kernow | ➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

[Alexandre (Enjolras. Always Enjolras. His current name is a "familiarity" afforded only to his mother, and only then because she demands it.) doesn't fully remember when the dreams began. They seemed a constant in his life since he was a child, first only at night, waking him to cry for his nanny, and later as daydream flashes that left him gripping the sides of buildings to keep his balance. He learned quickly not to share these episodes, if his family's hushed whispers of "disturbed" and "hospital" were any indication of the potential consequences of honesty.

That is, until university.

Enjolras had barely begun his studies when he was almost knocked of his feet by Thomas (still bespectacled, which had triggered the flash in the first place; Combeferre had managed to retain poor vision in both lives) and gained new clarity. Others would follow, confirming his new reality: the fragmentary moments were not just nightmares or moments of waning sanity but memories of a past life not fully lived.

He found both pain in solace in that. He'd feel old bullet wounds when sitting for coffee with Courfeyrac, recall a quote from Lamarque's writings when studying his political theory texts with Feuilly, remember begging for sole use of a back room nearly two centuries ago while passing a shop near his flat. The moments were fleeting, fragmentary, and frustratingly vague, which left him to decipher them with impatience.

He felt it more keenly than anywhere when he stopped at the cafe near his afternoon studies; Courfeyrac had insisted on in the first time ("The same block that housed the Corinthe, what better to encourage more?") but he returned even without any of the others, urgently trying to trigger the next clue in between the passages of Mill and Thoreau. He sipped at his coffee at one of the tables underneath the awning, underlining a section in On Liberty about free discourse.]

Edited (it decides what century it wants the thread set in before nikki writes the intro or else it gets the hose again) 2017-07-09 14:26 (UTC)

[ Ignorance is bliss. And as such, the young man frozen across the street lived in a state of misery.

Rémi did not get flashes of his past life. He had full-on PTSD-triggering memories and nightmares. Psychiatrists dismissed him with, as a child, an overactive imagination and ADHD. The adult had since stopped seeking professional help for what the doctors had attempted to pin down as generalized anxiety, psychosis, and major depressive disorder. He felt more at home in a psych ward than his own bed by the age of 15.

Grantaire.

He had been born Rémi Francois Chirac to his teenage mother and seemed perfectly normal as he was brought up by his grandparents with lots of smiles and laughs. It wasn't until the age of six when walking down the Rue Soufflot one cheerful June that he felt as though he were struck like a bullet and his ears rang. The small child had ran to the wall of a restaurant, clung like an infant to the foundation, and began to sob uncontrollably. His grandfather picked him up and shushed him all the way home but after little Rémi continued to be unable to stop reciting the names of people he had never met and continued scratching at his chest, the baffled family had no choice but to take him to every specialist across Paris to try and help him.

Diazepam; Méthylphenidate; Risperidone; Quetiapine; once a day; twice a day, with food; at bedtime. Do not drink while on this medication. Do not operate heavy machinery. Side effects may include--

By the age of 16, Rémi had learned there was no use in trying to get anyone to understand that he had died; it was useless to try and tell anyone that his life was a worthless repeat. He had lived his life. Why did he come back? -- He stopped asking. Lie to the doctors. Everything was fine. The meds were working. He felt better. The delusions had stopped. In reality, he slept as little as possible to stop the nightmares. The medications went down the sewer pipes or were sold in the alleys in exchange for liquor.

Once a drunk, always a drunk.

The alcohol stopped his memories from taking hold of him so desperately. His body was too used to the downers and benzodiazepines to make them effective, but later in his teenage years he found whiskey and rum to treat him like an old friend. Looking in the mirror was always a strange and unnerving experience when the differences struck him. Old scars were gone. The nose was no longer broken and malformed. His eyes looked just the same, but otherwise a stranger of 24 years looked back at the old, dead man when he washed his face in the morning.

Finding a young man with a wide smile and bright eyes while in the park one day changed his life yet again, but in a way that seemed to bring some clarity to it. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, interrupting his chat with a similarly-aged woman and stared in disbelief. R watched as Michel's amusement turned violently from shock to anger to bewilderment to despair. He and Courfeyrac held each other until they reached an unspoken agreement that it was too uncomfortable for two men who had never met. R had hurriedly explained over that afternoon who he was- and who Michel was, aligning it with the few scattered dreams that the younger man had seen.

A text message from Thomas - Combeferre, but he couldn't call him that; it was dizzying to try and put the memories of a bespectacled man with a bayonet into the stoic computer science major - several weeks later had led Rémi to this coffee shop, watching a man with crisp hair sip his coffee and trying to stop the bile from rising in his throat as he found words. He lost track of how long he stood there, trying to think of something, anything to say to Enjolras that wouldn't be an 'I'm sorry,' or 'Thank you for everything.' How can you put that sort of pressure on someone who doesn't know you? He had to get his head on straight before he could even say a word to him.

Taking a shaky breath he crossed the street in a daze and used the ill-suiting name. ]

Alexandre?

[Hearing his given name makes him startle slightly; as much as he's come to prefer his original surname, outside of his little reformed "society", it's more customary to hear his new 'de Beaumont' or simply 'Beaumont' when dealing with students and the other quasi-acquaintances he's made around the neighborhood, and especially not his mother's go-to prénom.

