Send “⁇” for a drunk text.
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Now, one of the women made her way onto the impostor’s lap. Montparnasse stared at the other boy, in a way that appeared very attracted to him, but he was absolutely seething in rage. The nerve of this man, using his name and identity to get the girls he liked. It barely even occurred to him that Claquesous was just desperate for some entertainment. The only way the real Montparnasse was able to smile was by fantasizing about how good his knife would look in the other boy’s neck.
The other boy feigned pleasant surprise and modesty, so overdone that it looked completely foolish and obnoxious, when he received his champagne. The champagne flute was so tiny, that only two average-sized strawberries could fit inside, and it was all very decadent. Perfect. The bartender informed the impostor that it was the pretty boy named Aimé, over there, who had sent it. Montparnasse, Aimé, gave an effortless, flirty wave, and a smirk, when the impostor glanced over at him.
There was still no denying that the real Montparnasse was very easy on the eyes, so the fake strolled over with his champagne. He stared at Montparnasse, intrigued, and he got himself a chair right in between the dandy and Claquesous. “Aww, you shouldn’t have,” he smirked and nudged the real dandy’s shoulder. “Such a cutie, I should have been the one getting you a drink. Is this your sugar daddy, or are you, ahem, available?”
Montparnasse kept his posture stiff and his jaw tensed as the other boy strolled over to him. The lighting as better at this table, and up close, the other boy was even more devastatingly good-looking, which seemed impossible up until that moment. “Ha-ha!" Montparnasse gave a short, almost barking laugh, but with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, you should have.” He muttered under his breath. Not particularly subtle. “He’s just a friend, like a father. It’s not so much that I’m available, but I don’t really care either way.”
"Ha-ha!" The impostor laughed in just the same way. "That’s funny. Good, good. I like funny.”
Behind his mask, Claquesous was cringing all the while. Ha-ha! Montparnasse’s laughter was so fake anyone in the bar could pick it up — anyone, it seemed, but the fake himself, chatting away with the boy he was impersonating. Montparnasse was a good actor — one needed to be in this business — but the rage of it all seemed to seep through his words and the phrases seemed to have a bite to them, just enough to put Claquesous on edge.
He rose and crossed the bar to where Aimé was seated, trailing his gloved fingers along the teen’s shoulders as he walked until he was too far. From there, Sous left the bar out the front door.
It was a very brisk walk to the back, where he took his knife out of the breast pocket of his trench coat and stashed it in the right sleeve for easy access. His dominant hand, meanwhile, rested on his hip where he could dart into his coat at any point and take out his pistol. There he waited in the shadows for the boy to emerge with his handsome prey.
Montparnasse stood quietly in the doorway, unsure whether he was invited to take another step in. He chewed at the inside of his cheek- a nervous habit. His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat “I-I…I didn’t know” it came out more like an apology than anything. He wasn’t quite sure what he had meant it to come out like.
Tasse put the ID down on the table in front of him. “Restrain him,” he ordered, and Enjolras was quick to do so — within a second, his hands were pinned behind his back. Slowly, the leader rose.
"How did you find him? I want the entire story, from the beginning."
"Hey!" Montparnasse jumped to his feet "That’s mine!" When Enjolras dropped the wallet, he grabbed it off the ground, going through it to make sure the license was the only thing taken before shoving it back in his pocket. He glared at the door, taking a step through in an attempt to follow the man
“Tasse,” said Enjolras quickly as he flicked the bloodstained licence at his leader.
The older man took a long look at the bloodied boy in the doorway and then glanced back at his subordinate, then finally to the licence. His eyes widened. The name was fake, of course, but there was no mistaking the picture. “Lévesque,” he whispered, putting the licence down. “You, young one. Do you know who you’ve killed? This was the next in command to lead les Brigands.”
Montparnasse reached into one of his inside pockets, pulling out a wallet and some stray pieces of jewelry; gold chains, a diamond earring, a nice watch. “He owed me.”
His hands were quick, and so he had no trouble snatching the wallet clean out of his hands and striding to the other side of the room. Upon opening it, his eyes widened. “Montparnasse,” said he, “I— I need this.” He took the driver’s licence out of the pocket and dropped the wallet to the floor before leaving the room through the back door in a rush. Such a rush, it seemed, that he left it unlocked.
Montparnasse furrowed his brow, looking up at his savior with obvious annoyance. “What?” He took a moment but gave in, pulling out his dagger. “I slit his throat. I was…working and he..he rendered my services and refused to pay.”
There was no mistaking the boy for anything but what he was, Enjolras decided upon looking at him harder. The bloodstains distracted from the clothing that suggested his work — he was no hitman. “So you kill him. Well, did you have the decency to take his wallet at least?”
Montparnasse’s eyes went wide “I-I…oh god” He collapsed in the chair, head hidden in his hands “They’re going to kill me! I-I’ve nowhere to go, they’ll find me easily!” He ran his hands through his thick, black hair, tugging on it as he let out a distressed groan.
In all his social graces, Enjolras loped over to Montparnasse and leaned against the table. “How did you do it?” He asked, genuinely curious. The Brigands were hard to find, harder for their sworn enemies.
Montparnasse shook his head “Police?” He shrugged “Could’ve been anyone really…not sure if anyone saw what I did…well, clearly someone did…or found out. Why?” He tilted his head curiously, unsure of why he was so intrigued by this masked man he should be terrified of.
The offered chair was not taken, and so Enjolras stood again and walked to the other side of the room, trying to hide the joy he felt. “A Brigand,” said he. “They’re our rivals, and half as vicious as us — enough to send anyone fleeing.” He turned on his heel and walked towards Montparnasse again. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve made a band of enemies for life with a dangerous street gang, child. And what’s more, you’ve killed one of them.” He grinned widely. “No one in this sorry lot’s been able to do that for two years now.”
Montparnasse took the hand that was offered to him, that same familiarity washing over him as did with the hand on his back. He followed Enjolras down the stairs, allowing himself to be lead wherever the man pleased.
This felt so familiar, like this had all happened before- “Do I…do I know you from somewhere?”
Enjolras couldn’t help the smile that pulled on his lips as they reached the bottom of the dimly lit stairway. “Put a mask on every man’s face and you’ll be familiar with every man,” said he. He turned to look Montparnasse in the eye, then back to the door in front of him. Another key produced from a different pocket unlocked it, and soon the pair was slipping inside.
He turned on another fluorescent light that flickered and sputtered, bathing the dirty room in harsh artificial light. The creature of the night squinted.
Only after pulling out a chair for Montparnasse and taking a seat on the table did he speak again. “Do you have any idea who was after you?”
The dandy jumped at the unexpected voice, furrowing his brow at the short man now rushing towards him. He took a step behind Enjolras, trying to avoid the angry little man at all costs.
"Not a child, that’s for sure" he snapped back, standing at his full 6’2 when the man pushed past his bodyguard. "You may call me Montparnasse."
“Montparnasse,” repeated Enjolras under his breath. Not exactly a creative alias, naming yourself for the street you had been found on — that had to have been it. That was the only reason the name seemed so clearly familiar in his mind.
Bouchard wasn’t satisfied. “I may call you whatever I damn well want,” he snapped in reply, and in retort Enjolras stepped on his broken toe. He let out a howl.
"Keep it down," Enjolras hissed. "You," said he, holding a hand out to Montparnasse, "come with me." And with that, he made for the door at the back of the room and descended the stairs that lay beyond.