what's the use of that?

[ General appearance. ]

Name: Musette de Vergy Date of Birth: July 12 Zodiac: Cancer Gender: Female Eye Color: Hazel Hair Color: Dark auburn. Height: 5’3”

[ Have you… ]

Had sex: No. Had sex in public: Good heavens. Gotten pregnant: No Kissed a boy: Yes Kissed a girl: No. Gotten tattoos: No.  Smoke or drank: Yes. Had a broken heart: I assume many.

[ Are you… ]

It is becoming increasingly difficult not to judge this stranger, for every word out of her mouth is one that Enjolras finds it easy to take offence to. For this young woman to so easily cast aside his cause, to throw to the wind the passion and care that has brought him to this very spot to argue with strangers on street corners, is to cast aside his very being. 

“You speak with such certainty —- I can only suggest that you see for yourself the changes that shall be made in the world, and tell me then that you understand.” There is a pause — silence for a moment save the angry reshuffling of flyers — and Enjolras gathers his arguments like arrows to a quiver. Etched upon his marble face is a fierce scowl, and if the other chooses to look closely enough, she will probably be able to see the thoughts in his head turning like clockwork. “Tell me: have you been to a rally in the past? Have you seen the effects they can have on the masses? Progress is not made by merely spectating — it is made by action, and it is action we intend to inspire.”

   Another burst of laughter, this time louder. She would not find the likes of her in a rally, there is utmost no reason for her presence in one, for she would just be encouraging the police officers to stop it. And the matters they fight towards so ravishingly do not affect her, and she is unable to see how she should be concerned on how it affects others. Well, to fail is a strong action--but if it were a choice to overlook, that would mean she has options in her existence.  

    His puzzling yet still remaining appealing anger enthuses her, for she is a being of reaction like all good baleful femmes. Gaze scanning their surroundings as he speaks, still ending on his mien, she pays him care, but no concern.      “ Well, no monsieur, I've never been in one. But don't worry, let's cut the presidential family's heads and call it a revolution, then.  You know your flyers, and blog posts. With a good camping manager we could get North Korea to stop trending on twitter.“  To affront what he said seriously would be to take him into consideration, and their interaction is far too young. However her mockery is bitter, for he's challenging her, and polite discussions are left for debate classes.  

     ”Has it never occurred to you that the law may be wrong? It is devised by men, after all, and men are all too easily capable of wrong. Look around you—look at the father begging for a morsel of food to feed his family for the first time in two days, and tell me that he is free. Look at the droves of children starving on street corners, and tell me it is just. What sin have they committed to deserve such misery? I’ve not the right to question God, perhaps, but I know enough to understand that there is neither liberty nor justice in what I see. If there was once reason and fairness in Heaven’s law, then men have corrupted it beyond recognition.”

      ❛   I see nothing when I look at beggars, more than the           sin of the lazy. And perhaps, yes, there was some           unfairness within their lives, however we all suffer           from life being unfair itself, and uncontrollable as it is,         we shall face it. But that does not mean we are not           free--even the beggar has a choice to steal, to work,           to live in leisure--what more freedom do you wish ? ❜  

                   And posture, she remains attempting                    serenity, albeit she is warm, if not hot                    and well, utmost despises him or better                    yet people like him and their ideals. 

                    ❛ well, oh — milady, less?                       I was quite convinced this was                       one of those more appropriate                       dinner conversations. I did have                       more pressing questions, but I                       figured they’d lessen our appetites!                                                                    So, yes or no? ❜

              “What’s in your head?                 …I know I have been                            gone for long…                …But you can talk to me.”

( duios )

     ”You know, I’ve always wondered if eyebrows are considered facial hair.”

