"'A room without books is like a body without a soul,'" he quotes, recalling Rat's apartment and how the books within it helped make it seem cozy. Even back in Paris, his small room had overflowed with papers and what books he could afford; he supposes his urge to clean stems from an urge to impress the other man. "I can't imagine not having books in one's home."
Briefly, he pets Courfeyrcat before setting him down on the floor. Instantly, the cat makes his way over to Rat, sniffing curiously at his heels. He glances up to give the man an expression as if to ask why he didn't bring his own cat with him. "Don't mind him," Marius says, shaking his head. "He's got quite the personality for a cat. Just like his namesake."
"Right," he says, a pinkish hue flashing across his cheeks as he recalls what happened the last time they'd drunk together; a memory stubbornly embedded deep inside his thoughts. He considers the cold day outside and thinks that the occasion calls for coffee; caffeine offers its own comforts. "How do you take your coffee?" He asks as he moves to make a pot.
He watches the other man pick up his cane; the sight stirs an odd mixture of emotions in him. He hasn't required the cane to walk for months now, thanks in no small part to the miracles of modern medicine. He suspects he would still need it, were he back in Paris. Now, though, he can walk fully unaided, even if an occasional hard step makes him wince.
Every time he glances at his old cane, he remembers; the state of himself upon arriving in Darrow, having just awoken to discover all of his friends dead in the wake of the barricades. Even now, separated from the events by centuries, Marius still feels the familiar tug of guilt and sorrow in his gut at the thought of it.
He closes his eyes briefly, letting out a shaky breath. "I was. I had just woken from a fever after getting shot at the barricades when I arrived here. I needed it to help me walk." He leaves the question of 'I don't know how I even survived' unspoken.
Sometimes he still can't escape the irony: that he, the one who went to the barricades with the hope of dying, wound up the sole survivor.
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Briefly, he pets Courfeyrcat before setting him down on the floor. Instantly, the cat makes his way over to Rat, sniffing curiously at his heels. He glances up to give the man an expression as if to ask why he didn't bring his own cat with him. "Don't mind him," Marius says, shaking his head. "He's got quite the personality for a cat. Just like his namesake."
"Right," he says, a pinkish hue flashing across his cheeks as he recalls what happened the last time they'd drunk together; a memory stubbornly embedded deep inside his thoughts. He considers the cold day outside and thinks that the occasion calls for coffee; caffeine offers its own comforts. "How do you take your coffee?" He asks as he moves to make a pot.
He watches the other man pick up his cane; the sight stirs an odd mixture of emotions in him. He hasn't required the cane to walk for months now, thanks in no small part to the miracles of modern medicine. He suspects he would still need it, were he back in Paris. Now, though, he can walk fully unaided, even if an occasional hard step makes him wince.
Every time he glances at his old cane, he remembers; the state of himself upon arriving in Darrow, having just awoken to discover all of his friends dead in the wake of the barricades. Even now, separated from the events by centuries, Marius still feels the familiar tug of guilt and sorrow in his gut at the thought of it.
He closes his eyes briefly, letting out a shaky breath. "I was. I had just woken from a fever after getting shot at the barricades when I arrived here. I needed it to help me walk." He leaves the question of 'I don't know how I even survived' unspoken.
Sometimes he still can't escape the irony: that he, the one who went to the barricades with the hope of dying, wound up the sole survivor.