Chapter Text
It was hot and stuffy. Marius tried not to think about it as he clutched his nearly-falling-apart duffel bag to his chest and tried to breathe in deeply. He looked down at his worn-down, hole-ridden shoes. Once again he wondered just what he was doing here; once again he had to remind himself that he had been given an actual job. His first job as a recently graduated publicist. Never mind that it was at a circus. Never mind that his grandfather had all-but disinherited him the moment he told him of his post-graduate plans.
The old man had his heart firmly set on Marius going into law, like his father and mother. Needless to say he had not taken kindly to the idea of his grandson working for 'a rotten butch of homeless carnies'. Marius had tried to tell his guardian that Les Amis was an official off-shoot of Cirque du Soleil, and that many of its performers were internationally known. He then found himself kicked out on the street with only a bag full of his clothes and small trinkets of his parents.
So, here he was in his new home, finding himself alone in a warehouse-turned-workplace that smelled suspiciously like plums, body-odor, and wet paint. He looked around cautiously. His office was an offshoot from the main open area, where a small group of acrobats trained and a pair of girls helped each other stretch. They were both very pretty, as different as night and day, but just as pretty as the other. A nightingale and a lark.
Marius jumped into the air when a hand clamped itself onto his shoulder. He found his new employer, Mr. Valjean, smiling down at him warmly. The old man had been a star in his youth, one of the best acrobats on the East-Coast. He still had the muscle to attest to his strength. Marius made a mental note to never get him angry. "H-hello, Sir." Marius stammered, clutching his bag to his chest.
"Good morning, Marius. I trust that you were able to find us with ease?"
"Of course, Sir. Might I say again that I am very thankful that you gave me such a wonderful opportunity?" Marius didn't say the he had gotten lost four times on his way there. He blamed it on his slight inclination to day-dream.
"Nonsense, nonsense, I have seen some of your previous volunteer work, so I can say for certain that the opportunity will be rewarding for all of us. Now, come, let me show you around." With that, the man took the boy by the arm and dragged him away.
They walked out into the main area, where the two girls were still stretching. "Eponine, Cosette!" Both girls turned to smile at the elderly man as he walked up. Eponine's smile was full, while Cosette's was shy. They both trotted up. "This here is Marius," Valjean explained, "He's our new publicist. Marius, these lovely ladies are Eponine and Cosette. They are contortionists.” The girls took an arm each, and proceeded to drag Marius away. Marius looked around confused. They didn't stop until they were out of sight.
"Sorry 'bout that." Eponine muttered, her voice was soft with a thick accent Marius couldn't place.
"It's just that Papa did something to make Javert mad again."
"Probably forgot ta turn in th' taxes four weeks early like he's supposed ta."
"And we really don't want to be around when Javert-"
"Jean Valjean!" As if on que, a man who Marius realized as the Head of Security rushed into the building.
"Finds him. Run, Papa, run!" Cosette called, and Valjean did just that. Javert followed in hot pursuit. Both of the girls giggled, while Marius looked worried.
"Will he be alright?"
"Hm? Oh, of course, after a good discipline lesson, Javert will let him off the hook. Probably. Now, come on, let’s go get R and give you the merry tour."
"R?"
"Our resident artist." The trio walk into another room, which, by the number of loose sheets of paper and random paint splatters, had been converted into an art studio. "R!"
A mess of jet black curls popped into view at Eponine's call. They tilted back to reveal sharp blue eyes and a scruffily handsome face. A wide smile came to view. "My, what have we here? The lovely duo themselves and... what is this? A newcomer? Oh joyous day!" R swiveled around in his seat and pushed his way over. He was covered in paint, had a bottle of beer in his hand, and seemed perfectly content. Or drunk. Maybe just very drunk. He stuck out a hand for Marius to shake but did not get up. "Grantaire," he said, "resident artist and cynic. Come to me if you ever wanna have a good time."
"Oh, please, R stop flirting. We're trying to show Marius around, not scare him off." Cosette smiled as she ruffled the painter's hair. Marius took the time to look around. Costumes and set pieces were thrown around the room, all marvelously detailed and painfully intricate.
