epcot | » ᴘᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜr ʜᴀɴᴅs iɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀir, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ sᴏᴜɴᴅ

[ Grantaire squints up at him before inspecting his hand and apparently finding the results passable for now, as he motions for the young man to get up. He checked his watch, trying to remember when trains stopped departing from Paris. ]

I killed people for a living, sure. I don't care who asked; I didn't question it. I don't even know who was behind this assignment, but it's a contract of anonymity on both sides. I'm hoping I'll survive based on that fact to keep us both alive. But it makes knowing how to keep you alive harder, by the same logic.

[ His eyes are ever moving. Paranoid. Anxious. His muscle are increasingly tense, waiting for more movement besides the sound of hum of cars passing in the street yards away; waiting for anything unusual about the passersby. Another attempt was unlikely so soon, but he couldn't chance it. R decided he would be needing more coffee soon. ]

Let me be clear. I hope this will allow you to relax, at least about me or my actions. I stopped because you were my target and I will not kill you for any amount of money. We need to get out of Paris.

[ Weirdly, the short twitchy assassin's assurances, intermixed with casual references to prior murders committed almost thoughtlessly, provide him with little comfort. Enjolras pulls back his back gingerly, still eyeing the brunette like a cornered animal as he pushes himself up. ]

It doesn't. [ Subtle. ] And I'm not going to leave, with you or anyone. I already told you I'm not going to be intimidated into silence and the hearing on the new energy diversification bill is next month--

Are you actually insane?

[ Grantaire breaks in, his voice a venomous hiss of a whisper. While sounding intense and betrayed, he also manages to wear an expression of genuine concern. ]

Why do you want to die so badly, you damned fool? You can't do anything if you're dead. As asinine as it is to try and make people listen and care, you're good at it. I get it. I've seen it. But do you think dying for this is worthwhile? Your mates can carry the message, and look to you when you return. But right now you are seriously pissing someone off-

I don't! But I can't do anything if I'm outside Paris pretending not to exist anymore either. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are competent and they've got passion for what we're working towards, but I'm not going to pretend this wouldn't play into that counternarrative. I'd be giving those people trying to end almost exactly what they wanted anyway: my silence.

[ His lip curls slightly as he spits out his accusation, eyes filled with nothing but cold resentment: ]

I don't want to be lectured by someone willing to kill for those assholes and keep that abusive system in place, just for a fucking paycheck.

[ It's petty, immature. He regrets it as soon he says it; for all his anger and resentment at the situation, for as little as he feels he can trust this man...he did just save him from a bullet.

The anger in his eyes is already cooling into a low, dulled resentment when they flick away from the other man's face. He draws his arms against his chest, still a little petulant in his remorse. ]

...I'm--Look, just please understand why I can't leave. Even if it is dangerous, I don't have a choice unless I want to undermine everything all of my friends have been working for over the last few years.

[ Grantaire rolls his eyes, actually leaning and craning his neck back as if to look up to the heavens for guidance. Or perhaps to get away from the judgmental gaze of the asshole before him. ]

I understand why you don't want to leave. That's entirely different from not being able to. I want you to think about the difference between your disappearance for a few months-- and your re-emergence later when this threat has at least passed or been dealt with-- and your final, unyielding, unavoidable death. The loss of your voice for your causes forever.

[ He looks back at his would-be target and sighs, flexing his hands as his eyes sweep across the alley again. ]

The reason that my fucking paycheck exists is because there is a difference.

[ It's an uncomfortably reasonable argument and therefore he hates it. Enjolras' burrow is furrowed in angry contemplation while they sit in terse silence. ]

...Would I actually be able to come back? Or, I guess, would it be "dealt with"? You also make it sound like it's a constant, active threat.

[ Grantaire sighs, adjusting the hat which had started to itch as the sweat gathering around his scalp was drying. Seeing no reason to sugar coat this situation a bit, he replies honestly. ]

I don't know. It is a matter of the who and therefore the why of why you are being targeted that determines how constant this threat will be. Is it regarding an upcoming election? Is it about a specific platform? Or about someone you love? Is it personal? I have no idea. My paycheck doesn't need to know, and in fact is paid to someone who does not know my name or appearance, for similar reasons.

[ He frowns and encourages the angry man to move out of this alleyway; the crescendo of distant siren whirring making him remember that the sounds of gunshots attracted attention. ]

[ The quickly-approaching sound of sirens does little to move him; Enjolras' crossed arms stiffen and he locks his knees as if trying to make himself immovable. ]

So there's no guarantee fleeing would be any different than if they had been successful and taken me out? In that case, I'll just take my chances.

There's no guarantee with hardly anything when it comes to human nature. [ A scoff and he clicks his jaw. ] And yet there you go trying your best to change the world anyway. That's the most contradictory and self-serving excuse you've made yet, and that's coming from a cynic like me.

[ Grantaire glares at Enjolras, getting fed up with his dawdling. He wasn't just trying to get himself killed, he was going to get R killed too and unlike the stubborn boy, he wasn't ready for that. ]

Of course there's a difference between your disappearance and your death.

Oh fuck you.

[ Enjolras' nose flares with a sharp exhale of breath, that rageful fire reigniting in his eyes. ]

It's not "self-serving" you yellow-livered prick! I'm not going to turn tail on your half-assed maybe. I don't know what you get out of me fleeing, or-- [ He pulls back a moment, eyes narrowing with a vindictive, acidic suspicion. ] Or if this is somehow what you've really been paid for, but if you have an issue with me staying, you are more than welcome to fuck right off. No one's asked you to stick around and lecture me!

If I wanted to lecture you, I would cite examples of how your energy is wasted on what you hope to accomplish, of what you're trying to change. But I'm not, I'm doing the fucking opposite. I'm trying to keep your dream alive by keeping you alive, you arrogant fuck.

[ He points at Enjolras squarely, putting emphasis on what he's here for. What the hell was this going to take to get this man with a death wish out of Paris? he wondered vaguely. But he was too committed at this point to back down. ]

You're completely full of shit. You honestly want me to believe you're invested in my well-being and you mock me for trying to do something good with my life in the same breath?

[ Enjolras scoffs, harsh and haughty; he looks back behind him into the alley as if too annoyed to even look at the other man for a moment. ]

God, I bet you haven't done a single worthwhile thing in your life, you spineless hypocrite, and you're still going to sit there and try to tell me what actually matters? If you're so worried about what your employers will do, go ahead and run, but I'm not going anywhere with you.

I do expect you to accept it. Because you are bigger than what you do or do not accomplish! Like hell I know what matters, but I know what I’m capable of and I know what I’m not.

[ The sirens are in the street closest to the alley and he hears a car door slam. Red, flashing lights make him look even more grim, but he won’t leave without Enjolras. An immovable object has been moved unstoppable force, it seems. ]

Are you willing to trust me just a little? I don’t want you happy I want you living.

» ᴘᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜr ʜᴀɴᴅs iɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀir, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ sᴏᴜɴᴅ

"PUT ME DOWN. PUT ME DOWN! NOOOO PICK ME UP PICK ME UP PICK ME UP-"

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excuse u that's his line

get in line angel

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the assassin's equivalent of a small child having a meltdown in a target

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bitch you ain't gettin me to no secondary location

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