His eyes flick up too quickly up at the man and he gets a flash of blinding light that makes him wince. He rubs at his temple, trying to refocus on the man - black hair, curls, a wry grin not actually present on his seemingly unsure face...? He thinks he sees it, another trigger, but as soon as it seems to come it's gone.]

I'm sorry, I think I just gave myself some vertigo. Do I know you?

[ Yes. ] No.

[ R's stomach is doing backflips and his chest hurts as he looks at the other man's eyes before dropping his stare to stop the atmosphere from turning weird...er. He's practiced this a bit with Courfeyrac. ]

Mind if I have a seat, though?

Um...sure.

[He's not sure why a random stranger would wants to share a paper-littered table given the fair number of free tables, but his headache keeps him for debating it further. (A small mercy, but for who it's hard to say.) He gestures to the seat opposite him, still rubbing his temple.]

Sorry, that was rude without introducing myself. Rémi. Call me R.

[ He quirks a smile, holding out his hand for a shake once he takes a seat. Gran- R hopes his hand isn't sweating like he feels like it should be. The man who he'd died with is sitting in front of him. Enjolras looks different than the man with a red flag but his manner, his bearing, his expression-- ]

Thomas sent me to meet you.

[He takes the offered hand, half-shaking it when another hard wince comes; there's no flicker of memory, as close as it is to the feeling, so he chaulks it up to a mix of a growing migraine and the bright afternoon.]

Ah, Thomas! About the student engagement council...? We have most of the officers elected for the school year but we still welcome new members at any point in the year.

[Why Combeferre wants him to talk one on one with a potential member when they have a perfectly functioning twitter to follow would be a mystery to him, but he'll never say no to youth activism, in any life.]

Right now we're tracking Macron's first 100 day iniatives, as well as regional bills introduced in the current parliamentary sessions. People just assume that anyone that isn't LePen is a victory, but accountability isn't dogma to any party. Representatives of the people need the reminder of what they ultimately are when they overstep. But, I'm getting ahead of myself, what specifically are you interested in?

[He looks at him directly, eyes bright and excited; it's a power move, one he's only half-guiltily uses to his advantage.]

Edited 2017-07-11 09:12 (UTC)

[ R is ready to cut his bright eyes down with the truth of why he was here. Maybe it was the eager look on Enjolras' face, or maybe it's the jarring similarities of the cadence of his passionate voice with the same sound from days way gone by, or more likely at how perfectly this seems to come full circle. ]

I took a class or two in Political Theory and your misplaced faith in the democratic system its people has me curious. Perhaps this t- [ He clears his throat. ] Maybe you can change my opinions on politics? Or I can at least add some color to your discussions.

[ Either way, he can't seem to say no to him. ]

[Enjolras' brow furrows a bit; he's not against hosting atypical opinions for political discourse in the group (a devil's advocate can make your argument that much stronger) but why would Combeferre personally send a skeptic to talk to him during a study break?]

I'm sorry you feel that way. I don't have any issues with opposing viewpoints, [a minor lie] but why get involved in a student activism group when you don't believe in the messages? If you want a chance to test out your argument skills, there is a debate team.

[He would know; he was on it before he got disenchanted with the concept of arguing without feeling behind your stance. Something about dying for a cause will do that to you.]

[ He smiles and splays his hands on the table, feeling the grains of wood under his fingertips. ]

It isn't just about arguing. Debates are admittedly fun, but I'm not arguing for the sake of it. I find your cause worthwhile, despite my personal lack of faith; I've taken note that people like you and your group tend to stop the world from falling into abysmal chaos. Even if it's a small and insignificant part like some crude humor and finding faults and pitfalls in your ideas, perhaps I just want to be a part of something meaningful.

[ R looks back up at Alexandre, quirking a dark eyebrow anxiously. ]

[He looks at him appraisingly, trying to decide if the praise offered so soon after his skepticism is mocking or genuine. Whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, and his shoulders visibly relax.]

Well, maybe it's a bit of egotism, but I think we can offer that. That being said, one's impact is only as good as the dedication you put into it. Our next meeting is Tuesday, but I'm sure Thomas already told you as much. You're welcome to sit in once or twice before you sign up.

I'll keep that in mind. Sitting in sounds perfect.

[ Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully and studying Enjolras for a moment before continuing. ]

Tuesday, then. It's the LeCroix building, I believe?

Yeah, LeCroix, we'll start roll and admin at 1900, then just go straight into the main points of discussion.

[A poignant pause as Enjolras continues to stare at him.]

...Was there anything else you needed to talk to me about besides the meeting?

Excellent. [ He says briskly with a soft clap of his hands, falling headfirst back into his long-dead game of mocking the leader. ]

Ah, you know, I did- but it's all right. We can talk after the meeting. I'll see you Tuesday?

[Enjolras' confusion at Remi's less than straightforward answer clearly shows on his face; he lets it slide, but the curiosity gnaws at him.]

Uh, yeah, sure. [He grabs the paper he'd be reading earlier our of habit rather than rudeness.] See you then, Remi.

➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

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why am i like this

thank you for being the garbage r weeb we all deserve

i do what i can

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lame reply is lame