Sta.sh
“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras began. “Go to the cafe and defend it. Help Granataire and whoever else might be there.” With a curt nod, he followed his leaders orders and snuck off to the building.
A sharp cry a few feet away from him snapped his head to attention. A girl with dirty brown hair fell from a gunshot to the chest. Marius dropped down beside her. In vain, he pressed his hands up against the wound to try and stop the out pouring of blood.
“E-Eponine,” His words were shaky. “You’ll be alright, this I promise. The Lord will allow you to live.”
Soft words escaped her lips. Enjolras took a step closer towards them. He then leaned in a bit to enable himself to hear them. Alas, it was no use.
Her breathing slowed down till there was no more life left within her. Marius began shaking and thrasing her around to try and wake her. “Eponine! Eponine!” Each cry of her name was more frantic than the last.
The revolutionist continued forward. He placed his hand on the others shoulder, giving it a firm grip. “I’m sorry Marius,” He whispered. “But I’m afraid she’s gone.”
</p>---
Elliot forced himself upwards. His blue eyes flashed open and his breathing was heavy and labored. Sweat trickled down his brow. He wiped it away as his eyes widened into a state of shock. ‘That dream again. Why does it keep on reoccurring?’
His thoughts continued to fly through his head as he stumbled towards the shower. His brain was still a bit foggy with sleep, which prevented him from getting any further in this mystery of his. These three people had this strange habit of returning to him in his slumbers. Marius, Eponine, and Courfeyrac. These names were alien to him.
The only reasonable conclusion that he had reached was that somehow, he knew them. Quite a few of them looked like his friends - especially the ‘Marius’ guy and Malcolm - which has been in reasoning for engrossing himself in his work and skipping nights out at the bar with his friends.
Fully bathed and feeling a tad refreshed, he grabbed the phone that was ever present on his nightstand. Dialing the familiar number, a sense of relief washed over him once his companion picked up. “Hello Malcolm. What do you think of getting everyone together and heading over to the bar for a couple of drinks? First rounds on me.
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