Enjolras tried - barely - to bury his cold hands in his shallow pockets, but gave up after only one try. His exposed skin stung as he walked down the street, and he silently cursed the glove-drawer at him and his roommate, Marius', apartment. There were never any gloves or mitts that seemed to match - and if they did, they belonged to Marius' girlfriend, Cosette. Or maybe he'd been too damn distracted to bother to look harder for a matching pair. No matter, Enjolras managed to walk fairly fast in the cold weather, doing his best to keep from slipping on the ice underneath him, his camera bag strapped across his chest and over his shoulder.
He was on his way to Jean Lamarque maison due femmes et enfants - a homeless shelter specifically meant for women and children. For nearly two months at the time, Enjolras had been taking photographs of homeless people - men, women, children, even animals - for his Photography course at University. They were all to be a part of his final thesis, though it was proving difficult to piece them all together.
Enjolras walked down the street early that morning, having left his apartment just after five A.M., leading him to be walking down the Rue Belgrand of the Right Bank at just after six A.M. He knew the drill of the majority of the shelters in Paris - or thought he did - due to making his rounds to a number of them. People would be let in late at night, and would be pushed out of the doors in the morning. Despite generally planning ahead for, well, anything, Enjolras had neglected to ask how early the doors were opened in the morning. He supposed six in the morning would be a safe time. Perhaps a bit early, but Enjolras was nothing if not punctual. Or a bit of a show-off.
He walked up the steps of the home, grasping the cold, metal knocker in his hand, slamming it down onto the door. Within a few seconds, a woman - who he assumed he'd made the plans with - answered the door, shushing him as she allowed him inside. Enjolras rubbed his hands together, feeling the familiar burn as they thawed. "You're Madame Dubois, correct? I believe I spoke with you on the phone regarding -"
The woman nodded, eyeing his shoes. Enjolras nodded, his mouth forming an 'o' with realization. "Right, sorry." He leaned down, pulling his leather shoes off of his feet. Looking back at Madame Dubois, he held his shoes in his hands. "Where should I -"
"Anywhere," she nodded, finally smiling up at Enjolras. He placed them down on the ground by the door. The wrinkles under her eyes and by her smile were kind, curving her soft face upwards. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur. Though you are a bit earlier than I'd been expecting."
Enjolras nodded, becoming increasingly embarrassed regarding his rather brave decision to show up so earlier. It didn't even sound like anyone in the house was up; the main hallway was empty. "I'm sorry about that - exit times for different places are -"
"Different." Dubois waved him off, beginning to walk past him. He moved quickly, stepping alongside her eagerly. "No matter. We've already got one up. She's a rather… interesting character."
Enjolras raised his eyebrows in question, but the old woman seemed to prefer the idea of keeping it a surprise. Madame Dubois lead him through a number of rooms, finally ending with them entering the dining area - and then, finally, the kitchen. It was rather plain; the wallpaper on the walls were a plaid combination of a light, baby blue and an egg-white colour. The counter was scrubbed clean, despite some stains and residue remaining. The table and the three chairs around it were a plain white and plastic. At the table, her back turned to them, was a woman, her back to Enjolras, with long hair and an oversized jacket. She held - literally - a half-full bowl of cereal in front of her, her arms cradling it in front of her as if somebody might snatch it. Despite the empty kitchen, the empty table, the empty chairs, the empty dining hall. As far as he could tell, she was the only resident awake.
"'Ponine, fillette, manners," Madame Dubois tsk-ed at the woman, shaking and pointing her finger at "'Ponine". She crossed the room to the counter, pulling bowls out of drawers, eggs out of the fridge, beginning to work away quickly. "We've got a guest."
The woman scoffed, her mouth muffled as if full. Enjolras crossed the room in an attempt to help Dubois, but turned to face 'Ponine, startling himself. Her face, seemingly on the edge of emaciated, was angular with slight curved edges. Her lips were thin, her nose big and turned upward at the end. Her eyes, huge and dark, were focused on her food. The girl, who, despite the purple under her eyes, didn't look over 18, had dimples, Enjolras noticed as she chewed down on her food. Her face, while perhaps frightening in places, was beautiful in some sort of way. Or maybe it was just fascinating - it wasn't a face like any he'd seen before.
The girl looked up at him for a moment, but quickly moved her eyes to Madame Dubois' back. "Why's he here?" 'Ponine gestured to Enjolras with her spoon, asking as if he wasn't there.
Dubois didn't turn around, seemingly used to the girl's random, seemingly intentionally rude questions. "He takes photos of homeless people - women, men, children. The like."