"Grantaire does all of our costumes and props." Eponine whispered as Marius looked at a detailed sketch of a blond man in flight. He looked like an angel.
"Must take a lot of time." He muttered, to which Eponine nodded.
"He sometimes can't sleep 'cause of his injury. So he just works."
"Injury?" It was then that Marius noticed that the chair Grantaire was sitting in was not a swivel chair or anything of the sort. It was a wheel-chair. "Oh..." Was all that Marius could manage. He did not ask what happened, even if it bit at his mind and tongue.
Eponine gave a small smile, a sad little thing that carried too much experience and pain, "He used to be a performer here. He was really good."
R wheeled around to face them, "Ponine, are you talking about me behind my back again? Way did I tell you? What happens in Daytona--"
"Stays in Daytona, 'es, R, I know. Now let’s go." She rushed forward and pushed Grantaire out of the room. Cosette laughed, grabbed Marius's hand, and took off after them.
By the time they entered another room, they were all laughing. Marius found himself feeling completely at ease with people that he barely knew. It was a strange and exhilarating feeling. He wanted it to last forever. He only just managed to take his eyes off of Cosette’s smile when Grantaire started talking. “Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, get your butts over here to say hello!” He yelled, and two young men and one woman tumbled forward. “This strapping young lad is Marius,” Grantiare waved an airy hand to where Marius stood; “he wants to join your wonderful love fest.”
“Grantaire, please!” Cosette bopped him on the head as Marius blushed.
Grantaire was not deterred in the slightest, “Marius, this is the handsome Jollly, or Joly, he also serves as one of our resident doctors. If he says you have cholera, it means he likes you.” The slighter man waved in greeting and did a front flip. “The man behind him is his graceful boyfriend, Bossuet. Don’t ever get in front of him on the stairs: he will fall on you and it will be painful.” The taller, bald man smiled sheepishly. “And this,” Grantaire pointed to the dark-skinned beauty of the group, “Is their lovely bride-to-be, Musichetta. Speaking of which, ‘Chetta, I need to get your measurements for the gown. One can never be too early with these things.” The young woman swooped down to plant a kiss on Grantaire’s brow, to which he grinned. “Careful now, don’t want your lovelies getting jealous because of little old me!” Joly and Bossuet rolled their eyes.
“Trust me, Grantaire, if ‘Chetta was going to cheat on us with anybody, it’d probably be with Enjolras, sorry.” Bossuet said. His voice was a deep baritone that had laughter hidden within its depths.
“Oh please, we all know that would never work out. I would go to Starbucks one day and he would dump me onto the street.” Musichetta laughed, her voice rivaling the pealing of bells. She planted a kiss on both of her boy’s cheeks and waved good bye. She took off running, did a cartwheel and went into three rolls. She landed perfectly. Joly smiled after her fondly, and went after her, Bossuet followed.
Grantaire led Marius past a fire-dancer named Feuilly, who loved fire almost as much as he loved Poland and his friend Barohel. Grantaire had purposefully made his costume red and white, which Marius thought was kind of him.
Cosette introduced him to the animal trainer, whose name was Bahorel. The man had a grin that matched that of a wolf’s, but it was clear that he was kind-hearted. Eponine whispered secrets into Marius’s ear. Apparently, Bahorel often tailed R to the bars to make sure the painter did not get into too much trouble. He and Feuilly were apparently in love with each other but were too pig-headed to notice.
After Bahorel, they moved into a make-shift school room. A group of children, all boys, soon surrounded them. They all looked like Eponine in a way. A young bespectacled man, walked forward. The moment that he laid eyes on Eponine, his demeanor brightened. The girl didn’t notice the change, and she introduced him to the party, “This is Combeferre. He is in charge of my brothers’ education, and is also our head doctor along with Joly, so all the more power to him.”
