The weeks before their gathering at Columbia passed in a blur of speech writing and preparation for Enjolras and Joan, and getting the word out for everyone else. Every class that Joan shared with Enjolras – which weren't many, considering that their majors were vastly different (but Joan did enjoy history, as did Enjolras, and they shared that class) – was spent passing notes to each other, comparing their speeches and giving each other ideas for how to phrase an idea they wanted to present. Enjolras' hands were constantly stained with red ink from his old fashioned dip pen that he was so fond of, and Joan found herself writing down ideas on whatever medium she could get her hands on – including the arms of her friends.
Éponine seemed to be happier than before, and healthier, slowly gaining weight. It was after a week or so that Joan realized just how pretty Éponine was when she was cleaned up and wearing more feminine clothing – with the richer foods that Joan was buying for her at the restaurants they ate at together, her hair had a shine to it, and she had more energy. One day, Joan took Éponine to go buy some new clothes, when they ran into Gavroche, Éponine's little brother who had taken to living on the streets and sneaking into the meetings of Les Amis. With a little bit of convincing, they managed to get him to return to their apartment for dinner, which Joan helped Miggie to make.
Gavroche, during their meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, mentioned that he had never had such good food before, what with living out on the streets and all, and Miggie (who was, quite frankly, horrified that no one took care of this adorable blond boy) all but forced him to live with her, under the reasoning that his sister lived there too, so it wasn't like she was adopting him, she was just more of a nanny than anything else. At first, the young boy was jumpy, but after a week he started to settle down, and it was then that Joan and Éponine invited all of Les Amis (minus Joly, who had checked himself into the hospital with the fear that he had influenza, and Feuilly, who's turn it had been to return him home) over for dinner.
Courfeyrac brought Monopoly with him and spent the hour before dinner teaching Gavroche how to play while Joan prepared dessert and helped Miggie with dinner. When Grantaire snuck into the kitchen to search for alcohol, he received a lecture from the landlady about how alcohol was bad for him before she shooed him out. Later, Enjolras attempted to walk in and ask Joan something, but ran out within seconds when he got biscuit batter flung at him (Joan did this while yelling about how he would ruin the surprise. To say he was confused would be an understatement.)
All in all, the arrangement worked out well, and soon enough it was the morning of their gathering, and Éponine was beaming as she woke Joan up from a deep sleep.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!" Éponine exclaimed, with far more cheer than she usually possessed in the mornings.
"Have you been drinking coffee?" Joan wondered as she rubbed at her eyes. Éponine simply grinned wider as a high pitched voice pierced the air.
"But Miggie, I don't wanna!"
"Gavroche, you will take a bath!"
Another protest from the twelve year old was cut off by shouts of "Ow! Ouch! Ow!" as Miggie dragged him up the stairs, a firm grip on his arm.
"Éponine," she exclaimed, "If you could please get your brother to take a bath…"
"Come now, Gavroche," Éponine said with suppressed laughter, "You want to be like Enjolras, don't you?"
All three of them knew that Enjolras was Gavroche's hero, and bringing up the young man's name was a sure way to get the boy to do anything, usually.
"No one makes Enjolras take baths!" Gavroche protested, and Joan sat up.
"You know, Gav, if you washed your hair, you'd look a lot like Enjolras."
"Really?" he asked, face brightening, and Joan nodded.
"Really."
"Okay," he conceded, "I'll take a bath. But only" –this was directed at Miggie – "Because of Enjolras."
"Mm-hmm," Miggie said, dragging him back downstairs. A minute later, the water started running, and Joan and Éponine grinned at each other.
"There's tea waiting for you downstairs," Éponine told Joan, "If you want, I'll reheat it after you shower."
"Could you?" she asked, and Éponine nodded. "Thanks," Joan said, and the brunette grinned in reply.
"You're welcome."
Joan took a short bath and dressed in a pair of pants and a long shirt under a jacket 'Ponine had lent her ages before. Despite the fact that Northerners were more open to the idea of racial equality, there was still the fact that the law stated that white and black people had to be separate in public places. And, if the school considered their gathering a security risk(or if they were against it in general), they might be attacked by the police or the campus security, hence why she was wearing pants.
Éponine was waiting with eggs and bacon for her to eat, and Gavroche was already digging into a bowl of cereal, looking slightly dejected. As Joan sat next to him, she asked what was wrong.
"'Ponine and Miggie won't let me have coffee," he complained, and Joan patted his shoulder comfortingly.
"You know, Enjolras doesn't drink coffee. If anything, he'll drink tea."
"Can I have tea, Miggie?" Gavroche asked, perking up slightly.
