At first glance, you'd dismiss this fellow as a common bourgeosie idler, roaming the streets of Paris in his fashionable clothing, looking for a good time. Though, as his bangs of such pale blond as to in dark environments seem white shift over his light green eyes, they shine with a spark of desire -- for what?

Grantaire holds the door for Justin, and saunters in after him. Quirks a brow at the personage already here. "Mor-ning," he drawls with excessive courtesy.

Enjolras says quietly, mostly keeping the words between him and the raisins in his oatmeal, "But not a good one."

Justin snuffs out the end of the cigarette as he walks inside, looking around with neither approving nor disapproving eyes that might keep you guessing. At the nod he returns such to Enjolras, and leaves the words for the oatmeal.

Grantaire points a finger at Enjolras, and explains to Justin, "Sociable fellow."

Enjolras ignores Grantaire. It's nearly his hobby.

Justin starts over toward the table where Enjolras sits, seeing as Grantaire had greeted him, so he assumes they know each other. He looks back to Grantaire for a moment, then he directs a forward comment to the gentleman, "Might we join you?" This request might seem rather odd, as the rest of the cafe is rather empty at this time of morning.

Enjolras looks up when he is addressed. "You may," he answers, with a distinct emphasis on 'you' that makes it clear that the invitation is only to Justin.

Justin does not seem taken aback by this, but on the other hand he slowly tilts his head back, so that while looking at Enjolras he is talking to Grantaire, and he speaks, "Sociable, you say?"

"And pleasant," Grantaire agrees, kicking out a chair quite nearby. Not at the same table, but indubitably nearby.

Enjolras advises, "He is hardly the leading authority on my moods or personality."

Justin tugs a chair out from the table, then, and sits, barricading the small aisle between the two tables. "That job would then have to fall to me." he notes, "I'd better start paying attention."

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "I can keep track of myself, thank you, Monsieur. My name is Enjolras."

"Good luck," mutters Grantaire acerbically.

Justin nods, "Yes, yes. Good luck to you." No acid in his voice, maybe a hint of concern, false or no. "I can hardly keep track of myself, and I myself am very simple."

Enjolras shrugs. "At the moment, I am eating breakfast, and seem to be coming to no great harm. This does not seem a horrid task."

Justin blinks exaggeratedly, "And you've gotten a party split over two entire tables. Why: in the grand scheme of things, it's equivalent to having incited civil war."

Enjolras does not bother to look at Grantaire or listen to the irritating response that is sure to come. "I did not ask you to sit with me, Monsieur. You are welcome to rejoin your companion."

Grantaire peers at them, trying to parse this. And he has to be several drinks in before he starts talking like this.

Justin says, "While you did not ask me to sit with you, I asked if we might join you, and instead of saying "yes" or saying "no", you only went halfway. And see the trouble you've caused? How pleasant is a conversation stretched across two tables? And how difficult, to crane one's neck so. If you had not gone through with it at all, we would have sat elsewhere, and you might have watched us, and we would have been aware of you as a seperate entity, and control our behavior to such limits. If you had gone all the way through, we would all be sitting together, and we'd be perfectly aware of each other. As it is, we're in a state of limbo, a state of civil war. That is a sure sign of a confused mind, one which is indecisive and faltering."

Grantaire hoots quietly. Enjolras indecisive and faltering. Right.

Enjolras listens impassively. It is far too early in the morning for all of that. "I have not yet formed a truce with your companion. If that causes war between you, then by all means ally yourself with him instead of me. I will not negotiate over breakfast."

Grantaire comments absently, "Nice metaphor."

Enjolras ignores the comment and eats his oatmeal.

Justin considers his position, then falls back, lifting a hand in approbation, "Another time, then. I leave you to your breakfast." and, pushing the chair in neatly, he walks the whole two steps to the othe table and sits down, "So. What do you suggest?" he asks Grantaire.

Enjolras shakes his head, but is not that unhappy to be abandoned. He is only curious why people are attracted to the shiftless reprobate in any way.

Grantaire shrugs slightly. "Not much to choose, really." He slouches back in his chair, his previous buoyant if absent-minded mood seeming to have darkened...

Enjolras finishes his oatmeal in peace.

Justin looks over to his now-slouching bread-sharer. "Well then. I'll have whatever you're having." he decides.

Grantaire shrugs again, making no response.

Justin leans back, then, and awaits his host's next decision.