Anonymous asked you:

"It was a dark and stormy night." :D

             ”It was a dark and stormy night, a-“

             ”No.  Stop right there.”

             ”What?”  Scowling, Grantaire looked up from his writing, almost hitting his head on the window sill in the process.

             “‘It was a dark and stormy night’?”


             ”You can’t be serious, R.”

             Grantaire raised an eyebrow.  ”And why the fuck not?”  Balancing the notebook on his knees, he took another swig from the bottle of imported beer Courfeyrac had brought over earlier in the night. “It’s a classic place to start one of these things - thought you liked classics.”

             ”I do.”  Jehan groaned and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before half-burying his face into one of the two oddly textured pillows that made their home on Grantaire’s bed.  ”But that’s not classic, that’s cliché, and in all of the worst ways!”

             ”Well then why don’t you write it then?”  Grantaire made as if to toss him the notebook, but set it on the floor next to him instead, stretching his legs out in front of him.  ”You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place.”

             ”No one forced you to take the course, R.”  Leaning in the doorway, Courfeyrac surveyed the room before taking a sip from his own bottle.

             ”Yeah, well I don’t see you doing any work on your short story assignment either.”  Grantaire retorted irritably, taking his notebook up again.

             ”I’ve already done mine,” Courfeyrac replied smoothly, avoiding Jehan’s disapproving gaze and hoping desperately that the poet wouldn’t call his bluff.  When it didn’t happen, he sighed inwardly in relief and seated himself on the end of the bed, wedging himself stubbornly into the semi-curve made by Jehan’s prone form.  ”What’s the problem, anyway?”

             ”R wants to start his story with ‘It was a dark and stormy night’” Jehan replied plaintively, his voice muffled by the pillow.

             ”I told you, it’s a fucking classic.”

             ”No it’s awful.”

             Courfeyrac appeared to think for a moment, and then broke into a sly smile.  ”I think you should do it.”  This drew a triumphant grin from Grantaire and a yelp of horror from Jehan, who lifted his head to gape at him.  ”Oh come on,” Courfeyrac added soothingly, ruffling a hand through Jehan’s hair, “just think of what he could do with it!  It’s a cliché, but he could subvert it - make it into something satirical.”

             ”That’s not what he’s going to do, and you know it!”  Jehan muttered the words just loudly enough for both of his companions to hear.

             ”And what makes you say that?”  Pursing his lips, Grantaire made a mild show of being put-out, but Jehan only shook his head.

             ”Because your last assignment would have made Burroughs blush!”  Courfeyrac opened his mouth, and he quickly added, “And not in a good way either!”

             Unable to stifle a grin, Grantaire rapped his pen against the window sill.  ”Liked it that much, eh?”

             Jehan scowled again, but Courfeyrac shrugged.  ”I enjoyed it.  It was horribly written, but the content was interesting.”

             ”It was like something out of a John Waters film!”

             Grantaire shrugged.  ”A few bits were loosely inspired, but most of it actually happened.”

             A stunned silence descended upon the room, and gaping, Jehan and Courfeyrac looked at each other, then at Grantaire before blurting out their responses simultaneously.

             ”You’re so full of shit, R - where even would that even -“
             ”Well fuck, I need to hang out with you more often.”

             There was another brief moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Grantaire’s empty bottle hitting the inside wall of the metal trash bin.

             ”All right.  That’s settled then.”  Stretching, Grantaire set his notebook aside and stood up.

             ”What is?”

             ”I’m going to go get another beer, and then,” he paused for dramatic effect, his eyes fixing on Jehan stubbornly sceptical expression, “and then I’m going to do use it.”

             ”Use what?”  Holding his now-empty bottle up to the light, Courfeyrac reluctantly got off the bed to join him.

             Grantaire’s grin widened, and he shot Jehan a wink before pronouncing, as ceremoniously as he could, “It was a dark and stormy night, a -“

             ”Ugh.”  Shaking his head, Jehan buried his face back into the pillow.  ”R, you’re impossible.”