[Kazda]

In a flurry of motion, the barricade began to grow. From a few pieces and scraps of furniture to an actual wall, structural and strong. Jehan was helping, moving as quickly as he could in his current state. Clearly in the last days of his pregnancy, the young poet's belly was round and ripe with child. Less obvious was the fact that his belly was besieged by pain. He panted under his breath, ignoring the strain in his womb, focused on his task, on the revolution at hand, and not on the fact that each pain was following closer on the heels of the last. "Not now..." he thought desperately. He kept his pain carefully bottled up around Courfeyrac, afraid the man would catch on to his current state, and send him away. With a shove, he pushed an old writing desk onto its side, where they could easily take cover beneath it. He placed a hand on his back, feigning the effort of moving the desk had strained him, and not the fact that he was in the clutches of a strong birthing pain.