(no subject)

[tu_vas_triompher]

[And now they're at the Labyrinth. Carrying on...]

Bahorel's already heading in. Hey, if the watches chime on either side of the door that's useful to know, probably!

And on the other side of the door is...rock, lots of it. Rock walls, rock floor, all very properly mythic. There's some sort of vaguely sparkling, purple-green mold growing along the walls. Bahorel runs his thumb through a patch of it; it puffs little glittering spores all over him in return. They don't seem to do anything besides make him somewhat sparkly, which is more than all right, if not particularly productive.


Feuilly shrugs and follows; God knows what Bahorel might do left on his own in a magical cave even for a moment. (Honestly, Bahorel would be fine. But it's the sort of thing one feels the need to say around him.) He raises his eyebrows briefly at the sparkles on the wall and on Bahorel. "Rococo. It's a new look for you."

Comments

[tu_vas_triompher]

"I'm not," he mutters, because he can't possibly be. They're just poppies. And, and we don't tremble before poppies. We are the reds. "It must be an--" Enchantment, he thinks, as he droops over far enough to lose all balance.

The next thing he knows, someone is taking liberties, jostling him all about. But by the time he formulates a protest, he's dreaming.

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel replies to Feuilly's occasional incoherent muttered comments with commentary of his own, taking up the argument with the ground, the sky, and the Labyrinth in general when Feuilly fades off into snores. Most of the conversation settles around the applicability of 18th century political cartoons to later social structures, the influence of nature on the consciousness of humanity,thorough consideration of the effect of social influence on same, and the general conclusion that perhaps people, especially certain people, would benefit from more exposure from a combination of the two in a way that would leave them not so ridiculously susceptible to the effects of one.

There is also a brief discussion about the odd absence of birds in the apparently open field. Feuilly has several statements on that; Bahorel will perhaps someday figure what they are. Or make them up and report them back.

The poppy field does extend longer than would be really convenient, but not too much longer, before it fades into more grass, and rockier terrain. Bahorel gets them what is hopefully a decent distance from the poppies before sitting down by one of the larger outcroppings. He leaves Feuilly sleeping off the rest of whatever-that-was while he tries to get a response from the watches again. There's a shrill noise when he tries Courfeyrac's number, something crackling at Joly's, and that's all.

[tu_vas_triompher]

It's because no one has put in the birds yet. It will be a more balanced composition when the painter gets to them; though Feuilly has his doubts considering the heaviness of the poppy theme. He'd have mixed in some bluets and daisies himself and feigned astonishment at the resulting tricolor. This much red paint to the exclusion of all others just ends up looking--apologies, Bahorel--cheap.

Feuilly awakes with a seraphic smile on his face, which instantly turns into a suspicious frown. He pushes his hand through his hair. "What the hell have you been doing?"

[clayforthedevil]

"I? Have been spending my days more actively than some of our friends, which you should be grateful for, as in the more immediate sense, I have been carrying you out of the field which had such a dramatic effect on you." He hands Feuilly a thermos while he's talking; it's some odd special walking-drink, according to Bar, and oddly citric, but it's not bad.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly drinks it without questioning, which says as much about his friendship with Bahorel as the suspicious glower does. "Thanks. I don't know what--"

He tries to think of some way of explaining that he's not sure what came over him that isn't going to put him in for years of teasing. Nothing comes to mind. "--Did you have any luck with the watches?"

[clayforthedevil]

It's sweet how Feuilly thinks he has a chance of not getting teased about this! It's also nice that Feuilly's not apparently going to die of the most pathetic case of opium poisoning ever, or whatever that was, so for now Bahorel squeezes his shoulder instead of ruffling his hair. "Nothing useful. I know they work at Milliways, but they aren't carrying through the Labyrinth. Nor are there any markings for gates so far. Unless your recent dreams gave you a guiding vision-- no?-- then we face a pleasant walk in a green pasture to, unfortunately, no clear end."

He's not completely joking about the vision. He's known men enough who claimed to have them, and who knows how the Labyrinth might communicate?

