god rest you, merry gentlemen

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire is usually the one who shows up to parties, rather than holding them, and he sees why only a little ways into making sure his apartment is clean and well-stocked to have his friends over.

Still, the high ceilings and at-some-point modern furnishings of the Bramford make an apartment that could easily be cluttered by wine and moved-out furinture look cozy instead. And, he thinks, especially with the rough last few months, Christmas should be a good time for everyone. It's perhaps his turn to ensure the comfort and warmth and laughter he enjoys so much actually happens for his friends.

It is, after all, a little amazing that they are all here.

The cat's settled on the back of one of the chairs, and everything seems actually done, so that just leaves Grantaire to start to get anxious that everyone has better things to do on Christmas Day than come see him. He's experimenting in mulling, though, and that disguises it pretty well.

[Christmas afternoon/evening party at Grantaire's! There's music, plenty of drink and food that he absolutely did not make, he promises. The Amis would have been the major ones invited but this extends to families/significant others/friends of course, too. The more the merrier. Tag in, tag each other, tag late, tag forever!]

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[pontmercyfriend]

Marius is thrilled to receive Grantaire's invitation. It's been quite some time since all of them from their time in Paris have gathered together like this; as grateful as Marius is to all of the other friends he's made in Darrow, he still appreciates having a chance to bond together with people from home. People who understand what they've left behind and what they've all lost.

But he isn't here to dwell on the past; he's here to celebrate.

And to desperately hope that none of his friends, least of all, Courfeyrac, found out about the unfortunate cat accident at that strange party the other week.

He shows up at Grantaire's with a bottle of wine; one of the rarer, locally made vintages he'd had a coworker help pick out. In his other hand, he carries a plate of delicious pastries from the only decent bakery that even comes close to the magnificence of the ones back home.

He manages to knock with his elbow, and he makes his way inside with relative ease, without spilling or dropping anything.

"Joyeux Noel," he says by way of greeting.

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire looks up, pleased and a little relieved, when he hears the knock on his door, and Marius heading inside without waiting for an answer, which suits him just fine. Glenmeower jumps down with a little chirrup to come wind around his legs.

"Joyeuses Fêtes, mon ami," he returns, coming over to relieve him of what he's carrying. "Oh, look at this," he says, of course concerned with the wine first, investigating the label curiously. "You didn't have to bring all this. How are you?"

[pontmercyfriend]

"And hello and happy holidays to you too," Marius says by way of greeting to Grantaire's cat, black and lithe as he winds around his legs. He manages to pet him without dropping anything, which seems like a Christmas miracle in and of itself.

Marius tries and fails to hide his grin at the way Grantaire goes for the wine first. He's glad the other man seems pleased; he did so want to find a good sort of bottle for him.

"Of course I did," he assures him. "I do believe it is a part of American tradition. Or something like that. I may be confusing American tradition with German tradition again. Nonetheless," he continues, trying not to blush at how he sounds like, even to himself, to be rambling. "I am well, and am glad we are both not working this holiday. How have you been ami?"

[pylades_drunk]

Glenmeower prrrps and presses into the pet, sniffing Marius' hand as he picks up the scent of other cats and bumping his head against him with a slightly possessive air. His friend.

Grantaire chuckles. It's nearly impossible to ramble too much for his taste, and Marius puts up with him. "What is a tradition but the people it's made of? I thoroughly approve of this one, historical precedence or not. Let's call it a Darrow tradition." He goes to find a corkscrew.

"Yes, let's be glad for that," he agrees. "I'll be paying for it come New Year's, I'm sure. Are you working?"

"I've been well enough, certainly since it seems we've seen the last of that hellish other city." He hasn't spoken about it in depth to Marius, who of all of them had to deal with the most reprecussion of the barricades. "Since then things have been quiet. Mostly." He hasn't said anything about Edgar to his friends, either. That's mostly because he doesn't know what that is, though.

"Though they were a little bit exciting last weekend," he points out with a smirk at Marius.

[pontmercyfriend]

"I do apologize for cheating on you with my own cats," Marius tells Glenmeower with a grin, scratching the cat behind the ears. "I am afraid it cannot be helped."

"Darrow tradition," Marius repeats with a smile. "I like the sound of that a lot." He remains standing where he is for the moment, not wanting to disrupt Glenmeower's feline affections. He knows, from experience, how little cats care for silly humans to walk away from their magnificent attention.

