Éponine Thénardier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thesphererp2020-06-02 02:22 pm
jondrette) wrote in thesphererp2020-06-02 02:22 pm
Éponine Memshare 1
note: per my usual I took all the dialogue directly from the source. In this case, I rewrote the chapter from her point of view. If you'd like to read the whole thing, which I do recommend because Hugo's usage of language is outstanding and this book is the most relevant book of always, you can find the chapter here. Public Domain, what what!
A young girl stands in the doorway of a decrepit apartment. Clothed only in a chemise and a petticoat, she stood barefoot looking all at once both fifty and fifteen. She could have been beautiful, once, and there were still echoes of it visible on her pale skin. Unfortunately, years of poverty and degeneracy had taken their toll on her.
She’s at a young man in the room, a handsome man with dark, tousled hair. She looks at him for a moment, looking at him until at last he spoke.
“What do you wish, Mademoiselle?”
“Here is a letter for you, Monsieur Marius,” she said, calling him by his first name rather than his family name as was traditional. Her voice was aptly described as belonging to a drunken convict by old white men. Without waiting for any permission, she moved into his room, looking around at the same sort of room that her family occupied next door. They shared a wall, if she wasn’t mistaken. She held out the letter for him, newly sealed.
She waited, watching him with wide eyes as he read the letter silently. She knew what it said- her father was prone to sending her and her sister out with these letters, each one addressed to a different man, hoping to procure a benefactor for the family that had come to be known in Paris as Jondrette. The letters were filled with pretty lies and flowing language that her father hoped would impress those he caught in his trap.
As Marius read, she began to pace about his apartment, letting no object go untouched or rearranged. Though her chemise was prone to slipping over her thin, pointed shoulders, she paid it no mind when she moved his chairs, or touched his dark green jacket, humming bits of old melodies. At least, until something caught her eye.
“Hullo!” She cried, moving to the object, “you have a mirror!” She approached, fixing her long, stringy hair with a smile. She knew she was not a beautiful girl, and the mirror reminded her. Still, it was a rarity to be able to gaze upon a mirror. Her family could not afford such objects of luxury.
The mirror only had her attention for a moment, as she continued to float around the room. There, on the table- “Ah! Books!” She looked over at Marius before attacking the book, picking it up and opening it up to a random page. “I know how to read, I do!” Another rarity for a girl of her standing. As though already sure he would protest, Eponine began to read out-loud: “--General Bauduin received orders to take the chateau of Hougomont which stands in the middle of the plain of Waterloo, with five battalions of his brigade.” She’d grown up near Waterloo, hearing stories from her father. Knowing this, she felt it best to impart the wisdom on her new best friend.
“Ah! Waterloo! I know about that. It was a battle long ago. My father was there. My father has served in the armies. We are fine Bonapartists in this house, that we are! Waterloo was against the English.” But a man as surely well educated as Marius did not need a history lesson. Even less so when his own father had been there besides. But Eponine did not know the latter, and instead, focused on impressing him with her scant levels of education. Setting aside the book, she went for a pen and paper. “And I know how to write, too! Do you want to see? Look, here, I’m going to write a word to show you!” Without waiting for an answer, she put pen to ink and pen to paper. When she was done, she held up the paper bearing the words: The cops are here.
She threw the pen down with little care and even more pride and continued to answer questions that he had yet to ask: “There are no faults of orthography. You can look. We have received an education my sister and I. We have not always been as we are now. We were not made—“And she broke off, looking at Marius as she let out a sharp laugh, before the laugh turned into a word: “Bah!” The words of a broken girl who had once had so much to look forward to.
Almost as though she hadn’t burst out laughing, she began to sing, “I am hungry, father.
I have no food.
I am cold, mother.
I have no clothes.
Lolotte! shiver, sob, Jacquot!” Her voice was low and husky, prone to cracking from disuse, but her mind bounced from one subject to the other without a second’s hesitation.
“Do you ever go to the play, Monsieur Marius? I do. I have a little brother who is a friend of the artists, and who gives me tickets sometimes. But I don't like the benches in the galleries. One is cramped and uncomfortable there. There are rough people there sometimes; and people who smell bad." She keeps an eye on Marius, looking him up and down. Then, as fast as you liked, “Do you know, Mr. Marius, that you are a very handsome fellow?” She smiled at him, traces of her sorrow gone. Marius blushed in response, but remained silent.
Spurned on by a realization, she moved to him, placing her hand upon his shoulder. She kept smiling as she spoke, trying her very best to make her voice appear to be soft and fair, like one of the women in the plays. “ "You pay no heed to me, but I know you, Mr. Marius. I meet you here on the staircase, and then I often see you going to a person named Father Mabeuf who lives in the direction of Austerlitz, sometimes when I have been strolling in that quarter. It is very becoming to you to have your hair tumbled thus.” She almost reaches out to touch his hair, to better show him, when he pulls away.
“Mademoiselle,” he tried again, keeping his voice even. “I have here a package which belongs to you, I think. Permit me to return it to you.” He held out an envelope.
