the promised Divergent!AU, as collaborated on with ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo. Your move, Ceara. ;)
There's an Abnegation on the train.
She watches him lazily, under hooded lashes, as she leans against the wall with one foot propped up against it. He's tall, good-looking in a severe sort of way—way too good-looking for a Stiff, for sure—with a shock of blond curls that set him apart from the rest of his faction. She's surprised they let him keep it; doesn't having hair like that count as some kind of indulgence? The line of his jaw is sharp and his nose is like a bird of prey's. But his mouth now—it's soft and full and to see it smile could do interesting things to girl's heart. The collar of his gray shirt is buttoned all the way up to his throat and despite the fact she'd just seen him sprint to the train, he holds himself still.
He's not the first Abnegation she's seen on this train. But he's definitely more uncomfortable.
Éponine smirks. It's about to get a whole lot worse, Stiff.
Ordinarily, she's got nothing against Stiffs. There'd no point in that, seeing as how she's got almost no interaction with them. And no doubt they do some kind of good. Apart from their idiotic denial of basic necessities like color or meat or firearms. Anything that made life worth living.
The doors swing open, it's time to jump. Éponine pushes herself off the wall and with a few easy strides, makes it to the open door. The rushing wind sends her black-and-red streaked hair flying. From the corner of her eye, Éponine sees the blond Stiff watching her. She shows off just a little, coiling like a cat on the edge of the platform just for a second and then springing off. She's done this countless of times, but it never fails to lose the dizzying rush of adrenaline, the half-a-split second of hanging in midair, before landing on gravel. She turns just in time to see him do the same, not nearly as practiced or as graceful as she was. He skids on the gravel, almost landing flat on his face before righting himself. When he regains his ground, he catches her watching him and flushes before averting his eyes.
Oh, she thinks, grinning wide and wicked, we could have such fun with that.
/
He's not the first jumper. A Dauntless-born boy with wildly curly hair and a criminally charming grin is the first and he does with a wild whoop. A bespectacled transfer from Erudite goes after, letting out one strangled yelp before disappearing from view. She wonders if his glasses will stay on during the fall. After them, the Stiff slowly approaches the edge of the roof, the wind making his loose gray shirt flap madly on around him. He climbs on top, taking a moment to balance himself. She can only see his back, but he raises his chin to the sky.
There, she thinks. There it is.
He springs off the edge, hanging in the sky for one fraction of a second and she hears no sound from him as he plummets down.
She follows after, letting out a hair-raising scream of delight and challenge. This was what she was made for.
The net catches her and she laughs as she bounces off the weave. Her friend Bahorel tilts the net and she rolls off, landing quickly on her feet.
"Show-off," Bahorel chuckles and she punches his arm playfully as she saunters past.
The Stiff, face flushed and gray shirt slightly askew, tilts his head back and watches as one by one the rest of the transfers and Dauntless-borns plummet downward and hit the net. Éponine realizes she hasn't heard him speak since the Choosing ceremony, when they announced his name. "Gabriel Enjolras," the voice echoed and gray-clad figures turned towards him expectantly.
But he hadn't dripped his blood over the stones. He'd chosen the coals like he was daring someone to stop him.
His loose gray pants and tunic-shirt thing are no longer clean and crisp, but wrinkled from the long day. She wonders what he'll look like in Dauntless colors, black and something else, maybe red. Yes, he would look good in red.
"Transfers!" a new voice barks and Éponine turns around to see Four march up to the group as the last person hits the net. He's not that much younger than her, but already the leaders are eyeing him. She's a little annoyed they choose that swaggering bully Eric over him, but Four evidently turned down the offer. There isn't a Dauntless who doesn't want to know why, but Four keeps everything to himself. This isn't any different.
"Listen up," he commands them. "My name is Four. During your stay here, I'm in charge of you."
"Like the numeral?" the glasses-wearing Erudite asks, looking puzzled.
Watch it, Éponine warns him silently, but makes no outward sign. He has to learn some time, though.
Four stops in his tracks, turns around and skewers the unfortunate Erudite with a glare. "Did I say you could ask questions?" he asks coldly.