Combeferre chuckled, nodding to Marius as one of the smaller boys grabbed at his pant-leg and whispered something into his ear. “Thing 2 wants to tell you that one day he wants to be like R and paint pretty pictures.” The boy frowned and tugged incessantly at Combeferre’s cargo pants. “I’m sorry, awesome pictures. Please excuse the mistranslation.” The boy smiled up at R, who’s gaze had saddened somewhat. R still managed to smile.
“Thing 2?” Marius asked.
“Yes , Thing 1 and Thing 2 are our youngest performers. Eponine’s parents—”
“Never thought to name ‘em because ‘ey were dicks.” Eponine growled, but then brightened when she saw the boys’ smiles dim. “So we just named you after your favorite characters ever, right?” Both boys nodded enthusiastically, and began handing off of Combeferre’s arms.
A slightly older boy came darting into the room, being chanced by a curly haired man. The curly haired man was followed by a wisp of a boy with delicate features and flowers braided into his hair. They both greeted Marius with enthusiasm. “This is Jean, nee Jehan. He’s our wonderful tightrope walker. Courfeyrac is his boyfriend and partner, though in my opinion, he would be better suited being a clown.” Cosette teased, to which Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out.
“You’re just jealous of my awesome skills.”
“Courfeyrac, if you think making children laugh is a skill-set, I might have to get Joly to check you out again for a fever. Even I can do that.” Grantaire’s voice was light, but there was a hidden darkness behind it that made the entire room go still. The nature-creature that Marius now knew to be Jehan rested a hand on R’s shoulder. His eyes held a quiet worry.
“R, are you—”
“Taire, Taire!” The boy who had run in cut in front of Jehan, a smirk on his face. “I got halfway up to the ceiling this time! Soon I’ll be able to even beat Enjolras! Just you watch!”
Grantaire laughed and the tension of the past moment was forgotten. “Really now,” he said, “well, it is high time someone decided to put Apollo back in his place. Is he still training?”
“I think so. He was hiding from me in the rafters when I left him.”
“Ah, thanks Gav!” Grantaire dragged Eponine out, who latched on to Marius, who grabbed onto Cosette, who just laughed.
They all-but-fell into a room of ribbons. The strips of fabric caught the sun’s lights and gave the room an almost unearthly quality. Music was playing softly in the background. There was an open window, making the silken strands sway in the breeze. Marius’s breath caught in this throat.
Grantaire was not as enchanted. He rolled forward, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling. He took a deep breath and called up, “Apollo, Apollo let down your long hair!”
Peanut shells began to pelt him, making him laugh and cover his head. He did not back up, however. Instead, he continued to smile up, as if trying to find the sun.
Cosette stepped forward, “Enjolras, can you please come down? We have a new family member.” Marius felt a blush creep onto his cheeks. She called him family. He would like this family.
The ribbons rustled, and suddenly, a man came falling down from the heavens, wrapped in red silk. It looked like he was in free fall, as he twisted and turned. Then Marius realized that no, he was not falling, he was flying. He could stop any moment he chose to. Marius noticed how Grantaire’s breath hitched at the man’s descent and how the painter’s face had gone pale.
Three feet below the ground, the blond angel stopped, his precarious stop aided only by one foot wrapped in red. He cocked his head to look at Marius, then bowed it slightly, “Hello.” He said.
Marius was too close to speechless to do anything besides wave. Enjolras quickly lost interest and proceeded to scurry back up to his perch. Grantaire stopped him about halfway up. “You’re holding on a bit too tightly. You could damage your hands. Do I need to get you low stretch fabrics?”
Enjolras looked at him confused, “What would an artist like you know of Arial Silk?” He asked, his voice almost interested. He looked willing to partake in a conversation. It was clear he wanted to know Grantaire’s opinion, but didn’t know how to use his words.
Grantaire choked out a laugh and turned away, “Absolutely nothing, dear marble Apollo.” Enjolras flinched at the name, glared, and flew back up to the rafters where Grantaire and his words could not reach him.
“Nothing at all.” Grantaire spat to himself as he wheeled himself out of the room.