Ever since Éponine had been small words had been her trade. It was her life-long ambition to write in Paris, unfortunately, she was far from writing in Paris. Instead she was stuck in the small town of Montreuil looking for inspiration, with her younger sister. With a heavy sigh Éponine walked into the local bar, a place called the Musain. The air was pregnant with smoke and liquor, She felt for her cellphone in her pocket instinctively. Should a muse appear she had her e-mail programmed into her phone so she could e-mail it to herself. Her methods were a little unconventional, but they worked. Her sister waved to her through the smoke and the haze. Barely drinking age, Azelma was lucky to have this job, and they were lucky to have an apartment.
Éponine waved back and proceeded to the bar, on a typical night she would have no problem getting pissed, but tonight the spirits did not call her. Tonight she ordered cranberry juice like a responsible adult and nursed it like a glass of fine wine. (Which if she was honest she was pretending it was.) The guy next to her gave a primitive grunt,
Éponine glanced over, he was drunk as hell his olive-green eyes were glazed over and his five o'clock shadow visable, his dark curls were in disarray as were his clothes, which were wrinkled and flecked with paint.
An artist no doubt.
The bartender, a short pixie of a thing, shot the man a dirty look, and impatiently glanced at the front door. The artist grunted again more demanding this time.
"I think you've had enough," the bartender said mildly.
"Don't tell me when I've had enough!" The man slurred, Éponine shifted uncomfortably. This man clearly had a tragic past. Some demons deeply rooted within him that he was trying in vain to drown in liquor. He was interesting, but not muse worthy. Just then the front door opened,
"R!" Two young men came running up to the bar looks of relief on their faces.
"He wasn't too much trouble was he 'Chetta?" One of the men asked the bartender,
"I thought you said he was in rehab" 'Chetta responded unamused.
"He was," the young man winced, his companion, a slight waif of a thing that would have been a flower child back in the sixties sat down next to the man.
"R, look at me," he said taking the man's giant hand, it easily drawfed his smaller one. Slowly the man turned and met the other man's eyes.
"Jehan?"
"That's right, honey. 'Fey's here too." The smaller man smiled weakly, "where have you been? We were worried." The man named Jehan said softly,
"Liar." R slurred,
"R, I wouldn't lie to you." Jehan said, "please, baby come home. Everything has been forgiven, just come home." R looked at him blankly
"R, come on. Everyone misses you!" The young man Éponine assumed was Courf said.
"Promise you won't send me to rehab again?" R demanded, tears filled Jehan's eyes, he looked scared to Éponine,
"Promise." Jehan choked out, at that moment to front door opened again.
"Grantaire!" The sharp reprimanding voice made everyone turn and look, even Éponine.
A young man with curly blonde hair and the appearence of a marble statue was glaring at R from across the room. Éponine's breath was taken away. He was stunning, like an immortal Greek god. "Get your ass back home!" The young man barked, "do you have any idea what you've put Jehan through?" Jehan looked pleadingly at the young man.
"Enjolras-" Jehan begged but was cut off.
"He hasn't been eating or sleeping all because of your sorry ass." R, alarmed, looked to Jehan who now refused to meet his eyes.
Enjolras glared at R menecingly, Éponine was completely taken with him. He was a god, an angel, Éponine struggled to find the correct words to describe him. Finally, the words of Victor Hugo came to her, he was a Savage Antinous. Éponine fumbled with her phone clumsily, her creative mind had already kicked into overdrive. Adrenalin flooded her system making her movements jerky and undefined, her fingers literally itched to begin writing down all the words in her head. By the time she got her phone out of the confines of her pocket Jehan and Courf were helping R out of the bar and Enjolras was slamming down enough money to settle R's bill. He mumbled something about how R was useless,
"Enj, be nice!" 'Chetta admonished,
"Musichetta, you remember what happened last time, there's a reason he went to rehab!" Enjolras hissed. As Éponine fought with her phone's camera.
"I know that!" Musichetta replied sharply, "but we both know all the help in the world won't do a damn thing if he doesn't want it!"
"Whatever." Enjolras muttered turning to leave,
No, no, no! Éponine thought as he disappeared. Éponine sat disappointed, she had no picture nothing to remember her muse by.
"Can I freshen that up for you, sweetness?" Musichetta asked, Éponine glared down at her phone as her camera finally pulled up.
"No thanks," Éponine sighed,
"He's here a lot you know."
"What?" Éponine asked confused.
"Enjolras, he's in here nearly every night." Musichetta winked, Éponine smiled
"Thanks" she whispered paying her bill.
At last her muse had arrived.
Hey guys! New story! Please review!