Work Text:
"Which one are you?" Javert asked.
"What?" said Combeferre.
"If you're not going to give me first names to work with, at least identify yourself by an epithet or something so I can tell you apart from all the other student revolutionaries."
"Can't we just go to an adaptation where we're all drawn with an arguably anachronistic diversity of ethnic identities and distinguishing features?"
"I don't know the metaphysics of this place."
"Fine," Combeferre sighed. "I'm the nerdy one, also known as the guide."
"Oh, you I like," Javert said. "I mean, your explication of religious doctrine amid the chaos and anarchy of the barricade is pretty neat."
Combeferre squinted. "Wait, wait, which one are you?"
"I'm inspector Javert! There's only one of me!"
"I mean, are you the novel version who only cares about religion as a means to social order, or the musical one who has genuine belief in a rigidly conservative doctrine?"
"I'm whichever one is stuck with you in the afterlife and isn't thrilled about it," Javert groused.
Another one of the Amis waved. "Hello, Inspector! I'm glad your life wasn't mindlessly traded for mine after all, the nuances of the soul and its immortal nature are not to be treated as interchangeable parts."
"Huh," said Javert. "Are you the queer one?"
"What?"
"You like nature and women's rights, ergo you are clearly incompatible with heterosexual masculinity, correct?"
"I mean," said the student, "I do appreciate a good roll in the hay with someone of my own sex, but I think that's a bit of a circular argument."
"Yes, yes. Jehan!"
"Call me Jean Prouvaire, everybody does."
"No, no, I can only stick to one nickname at a time. Ditto your friend Bossuet."
"Call me L'aigle, almost everybody does," said L'aigle.
"Okay, okay," said Javert. "I know the others--that's the weird kid who's always stalking me, that's Jean Valjean aka Prisoner 24601 aka Monsieur Madeleine aka Ultime Fauchelevent, that's the one with the unobtainable crush."
"He wasn't all that unobtainable," Grantaire noted. "I mean, we had to die for him to even notice me, but I guess that's not the end."
"For a habitual alcoholic and a nihilist you seem pretty contented with this whole state of affairs."
"Yeah, well..." Grantaire trailed off. "I mean. Even you accepted that there was such a thing as mercy and some value in letting an innocent--okay, innocent-ish man be healed and reunited with his beloved."
"Yeah, about that, where are they?"
"They're not dead yet," said Combeferre. "You see, just as light, even as dazzling and radiant as it is, is bounded by a finite speed in a relativistic universe, so too is the celestial plane, while perfect and without sin, still separated from the living by the nature of time. Only once they have witnessed the slow but mighty movements of social progress in their own time will they be able to join us here, because--"
"Oh, shut up," said Javert.
"Can't," said Combeferre, "we have rehearsal for the finale with the harmony part. Do you sing tenor or bass?"
"No."
"You can be a soprano or an alto too," said Jean Prouvaire, "just because you're a man doesn't mean you're limited to the patriarchical labels of--"
"On second thought," said Javert, "baritone will be fine."