The Erudite shrinks back, just a little, "No." The other transfers start eyeing Four warily.
"No, I didn't," agreed Four, hard blue eyes unyielding as steel. "When the time comes for you to ask questions, Brain, I'll tell you. Until then, keep your mouth shut."
The Erudite flushes hotly but stays silent.
Éponine knows Four isn't as harsh as the transfers may see him, but she also knows he doesn't gladly suffer fools. The faster they catch on to Dauntless living, the better.
After making sure no one wants to ask further questions, Four continues. "For six weeks, you will undergo training, both physical and mental. You will be ranked according to your performance during the training. At the end of those six weeks, the lowest ranked will be cut."
There's an uncomfortable silence, until the blond Stiff shifts slightly on his feet. Four's eyes flick to him, widen almost imperceptibly then narrow. "You. Stiff. Ask your question."
The Stiff blinks once before saying slowly, "When you mean cut, do you mean from training or from—" His voice is low, warm, yet pitched to carry. Éponine thinks his is a voice that isn't naturally meant for being quiet.
"I mean cut," says Four curtly. "New rules: If you can't rank high enough in the training, then you're out of this faction."
Now there's disturbance, alarm. "Wait," someone else says, "that isn't fair!"
"Fairness has nothing to do with it," Four replies. His eyes bore into them and Éponine isn't sure, but she thinks he glances at the blond Stiff before anyone else.
"You chose us," he says. "Now we get to choose you."
/
Éponine goes to dinner and watches the rest of the transfers shuffle in. They aren't wearing the clothes from their old faction anymore. The blond Stiff isn't. He looks uncomfortable and clearly isn't used to the freedom of movement the plain black T-shirt and jeans give him, but damn, he looks good.
Grinning, Éponine weaves her way through the crowd, keeping her eye on him. He sits with the rest of the transfers, gingerly setting down his tray, eyeing the plates of food in the middle of the table like they're alien objects. And they probably are, to him at least.
Technically, during training, Dauntless-borns aren't supposed to sit with the transfers. But if there's one faction where you can get away with the technicalities, Dauntless would be it. Éponine reaches the table and slides into the empty seat across from him, spreading her hands in their fingerless gloves across the table. They're knife-throwing gloves, an early birthday gift from Bahorel.
The transfers eye her warily. She's going to guess most of them have been this close to a Dauntless girl, much less one with streaks of red through her black hair and the tattoo of a wolf on her shoulder.
"Um." The Erudite Four chewed out nervously pushes his glasses up his nose. "Are you supposed to be here?"
"I don't see a sign saying I'm not," Éponine replies, grinning widely. She leans forward, forcing the Stiff to meet her eye. "You got a name, Stiff?"
He gives her a wary look, warring with polite. "My name is Gabriel," he says distinctly.
"You don't have to be called that, you know," she says casually, snatching a burger from the plate in front of him. He probably doesn't know what it is anyway. "You can choose a new name, if you want." She looks him up and down unabashedly as he flushes and looks away. "Maybe I'll call you pretty boy," she teases. "Or Blondie? What do you prefer?"
He's clearly not pleased with either option, judging by the scowl he gives her. "Enjolras," he says. His voice is like the look in his eyes like when he let his blood fall on the coals—a dare, a challenge. "Call me Enjolras."
A Candor transfer who almost killed himself jumping off the train, a boy with unfortunately thinning hair, offers a distraction by leaning forward and asking her, "You're not one of the initiates, are you?"
Éponine gives him a cool glance. "I just finished last year. I'm going to teach you all how to throw knives." She eyes him. "Don't worry—if you lose a finger, that'll make you a little bit cooler."
Most of them look alarmed, so the joke falls sort of flat. Éponine resists the urge to roll her eyes, when the Stiff speaks up. "What's your name?"
"Éponine Thenardier," she replies, as she rises and picks up her now full plate. "Welcome to Dauntless, pretty boy. Let's hope you survive."
- Rachel (thegirlofpensandbooks on tumblr)