So, hello! I haven't posted anything new for the past year, but I've decided to return and write some more. This was requested by my friend Liane, and although this was intended as a one-shot, I guess I kind of... got a little carried away. So, I hope you like it!

Anything from Les Miserables does not belong to me, but to Victor Hugo.

She didn't bring much for the trip.

Just a suitcase - not even halfway filled with clothes and different cloths that were frayed at the edges - a book, and a shabby old coat that belonged to her father. Little Eponine Thenardier going out into the world all by herself, leaving the rugged streets of Paris, France, all the way to America. America! she thought to herself. The land of the free! There, she could live a new life, away from her vicious, awful family and probably get a job; maybe as a seamstress or a maid, anything would do!
Her thoughts lingered back to her family. Her little brother, ten-year-old Gavroche, with his messy mop of hair and stained teeth; Azelma, her red-haired teenage sister, and that mysterious boy who stuck to her side, Montparnasse... she wondered sometimes about the two, although the boy with the cherry lips often stole glances at her. She shook the thought of her parents out of her head before she could imagined their haggard, bedraggled faces.
"Excuse me, monsieur," she said, approaching a man with a wiry frame and a thick mustache. "Do you know where I might find the biggest ship on this dock?"
He looked right behind him, cocking an eyebrow. "That one?"
She followed his gaze. The ship in question was quite huge indeed. It seemed to cover up almost half of the horizon, trying to look past it was difficult. Its black hull must have been bigger than the distance between Montreuil-sur-Mer and Paris, and the white atop it seemed immaculate in contrast. She found herself almost drooling at it. "Yes. That's it," she said. "Merci."
She actually didn't have a ticket with her to board the boat, seeing as she hadn't had enough money to pay. Her family was dirt-poor, yet her father had her convinced she was the breadwinner, since she was the oldest. Bah, she thought to herself. She was no breadwinner, whatever that was. All she knew was that if she was smart enough to survive the streets of Paris, she could survive three weeks on a gigantic ship.
Or so she hoped.

"Can you believe it? America!"
"No, no, you have to say it like the Americans do. Ah-mehrrr-i-cah."
The group of teenage boys up on the deck were clearly enjoying the view and the luxuries of the ship before they even set sail, but who was to blame them? It was a wide mass of glossy, tawny-colored wood, with white reclining chairs, umbrellas, and, ironically, a swimming pool.
"Look, Enjolras!" A tall, freckled boy with blackish-brown hair was at the rails, spreading his arms out wide and letting the sea wind breeze through him. "I'm king of the world!"
Rolling his eyes, the one called Enjolras crossed his arms, the wind not exciting him as much as his friend was. "Marius..." he started. "We are on this boat to find a new life in this America. Courfeyrac's sister highly recommends their economy and their democratic politics." He had never really taken a liking to Marius, but Courfeyrac had promised Enjolras the black-haired boy was alright.
Marius frowned slightly, stepping off the edge and joining Feuilly in a chess game. "You mustn't be too hard on him," Combeferre said calmly, placing a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "He's still recovering from what happened between him and his grandfather."
Enjolras gave him a steely look. "A little disagreement isn't something to cry to sleep about."
"But still, Enjolras. It's quite a devastating thing to experience." Combeferre patted his back gently, taking a deep breath. "Come on, then. The sun is setting and dinner is about to start."

If she wasn't so hungry, Eponine was sure she wouldn't have returned to the buffet table three times.
She devoured her onion soup, but she took on the roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy like her life depended on it. She was eating food she had never thought she'd be able to taste in her lifetime. This was what the rich people ate. All she had to eat in Paris was stale bread and the occasional black coffee. This was definitely something else.
She wasn't exactly sitting alone; she had positioned herself near the doors, occupying one of two chairs. She was alone, but she actually enjoyed it. No more, "Eponine, get on 'ere! Wait for your queue!" "Eponine, make no mistake this time!" No more ill-fitting clothes, no old corset or worn-out belt. She could breathe in every way possible.
Although she dressed the part, many still looked at her. She tried very hard not to address the fact, but it had proved difficult. She liked to think they were looking at her because she was quite pretty and had the smallest waist. Dieu merci for all the sewing she had to do; she had whipped up a somewhat presentable outfit for her first night. She had even fixed her hair, which was brushed excessively and her overly long bangs clipped to the side. And of course, she had taken a long hot shower to refresh herself. You've done it, 'Ponine, she thought for herself. You really have.

"Shit!" Joly screamed.
He was trying to scrape the dirt off his hand with his fingernails, his eyes frantic and his expression strangely similar to a kicked puppy. He desperately searched for rubbing alcohol in the cabin, screaming and panicking as if he was on fire.
Grantaire chuckled loudly, kicking the first aid kit under the bedside table.
Joly's eyes widened, swatting Grantaire's foot and crouching on the floor. He was sweating, grabbing the bottle and dousing his hand in it. His fingers rubbed the alcohol all over the surface, the dirt transferring to his fingers. As the hand turned red, slick with alcohol, he let out a loud sigh of relief. "You are such a bitch."
Grantaire was rolling on the floor, sputtering and roaring with laughter. "Your face, my dear friend, was priceless. I would have given anything for a photograph of that."
"Even the alcohol?"
The two boys spun around, looking at the entrance. There stood Enjolras in a plain white button-down shirt, a bright red sash tied around his pants. His arms were crossed, jaw set, a perfectly groomed eyebrow raised.
Grantaire's mouth nearly dropped. "M-maybe just a little," he stuttered, his hands clammy and his face turning red. It was now Joly who chuckled at this notion. "But not much!" the curly-haired boy added, shooting a glare.
Enjolras shrugged, stepping aside; revealing what seemed to be an extremely seasick Feuilly. His face was greenish and his expression read as dizzy and lightheaded. "I've arranged for Feuilly to sleep here along with you two and Jehan. It's much closer to the infirmary in case his seasickness gets worse, or if any of you face other injuries." He dragged the subject of conversation into the room, letting him rest on the lower left bed. "I assume you'll take good care of him, Joly."
Joly gave a firm nod, while Grantaire raised an eyebrow as he took another swig of his new best friend, American beer. "What about Marius?" he asked.
Enjolras' mouth twitched. "He'll be staying with us." His tone was cold and unquestionable.
Feuilly groaned from the bed, swaddled in blankets. "I hate this trip."
"At least you didn't catch the flu like Bahorel," Grantaire offered. Joly winced.
"Oh, come now, Joly! I heard they're in high demand of medical expertise in the area," Enjolras said.
"Where are we going, exactly?"