"I'd take a photo of you, if I could. If you'd let me," Enjolras nearly stuttered, continuing on from how Dubois had introduced him. And suddenly, he just wanted to take a photo of this girl. He wanted to better learn the angles of her face - how her hair, dull and dry, would look under a different light.
'Ponine looked up as she chewed loudly, her dimples showing through each time she crunched down on her cereal. She squinted at him for a moment, and then, as if he was of no concern to her, focused on her bowl again.
"'Ponine," Madame Dubois scolded from the counter. "Be polite."
'Ponine didn't turn back to look at the woman, and didn't look at Enjolras, either. She shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands up. "I didn't say anything, did I?"
"'Ponine."
'Ponine looked directly at Enjolras, causing him to realize he'd been staring at her. "I didn't say anything, did I?" He felt as if she was challenging him.
He coughed. "Madame Dubois, she really didn't. Truthfully."
Madame Dubois shook her head from where she stood - Enjolras didn't see, his eyes still focused on 'Ponine. There was a moment of near-silence, wherein the only noise in the room was 'Ponine's loud chewing.
"What do I get out of it?" the girl piped up.
Enjolras narrowed his eyes at her, trying to keep his lips from turning up into a smirk.
"You won't be stuck with the itchy blanket," Madame Dubois piped up from behind Enjolras. Turning away from 'Ponine since the first time he'd seen her, he glanced at the old woman, grinning.
'Ponine considered the offer for a moment. "I won't be stuck in a room with Lucille anymore, either."
Dubois shrugged, nodding her head. "Play nice, 'Ponine."
The girl moved remarkably quickly for such a small person - she picked up the cereal bowl from the table, holding it like a cup to her lips, sipping down the remaining milk. Wiping her mouth with her hand, she left the bowl on the counter. In another second, she was at the doorway of the kitchen, on the verge of stepping over. 'Ponine turned back to look at Enjolras, her eyes wide, excited. Enjolras wondered if it'd been long since she'd had her photo taken - or if it'd just been long since she'd gotten her way. He doubted the latter. Enjolras followed after her, hands on his camera bag. He turned back to Madame Dubois, a gracious smile on his face.
"All my thanks, Madame." Enjolras nodded politely in acknowledgement.
"No problem at all, Monsieur. Mon dieu - good luck with her. Tell her to behave. And that I expect to see her tonight. Oui?"
Enjolras nodded again, smile fading as he followed after 'Ponine, who was digging through a pile of her and the other residents' shoes, thinking obscenities aloud.
'Ponine walked ahead of Enjolras, her feet quick. It gave him the chance to evaluate her without the girl judging him for it, which was something, at least. She seemed to wear boys clothes - a newspaper boy cap, an oversized trench coat, baggy pants. Her skinny hips barely visible under her attire, he supposed if it weren't for the long face and the feminine features, she could easily pass as a boy.
"'Ponine?" Enjolras talked after walking behind the girl silently for a few minutes. Despite enjoying the opportunity to freely evaluate her, he wanted to know what he was getting into. The girl turned, as if annoyed by the interruption of her daydreams. "Where are we going?"
She continued to stare at him for a moment. "Éponine," she said loudly.
Enjolras raised his hands, confused. "Okay?" She continued to stare at him, her eyebrows furrowing. "Wait - your name?" Éponine nodded slowly.
"Call me that. Don't call me 'Ponine."
Enjolras nodded, following dumbly behind Éponine as she began walking. He was annoyed - but altogether too confused to question why he hadn't received an answer. Or to question why he was allowing her to lead him around.
After a few minutes longer of trailing behind Éponine, the sun growing higher and brighter in the sky, she turned back around to face him.
"We're going to the factory, by the way. Since you asked so nicely."
She smirked, her step quickening as if only she understands what that - the factory - meant, and Enjolras had to stop himself from groaning.
Hey, guys! I'm back with my second E/É fic. This one will be a number of chapters long - I'm not really sure how long it'll be just yet, but I have some ideas on where I want to eventually go with it. I didn't really edit this chapter much, so I'm sure it's overrunning with pacing issues, as well as other problems.
The base idea of this story was inspired by 'Afghan Girl', the 1985 National Geographic photo of Sharbat Gula. It was taken by Steve McCurry. As well, the title of this fic, 'See Me Here', is based on one of Éponine's lyrics in One Day More - "what a life I might have known / but he never saw me there".
I'll probably have the second chapter of this up quite soon - by the end of this coming weekend, at the latest.
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