1935, Paris.
Musain Cabaret: 05:00 am
It's just another night, she told herself after get out of that dark and smooky room. Everything was revolving around, and she didn't even knew if was properly steadying on her own feet. Remembering the night, she laughed loudly, even all alone in the street. Concluded that there were been good: the audience applauded with thrill and sung along with her the old french chansons, she earned a few pennies and not had much time to talk with Montparnasse and even his other companions from the milieu*¹, that usually plague her. Then, she stumbled upon in a stone and fell to the ground. Luckily was close to the wall, which made her lean the shoulders and head. Had no strength to lift and in those conditions not know if she was doing properly path to the small Inn in which it she have been staying lately.
8:30 a.m.
The sun appeared on the horizon when a certain unknown hand reached her arm. She opened her eyes and then be built the vision realized she did not know that man. Lowered, with a long hood, one kind of gentler leather case filled with papers crossing his shoulder, beret and the face of fixed expressions such as of a marble, he shook. His gaze was trying to unveil what that little girl made on the street.
- All right, mademoiselle?
- Yes. Merci, monsieur.
He stood up, with a expression unaffected and from his pocket pulled out two coins. Threw in her beret which was upside down the street, making her seem like a beggar. When he turned to follow his path, she realized what happened and reacted almost involuntarily.
- Wait, bourgeous. - And stood up to face him.
He returned his gaze to her, not understanding what that lady with wrinkled dress and worn shoes wanted.
- I'm not what you're thinking. I work to earn it. And you will hear me now.
- Pardon? - Replied the young student.
- I work as a chanteuse*². Since you gave me that money, I have to sing for you.
- Oh, don't worry.
- Pardon monsieur, you'll have to hear me now. It wasn't a question.
He breathed deeply and glanced to the side, response of those who are late, and the young woman quickly noticed but didn't care. By his garments realized he was a student, and as she was near the Sorbonne, more than plausible.
- Okay. What will you sing?
- What does you order, monsieur.
- I have no idea whatsoever. Sing what you want. - The tone of impatience in his voice meant he couldn't take that conversation for long.
- Okay.
She coughed twice, in an attempt to clear the voice, stood, took a deep breath and began:
Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'Etendard sanglant est levé
L'Etendard sanglant est levé
The look of the young student changed. Couldn't deny that her voice was extremely unusual and powerful. When realizing she had chosen La Marseillaise, thought that if it were any voice he would leave at that very moment, after all it would be disrespect to him and his country. But, truth be told, he was enjoying. That strong voice could not match better with the anthem of the country. Gradually, more people were approaching and stopping to hear the young gamine sing. Including her only known face at Sorbonne, Grantaire. Some were throwing more coins and others simply smiled.
Aux armes citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons
Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons
When finished, everyone clapped in unison. Least one, the young man. He had nodded and was following his path, until a familiar voice calls him:
- Enjolras! Wait for me!
- Oh mon Dieu! - he muttered. He always hate to meet with Grantaire outside college. He end up listening from him that he spend so much time with the books and need to enjoy more life.
Grantaire went towards the girl, gave her a hug and added:
- Parfait, petit oiseau! *² - Sentence that yielded the girl a wide grin.
- But now I must go, a certain monsieur is waiting for me. - He said, pointing Enjolras to his head. - Au revoir!
She just nodded to Grantaire, and bowed to the other young man.
By joining his friend, and then toward the university, Enjolras began to hear the same theme that always irritated him, and the same invitations he always refuse. To cut to the chase, thought of a question:
- That girl who sang out there, you know her?
- Yes, you don't? She usually gets the outskirts of the university. Oh, forgot you almost don't take your feet out of there. Éponine's voice is amazing. My day is not complete without listening to it.
Just some more walking, and after crossing the gates of the university, Enjolras completed:
- Her name then is Éponine.
- Oui! - replied Grantaire.
*¹ - French mafia.
*² - Singer.
*³ - Perfect, little bird!
This time was very short, but it's only the beginning.
Hey, if you like the story or kind of want to sugest something... Please, comment! This will be very helpful in the development and to understand what you guys think about the fic! :)