Did this stranger just laugh? For a moment, Enjolras thinks that he must be making things up; but then the young woman continues, and it is clear that she thinks he is joking. He, to joke about rallying! He, to make a mockery of his cause, to stand in the street and jokeabout such things to strangers! The blond takes a moment — a breath, a resisted urge to throw his stack of flyers at the stranger — and speaks. “Mademoiselle, you are quite mistaken. Do you think I would be standing out here speaking to you if I were not perfectly serious about this rally?” Judgement is not something that Enjolras indulges in often — ever, if he possibly can — but this woman is enticing that mischievous temptation to life, and a voice in the back of his mind makes him question if they are of similar class, of similar background. He himself is of a wealthy family, the sole heir of a powerful father, but he has estranged himself quite willingly in the name of the future; he wonders if this stranger would ever be tempted to do the same herself, but pushes those thoughts aside. Let his judgement come from her actions, and not the first impression he has got.

    ” To stand at this hours with a flock of papers about rallies and opposition towards whatever people want to be opposed to these days is just so ridiculous I would never think anyone would do it.”     Her mien albeit serious, wears a light air to it, as if her words were the simple to grasp. It does never pass her mind that someone could be too against her or her beliefs. It does not make sense, for her beliefs are the ones that are correct or so she decided. 

   And yet it's so strange for her, for he looks of more wealth he portrays with this nonsense about a rally. Musette unlike him, tries not to evoke any confusion with her manicured nails and heeled boots, but it is the high aim her nose begins to take that completely sets her in. A nest of corrupted politics for a father and wine magnate as a mother cannot hatch an egg more perfect than vain, ambition and elitism collected into one girl.

Ah— he had caught this passer-by’s attention. It made a nice change; many simply continued walking or else took a flyer without a word or a second glance, but this young woman had stopped to talk. Even if she sounded rather incredulous, Enjolras supposed it was better than nothing.

"A rally," he repeated, holding out the flyers to her as though that would clear up the mist of confusion between them, "about taxes on the rich. Tell me, don’t you think the current system unfair?" The blond expected the answer to be yes — of course he expected it to be a yes, or else he would be quite happy to stand in the cold and argue his point until the other agreed with him or went home. He was determined to his very bones that his cause be heard, until all his beloved France had changed for the better, and this was one tiny stepping-stone of the way.

A blink--or make that two blinks. And after a few moments processing his words she laughs. Laughter not made for mocking, but as if he was joking. But he cannot be--it wouldn't make sense, albeit ridiculous for her, he seems so legitimately concerned for whatever the problem he sees in taxes. Well, she knows, but cannot believe anyone would actually act on it in the immediate present. 

    ” A rally? Oh dear, you cannot be serious. ”

Her gaze remains on him, doubtful, full of query yet fathoming his means in this conversation. Protests, they seem to be in fashion, for with a politician father and of elitist upbringing, she has knowledge but can only wonder, for why would she participate? She's an advocate of the wealthy, and not the fairest human to be precise.

It’s cold. Enjolras knows that because he’s been standing on the street corner offering flyers to passers-by for the last two hours — though his gloves are warm and his coat well-fitted, the wind nips at his face, and it’s beginning to become a bother. He stamps his feet idly, the sidewalk hard beneath his boots, and glances around. The night is drawing fast, and less people are passing him now; nonetheless, as soon as he spots someone on his side of the street, he perks up, and when they draw near, he speaks. ” — Can I interest you in a rally?”

Albeit aware of her surroundings, Musette strolls down the streets, with only the worry  of natural light starting to scarce for the hour. Her pace is slow, however, these heeled boots re utmost uncomfortable, even when they look charming.  She has never given strangers much thought, and so she pretends to pass him and arrive home easily. However, there are words she catches from him, but unused to turn around, she believes she has not heard correctly.          ” —A what?”

mu s et t e no.

❜ the presence of snobs irritates me. hate t’break it      to you. santa ain’t real, an’ spider-man is a comic      book character. they ain’t irresponsible at all. i’d      rather be doin’ that than sittin’ on th’streets waitin’      t’get my head kicked in. ❜