A low mist hung around the streets of Montfermeil, consuming all light into a dull grey. Only one small glimmer of yellow could be seen through the dirt-air. If you were to follow it curiously late at night, you would find yourself offered a seat at the Thénardier's Inn.
Madame Thénardier crept around crockery and excavated coins from piles of last night's rubble, managing the findings of a gold ring and chaise silver tooth. Her husband lay motionless on the floor, a pair of red women's bloomers lying over his eyes, as to block out the piercing light of freshly-lit torches.
"Wakey, wakey, love," she nudged him with her foot, watching him groan and roll over flat onto his stomach. She shoved him again, this time adding emphasis by kicking his ear with the toe of her boot. He stirred abruptly.
"Tell me when you're awake," he dozily scoffed, gripping his head with his arms and muzzling into them.
She tried to hold back her smile but gave in, knowing he wasn't taking any notice of her.
All that Madame had on her Monsieur was her ability to bounce back after each night's hangover. After her years of working and drinking before she'd even met her so-called prince, the morning after a busy night she barely felt anything anymore. He, though, still managed to sleep until 5pm, and was able to go weeks without seeing sunlight.
Madame gave up with a sigh of dismay and made her way to the centre bar table, which she faintly remembered dancing atop of the night before. She examined it. It wasn't very sturdy; she's lucky it didn't fall.
Monsieur Thénardier groaned in the corner and started to reluctantly lug himself up off the ground.
Disheartened, Madame sighed once again. Lucky?
"Oh, my love," Monsieur stumbled towards her, pausing a moment to gather his bearings then manoeuvring a grapevine through filth the rest of the way.
"Oh!" She feigned delight, beckoning him forward with one hand.
Once he had nearly reached her she stepped aside, allowing him to land on their largest beer keg and hug it lovingly. Madame tilted her head and watched him kiss its frayed wood and whisper sweet tunes.
"I'm over here," she bellowed coolly at him, hoping to sharpen the pains in his head if only for a moment.
He turned and looked at her with tired, red eyes. "I know."
Monsieur turned back to his love.
"You're a shit, you know that?" Madame growled, but got no reaction.
A gust of cool outside air blew soiled rubbish around their feet and Madame rolled her eyes; a bloody mess and entirely his fault. She coyly stepped towards him and without warning grabbed him softly around the waist. She felt him tense and slowly moved one hand downwards.
"We haven't had a chance to be alone in a while," she whispered hotly into his ear, her breath like intangible fire against his neck, "but I've been so very busy lately."
Monsieur shivered and closed his eyes, feeling her nails through the fabric of his pants searching his crotch inquisitively.
"I've been run off my feet," she scanned the side of his face, pulling her hand back up slightly, "I feel like I might need a lay down."
As Madame spoke, she pushed her hand down the front of his pants. She heard a low grumble escape him.
"Will you help me lay down?" She spoke gently and innocently, pressing herself closer against him.
Monsieur swallowed impatiently and nodded.
"Will you do-" she tightly clasped his crotch, feeling movement, "anything?"
"Yes, yes," he turned around and began kissing her bare chest, fondling the back of her corset in search of the knot, "anything."
Madame leant her head back, feeling his mouth against her breasts. He became franticly horny, pulling at the strings of her clothes.
"Well then," she pushed him away and looked him up and down, "Sort out this mess."
She then flourished somewhat gracefully, before charging off elsewhere and leaving Monsieur with broken hope, a hardness, and a mess to clean up.