jondrette: (daughter of a wolf)
[personal profile] jondrette
What: Éponine is sent scouting to try to see the extent of one revolutionary's charity, and figure out if there's anything worth looking into further.
Where: The apartment of Michel Enjolras
Who: Enjolras ([personal profile] revolutionnerons )
Verse: idek somewhere in canon?

It was a standard errand. Scope out a target, see what there was to see, and if there was anything worth stealing. As such, it was Eponine that was sent on most of these, being by far the most non-assuming member of Patron-Minette, and, as her father said with a sneer, the most likely to garner sympathy. The use of the word 'sympathy' had turned a few ears, but Thenardier quickly assured the assembled gang that this was a special sort of mission, and he'd chosen the target on purpose. He'd seen him about, passing out pamphlets, trying to garner support for his cause. A rich boy, judging from his clothing and the way he spoke, and Thenardier wanted to know more.

So the task had been set to Eponine, once the location of his home was acquired. Go to him. Look as sad and pathetic as possible. Learn about him, learn what he has, and hopefully get some food for everyone out of it. Easy enough, and as her mother had quipped, not even she could mess it up.

She was about to make for the door when her father stopped her and approached her. Without warning, he took a swing at her, hitting her across the mouth. She staggered, bringing a hand to her lips to draw back blood. "Go on, it makes you look all the more pathetic. Get out of here," was all her father said.

She did not keep pressure on her wound and slowly bruising mouth as she walked to the apartment, rather, letting the blood drip down the front of her humble chemise. She knew how to play this game, and she hated it. Hated asking for charity. She was still old enough that she remembered what it was like to have money, to scoff at those who had begged at their doorsteps. Still old enough to remember the wretch of a girl her family had fostered. She was like her, now. But here, the stakes were higher.

Eventually, she made it to the building and began to slow her walk, taking the time to draw her shawl closer around herself. Her face was already dirty enough, so she started to shiver, coughing into the crook of her arm before rubbing furiously at her eyes to make them red. By the time this transformation was complete, Eponine was at the top of the stairs, and knocking at his apartment door.

"M'sieur! M'sieur! Please, you have to help me!" She cried, doing her best to keep her voice sounding as though she'd been running, despite her leisurely pace. "Please, let me in!"

Date: 2013-05-19 11:58 pm (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (014)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
A lucky break for the owner of the plaintive voice on the other side of Enjolras's door. Late afternoon meant that his presence would be wanted, soon, at the Cafe. And while it was likely that he could be reached there, for several hours to come, following his departure from his apartment, his post-meeting hours would be spent quite unavailable in a location that only his friends knew to be able to reach him at. (And, even then, they typically decided not to bother.) In other words, the visitor and her timing seemed perfect, should she actually be hoping to catch someone at home.

As it was, Enjolras had been expecting company for his walk to the Musain, so he kept himself close to the door, in his pacing and itinerary-studying. The frantic nature of the knock - that, he could have guessed, should have belonged to Courfeyrac or Feuilly or, most likely, Combeferre - alarmed him. Ironically, it was the weary voice, despite its urgency, that soothed whatever otherwise would have been his excitement over, presumably, the excitement of whichever of his friends he could have expected to find, upon opening the door.

Who, so unrecognizable, might know where to find him, like this? Greeting the stranger, the ragged, young girl, in his hallway, did very little to answer his question. He saw so many faces on the streets, every day. Did this one, no more beaten or bloody than others he could recall in, at least, the vaguest sense, stand out to him, specifically? Only now, in the moment, as she stood before him, near to tears and, perhaps, actual collapse, by the look of her.

"Mademoiselle," he said, in as pleasant of a good afternoon as he could muster, in his confusion. "Are you lost?"

Date: 2013-05-20 01:59 am (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (005)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
Although not to hold back any tears, of course, Enjolras blinked, too, as the girl dragged herself, not quite invited, into his room. By whom? he wanted to ask, because he doubted it would have been by his landlords or anyone else this child might have met on the way in. Less than finding him unpleasant, he doubted they knew him well enough to say, for as little time as he spent, nowadays, at home. If this young wretch was looking for an honorable man, who paid his rent on time, however, then, they would certainly be qualified to send her his way.

But the girl shook and bled and specifically begged for his help, whether he could give it to her or not, and, taking in her present state, it would be inhuman of him to turn her away.

