
"All right, no need to be sarcastic about it!" the hypochondriac trotted over to Grantaire, whose face contained nothing but amusement.
"Are Gods supposed to be heavy, Apollo? Or is this some sort of other worldly punishment inflicted upon my humble mortal self?" Grantaire grinned.
Enjolras opened his mouth angrily to reply, but nothing came.
"Can't say I prefer thunderbolts and arrows to it though," Grantaire continued, obviously drunk, "Or is this some new game to -?"
"I think it's done more good than bad, Grantaire," Courfeyrac mused, taking deep breaths, "You're considerably thinner than before."
This brought a round of laughs, and Grantaire returned to his normal seat.
Cautiously, Enjolras returned to his seat, as if he expected some other sort of torture to be there. Luckily for him, none came.
After this bit of excitement, the usual hustle and bustle of the ABC continued.
Enjolras, though he began shifting through a sheaf of papers on the table, was completely consumed by the fact that five teenage girls had ran after him, squealing and giggling and…
Enjolras shuddered. They had even known his name!
"What's wrong, Apollo?" Grantaire suddenly called, shockingly – sober. This caused the group to quiet suddenly, who looked cautiously at their leader.
"It's…it's nothing…" Enjolras hesitated. Apparently, this was not as inconspicuous as his had hoped.
"Go on, Enjolras," Feuilly said, slightly grumpily (he had just lost a 4 games of poker against Courfeyrac), "What is it?"
"Nothing…" Enjolras insisted.
"Come on! Tell!" the whole ABC began chorusing this now, "Go on!"
"It's…well…" Enjolras took a deep breath, "IwasjustwalkingdownthisalleyandIsawthesegirlsandtheyweretalkingaboutYOUJehanandthentheysawMEandthentheystartedchasingaftermeanditwas…shocking…"
"Wait…what's this about girls talking about me?" Jehan immediately asked.
"Were they pretty?" Courfeyrac immediately asked.
"Take deep breaths." Joly advised.
"Repeat it slowly." Combeferre suggested.
Enjolras took the last piece of advice, and relayed the story.
"So, a group of girls ran after you?" Courfeyrac asked, his bright green eyes lighting up.
"Yes." Enjolras answered, annoyed at this calm reaction.
"Typical," Courfeyrac shrugged, and went back to his card game, "It would've happened sooner or later." The rest of the ABC seemed to agree, and went back to whatever they were doing. Grantaire was the only one who seemed concerned.
"Are you sure you're all right, Fearless Leader?" he asked.
"Yes, Grantaire…I'm fine," Enjolras sighed, and he got up to leave, "See you tomorrow," he shrugged.
Jean Prouvaire walked out of the Café Musain, looking dreamily at his work of poetry. He'd been doing that for a day or two now. He liked it, though. It gave him a reason for life. He walked down an alley to go home, and stopped. The silence was absolutely gorgeous, so he sat down and started to write.
Suddenly, his perfect silence was interrupted by a giggle.
Jean Prouvaire stood up, determined to find the miscreant who had ruined this beautiful noise that was not a noise.
He wandered to the dump.