A Familiar Set of Curls II Grantaire
Bahorel staggered down the crowded sidewalk. He was lost, even being in this place for a while he still didn't know where he was going. It was still Paris, but such a different Paris that he was lost as soon as he started to walk. He looked around, and was that what he thought it was? It had to be, there wasn't anyone else around, that he had saw, that wore that kind of clothes. It had to be one of the people from Bahorel's own time. He ran towards the man and reached out grasping his shoulder and turning him around, curls went flying in front of the man's face and he gasped, "Grantaire?"










