R[ɘvol]ution

"The one you're holding is Risa and this," he gestured to the puppet in his arms, "is Iko. One of the other members thought it would be cute if their combined names came out to be 'recycle'. Our target audience are elementary students, but we're expecting a few that are out of that range."

Enjolras then led his new companion to the auditorium where the two of them were met with the loud chatter of small excited children. Another volunteer appeared to announce that the start of the show was steadily approaching. Finding a few empty chairs near the back, the Chief took a seat and patted the one next to him.

                                 THE ABC PRESS                  ᴘᴇɴsᴇʀ, ᴠᴏɪʟᴀ ʟᴇ ᴠʀᴀɪ ᴛʀɪᴏᴍᴘʜᴇ ᴅᴇ ʟ’ᴀᴍᴇ

{ Located in the outskirts of Kairos, The ABC Press is an independent nonprofit newspaper company whose main purpose is to inform the public on matters that they should know about. This includes, but is not limited to: bills that are going through parliament, equal rights rallies, charity events, and even the latest project that a certain corrupt business tycoon is working on and what they can do to prevent it. Members are also expected to take part in the community projects that The ABC Press call attention to. 

{ Currently accepting interns (promotions available at a later time).

Despite being rendered silent, Grantaire tried in a futile effort to stand his ground and remain eye contact. It lasted all but a few seconds before the cynic averted his eyes, lowering it to the floor. He recognized the obvious symbolism of his action in relation to the “writhing in doubt” comment made just moments ago. This wasn’t a strong moment for him. But then again, when did Grantaire ever have a strong moment?

The heavy air that weighed down the space around them was lifted rather jaggedly as a light ding cut through the atmosphere. He’d forgotten all about the sandwich he’s placed in the oven minutes ago—he could hardly believe it’d only been minutes. Turning his back towards the taller man without another word, Grantaire quickly fell into the mindless ritual of packaging. The tense vibes he’d been receiving—whether it was all in his head or not—were dissipating—reluctantly, if he weren’t mistaken—and the feel of the room returned to normal. Awkwardness of the distraction beside, the break did manage to give him enough time to find his bearings once again. He picked up a slanted smile, placing the food on the counter and reciting the price to his most valued customer.

By the time that the cashier readied his food, Enjolras had shimmered down considerably, enough to only be marginally huffy. It was manageable and that was what mattered to him. On the opposite end of the counter, R continued with his snarky tone, making Enjolras question the weight of his words. He could quietly admit to himself that he was a terrible judge of the affect his words had outside the scope of a public forum. He had been told a number of times by Combeferre and Courfeyrac that he possessed the capability of saying truly terrible things to people--it was the reason why Combeferre took it upon himself to personally edit Enjolras' articles to remove any particularly venomous passages. But as the blond watched the shorter man and his crooked smile, it didn't seem like he paid it any mind.

With the issue supposedly dropped, and another customer having just walked through the door, Enjolras soundlessly paid for the food, taking the little doggy bag and coffee in hand. He took another sip from the cup, the scent of hazelnut and the taste of caffeine did wonders to lighten his mood even a step higher.

Aerith sighed. It did get rather lonely in the shop, and the few customers she’d made friends with didn’t seem too interested in her life outside of her business endeavors. She’d done better when she sold flowers out of a basket on street corners.

Ah, well. She’d wait for someone to come by. They had to eventually; the shop smelled heavenly amidst the nastier scents of industrialization -besides, she’d placed cookies and lemonade just inside the shop to attract passersby! The perfect lure for a perfect victim. ♥

The shop had one of the most comforting atmospheres Enjolras had ever experienced while in a business setting; this was definitely one of the bigger differences between a self owned shop and a franchise. Amidst the vibrant colors of the flowers coating the walls and tabletops, the blond felt at a loss. He knew the basic color scheme of the event, but beyond that, he wasn't told anything specific on the coordinator's preferences. Supposedly they trusted him enough to make the decision on his own. Enjolras eventually made his way over to the front desk, addressing the woman there.

   In a hole in the wall there lived a quiet man, someone who lived day by day thankful for what he had. Bilbo Baggins never thought he needed much out of life. He had his home, a comfortable brown stone with a small garden he looked after, his books and his niece. For someone who had much opportunity, he never really considered asking for much more out of life. He liked his job, his friends, and his two cats.

   But one thing that seemed to be forgotten by the small man was that life didn’t always go as well as you wanted it to, despite how well off he was.

   Bilbo certainly forgot this as he was taking his normal route home from work. His hands pushed into his pockets, his satchel slung over his shoulder, the librarian was happy just to get home after what felt like a rather long day. Maybe that was the reason why when he heard a shrill cry, something that made him jump with fight. He blinked, stopping in his tracks as he heard the noise once more. It might have been a sound coming from someone’s child, or a television or something. But Bilbo had such a dreadful feeling, that when he turned down the alleyway that the noise came from, and looked into a closed box, he made a small noise as he saw a helpless newborn left all on it’s own.

   He couldn’t just leave it, his conscious would have killed him if he had done so.  The poor thing looked so helpless, that Bilbo had to do something. He might just regret it, but he had to save the poor dear.

   Picking up the child, holding it close him in an attempt to make it stop it’s cries, Bilbo moved back to the street, looking desperate.

He was nearing the end of questioning the owner of a family store, one that sold crafts, about their thoughts on the recent boom of other small businesses being bought out when it happened. The blond had a nasty habit of blocking out his surroundings unless it was in direct relation to whatever he was currently working on, but even that could not save him from the wretched screams of a crying baby. Enjolras flinched when the shrill wailing pierced his eardrums. He swiftly turned his gaze over to the source of the screeching; blue eyes found a rather short man holding the aforementioned baby fairly quickly. It took a moment to recognize the older man as one of the Press' supporters. The first thought that came to Enjolras' mind was that he had no clue that Bilbo had a child. However at the words uttered and the sight of Bilbo's distress still clearly printed on his face, the student figured that his first guess was incorrect. He took a moment to thank the proprietor he had been questioning for their time before heading over to the brunet.

There was a finite number of things that Enjolras knew about babies: 1) A person could be sentenced to prison for 12-25 years for kidnapping an infant (which he hoped was not something he'd have to inform the older man), 2) Baby dumping was considered malum in se with the exception of leaving the baby in a hospital or orphanage (which was likely the more relevant tidbit), and 3) There was a good chance that the baby couldn't talk. None of these could really be of use to him given the situation. He looked upon the infant in a mix of mild horror and severe discomfort. While his community work lent to many hours in the company of children, anything younger than the capability to form a coherent sentence was out of his realm of experience.