Work Text:
Joly watched from the bed as Musichetta smoothed out the wrinkles in her – or rather, his – waistcoat and admired herself in the mirror. She had yet to pilfer Joly’s drawer of trousers, and the effect was, to say the least, distracting.
“It’s unfair,” Joly complained. “I bought that waistcoat to impress you, and now you turn out to look sharper in it that I ever did.”
“Yes, well, you may color me impressed after all.” Musichetta blew Joly a kiss. A hand shot up out of the covers next to Joly and mimed dramatically snatching the kiss out of the air.
Joly gently rapped his knuckles against Laigle’s forehead. “Lout. You didn’t earn that one. What contributions have you made to society today?”
Laigle sent a sharp puff of air against Joly’s arm in retaliation. “I would volunteer my old coat to Musichetta’s wardrobe but I fear it wouldn’t fit.” Laigle was a great deal taller than a person had any business being, and Joly told him so in no uncertain terms.
Musichetta laughed and continued to pilfer Joly’s laundry. “What a pity. I’m sure Laigle’s coat would be quite the thing. It has a storied past.”
“Several storied pasts,” interjected Laigle.
“Several storied pasts,” agreed Musichetta. “And perhaps it would be willing to share some of them with me. I need new material for the novel before my editor perishes from stress. I don’t want to search for a new editor, not when I’ve finally gotten this one trained.”
Joly tsked sympathetically and looked towards the ink-stained pile of papers on the desk where Musichetta was – hypothetically – working. Laigle’s gaze followed his.
“What mission from the lyrical muse has you occupied today?” Laigle asked, stretching out lazily for Musichetta and Joly’s benefit. No one did a languid stretch half so well as Joly’s Eagle of Meaux. “Daring exploits on the high seas? Highwaymen? Lost princesses of spurious European nations?”
Musichetta responded with a darling pout. “Nothing so exciting or useful. No, today’s mission is a missive to my matriarch, concerning many misspent moments.”
“Misleading?”
“Maybe.” Musichetta’s pout turned into a wicked grin. “Certainly maudlin. My mother depends upon me as a source of entertainment. She’d be devastated if I wrote to her that all was well and she had nothing to worry over on my account. I imagine she’d develop a fit of the vapors there and then.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” said Laigle agreeably. “We’ll have to get you into some trouble.”
“Mmmm,” agreed Joly. It was lovely and warm in bed, especially with Laigle next to him. It would be even warmer and cozier with Musichetta back under the covers. “Perhaps we could lead you into temptation?”
Musichetta did look tempted, to Joly’s great satisfaction, but apparently the effect of warm blankets was ameliorated by having already escaped them once. That, or perhaps it was the edifying effect of work. “What was that thing St. Jerome used to say?” he mused out loud.
“Hm? Which one?” asked Laigle.
“You know, the one about keeping busy, something to do with the devil?”
“Fac et aliquid operis, ut semper te diabolus inveniat occupatum ,” said Laigle, without a moment’s hesitation. “Make sure to do some task, so that the devil always finds you busy.”
“That’s the one. I knew I kept you around for a reason. Even if you do steal blankets.”
“Excuse me,” said Musichetta. “ I steal the blankets. Don’t credit Bossuet with my triumphs and vices.”
“Ah, but can the lady quote Latin?” said Laigle.
“I should at that, from sheer osmosis; I suppose I could rattle of a Te Deum or Kyrie if you feel the need come upon you. But none of this is helping me finish my novel or my letter. Do you think my mother would notice if I just sent her a bit of my draft and scratched out the names?”
Joly thought the problem over. “Have you told your mother two different men are wildly in love with you? That seems dramatically scandalous.”
Musichetta sighed. “That’s old news. You’ll have to do something new and novel to scandalize her. You should really fight a duel over me. That would make for a good letter, and I could take some sketches to use as novel illustrations. Two birds, one duel.”
Laigle nudged Joly. “Get up, we’re fighting a duel. The lady said so.”
Joly snuggled deeper into his warm and cozy blankets. “I don’t see any reason why we should any of us get out of bed. I can duel you right here. Name the time and place, so long as it’s now and under my covers. It could be snowing outside. Is it snowing outside?”
“We have to get up to go find seconds. It’s part of the whole duel process. Very traditional, wouldn’t want to do it wrong.”
“Hmph. I claim Grantaire. There, I have a second.”
“You only claimed Grantaire because you know I wanted Grantaire.”
Joly yawned. “Correct. Besides, he’s a mean man with a cane. Are we using canes? Someone ought to decide that.”
“I’ll have to alter the illustrations, but I suppose it will do,” said Musichetta. “So long as you chose something vaguely sword shaped. Pistols are right out; fights with pistols are awfully dull to write.”
As always, Joly attempted to oblige. So long as he didn’t have to get up. “I should have some dried leeks in the kitchen. They’re from Bahorel; I didn’t inquire why he brought them.”
“Probably for dueling, knowing Bahorel,” said Laigle. “He’s a prescient fellow. And I’ve decided to have Musichetta as my second. You’ll do it, won’t you?”
Musichetta hummed non-committaly from her desk, apparently having thought of something she wanted to take a note on. Joly, however, felt moved to object on her behalf.
“Musichetta can’t be your second!” This was enough to call Musichetta out of her reverie to send a warning glance Joly’s way. “I mean to say,” Joly quickly added, “it just doesn’t make sense logistically. If the duel is over her and she’s working one side, the whole thing is unbalanced. Balance and moderation in everything, that’s the maxim of all things. Health, spirit, duels of love, I’m quite sure of it. Musichetta, if you’re going to be his second, you have to be my second too.”
Musichetta’s pen started scratching furiously. “Wait, that’s just the thing, if I have the hero approach the heroine while she’s disguised as a man to ask her for help, but the villain is already blackmailing her into working with his scheme, I can move the drama along by having her trapped between both sides…”
Laigle leaned in close and whispered in Joly’s ear. “I believe I’m the villain.”
“I could be a villain,” complained Joly, and Laigle obliged him by not laughing. Much.
(Just to be sure, Joly kissed him soundly to forestall any potential slander against his capacity for villainy.)