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly makes a face at guiding vision. "I don't know why you're immune to magical poppies. That wasn't natural." ...No, he's never going to be able to work up an effective counter-tease, is he.

He stands carefully and looks around. It's a perfectly nice pasture. "A little like Lyon. Don't you think?"

[clayforthedevil]

"Clearly, I was spared because my awareness has already transcended the ordinary, and so on."He taps one of his lapels. "Or perhaps they recognized me by color as one of their own.---It's quiet even for Lyon. There should be the sound of roads, or people calling hello or threatening to give us what-for if we can't explain why we're in their field."

"Hello!" calls a very small voice from the general location of the rock Bahorel's leaning on. It certainly doesn't sound like threatening voice.

And it appears to be coming from a rather dapper worm.

[tu_vas_triompher]

At first Feuilly thinks it's one of the little talking map-blocks he'd pocketed. (...Assuming that was a thing that happened. And not a poppy-field dream.) But no, it's a worm. A rather dapper worm.

With tufty blue hair. And a red wool muffler. Feuilly peers at it from around the side of the rock. "--Hello?"

Bahorel sees this too, yes?

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel sees it too, and would be very disappointed if he didn't. "Greetings! We are newly arrived. Is this your field?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"What, this? Nah, nah. 'S not my field, it's just a field. Nice day for a field, though, innit? Came over through the poppies, did you? Nasty business, that."

Feuilly hardly knows what to say.

[clayforthedevil]

"Yes; lovely flowers in their own right, though." Bahorel remembers he still has the one in his lapel before he asks how the worm knew. But still. "--Is that the only way to this field? There's no chance fellows might have come through from, say--" he points in the opposite direction "-- that way? We're looking to meet some friends."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"That way? Nah, nobody's come that way. You never want to go that way. But here now, why don't you come in and have a bite to eat? We're having a little party, you'll meet lots of friends."

[clayforthedevil]

"We thank you for the invitation! I'm not saying no, if you think there'll be room for us." Which seems a little unlikely, giving the size issues, but Bahorel accepts that is it possible. "But why does no one go that way?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"If you keep on going that way, you go straight to the castle." The Worm shakes its small tufty blue head.

Feuilly closes his eyes and opens them again, half hoping it might disappear and then he'll wake up properly. But no, the worm's still there, carrying on in conversational tones. "Room, now, 'course there's room, you can always fit one or two more into a party. Hardly worth calling it a party if you can't squeeze in one or two more. Now, you're not dressed for it, but the Missus will see what she's got in her closet, bound to be something that'll suit...Well? Come on, then!"

The worm has been inching towards a small hole below the base of the rock.

[clayforthedevil]

"Castle's no fun, is it?" Bahorel is already leaning towards the apparent entrance; maybe he'll crack his head on the rock a bit, but he's done worse for less interesting reasons than "a talking worm invited me to a party".

[tu_vas_triompher]

From Feuilly's perspective, Bahorel undergoes and dizzying dwindling process the moment his toe brushes the edge of the worm's hole. Feuilly curses and grabs his arm, and quite suddenly, with no physical sensation at all, is standing at a perfectly ordinary-sized wooden door set into a sort of tidy earthen cave.

Ahead of them, the worm is no the size of someone that would use such a door. "Martha? Martha! --We're all at sixes and sevens here, still moving in, you'll pardon the mess. We used to be wall worms, you know. Been wall worms for generations. Then everything goes topsy-turvy and here we are, field worms. Well! --Martha! Martha, my dear, there you are, I've found two more for the party."

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel smiles. "You've made yourselves as fine a home here as any worms I've ever spoken to." Not that they have much competition, but it is a nice little cave.

An almost identical worm with a little white cap comes inching into the room. "Sorry, dear, I was just-- oh, we have company! Shall I put the kettle on?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

It's a very nice little cave. Such "mess" as there is, seems to be a matter of a few boxes not yet unpacked in a corner. "You'll have a cuppa tea with us, won't you," says the worm hopefully to Bahorel. "Before the party? Your friend looks like he could use it. A little pale, there. --Martha, we have some spare masks or something, don't we?"

