"...to be free."

The Entire Civil Code

Let’s Talk About the Restoration

Or if you’d rather not read, A Video Series (2)

A List of Degrees and Proclamations

Things for Les Amis RPers to get Angry About

Some More About the Restoration

Speeches Made by François Guizot (Remember that Name)

About the July Monarchy (1830-1848, i.e. You Are Here)

Louis Philippe (King of France during the July Monarchy)

More on Louis Philippe

Interesting Click-Through Experience Covering the June Rebellion

Map of Paris During the 19th Century (2)

Prostitution in France

Argot Dictionary

More on Prostitution, Covers Courtesans

Dear person I hate,

Dear person I like,

Dear ex boyfriend,

Dear ex girlfriend,

Dear ex bestfriend,

Dear bestfriend,

Dear *anyone*,

Dear Santa,

Dear mom,

Dear dad,

Dear future me,

Dear past me,

Dear person I’m jealous of,

Dear person I had a crush on,

Dear girlfriend,

Dear boyfriend,

"Oh man wow you say my name adorably oh God like it's just everyone's so French here so it's really refreshing that you're not."

Combeferre couldn't act like he didn't love seeing Courfeyrac legitimately flustered for once.  The guy was typically smoother than a sugar glider; it would do him good to flounder every once in a while.

As if in response to Combeferre's thoughts, Courfeyrac took Natasha's hand when she held it out and pressed his lips to it.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Natasha," he purred, apparently back in his element purely to spite Combeferre for his prior enjoyment of his moment of weakness.  He jabbed a thumb at his (admittedly dashing) grin.  "It doesn't get much better than this.  Anyway I oughta take roll but hey don't be a stranger, okay?  You're amazing, love your work, blessings on the child, enjoy the show."

And with a wink and a single finger-pistol, he was gone.  Combeferre took his glasses off to polish them on his shirt.

Courfeyrac returned then with a basket of fries (the place called itself a cafe, but years of catering to college students had transformed it into something of a bar, as well), and he nearly dropped them when he saw Natasha.

"It's a fucking pacifier!" the husky one with the wild cloud of black curls (Courfeyrac) was shouting.  He was standing over Combeferre, who was one of only three students still seated, and he was holding his smartphone up to Combeferre for him to read.  "What is this bill going to change, Ferre?  What is it really going to change?  It's a fucking pacifier that they're trying to shove in our mouths to shut us the hell up."

"Progress is progress," Combeferre said, barely to be heard over the rest of the room.  "We have to be grateful for every little step, Courf, or we'll just get discouraged and stop trying."

"No fuck that.  I love you, but fuck that.  It's not the law until it is the one-hundred percent undeniable fucking law."

Courfeyrac's phone clattered to the table as he stormed off to buy them some fries to share, and Combeferre leaned back in his chair and passed contented eyes over the room.  And that was how he finally spotted Natasha.  He burst into a grin and crossed the room to meet her.

She left first, trusting that Combeferre’s bursting energy and ability to talk at eighty miles an hour would sidetrack the journalist. When he asked her, “Hey, aren’t you—?” she snapped, “Nope!” and hurried along.

Later that night, she tweeted:

"Excuse me, sorry to creep, but I couldn't help but notice -- you don't happen to work for a paper?"

He launched into an advertisement worthy of Courfeyrac, yammering through the group's key points of interest in a way that (thanks to all sorts of practice with college and job interviews) remained concise as well as interesting.  It wasn't until he'd dropped Natasha a little smirk as she made her getaway that he answered the question the reporter had been trying to get in: "Was that the Black Widow in there with you?"

"Oh, yeah, she's shown a lot of interest in our cause.  So, you wanna cover us?"

Later that night Combeferre smiled warmly around at his jubilant companions over the second drink they'd bought him in celebration of his unprecedented success.  His phone chirped, as it had been doing all day, but this time the handle that dropped into his push notifications was one he recognized.  His smile widened as he typed his response.

"Don't even talk about owing -- you just boosted us up like three whole levels of activism.  This is the least I can do -- and it's not even completely selfless, I mean, that reporter might cover our protest."

He pulled her, as carefully as he could, out of the awful squishy chair, steadying her once she was standing before wrapping his fingers around his backpack straps, which made him look much too eager and much too young.

