God, Eponine, The Things You Do
Written for Mika.
She was dirty. She felt dirty. She felt mad and she was hungry. Eponine was standing outside of the first cafe that looked likely, jumping from foot to foot because they were both bleeding a little, and hoping someone would come out and offer her something. To her acute discouragement, no one had yet.
She hoped she looked dirty enough. With a little moan of impatience, she rubbed another handful of dust over her cheeks. She was hungry hungry hungry hungry--
A young man stepped out of the cafe. He was quite tall, and very pretty (almost as pretty as her new neighbour, but not as gently so) and he looked somewhat caught up in his own thoughts. She sighed at that--he likely wouldn't notice her, and she wasn't a beggar, oh she wasn't, so she wouldn't actually go up to him and ask him to give her something to eat. Standing by a door and hoping someone felt charitable wasn't the same as begging, she insisted to herself.
But the young man was looking at her. His eyebrows were raised, and he looked as though he were telling himself something, for his lips moved a little, without making a sound.
"Girl," he said. "Come here for a moment."
She scurried over. Good luck! Perhaps he would! Well, that she hadn't expected. "Yes, M.?" she asked, coughing to try and seem a bit more pathetic.
"What is your name?"
"Eponine Jondrette."
"Have you always lived on the streets? Do you know why you have, or are you kept in ignorance?"
She felt indignant, a little, at that. She knew what the word ignorance meant because her father used it so often. But she'd not either lived all her life on the streets, and she wasn't ignorant! They'd used to've been quite rich, she thought crossly. But if this young man was making sure she was suitably poor before he gave her anything--sometimes it happened that way--
"'Ve always lived in Paris, if that's what you mean." She tilted her head, trying to look poorer and stupider (not that she was). She was so hungry hungry damn it and she wanted his sympathy.
"I did think... Poor girl, you don't know you could be happy, do you? You don't know that if there were a Republic, you'd be taken care of." His blue eyes looked nearly angry. "And you need it. Someday, perhaps you'll have a home of your own, instead of sleeping on the streets."
She did so have a home! An ugly home, but it was still a home. She didn't argue, however. She was mostly sure it was only a small matter of time before he gave her something. Anyway, the way he talked puzzled her.
"Eponine, you said? Here's five francs for you, and your family, if they've not all been murdered by cruelty."
She grabbed it eagerly. Ha! So he had been the right sort! She was utterly delighted, and felt her insides dancing. She was so hungry, and now she wouldn't be! The hunger nearly went away, she was so delighted. Five francs!
In her ecstasy, she jumped up on her thin, bony legs and kissed the young man. "Thank you, M.!" Then she went back to her gloating, turning the five franc piece over. Five whole francs! She spun about and ran, rubbing the piece. Now she could eat!
The young man stood, looking after her for a long time. At last, he wiped off his lips with two fingers and sighed. He just had fallen in love with the idea of what the poor were now and what they had become. He had fallen in love with this girl and with what could save her. He saw, passing before his eyes, revolutions, 1793, barricades, freedom, and ugly street children transformed into angels of France. He suddenly knew what he would do and what he wanted most in life.
And Eponine, stuffing down a bun, didn't even know what she'd done.
Chapter Two.
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