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The Amis immediately know something’s up when Grantaire walks into the bar shitfaced. See, it’s not that he’s drinking that’s worrying them. Oh no, he’s giggling.
And bad things happen when Grantaire’s giggling.
Enjolras, golden eyebrow already raised, turns to face the dark-haired artist. “What did you do?”
Grantaire holds on to the door of Café Musian to stay upright. A look of innocence spreads over his face. “Why do you always assume I’ve done something?”
“Because you’re giggling, you’re drunk off your ass and you’re trying to look guileless. Now, spill.” Enjolras’ No Negotiation voice is accompanied by his Don’t Humour Me, Boy Look.
The drunkard fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Well, see, I’m not always drunk, right? Andcourfwasjokingabouthowweshouldturnyourcarintothechariotoffreedomandiguessijustshortcircuitedandpleasedon’tkillme.”
Cautiously, Eponine sidesteps around Enjolras and walks to her best friend. “’Taire, honey, care to repeat that?”
A sigh. A blond twitching eyebrow, A snicker. “Courfeyrac was joking the other day and I might have taken a few of his suggestions seriously?”
Enjolras looks as though he might have an aneurysm. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“I painted your car.”
Everyone scrambles to his or her feet and rush out of the door, heading towards the silver Prius Enjolras drives, parked in the lot across from the café. And they stop as though someone hit the freeze button.
Enjolras’ car, which used to be silver, is now a riot of colours. The hood, ever so shiny before, is a deep blood red, shaded in some areas to create a flag. A minimalist Liberty Leading the People is drawn front and center on the flag, Liberty being the only part of the painting that has been replicated faithfully on to the metal hood. The words liberté, égalité, fraternité are scrawled underneath in a beautiful curling script the group associates with Grantaire.
The sides of the car have been painted as well. On the right side is a profile of a man, too symmetrical and beautiful to be anyone other than Enjolras, with twelve other profiles painted around the larger one, basking in the golden glow radiating from Enjolras’ profile. On the other side is a field of flowers, except instead of flower heads there are cockades, just like the ones used in the nineteenth century. Les Amis de L’ABC is painted in the middle of the field.
The bumper of the car is very simple, vive la revolution curling around the license plate.
All in all, the Prius is what Enjolras would be if he pissed off a witch and she turned him into a car. And because Enjolras is beautiful, the car is beautiful.
However, beautiful as it is, it’s also a defaced car. The friends watch as Enjolras’ face darkens to match the colour of his car’s hood.
“GRANTAIRE!”
Later on, the thundering cry was said to be heard from as far as the shop down the street. A few proprietors also swear they saw a dark-haired man running as though his life depended on it as a golden god gave chase.