Bastian Enjolras hated Autun. After only twenty-four minutes in the sleepy little town, he was sick of it. "I am going to kill you," he hissed at Grantaire. Grantaire shrugged.
"Come on, Apollo, let the rustic charm sweep over you. It's healthy."
"You dragged me away from planning the most important event in the history of France for THIS?!?"
"Keep it down, will you? I have a reputation to uphold here!"
"Name one tavern where you don't!" Enjolras stood up, scowling. "PLEASE, say there's at least a bookshop where I can try to blow off some steam reading Robespierre."
"Feel free to look around. I'm staying here. Hey! Claire! Penelope! Gabrielle! Another tankard over here!"
"Coming!" A skinny blonde in a green dress sauntered over. "Long time no see. Who's your... gorgeous friend?" Disgusting.
"Oh, Enjolras? Ignore him, he's being bitter."
"Well, we all are right now," another girl almost identical to the first, albeit in a red dress, pouted. "Ever since that awful night..."