Adjustment to all of this comes slowly to Enjolras, piece by piece. The more he reminds himself to remain calm, the more of his English he can actually remember. The only problem immediately apparent in that is, of course, the more he understands of his situation, the more difficult it is to avoid panicking altogether.
When the others had dashed off for the Cornucopia, he'd waited, figuring if nothing else it would help him avoid unnecessary conflict. Besides from what he could parse through, he didn't appreciate his intended role at all. If these people wanted a pliant and obedient source of entertainment, they'd have to look elsewhere. Gradually, the darkness of the tunnels had called to him. There, in the dim, practically non-existent light, Enjolras finds himself breathing a little more easily.
That is, of course, until he hears the shuffling.
Ahead, though not so far ahead as to be invisible altogether, he sees a form. Someone or something (although that thought, honestly, is probably letting his imagination get the better of him. Probably.) is headed in his general direction. His immediate thought is to hide against the tunnel's wall, but between the rats and the uneven flooring, that seems like a poor choice. Instead, his hand tenses around the piece of debris he'd found and he calls out to the figure. He himself is surprised at the conviction he's able to muster, all things considered.
no subject
When the others had dashed off for the Cornucopia, he'd waited, figuring if nothing else it would help him avoid unnecessary conflict. Besides from what he could parse through, he didn't appreciate his intended role at all. If these people wanted a pliant and obedient source of entertainment, they'd have to look elsewhere. Gradually, the darkness of the tunnels had called to him. There, in the dim, practically non-existent light, Enjolras finds himself breathing a little more easily.
That is, of course, until he hears the shuffling.
Ahead, though not so far ahead as to be invisible altogether, he sees a form. Someone or something (although that thought, honestly, is probably letting his imagination get the better of him. Probably.) is headed in his general direction. His immediate thought is to hide against the tunnel's wall, but between the rats and the uneven flooring, that seems like a poor choice. Instead, his hand tenses around the piece of debris he'd found and he calls out to the figure. He himself is surprised at the conviction he's able to muster, all things considered.
"Qui est là ?"