"Yes, I am working New Year's," Marius says, trying not to wince. He'd had to work New Year's Eve last year as well. "As long as no one vomits right away, and as long as any bar fight doesn't end with one of the chairs breaking, I'll count it as a good night." Not that Tintern was the sort of place where bar fights often took place; the spirit of New Year's, and the tradition of drinking until one sees black, transforms even the quieter pubs into places of revelry.

"God. That place," he repeats, shaking his head. He'd only been affected in that he'd witnessed Rat's worst fears. But he does know his other friends have had their share of horrors in that place. "How are you holding up from that?" He inquires softly. If Grantaire wants to talk about it, Marius wants him to know he's more than willing to listen.

And then Grantaire's smirking at Marius and mentioning last weekend, and Marius finds he can still turn that particular shade of scarlet from his friend's teasing.

He sighs, resigned. "Did you see me turn into a kitten then?"

[lafaute]

Gavroche is here, laden with gifts for his friends. It is a strange thing to have money that he can spend; to be able to give anything at all. He is, as of yet, not used to this. Some days it feels more normal than others. Tonight he is grateful for it, and not thinking of anything else. The gifts are books, and wine, and for Courfeyrac a rather dashing pair of cufflinks. Exactly what he thinks his friends will like.

Gavroche dumps them all on a table, turning to announce he is here. "Mes ami! Let us celebrate."

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire's frowning over the spiced wine when a thump and a bright exclamation alerts him to Gavroche's arrival.

"Frere!" he calls back with a bright grin, wine in one hand, and comes over to offer a one-armed embrace. "Joyeux Noel. You're bringing us half of Darrow, it looks like." He raises an eyebrow at the pile of presents. He has his own present for Gavroche, a copy of 1001 Arabian Nights with glossy illustration pages. The mystery and mischief in the stories seems like it will appeal, and it's easily broken up into brief sections for an easily distracted reader.

"Here, taste this and don't tell Combeferre," he grins. Gavroche had certainly gotten away with the occasional drink back in Paris; in the middle of a cholera epidemic, the alcohol was probably safer than the water. Grantaire's aware enough of his own vices to keep an eye on the boy, but a little wine won't do any harm. "It needs something."

[lafaute]

"It is only a few things. You are my friends," he explains, for he has always shared what very little he had. Having more to share only made him more generous with what was his. "It is Christmas."

He climbs on a stool before taking a sip. The drink is tart and warm and pleasant enough; the wine here of a far better quality than any he tried at home. But something is missing, Grantaire is right in that. "The little brown scrolls. Un baton de canelle. Did you add any?"

[adifferentlife]

There is a part of Sybil that feels odd arriving with Sybbie. Had these friends of Henri's not all been there to witness their marriage? And then her daughter by another man had arrived the next day. It was a complicated situation, and it was from these men that she worried the most about judgement.

She sat to one side, her sleeping daughter resting against her chest. Sybil was content to watch her friends, and to take peace in simply being here.

[pylades_drunk]

The party has warmed into laughter and catching up in a way that Grantaire had hoped for, but not fully expected. Between stories, he catches a glimpse of Sybil sitting off to the side, watching them with the baby determinedly asleep despite their noise, and excuses himself for a moment to say hello.

He's been the one enjoying watching other people come and go, before, and though it's lovely, it can be lonely at times.

And while the matter of her daughter is maybe unconventional -- and definitely stressful in the way that babies can't avoid but be -- the city (and the island before it) doesn't allow for convention. A moment of peace and the past comes visiting, or the future, or someone's another age or sex or, as he is due to remind Marius, a cat. A baby is rather a blessing as far as the city's gifts are concerned.

(He's had few babies in his life as an adult, and he wonders if Julie still lives on Tabula Rasa with little Jamie, even though her counterpart self is here. It's a baffling construction of reality, but he can't bring himself to imagine they're gone, that she might as well have never existed.)

"Forgive us, we're ridiculous when we're all put in a room," he greets Sybil warmly. "How are you two ladies?"

[adifferentlife]

Sybil loves the friendship that Henri and compatriots have. It is deep and they are loyal and sincere with each other. They can be raucous and exuberant, and know one another so very well. It is not in her to be jealous of such a thing, rather she is pleased that her husband has the support of the people around him, no matter how much they may tease and rib one another.

"You're wonderfully ridiculous, and I wouldn't have it any other way," she insists, leaning toward him to offer a kiss on his cheek. It's a movement constrained by Sybbie in her arms, but she manages. "We're well. Thank you for having us all."