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a parisian saunters (homeplot take two)
Jun. 13th, 2017 12:46 am[dated to June 5th and 6th in game]
Grantaire blinks his eyes open, and he is in his rooms in Paris.
It's not so unfamiliar. The experience of waking up in Paris, at least, is not, in his memory or in a dream; so often that is what he remembers and that is where his dreams take him, to the in-between feeling of being roused by something. But usually it is the Corinth, and he is woken by silence. To the reality of the situation flooding into him like a shock. That immediate clutch of horror and sickness at his chest, the settling of death and desperation into the wine shop on that fateful dawn.
Instead, he sits up here. This is exactly as he remembers his flat; small, dark, but homey. Warm already with the sunrise and the wafting stink of a choleric summer, though not as bad as it might have been in more impoverished areas. A cabinet holds his clothing, a basin in the corner. The room is littered with reused canvas and wine bottles.
He has never remembered the smell of Paris in a dream.
As he wakes himself, he realizes, strangest still, Edgar stretches beside him.
Has he been sent home? What day is it, what year?
Grantaire blinks his eyes open, and he is in his rooms in Paris.
It's not so unfamiliar. The experience of waking up in Paris, at least, is not, in his memory or in a dream; so often that is what he remembers and that is where his dreams take him, to the in-between feeling of being roused by something. But usually it is the Corinth, and he is woken by silence. To the reality of the situation flooding into him like a shock. That immediate clutch of horror and sickness at his chest, the settling of death and desperation into the wine shop on that fateful dawn.
Instead, he sits up here. This is exactly as he remembers his flat; small, dark, but homey. Warm already with the sunrise and the wafting stink of a choleric summer, though not as bad as it might have been in more impoverished areas. A cabinet holds his clothing, a basin in the corner. The room is littered with reused canvas and wine bottles.
He has never remembered the smell of Paris in a dream.
As he wakes himself, he realizes, strangest still, Edgar stretches beside him.
Has he been sent home? What day is it, what year?