[clayforthedevil]

"Oh, I'm sure we've got something-- maybe we can even come up with some proper outfits,if your friends don't mind something a little thrown together."

Masks! This little side-trip is certainly taking a turn for the better. Bahorel can't stop grinning."We are poorly equipped for a party. Entirely my own shortsightedness, I did not know of the event; if you're kind enough to make up for my shortsightedness we certainly won't complain. And tea might be a good idea." It's kind of the worms to worry about Feuilly. And probably fair "Thank you. The poppies didn't agree with him.--Do you both have your costumes ready, then?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Do we really have time for--" Feuilly gives Bahorel a profoundly unhappy look, not so much running his hand through his hair as grabbing it and pulling up on it hard. "I mean--"

Really? They're going to a party? With masks? Yes, all right, it's conceivably part of the Labyrinth's twists and turns, but--really?

Meanwhile, the now-very-large worm is saying something about a pair of paper butterfly wings that he's worn every Christmas and Halloween. "No harm bringing them out again, they're almost traditional now. Not like anyone's looking to us old folks for style."

[clayforthedevil]

Yes, Bahorel is going to a party with masks. The option existing, no other outcome is allowable.

"Oh, come now, Monsieur, comfort is one thing; but there is no reason to give up on making an impression. Age has nothing to do with it,it's all to do with the spirit of the thing. " Bahorel can't keep from considering the idea of dressing a worm for a masquerade. "Why, a few changes to these wings and a few things I see you have right here, you could make yourself into a very striking dragon, if you wanted. Thank you very much for the invitation of course, I'm sure it's just the place to meet the sort of friends we're looking for, if you think about it."

He's answering Feuilly as much as the Worms. The poppies clearly addled Feuilly's head if he can't see this is practical; Bossuet and Courfeyrac at least would absolutely go to a masked ball, if they could find it. And he's fairly sure Combeferre and Joly would make the same logical assumption if they found the party. Enjolras,well...if Grantaire's along the point will probably be made, as he's making it.

The Missus Worm makes her way over to Feuilly, carrying a large wicker basket heaped with fabric and costuming odds and ends. She giggles at Bahorel's rambling. "Oh goodness, to be young and full of energy. Let's see what we have for someone with your number of limbs, then, Dearie. Have a look?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"A dragon! Martha, did you hear that? Me, a dragon! I don't know..." But the worm does sound flattered--and inclined to be convinced.

Feuilly is not at all convinced that a worm party is just the place to find their friends. He gives Bahorel a look that mingles irritation and despair and picks a mask from the basket without really seeing it. (Which is a pity, as the wide, blunt-faced yellow tabby-cat face fits him very well.)

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel doesn't see the look, or need to; he's collected years' worth of them from various friends for various reasons. His concern at the moment is tailoring a pair of rather nice gold-tone sheets into a dragon's back for a worm's body. It's actually going smoothly! "You see, you have the figure for it-- certainly more than anyone else I've seen try for the look--" that's true, human torsos aren't nearly as convenient for making dragon-bodies-- "if we had some ribbon-- ah, thank you, Madamoiselle!"

Not every married woman is susceptible to such blatant flattery, but Madame Worm is very much so; she laughs and swats fondly at him and says "Oh goodness! Well that gives us plenty of time for tea." She waves Feuilly towards an overstuffed couch. "Have a seat, dear!"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly lets himself be herded over to the couch, and sits with the mask dangling from one hand. This isn't very much stranger than Milliways, he tells himself.

He has no faith in finding their friends at this party. But possibly someone will have seen them? He finds a hopeful smile for the matronly worm. "The truth is--we're trying to find some friends of ours who got lost in the Labyrinth. You haven't seen--well--there's a tall man without much hair, and he was with a, a very friendly young man with very curly hair--and then there's a pair of scientifically-minded young men--no?"