Marguerite Boisvert was a very beautiful girl, she always had been, and even starvation couldn't dull her stunning features. She had been a beautiful baby, wide eyed and small; with a smile so large it could brighten the eyes of her father who had been in a depressed daze since his wife's death.
Childbirth proved too painful for the weak woman.
Marguerite grew to be a beautiful child, her breathtaking smile and stunning blue eyes were all given to the girl by her mother who had been a very beautiful woman herself.
It was a natural beauty which possessed Marguerite, one that could not diminish even after her father's death. Suicide it was, drowned himself when Marguerite was 14. The tragedy and pain was etched into her eyes but her face remained flawless still, with or without a smile she was prepossessing.
Her family had never been wealthy, lower middle-class at the most with her father's job but his death caused life to crack and crumble right in front of Marguerite's eyes. She was poor, homeless, alone, sad to an extent she never thought possible, she was in pain with no family to speak of, she had no skills and who in their right mind would hire a 14 year old girl?
It took Marguerite 2 years to find an answer.
For those two years Marguerite had lived on her feet, walking or running to where she needed to go, she lived alone on the streets stealing from anyone she saw with something she needed. She had sold all she had before she started to steal, she had beautiful long black hair like silk, she'd cut it off, sold it for 11 which she then wasted on food having not eaten in five weeks, She had continued to sell her hair whenever it grew.
It was when she was 16 that Marguerite found a job, her eyes had flared defiantly when first offered, she had been pushed to the ground, mocked and robbed of what she had stolen that day and laughed at more, she had been pushed against a wall before she agreed. She'd broken down, cried and nodded her head. It was the first time she had cried since her father had died.
Being a prostitute was more trouble that what it was worth but Marguerite didn't have much of a choice, she was a 19 year old girl with no skills in reading or writing, she had been on the streets too long to have any real worth somewhere else. 4 years being a prostitute and yet she was no better than she was when she was 16, but why did Marguerite continue to be one? Because it was something to hold onto, something real she had that wasn't made up in her mind, Marguerite hadn't had anything since she was 14, she had been alone but now she had all she wanted, men and more men. Old men, young men, harbor rats and alley cats and every type of scum, loor men, rich men, leaders of the land.
'See 'em with their trousers off they're never quite as grand.' Marguerite muttered to herself as she fixed her hair after a particularly rough customer, it seemed to her that the richer they were the harder they hit.
'You alright?' Béatrice, an older prostitute who had been working a the better half of 10 years, she was indeed old and with the right amount of makeup she was pretty but her eyes were too large and her teeth too few.
Marguerite shrugged with a smile, the bruise on her cheek hurting more than she could describe but she had worse so she kept quiet.
'5 francs for that one, I think I will brave whatever pain it has cause me, a feast is better than a whine.'
Béatrice nodded with a fleeting smile, her large eyes shined with something akin to pity and Marguerite almost scoffed, she had seen the older woman sport a badly broken arm and yet she pitied the younger girl for a bruise?
'I'm heading to the main street.' Marguerite had told Béatrice the next afternoon.
'I wouldn't,' the older woman warned. 'there's some sort of protest going on, there's quite a crowd.'
Marguerite rolled her eyes, a loud scoff escaped her lips and she moved onwards with Béatrice frowning after her, her thin lips curled and her eyes clouded with annoyance.
Marguerite wasn't rude just smart enough to know manners wouldn't get her anywhere, with her customers being nice didn't get more money, it didn't stop them from getting angry and violent, so she didn't bother.
Beauty wasn't something Marguerite valued; in her job beauty didn't matter as long as you had a tight and short dress, her customers more often than not where anything but beautiful. Marguerite in all her life had never been beauty, her father and she lived in a tattered house with brown walls, she then lived on the dirt streets, Marguerite now lived in a small horribly smelling box like house which caused her to vomit at least once a day.
Marguerite had never lived in beauty but she knew it when she saw it and what she say was the most beautiful person she had ever seen in all her 19 years of living.
There stood a young man atop a brick wall that seemed to raise him to the heavens, which is where he belonged as he looked more like an Angel than any Marguerite had seen in any book, his beauty shone down as he spoke. Marguerite didn't know what he was saying, too distracted by his face and movements but his lips moved with a passion in which Marguerite had never seen, his eyes flared with a fierceness that caused her heart to soar with something she couldn't place.
Something hard hit into Marguerite's back and the next thing she saw was the ground before she shut her eyes so tightly she saw stars, her arms flew in front of her but there was no pain. She'd been pushed to the ground before; she knew how much it hurt, how the dull ache was which lasted for days depending of the falls but nothing came.
'There's so many people here I'd known someone would get hurt, the heat of freedom sends some people into a frenzy. It's good for us but ah, not so much for thin ones like you.' An apologetically laced voice said warmly. Marguerite's head was pressed against a chest that rumpled with laughter.
The prostitute pushed herself up and fixed her face with a glare which was met with a warm smile from the young man who had caught her.
'Are you alright Mademoiselle?' The young man asked, he couldn't be older than 23 with his baby face and wide optimistic eyes. His curly black hair fell in front of his eyes like he'd been jumping around.
