Gavroche wasn't joking when he said Eponine was hard to scare and that she knows her way around. Long ago, the scums of the streets avoided her because of her ties to Patron-Minette, her father's gang. She has long since proven that she can survive on her own credit, burning the bridges that held her to them. Now, Eponine answers to no one and fends for herself and Gavroche.
After leaving her father's side, although still allowing herself petty thievery at first in order to eat, the working people had taken into slowly trusting her and welcoming her, allowing her small temporary jobs at first. She made a mental rule to never steal from anyone who couldn't afford a carriage, that way maybe her conscience wouldn't nag on her too much. It must be said that it couldn't have been possible without Gavroche; people loved the insightful and clever gamin, and he managed to convince the people that his sister wasn't as bad as they thought she was. Now she works with an old woman who owns a fruit stall in the market. The pay was just enough to get by; it went as rent for the small attic in an old building that she and Gavroche now live in, and enough to make sure they didn't go hungry.
Now to say that Eponine has discarded everything of her former life would be a fault. One habit she couldn't let go of was the habit of strapping on a small dagger on her right thigh. She felt safer that way, knowing she could defend herself if needed be. The shadows on the street knew how well she handled the blade.
One night a drunkard, having not realized it was she, started to grab her by her hair his other hand started exploring her chest. She didn't even let out a small yell for help, but instead lifted the side of the rags that poorly passed as a skirt, pulled the tiny dagger and buried it the man's shoulder dragging it down painfully slow as the man released his grab on her. The sound he made was terrifying as he stumbled back and landed on his ass. For good measure, Eponine landed a good hard kick between his legs. Oh how he screamed. She bent down, now the man delirious and barely conscious in his pain, could hardly understand what was happening when she tipped his chin with her bloodied dagger and whispered harshly, "remember this face. Remember me the next time you dare put hands on a woman without her consent." With that she wiped her dagger clean on his sleeves, placed it back on the strap on her thigh, stood up and walked away.
The story made its way around town, it seems that there were gamins and whores on the same alley that night, hiding in the shadows. Watching her as she defended herself, they were at awe, and so the story went about. She was a force to be reckoned with. She was strong, and on her own.
And although those with evil intent avoided her at all means, others around her: those who saw her while she worked and especially when Gavroche was around, found themselves revolving around her, getting pulled in slowly. She was a charming girl with soft features. The beauty hidden by grime and dust not a long while ago, now easily showed. It was not an angelic sort of beauty she had, it was of the simple, and not at all intimidating sort that could easily shift from charming to fierce.
It was a starless night, cold with a promise of rain. He found himself walking down a street he knew all too well but have tried to avoid. He shivered, not so much from the night chill but from knowing of what was to come. Putting an unsure step after the other, he ventured deeper towards the shadows. His feet gaining speed, leaving fear and uncertainty behind. He needed to get there before it's too late... again.
Now panting and running silently through the slums, he was praying and hoping that tonight would be different. But alas, it was not. Now, like every other time before, a piercing shriek broke the silence. He knew he was too late, but he needed to see her. So he ran.
When he got to the source of the noise, he saw a monster of a man forcing himself on a girl. She looked fragile, yet she fought with what she had. She was silently sobbing. It broke his heart, and angered him. Having been glued to the spot in his anger and disgust and before he could put a stop to any of it, the man grunted signaling his release. After a second, the dirty old man pulled himself out, buttoned his trousers and spat on the girl on the ground. He bent down and caught her tiny face in his hand, and laughed at her. "Your father has been paid well, my sweet. No need for tears. Maybe he'll even have a crust left for you when you get home." He said. The girl shook her head out of his grasp and took the opportunity to spit back at him earning her a painful slap across her cheek.
Just then, a strong voice laced with wrath was heard "Leave her be. NOW." A man he couldn't clearly see has arrived. He noticed the man stutter, now wearing an obvious look of fear on his face, as he turned and ran away. The man who just called out now emerged from the shadow, he looked well dressed. "Perhaps a gentleman," he remembered thinking. He took the shivering girl in his arms with ease, holding her close, whispering comforting words and apologies to her. She looked up, wearing a weak smile on her tear-stained face, and whispered a name he could barely hear. She whispered, "'Parnasse."
Enjolras woke up finding himself drenched in sweat, and somehow short of breath. This nightmare born from an unfortunate night years ago when he was new in Paris, has haunted him ever since, although with less frequency now than before. It was the fact that he had not been able to help the damsel in distress that haunted him endlessly. The guilt he carried and the awakening he has earned that night has spurred a fierce desire to reach out to those who endure such injustice and suffering to have a sou or two in their pockets.
He got out of bed and headed to fetch a glass of water, which ended up with him on his desk. "There is no point in going back to bed," he thought, "I might as well get more work done. Patria needs the revolution to succeed." As he began his work, pulling papers and reopening maps, he then added in a whisper to himself, "I need this to work for her and her likes, whoever she is."
Not another word has escaped his lips as he worked yet through another night.