"How 'bout you try a sip of mine first," Joan offered, "And if you like it we can get you some."
It turned out that Gavroche did not like tea, and decided that he would stick with milk and water. Éponine dragged Joan out the door and hailed a cab, which took them to Columbia. At the gathering area, there was already a large crowd forming as they joined the other Amis behind the stage area.
"You ready, Enjolras?" Joan asked, and he nodded.
"Of course. You?"
"Couldn't be more prepared," she laughed, adding, "Get those ink stains off?"
"No," he answered, showing her his still ink-stained hands, "I'm thinking about incorporating them into the speech. The blood of all men is red, and all."
"My singing instructor would be overjoyed if I told him about that metaphor," she said with a smile.
"They're going to love you," Enjolras predicted, "How could they not?"
"They'll love you more," Joan insisted, "If Grantaire gets his way, the whole world will know you as Apollo."
"God forbid!" he muttered, and then they both laughed. She looked down at her watch and noticed that there were five minutes before they were due to start.
"Five minutes to go," she supplied, "Best of luck."
"You'll be great," he assured her, before turning to face the rest of their friends as he went over their plan one last time, before heading onstage, Joan right behind him.
"Friends!" he said into the microphone, and the assembled students began to quiet down, "Fellow students! I am incredibly happy that you have come here today to listen to our speeches. We are from a group of young men and women, just like all of you – mostly students who attend this college, but also a workingman and a young woman who wasn't given the chance to advance her learning by going on to learn at Columbia. My name is Enjolras," he smiled, pausing a moment as the crowd let out a mix of greetings, "And this is my good friend Joan."
"Now, I'm sure most of you know what these speeches are going to be about – but considering one of our members is near-constantly drunk, he may have left out some of the information. We are here to inform you about a problem in this great nation, a problem that has been going on for many years – we fought a war over it, my friends, a long and arduous war that pitted brother against brother and ended in the death of a great man and great president. This is about equality, friends, equality between all people – white people and people of color, women and men, all people will be equal. We knew that one day this would be true, that one day all humans could stand in the sun on equal ground as brothers and sisters, as friends, without something as silly as appearance to distract us from what truly matters – our talents, our words, and, most importantly, our hearts."
Joan noticed that there were a few cameras – could they be news crews? – near the back of the crowd, filming their speeches. She cleared her throat quietly and tilted her head towards them as Enjolras paused for breath, glancing at her. He nodded, showing that he had noticed them too. It seemed like Éponine's idea was better than anyone had realized.
"My friends, our job is to make sure this day comes, not in the distant future, but tomorrow. The world of tomorrow will be bright and joyous. My friends, one of my forefathers fought for the freedom of the people in France during the student rebellion of 1832. He died on that day, leaving behind a wife and child, but he did not die in vain. He was a martyr for the poor, downtrodden people who resided in the slums of France, and later on in the nineteenth century, his son fought in another rebellion, this one which succeeded. Our revolution will succeed, my friends, because we will have the world on our side. We will not stand alone in the fight for the new world. We will have help! And this is not a war that will be fought with guns and swords, no, this is a war of words and ideals, and our barricades are not physical, but rather barricades of the mind. Our ideals will be our barrier, and they are too strong for any man to break! We need to make an example, friends, show that we are not to be trifled with, simply because we are students. We need to show the government that they must change, for the world around them is changing, and if they do not keep up, I fear that one day America will fall to the fate of so many other great countries, fall into civil wars and uprisings, leave children orphaned and the good citizens afraid to exit their homes. I do not wish for this to happen. I do not want to rebel against our government fully. I do not want to kill men for this cause. I do not want there to be casualties, or at least not casualties in our men. No," he paused again and looked at the camera fully, the passion sparking in his eyes. "I do not want men to die."
"I do wish that the only casualties of this fight would be the casualties of outdated laws and their adjacent ways of thinking, but if it comes to it, I will stand up for our cause using weapons other than my mind. If I must, I will fight using guns and swords. But with your help, and the help of all of the American people, it will not come to that. We stand on a threshold, my friends, and those who take the hands of those around them, regardless of race or gender, shall enter a new world. And even if you die in this fight – even if I die in this fight, I know I am dying for a just cause, and any who die for this shall enter a tomb all flooded with the dawn."
He quieted then, his mouth still forming words, and the crowd was dead silent for a moment, as if they were holding their breath to hear more, when suddenly they burst into thunderous applause, screaming and yelling praises at him. A smile quirked at his lips as he muttered a "Thank you" into the microphone before stepping from the podium and gesturing for Joan to take his place. She stepped up and allowed the applause to die down, smiling.
