Subreality: A Day in the Life...
(which is silly, has no plot, and is quite like this and a bit like this, though it's just a conincidence that it has the same title as the second one.)
"Well, well, well, what trouble have you managed to get them into this time?"
A dark-haired girl stops typing for a moment and turns around in her seat to face the man who had spoken to her. "Watch it, Leon, or you'll be the one 'in trouble' next..."
Snorts. "Was that a threat?"
"Probably was." A voice from another part of the room. Light twinkles as the speaker adjusts his glasses.
There's another snort, this one good-natured and more teasing. "And y'know, Grantaire, Combeferre would know about getting put in trouble in all that. Between getting engaged and attempting to break people out of prision...Better heed his advice."
"Oh, well he's not the one running around with Joly's leftover grisette's, is he?"
"Leave Musichetta out of this, Winecask!"
"Who says I'm brining your lady love into this?"
"She's not my-" There's a crash from somewhere in the house. The dark-haired girl winces from her seat at her desk.
A young woman with raven hair and narrow eyes brushes in. "What in the name of all that is holy was that?"
"Probably Margurite," comes the reply.
Then, from someone else, "I didn't know there was anything holy about you, Cityonne."
A smirk. "There isn't, Monsieur." If deadly flirtation is possible, that's what you'd call it. Then, "Well, isn't anyone going to do anything about it?"
"I didn't know you cared, de Winter."
"I didn't think you noticed, de Courfeyrac." There's a glare from one of them, a smirk from the other.
Two thin, tall dancers stand up simultaneously. "I'll get it," they both say together, then smile at each other sheepishly. After a moment, the New Yorker sits down and the resident Mary Sue goes to investigate what kind of trouble the child has gotten into.
A pair of lazy blue eyes flickers. "Doesn't the child have parents?"
"No."
"Anyone to take care of her?"
"Not here. If you paid more attention, Englishman, you might know these things." This comes from the man with glasses
"Touchy, touchy." The blue eyes slide closed again. But from behind the lids comes, "Maybe the child finally stumbled upon our missing revolutionary. I never did quite catch his name. The Robespierre incarnate one?"
There's a snort from Grantaire and Combeferre rolls his eyes. Courfeyrac doesn't even look towards Sir Percy. "No one asked you, Croaker."
Another figure glances skyward. "Frogs," he exclaims. "Why can't I just have a normal day?"
"You and me both, Ron, you and me both."