A/N So, this was written after I finished my Science test - should be marginally longer. :P

"'Zelma, I don't know what to do!" whispers 'Ponine, tears falling in floods down her face. Every night. Every night she cries because he'll never love her back, and perhaps the first few times I felt sorry for her but now, now she's just wallowing in self-pity. And if this 'Marius' is still blind to my sister's love, the he doesn't deserve her anyway. But 'Ponine doesn't realise that. I saw her waiting by his apartment today, eyes wide with expectation. I want to scream at her. Student-with-glasses was looking at her today. So was student-with-poems and student-who-flirts. She could have anyone of them, but she goes after the one she can't. She's beautiful, my sister, but she hides behind veils of yearning and heartbreak.

'Ponine decides to find the girl for her 'Marius'. She thinks he'll like her even more. If anything, he'll like her less, head-over-heels for the usurper of love.

When 'Ponine finds out who it is, who she is, she runs straight past me, pulling out clumps of hair and banging the wall with her fist.

"Don't 'Ponine!" I cry, "You're bleeding!"

"I know," she snarls, turning to look at me, her eyes bloodshot.

"'Ponine," I touch her arm, "there will be other men."

"No one like him," she weeps, "and it's not just that. It's the girl."

"Who?"

"Cosette." she looks down, her voice shaky, unstable, failing. "Cosette."

...

'Ponine still goes to the meetings, despite the ache in her heart. She says that as long as she's with him she's happy. I'm adamant about not making an appearance, but she has me wrapped around her little finger, and perhaps I thought I owed her. So I come. I watch her converse with 'Marius' and I can see it's paining her. And I want to slap him so, so hard. Stupid boy.

There's only so long you can stare at a man break your sister's heart before it starts to get to you, ever so slightly. But I don't want to make things worse, so I move away and sit on a vacant table elsewhere.

Student-who-does-speeches is making another speech, and I realise I really should learn his name. Student-who-does-speeches is a bit of a mouthful. But then, learning his name would mean I was interested I was interested, and a boy who bores me half to tears isn't strictly someone I would be aware of.

Revolution.

The word makes me seeth with anger. Who does he think he is? He thinks he knows what's happening, the terror, the fear, He knows nothing. And I'm tempted to go up there and kick him, but I hold back.

"Don't judge a book by its cover." I mutter. Ha! This isn't the cover. This is the whole story, and I don't like it one bit.

Student-who-is-drunk comes and sits next to me.

"Are you following me?" I question, raising one eyebrow.

"You, Mademoiselle," he says, "are sitting in my chair." I roll my eyes.

"I've become quite attatched to this chair." I say.

"Do you want a repeat of last time?"

Begrudgingly, I offer him the seat. Stupid student with his stupid seat. Why couldn't he get his own seat? Half because I'm annoyed, and half because I don't have anywhere to sit, I jump up onto the table, obscuring his vision. He scowls and pushes me off, fixing his gaze on student-who-does-speeches.

"Why're you watching him, Monseiur?" I sneer. Student-who-is-srunk mutters something about 'liberty' and 'freedom' and 'believing'.

"You?" I laugh, "Monseiur, I've met rabbits that are more revolutionary than you."

Student-who-is-drunk goes bright red, which makes me laugh even harder.

"You believe in nothing!" I say, in hysterics. He gulps and says:

"I believe in him." He looks me in the eyes, and I look down, too embarrassed to hold his gaze.

"Look Monseiur," I venture, "I really think I need to know your name. Because I've been calling you student-who-is-drunk in my head, and that takes an awful long time to say."

"Yes, because that's all I ever be," he spits, "Drunk."

"I'm Azelma..." I say, trailing off.

"Grantaire. And maybe, Azelma, you should leave. I think I need to be alone."

"But Monseiur!"

"Leave." he snarls, standing up, "Just leave."

Does anyone else suddenly have the image of a revolutionary rabbit in their head?