It was difficult to see the faces of his friends like this, especially Enjolras. There was something rather disturbing in the fact that the man who had spoken so eloquently of freedom, and the happiness to come in a future when all were free and equal, who had been a symbol for their barricade, and an inspiration toward the cause of republic, had been marked as property of the Capitol. No, more than that, as chattel, and the entirety of the defacement, a testament to the idea that they were little else than slaves, had made Joly rather ill, made thoughts of family he'd never known but for the stories of Saint-Domingue, Vertières, 1804, and relatives who were great, not only in terms of their relation to him, but for the blood they'd spilled, rush through his mind.
Looking at Courfeyrac, and even Venus, friends he cared for deeply, had been bad, but he had managed to stay at least something of the doctor, allowing the part of his mind that had taken control when he attempted to nurse children thorough the cholera to take control again. It had been all that he could do then, and after that, slipping into his attempts at humor had been another shield against the horror of this. With Enjolras, it felt as though the world itself, and the happier one that had been coming had been tossed away, for everyone to see. It was perhaps his usual form of drama, usually reserved for diseases he'd studied, and there would doubtless be another way to fight, but for the moment, Joly let the control slip a little, to be horrified not only for his friend, but for the symbol of what they'd done.
No man should be a slave, but for it to be Enjolras, the indignity was too great. Of course it did not do to dwell, and would not help them here, but Joly was dwelling on it, as things were, though trying not to show it, here among the others. He had to keep his head if he wished to be any good to anyone just now.
"Behind the mountain, another mountain." He muttered, his tones rather dry, from where he sat, tearing strips off of some clothes he'd pulled from racks for this purpose of bandage making. "I do not suppose that even once, God could give us something of a respite."
JOLY: OPEN
Looking at Courfeyrac, and even Venus, friends he cared for deeply, had been bad, but he had managed to stay at least something of the doctor, allowing the part of his mind that had taken control when he attempted to nurse children thorough the cholera to take control again. It had been all that he could do then, and after that, slipping into his attempts at humor had been another shield against the horror of this. With Enjolras, it felt as though the world itself, and the happier one that had been coming had been tossed away, for everyone to see. It was perhaps his usual form of drama, usually reserved for diseases he'd studied, and there would doubtless be another way to fight, but for the moment, Joly let the control slip a little, to be horrified not only for his friend, but for the symbol of what they'd done.
No man should be a slave, but for it to be Enjolras, the indignity was too great. Of course it did not do to dwell, and would not help them here, but Joly was dwelling on it, as things were, though trying not to show it, here among the others. He had to keep his head if he wished to be any good to anyone just now.
"Behind the mountain, another mountain." He muttered, his tones rather dry, from where he sat, tearing strips off of some clothes he'd pulled from racks for this purpose of bandage making. "I do not suppose that even once, God could give us something of a respite."