'Who're you?' Marguerite asked in a snappy tone without meaning too, she simply fell into a defensive mode when faced with a new person, a habit she had to let go of she knew or she'd lose customers for being too off putting.
'Courfeyrac, at your service Mademoiselle.' The young man answered with a grin.
'What in God's name is all of this?' Marguerite gestured around her at the chanting people surrounding the Angel she had seen before her fall.
'We're protesting.' Courfeyrac said.
'Oh? I didn't notice.' Sarcasm was another thing Marguerite had to learn to give up.
Courfeyrac laughed whole heartedly before grinning at the beautiful girl in front of him again.
'We're protesting for freedom, we're representing the people, we're fighting for them, for France.'
Marguerite stared at the handsome young man in front of her dully before she noticed the buttons on his clothes, his clothes as a whole actually. They were new, clean, expensive.
He was rich.
Marguerite was running out of money despite how many callers she received, food costed so much and she mainly services sailors during these times.
'Fighting for the people?' Marguerite put on a smile a sly, seductive smile that be in anyone else they'd had have been begging for more. 'You look like you need a rest Monsieur.'
Marguerite placed hand on Courfeyrac's chest, her fingers played with the buttons on his coat as she moved her body closer to his but before she could lay a playful kiss on his face Courfeyrac placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back more gently than she'd ever been touched before.
'I don't think that's a good idea.' The young student smiled.
'Why not?' Marguerite said with the same seductive tone, still in character for the prospect of gaining more money, food being the only thing on her mind.
'Because you look like you need a rest Mademoiselle.' Gesturing to the large, dark bruise on Marguerite's cheek Courfeyrac squeezed her thin shoulders softly and smiled at her again, a kind of warm, caring smile that had never been directed at Marguerite before.
Marguerite's face fell, her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes dulled considerably, this look showed Courfeyrac just how sickly the girl in front of him was.
The young woman, only 19 at the most, was amazingly beautiful, her sunken in face didn't stunt her looks but Courfeyrac could see the pain shining horribly in her eyes.
'Is there something you need?' Courfeyrac asked with genuine concern which shocked Marguerite, it was written clear on her face.
'Tell me,' Marguerite said quietly, a little ashamed a little relieved. 'what is his name?' She pointed to the blonde Angel standing atop the wall still talking loudly, the crowd around him cheering intensely.
Courfeyrac glowed with pride as he turned to face the man.
'That's our fearless leader,' He said, his voice filled with blatant awe. 'Enjolras.'
Enjolras.
Marguerite stared at Enjolras again, her eyes training on his face immediately. His blonde hair whipped around his face as his head moved wildly with his passionate movements, his blue eyes seemed to be looking at everyone at the same time, like he could hear what everyone was saying, like he cared, like he understood the hardships and lives of everyone around him.
You only find a person like that once in a lifetime and Marguerite was staring right at him.
'I've to go.' Marguerite said hastily, knowing her boss would beat her if she didn't go back soon.
'Will you be alright?' Courfeyrac asked, he grabbed hold of Marguerite's elbow and pulled her back to him, his eyes shifted over a face with a concerned gaze Marguerite felt uncomfortable under.
'That's no business of yours.' Marguerite snapped.
'Tell me your name at least.'
'I'm a prostitute you know, that'll cost you Monsieur.'
'Would you tell me your name? I'd like to know what matches your face.'
'Marguerite Boisvert, let's see how long you remember that Monsieur.'
'Beautiful name,' Courfeyrac grinned. 'so it does match. I'll endeavour to remember it until our next meeting.'
Marguerite stared at Courfeyrac, never had she spoken so openly to someone before, she always had her walls up around the older prostitutes and anyone else she had ever spoken to had just wanted sex, Marguerite expected that she was a prostitute after all. But something about Courfeyrac was refreshing, if only for a moment.
Without another word Marguerite ran back to the alley which she worked at, Courfeyrac filled her mind for a few minutes more but Enjolras plagued her thoughts for much longer, his beauty, for brief second, brightened something within Marguerite.
Courfeyrac stared after Marguerite with a worried smile.
'Courfeyrac, why are you just standing around? Enjolras needs you.' Combeferre came up behind Courfeyrac shaking his head at the young man like he was dealing with a badly behaved child.
'I've just met the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, in all my life 'Feere, I swear it so.' Courfeyrac said.
Combeferre sighed and slapped his friends shoulder.
'You say that about every woman you meet my friend, I've come to never believe you. Now stop standing around like an idiot and help.'
Courfeyrac grinned, 'I'll say it again: she was beautiful.'
Combeferre rolled his eyes.
'But she was a prostitute.' Courfeyrac added with a tilt of his head.
Combeferre slapped his forehead and groaned as his friend continued to babble on.
'Enfer putain.'
~First chapter done! Please vote (if you like it!) and please review, tell me what you think, It'd mean a lot to me.
This chapter and probably the next one are set maybe 1-2 years before the events of the movie/book. I'm going to add a mix of things from the book and movie, like I'm going to write Marius to have the relationship with the Les Amis de l'ABC like he has in the movie. I like the idea of him and Enjolras being friends and Marius being apart of the Les Amis de l'ABC.
Montparness will be introduced next chapter!~