Eponine’s dark eyes lighted up and she clapped her hands, grabbing on to the envelope with greedy hands. “We have been looking everywhere for that! "Dieu de Dieu! how my sister and I have hunted! And it was you who found it! On the boulevard, was it not? It must have been on the boulevard? You see, we let it fall when we were running. It was that brat of a sister of mine who was so stupid. When we got home, we could not find it anywhere. As we did not wish to be beaten, as that is useless, as that is entirely useless, as that is absolutely useless, we said that we had carried the letters to the proper persons, and that they had said to us: `Nix.' So here they are, those poor letters! And how did you find out that they belonged to me? Ah! yes, the writing. So it was you that we jostled as we passed last night. We couldn't see. I said to my sister: `Is it a gentleman?' My sister said to me: `I think it is a gentleman.'" She tore open the envelope to reveal the four letters. She pulled one out, and began to further explain: "Here! This is for that old fellow who goes to mass. By the way, this is his hour. I'll go and carry it to him. Perhaps he will give us something to breakfast on."
The idea of breakfast was a very comforting, if not foreign one, and Eponine allowed herself to toss her head back and laugh, her mouth watering at the very thought of breakfast. "Do you know what it will mean if we get a breakfast today? It will mean that we shall have had our breakfast of the day before yesterday, our breakfast of yesterday, our dinner of to-day, and all that at once, and this morning. Come! Parbleu! if you are not satisfied, dogs, burst!"
As she ranted, Marius began to look through his coat pockets, counting out sous and francs. But Eponine paid him no mind, much more interested in walking about his small room again, her voice filling the space. “I often go off in the evening. Sometimes I don't come home again. Last winter, before we came here, we lived under the arches of the bridges. We huddled together to keep from freezing. My little sister cried. How melancholy the water is! When I thought of drowning myself, I said to myself: `No, it's too cold.' I go out alone, whenever I choose, I sometimes sleep in the ditches. Do you know, at night, when I walk along the boulevard, I see the trees like forks, I see houses, all black and as big as Notre Dame, I fancy that the white walls are the river, I say to myself: `Why, there's water there!' The stars are like the lamps in illuminations, one would say that they smoked and that the wind blew them out, I am bewildered, as though horses were breathing in my ears; although it is night, I hear hand-organs and spinning-machines, and I don't know what all. I think people are flinging stones at me, I flee without knowing whither, everything whirls and whirls. You feel very queer when you have had no food." He doesn’t need to know this, her deep thoughts, but here he was, and he was listening to her. Anyone else would have told her to shut up, have hit her or thrown her from their apartment. But not Monsieur Marius. He was sweet and let her read his books.
And, what was more, he held out a five franc coin. With a gasp, she grabbed it out of his hands. “Good!” She said, happy to have succeeded at least in part on her errand. “The sun is shining! Five francs! the shiner! a monarch! in this hole! Ain't this fine! You're a jolly thief! I'm your humble servant! Bravo for the good fellows! Two days' wine! and meat! and stew! we'll have a royal feast! and a good fill!” She adjusted her chemise with a broad smile, and bowed low to the man. That was it, she had the money, there was no more need to stay and talk, though she was sure she would return. They were neighbors, after all, were they not?
With the coin securely in her pocket, she could not stop beaming as she approached the door. “Good morning, sir. It’s all right. I’ll go and find my old man!” She was about to leave when something on the floor caught her eye. With another gasp, she nearly dove for it, picking up the offending object. A crumb of bread.
“That’s good! It’s hard! It breaks my teeth!”
Without waiting, knowing she had another round of letters to deliver once she gave her father the money. With any luck, he wouldn’t squander it. But with a man like Thénardier, you never knew.
video, un: ponine
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[You need to tell him about this man, missy.]
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[Robb Stark is the new Marius Pontmercy.]
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[And if he's either not good enough, or leading her on, he'll get a sword to the throat.]
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[He's amazing. Except for the thing where they both know she's not the sort of girl he could hypothetically bring home. She's street trash. And he is a king with a crown.]
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He lets out a soft laugh at her hurrying him.]
I'm coming, I'm coming.
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It is good to see you again!
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[Her happiness is infectious. Seregil can't imagine a person who wouldn't be charmed by a woman like her. He could think of many a keeper or owner in the street of lights who would happily take her in.]
Now then, tell me about this Rob of yours.
[He gestures to one of the empty tables.]
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[She happily takes a seat and hardly waits for him to sit across from her before she launches into her story.] Yes, I shall. His name is Robb Stark and he is a King! He's a very brave man from Westeros but his family is from the kingdom of North.
[She's learning so much about Westerosi politics! Actually, she's learning that Lannisters Bad, Starks Good.]
His sister and brother are here, as well, so I am glad he is not alone.
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[He tries to stay respectful, but there have been several which could reasonably be considered more blood than most of Skala could even take (and Skala does love its blood and intrigue).]
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[He knows that for a fact, but he isn't planning on sharing that unless he has to.]