A/N: Hello, readers! PhantomoftheBarricade1832 requested a Jelma story from me AGES ago, and I'm FINALLY getting it published! Hope you enjoy :)
"Azelma!" Thénardier hollered into the hovel. "Git out 'ere, ya stupid girl! I need ya!"
The young woman groaned from her bedroom, putting away her copy of The Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe, even though she hadn't finished the poem she was reading. Prostitution duty already? It's not even 9:00 am…she staggered out of bed, pulling her filthy dress on over her head, rinsing her face, and brushing out her straggly red hair. Carefully, she slipped her little book into her apron, making sure it would sit in a way that it was still mostly hidden.
"AZELMA!" The call came again.
"Coming!" she hollered from the back of her room. The girl looked at her face in the cracked mirror, sighing quietly. She wasn't that pretty in any respect – her hair hadn't been washed in days, her green eyes were not all that bright and engaging, and her face and arms were covered in dirt. She knew she wasn't as pretty as her older sister, Éponine. But the elder had been away from the house for weeks, leaving the younger to earn more money in her stead.
Well…here we go.
She pushed open the front door and stepped outside, squinting into the already bright sun. "Yes, Papa?"
"Get out on that corner and find yerself a man fer the day," he snapped. "You know we need the money."
Azelma tried not to groan. "But, Papa – "
"Did I ask you to backtalk me, bitch?" he roared. "Do as I say!"
The young girl sighed softly, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her narrow shoulders as she walked down to her corner, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. She put a hand on her book, carefully pulling it out of her apron pocket and keeping a steady grip on it. Perhaps no one would go by for a while and she could have a chance to read; she'd almost finished that last poem…
Azelma soon collided with a man's bony shoulder, derailing her train of thought. She tried not to panic as she crouched to pick up the book she'd dropped. "I – I'm so sorry, monsieur…" she stammered quickly, expecting an angry shout or shove in response. She was even braced for it.
However, she looked up into the concerned blue eyes of a young man, who was perhaps only a little older than her. She was struck by his strong cheekbones that contrasted with his slightly unkempt mop of hair and those eyes that were a rather piercing shade of blue. Azelma could tell immediately that he wouldn't be the kind to push her aside and continue on his way. He just looked too kind. "Are you alright, mademoiselle?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice as he crouched down next to her, clearly also reaching for the book.
"Oh, I – I'm fine…" she stammered, a little taken aback by his concern for her. What's he fretting about me for? And why did he call me mademoiselle?
"Are you certain?" he asked, even more concerned than before as they both stood up; he was holding the book. "I didn't mean –"
Azelma quickly cut him off. "No, no; it was my fault…I wasn't looking where I was going, and…" she trailed off when she realized that he was grinning at the cover of her book. Involuntarily, she turned a light shade of red, trying to avoid eye contact with him.
"Escaping home to read some Poe, are we?" the man asked kindly, handing her the book. "Which one is your favorite?"
Azelma blushed a little more. "Well, my father doesn't like that I spend so much time reading…" she said as she took it from him, looking down. "He'd rather I try to find a way to make money. But so far, my favorite is The Raven."
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary/Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…" he quoted softly.
Azelma picked it up. "While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping/As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door –'"
"Only this and nothing more," they quoted together.
The young man grinned. "Jean Prouvaire," he introduced himself, extending a hand to her. "My friends call me Jehan."
She took it and let him kiss it, still smiling and blushing a little more. "Azelma Thénardier."
He paused. "Thénardier, you say? You wouldn't happen to have an older sister named Éponine, would you?"
"You know where she is?" Azelma asked eagerly. "Please, monsieur…if you know where she is, please tell me. I've been trying to find her for weeks."
The young man – Jehan – laughed. "I know right where she is!" He offered her his arm. "Come with me."
Azelma and Jehan walked a short distance across town to the Café Musain, chatting the whole way about politics, poetry – Jehan told her that he was an aspiring poet – and each other, quoting "The Raven" off and on. He showed her some of his work, and she told him about her life at home – though not in much detail. He was so nice to her; she almost didn't want him to know the truth, especially since she didn't know how much Éponine had spoken of home.
