Date: 2015-12-30 06:51 pm (UTC)
pylades_drunk: (midsentence)
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.
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Grantaire

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