what's there to be scared of?

Just wait until Elijah discovered hipsters. (Cyril was truly a man ahead of his time.)

"Thankfully now I am here, and maybe if you work really hard you might even one day be able to afford an ironing board.” Doubtful though it was that Cyril would have any idea how to use it except as a bludgeoning device.

A cigarette. A cigarette would be greatly appreciated. What did he do? What did he do to deserve this? Cyril surely has enough insufferable-asshole types in his life, or did he not fill the quota? Just his luck.

Whatever. It didn't matter.

"Oh dear oh no, Mr.Gabriel, don't say that! Even after I tried so hard to please you. I dressed up in my best dress for you, you know. You were always so cruel."

As he eats, he so foolishly trusts the staff to keep an eye out for any thieves wandering about and looks away for a few moments to speak to someone when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots someone’s grubby hands taking his dang umbrella and just walk out. He’s shocked at this turn of events and quickly cuts his conversation shorts, running out into the rain and looking around for his not-hard-to-miss umbrella.

When he spots it, he sprints toward the thief’s direction and just barely manages to latch onto the other’s shoulder, drenched in rain as he makes his way under the cover. Practically out of breath, Marco looks up to barely make out the face of who the guy who DARED to take his umbrella from him, and when he catches a glimpse of his face, he can feel annoyance rising up from deep within him.

He'd almost gotten out--close, but no cigar. The apparent owner of the umbrella had caught him, despite how swift he was. Now they were caught in a crowd, awkwardly standing in the way of passersby, It probably looked it was soley him blocking the way too--due to the lack of presence from this guy. Seriously. Cyril almost didn't hear him trying to catch up to him (emphasis on almost), which is pretty concerning considering how hard this guy is bitching right now. Christ. 

There are more than a few moments of silence between them after the owner of the umbrella takes a moment to breathe. It's now just the small chatter of those on the streets, pitter patter of the rain and this bozo's heavy breathing. Cyril stared, subconsciously tightening his grip on the others umbrella. He then put an arm around the angry looking boy, and motioned them out of the moving crowds way.

"Alright, let's relax now. You're getting so red, I'm afraid you'll faint. It'd be awfully inconvenient, in weather like this, you know?"

Now, there were many ways Cyril could handle this situation. He could push the guy on his back and take of with his umbrella, he could return the umbrella and go on with his day, or he could talk to him. Frankly, the day was already a huge bore, and something was telling him that this  bottle of anger compressed into a teenage adolescent could get much angrier. That sounded like a show.

And we all know Cyril loves his fair share of entertainment. 

"Are you sure it’s going to fit?"

"You’re being too rough."

"I’m not fragile, you don’t have to be so gentle."

"Wrong hole!"

"I’m dripping wet."

"Don’t get it in my hair."

"It won’t stop squirting."

"Bend over."

"I’m never getting on my knees for you again."

"You’re really hitting the spot."

"Yes! Yes! Oh Yes!"

"You’re going to break me."

"Are you sure two fingers is enough?"

"Take it."

"Is that it?"

"That didn’t last very long…"

"I didn’t know it would get that hard."

"Just put it in!"

"Right there."

"Who taught you how to aim?"

"Hit it really deep."

"We might as well go out with a bang."

"What’s that pressing against my back?"

"I got it in my eye."

"Not really."

Did anyone ever miss one rat in an infestation?

"What about you? Have you missed employment?"

"Mr. Gabriel, darling, no need to suppress feelings. We're all about honesty, here." 

A bad day to not have a cigarette? He thought so.

You're fucking kidding. 

Maybe it was a little unreasonable of him considering that he did allow the café to run as a bar at night. It wasn’t purely the act of drinking that Enjolras scorned, but the fact that people did it until they drove themselves into incoherency. The lack of inhibitions was another thing. The revolutionary had the tendency to shut out anything that could be a hindrance to his ability to work and alcohol was high up on the list. 

Enjolras staggered back as Cyril pressed against him, surprised by the sudden contact. He regained his composure quickly enough, his expression returning to marble, determined not to falter by the other man’s actions again. He pointedly ignored the fact that Cyril still had his arms around his neck.

He was a very talented actor, after all.

"Pfftt, nooooo, no no!" Cyril chuckled, arms wrapping a bit tighter. "I'm 100 percent sober, darlinnn'! Nothin' wrong with me here." He was slurring his words now. At this point, Cyrils' body was leaning heavily on Enjolras' as he stumbled, which was quite a sight considering their slight height difference. It was like dancing, but more drunk and messy. He tilted his head and looked right at his partner.