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Jean was in love.
His beloved was made of greenery and marvelously lush, crimson, clean roses which lived from blood instead of water or... dirt. Romantic, sensuous, pure beauty of Rose excited his body and mind.
"I need blood, Jean," the sweet feminine voice whispered. "I don´t want to hurt you, my love. I need more than your blood, Jean..."
Inspector Javert was there when a body of a young man - only a boy - was risen from the Seine.
"e is Montparnasse!" a small voice yelled. A street urchin - Gaston? Gavroche? - peeked from the crowd.
"Who is Montparnasse?" Javert asked.
"´e is a burglar and really good with a ´nife," Gavroche made a hand gesture over his throat.
"Didn´t seem to help him," Javert murmured and watched the clay white face and lips of the youth.
"You brought that plant to the barricade?" Enjolras said.
"Her name is Rose," Jean said. "She is from the Carpathian mountains."
"She!?"
Jean nodded. He smiled happily, rubbing his neck which had two blue puncture wounds. "I just leave her here."
Enjolras shook his head.
They had to retreat to the wineshop and, without ammunitions, throw the bottles against the National Guard. Jean grabbed Rose´s luxurious charms from the table and threw her against the attacking soldiers.
Screams and sputtering blood froze the revolutionaries to their spots; they stared the spectacle of the limbs and moving, blood-sucking plant. One of the soldiers, a young man, managed to escape the embrace of death but he slipped in the floor, which was wet from alcohol, fell and hit himself unconscious.
"What the hell?" Enjolras said.
"We can escape!" Jean ran to take Rose to his loving arms. "Come quickly! From the backdoor!"
When they hurried after Jean, Enjolras reminded himself that the National Plant of Republic would be a red rose.