"She'll be up here with the rest of the boys," Jehan smiled as they walked up the stairs in the back of the Café, to a room on the end of the hall. He ushered her in, and she hardly knew what was going on. Several men, all looking about Jehan's age, were bustling all about, shouting various things to each other, but mostly calling names and gesturing for them to come over and pass judgment on whatever they had to show.
Azelma's eyes frantically scanned the room for her sister, before she finally spotted her next to the window, talking with a rather handsome blonde. "'Ponine!" Azelma cried loudly before she could stop herself.
Her sister immediately responded. "'Zelma!" she shouted back, her eyes lighting up. The sisters ran to each other, embracing tightly in the middle of the room, and completely ignoring the openmouthed, confused stares of all the men in the room. "What are you doing here?" Éponine asked, not at all unkindly.
"Well, Papa was sending me out to the corner again…" she murmured. "But I bumped into Jehan here, and we just…started a conversation. When I mentioned my surname, he told me he knew where you were. What's been keeping you from home?"
Éponine grinned. "I've been helping Enjolras and the Amis plan their revolution," she said proudly; Azelma noticed the blonde man smiling at her as she spoke. "We're almost ready."
"Ready for what?" Azelma asked in confusion.
The blonde man walked back to Éponine's side. "My friends and I are planning a rebellion here in Paris," he explained. "Our ultimate goal is to overthrow the king. My name is Damien Enjolras," he said kindly, kissing the back of her hand. "I'm leading this enterprise. 'Ponine has told us a lot about you, Azelma." She couldn't help but blush. Her sister had certainly made some charming friends.
"What have you said, 'Ponine?" Azelma laughed.
"All good things; all good things!" her sister answered, also laughing as the man put an arm around her waist. They smiled at each other, and Azelma couldn't help but notice how happy her sister was with this Damien Enjolras and his Amis.
Jehan's voice behind her caught her attention. "You, know, mademoiselle Azelma, you could be a part of this revolution as well, if you wish. Your sister has been instrumental in helping us prepare; I can only imagine what the two of you could accomplish together," he laughed.
Azelma noticeably brightened when Jehan mentioned the prospect of helping. "You really think I could help?" she asked eagerly.
"Of course you could!" Enjolras chipped in from behind her. "You're a citizen of France, just like all of us. We want you to make your voice heard with ours."
"So what do you say?" Jehan asked, grinning.
On a whim, Azelma leaned up and kissed the redhead's cheek. "Count me in," she grinned.
The time flew by, and Azelma ended up spending the rest of the afternoon with Jehan, Enjolras, her sister and the Amis. She learned everything there was to learn about planning a revolution from Enjolras, stockpiling arms and ammunition from Combeferre, and even a little gambling from Grantaire! Jehan walked her home at the end of the night, and she was a little sad to think about leaving him. She liked him, and quite a bit at that.
"Will I be seeing you again, mademoiselle?" he asked a little shyly, as if he'd read her mind. She loved the way he was so sweet to her, and the way he asked so timidly if he could see her. Everything about him made her want to say yes.
Azelma smiled as they reached her door. "Will you be at the Musain tomorrow?"
"As a matter of fact, I will be," he smiled back. "Shall I come find you, or –"
"No, I'll meet you there," Azelma said. She glanced around to make sure her father wasn't around, before whispering in Jehan's ear, "Papa best not know where I'm going."
Jehan grinned. "So you think you'll do the same as your sister? Run away from home to join our cause?"
Azelma bit her bottom lip as she grinned, before she decided to lean up and place a gentle kiss on Jehan's lips. He seemed a little startled by her forwardness at first, but gradually started to kiss her back. It was sweet and chaste, but Azelma wouldn't have wanted it any other way. As if by chance, she had run into him on the street, not knowing how much her life was about to change.
She settled back down onto her feet as they pulled apart. "I think I will," she said with a smile.
A/N: Review!