As he did not wish to be responsible for her death, he moved away from her to sweep the chair away from his writing desk and offer it to her. "Please, sit before you fall," he said, holding out his hand in case she needed the support. "What is it that you wish me to do for you?"

Date: 2013-05-21 05:53 am (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (Default)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
Grab for her? Of course not. Enjolras would have preferred, really, for her to have shown him that she hadn't needed his help and found her way to the chair on her own. But, since she couldn't, he did not begrudge her the assist, despite how stiff his arm may have gone, when she latched on. When she released him, he took a few steps back, and leaned against his desk, taking her in.

He narrowed his eyes. Before anything else, this girl appeared to need a doctor. Whether the blood on her mouth dripped onto his floor or her own shawl, it still ran too fresh and heavy. "I could give you money, if it's charity that you're after," he offered, folding his arms and straightening, trying not to puff up too much when she mentioned Lamarque's name in accordance with him. "But I would fear whoever did this to you," he indicated her split lip, "would only take it and do it again. I have friends, physicians who could see to you. Would you like me to call on them?"

Date: 2013-05-21 06:28 pm (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (004)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
Enjolras never fancied himself as someone qualified to give a medical opinion, but the young man had eyes. His skills would never be as honed as Joly's or Combeferre's, ever, but it wouldn't take a student of medicine to see that the child currently occupying his favourite chair was in dire need of attention. All sorts of it, by the sound of things, too. Not all of her ailments could be solved by a bandage or a hot meal.

"The money is not what you need, then," he spoke up, folding one arm across his chest and bringing the other up, so he could tap his lip while he thought. "I could give it to you," he repeated, "but what good would it do your family, only to have it taken from them? This man, your father's employer, here is where your trouble lies. He is the problem, is he not?"

Date: 2013-05-21 07:43 pm (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (Default)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
True enough, if this employer the girl spoke of was any kind of honourable. But Enjolras could already guess what kind of a man he was. "Perhaps," he conceded, only just. "But perhaps not. A monster who exploits a destitute family's desperation is not the sort to be satisfied in one lump sum, no matter what this debt he believes your father owes him amounts to."

So, he assured her, "I do wish to help you, mademoiselle. And all in your position. For as many who are familiar with your plight, on the streets of Paris, there are equally as many who would prey on you." He dropped the hand that been at his mouth, and tapped, idly, against a desk drawer. Would have to pull it open, eventually, and retrieve what he would need for his dinner, tonight, at the cafe (supposing his inevitable excitement would allow him to eat), but hesitated. "There will be a day when this is no longer the case. There are nearly as many who wish to help." Enough who would rally, at least.

But did that help the girl, in his room, at the moment? No, he had to admit. "In the meantime, I suppose I could buy your supper, this evening." A small gesture, but he could no more eliminate her father's debt than, seemingly, her family could. And should he be successful, what next? One, in a sea of thousands, solved nothing.

Date: 2013-05-22 08:14 am (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (013)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
Enjolras had to wonder why, especially if the child considered herself so powerless in the situation, the father didn't have more to do about this. Perhaps he was ill. Or not a physically imposing man. A million and one valid reasons stretched out before him. But he hated excuses. Still. Where he could rail against his friends for providing them, it would not do to insult the poor gamine.

"Take comfort, for now, knowing that there are men who will fight for you and your kind," he said, folding his arms again. "Your life will not always be so dark, madamoiselle. For now, though..." He straightened, stood. "I can at least -"

And clattered back against his desk, as she threw herself at him. His face soured and flushed, at once. His turn, now, to shrink back like she might try to grope for him. "Please get up," he insisted, through his teeth. "Your gratitude is more than sufficient. This is so unnecessary."

Date: 2013-05-24 08:06 pm (UTC)
revolutionnerons: (Default)
From: [personal profile] revolutionnerons
"Hurt you?" Enjolras might as well still have been perched on the edge of his desk, but his hands were kept very much to himself, the whole time. Lest the confused girl's pleas become more desperate. And he scoffed, forced himself to unclench every muscle in his body that had tensed, recoiled when she fell upon him. Even if she did mean him harm, she would not be able to put up much of a fight. Supposing the absolute worst.

Which he was trying not to.

As hesitant as he was, though, to give her anything to latch onto (and, no specific offense to the child, he often had a - slightly less violent, albeit - reaction when Grantaire did the same to him), Enjolras offered her his hand. "Please. You do not need to prostrate yourself. I have no intention of hurting you."

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Éponine Thénardier