She looked out the window just in time to see someone whose body language and clothing screamed ‘reporter’ check their phone, gape, and look inside the window. They had the kind of look like they went to this Starbuck’s so often they knew the interior design by heart, even in a shitty selfie. Natasha turned her back to them, facing Combeferre more directly.

WidowsDontWeep: just ran into @combeferrific at Starbuck’s and learned all about @abccafe. Interesting stuff, can’t wait to find out more. #ViveLaRévolution

She finished off her coffee in one go and sat back, waiting for the jitters to set in as she fiddled with her phone. “What’s your Twitter handle? I’ll just mention that I met you and you’ll probably gain a hundred followers—I hate that I’m Twitter famous. I hate it so much. The very idea that I was laid up long enough to start a Twitter is just—it’s disgusting.”

There was the caffeine setting in. She never talked so much or so emphatically, and caffeine apparently made pregnant women go a little insane. Well, this was her version of insane: ranting like a crotchety old woman about Twitter.

Let’s talk about Combeferre, and why he’s actually a really really cool guy (because I’m a little bit fed up of seeing him portrayed as this stand-offish, haughty, pompously book-smart character in fandom oh my god.)

Combeferre’s initial description is quite literally teeming with quotes to show what a intelligent, perceptive, and (most importantly) socially-conscious guy he is - if Enjolras is ‘the marble lover of liberty’, then Combeferre fills the role of lover of the people, of society, of the everyman. One is committed to an ideal, and the other is committed to the reality that will, hopefully, follow it. Combeferre wants more than just a political revolution; he desires a moral one, a revolution in which corruption and inequality is replaced by fairness and compassion - and isn’t that gorgeous? To me, he’s one of the characters that is most in line with Hugo’s personal ideology; (probably why he easily has the longest introduction of any of the Amis) the idea that each person is necessary. To quote from the musical, Enjolras sings that ‘our little lives don’t count at all’ - whereas on the flipside, Combeferre, like Hugo, is aware of just how much they do.

A comparison Hugo makes that I feel really sums up the distinct dynamic between them is this one: ‘The first attached himself to Robespierre; the second confined himself to Condorcet. Combeferre lived the life of all the rest of the world more than did Enjolras.’ Comparisons can be easily made between Robespierre and Enjolras due to their ruthlessness in the pursuits of liberty, and the shared belief that humans and their institutions cause oppression - they both fit pretty well into the charming-man-capable-of-being-terrible box. In contrast, however, Concordet believed that social inqualities and evils resulted from ignorance, as opposed to weaknesses in human nature - and this inherent faith in humanity is just so, so evident in Combeferre; ‘He loved the word citizen, but he preferred the word man.’ Whilst Enjolras embodies the blunt force of the revolution, Combeferre is its conscience - and the two work together expertly; ‘Enjolras was a chief, Combeferre was a guide. One would have liked to fight under the one and to march behind the other.’ I don’t believe that Enjolras’ revolutionary movement would attract people who were willing to fight with such devotion and conviction without Combeferre’s influence, not for a minute - under Combeferre’s hand, Enjolras’ ideals are shaped into tangible realities.

"You -- you wanna help us?  I mean, you'd do that?  I mean --"

He took a deep breath.  Come on, Ferre.  No drooling.

"Y-yeah, wow, that'd be really great!  Even if you were only, like, a sponsor or something -- even if you only tweeted about us once -- it'd be really great exposure, we could get people thinking about the things that are going on right under their noses, things that are being taken from them, systems that are working against them, things that need to be changed.  Twitter'd be a great platform, too, it's concise, it's neat; it forces us to be really effective and economic with our words.  And with these things coming from someone like you -- they'd be way more willing to listen, you're an icon, not some uppity college kid, I mean, let's face it, college kids are always yelling about something.  Even if the media decided to spin it so it looked like you'd gone off the deep end, I mean, even that would be a step in the right direction, we could twist that back --"

Combeferre's eyes had filled with that beautiful spark called hope and his thoughts were whirring through his brain at a million miles a minute because, just as sometimes happened at a good rally when Enjolras' words were truly soaring, he was really beginning to see victory as a possibility.  Then he remembered himself and cleared his throat, pushing his glasses back up his nose.