"Once again," she began, "my dear friend Enjolras practically creates a religion with his speeches. He deserves all of the praise you have given him, and much more. So, if I can ask this of you, let us give Enjolras another round of applause for being such an inspiration!"
She applauded him and the crowd followed, causing him to smile and incline his head slightly in thanks. When the applause died down again, she began.
"I am going to open with a story, my friends. A story that happened to me not that long ago. I am from Missouri, in the South. Just around a century ago, my home state was filled with slave owners, and, even today, inequality runs rampant. These so-called 'Separate, but equal' laws that our government has set up are a sham that many southerners use as an excuse to treat anybody different like dirt. And my brother is one of those southerners. Now, for three years I have been a supporter of civil rights, and have helped Enjolras countless times. I never told my brother, because he did not need to know, and I knew how he would react to me supporting equality."
Joan took a breath, pausing, and continued.
"A few weeks ago, he came to request I return to Missouri for the summer. I declined, and then, that night, he revealed that he knew about our group, Les Amis de l'ABC. For those of you who do not speak French, that translates to The Friends of the ABC. It is a bit of a pun, due to the French ABC sounding quite a bit like the French word Abaissed, which means those who are treated badly. My brother discovered that I was a part of this, and reacted badly. He insisted that our goal was a bad thing, and demanded that I return with him to Missouri instantly, because he would not have me dealing with those who supported the rights of people of color or people of color themselves. When I fought him on this, he beat me."
There was a collective gasp from the audience, and she saw a few jaws in the front row tighten slightly.
"Not only did he beat me badly enough to give me a concussion and a black eye, he also stopped paying for my education and my housing. Lucky for me, my parents left me quite a bit of money before their death. And beyond all of that, one of his responses when I defended my support of racial equality by using women's rights as an example was that women shouldn't have rights after all."
Murmurs of outrage began to sweep through the crowd, and she grinned slightly.
"He seems to think that people of color are no better than animals, while I know a great woman who is not only extremely kind and a landlady, but also is a woman of color. And she took in the younger brother of one of my great friends. The young boy was living on the street, and she has taken it upon herself to help to raise him. If there is one person I am fighting for, it would be this woman. She knows who she is."
Joan paused again.
"So, my friends, I must ask you this: Do you support the man who beats his sister and says that women should not have rights, or do you support the honest woman who makes a living for herself and raises children that are not her own? There are many good things about the south – can anyone deny that dishes like fried chicken and chicken and dumplings are delicious? – but it can be a backwards and scary place. Yes, we need to change the laws of the land. But it is not just that – we have to educate our children, and the children of all people, to treat everyone equally. We need to spread the ideals of our cause, spread our wishes for everyone to be truly equal, not this crooked view of equality that the government has given us. This system is not equal. People of color are given the short end of everything – their schoolbooks are old and tattered, their facilities are not as well maintained - the government needs to change this. We need to stop with this fear of those who are different, and to do that, we must change the minds of the people. And if we can do that, we can do anything. If we do that, we can change the world."
She smiled and bowed her head, stepping back to indicate that she was done. Thunderous applause reached her ears, and she saw Enjolras beaming at her.
"Wonderful," he said to her, "That was wonderful."
"You were better," she whispered, "I really liked that whole 'tomb flooded with the dawn' thing."
"That was your idea," he laughed, "remember?"
"Oh yeah," she remembered, "It was, wasn't it? Anyway, you were better."
As they walked offstage, Combeferre approached them.
"The news crews are here, and they want to interview you."
"I don't think that would be smart," Enjolras said, "What about you, Joan?"
"I don't think so either," Joan muttered, "Thoughts, 'Ferre?"
"Not right now," he said, "in a while, maybe. When we have more of the public on our side."
"Joan! Joan! Enjolras!"
Joan spun around to face Jehan, who was running towards them with a brilliant smile on his face, "You'll never guess who's here!"
"Who?" Joan and Enjolras asked at the same time, when she heard the unmistakeable sound of Gavroche talking somebody's ear off. All she caught was a "Now, Mr. King…" from the young boy before Enjolras turned and his eyes visibly widened. She spun around, not sure what to expect, but she had to suppress a squeal as she saw just who was being pulled along by Éponine and Gavroche.
"Is that…" she heard Combeferre whisper, and she nodded, throat suddenly dry.
"Hello," the surprise attendee said, "I'm Martin Luther King, Jr."
Gasp! Joan meets her favorite celebrity, at last! Once again, I do not own Les Mis, nor Martin Luther King, jr. I do own Joan and Miggie, and the speeches that Joan and Enjolras give.
Please R&R!