CHAPTER NINE: Growing Out and Growing Up
Laden with Eponine's long hair, Bousset trails begin slightly, ensuring that none of the smooth strands got tangled or snarled in the trees' low hanging branches or the multiple thorny bushes. This meant, however, that he wasn't very privy to most of the conversation that was going on at the front of the party.
Combeferre, who had been momentarily distracted by that last thought, turns back to face Eponine. "Why don't you just braid your hair? Wouldn't that be simpler?
"Who would have the time or patience for that? It'd take hours!" Grantaire interrupts, tilting a flask of something-probably-alcohol into his mouth.
"You could cut it, perhaps," Combeferre goes on.
"Fat chance! My parents will be enraged as bulls already with my disappearance. No point making it worse by cutting my hair. They'd kill me," Eponine states directly. All her parents care about is money; they didn't give a burlap sack about any of their children.
"You don't sound very concerned about them," Enjolras notes, slowing his pace to walk beside her.
"I'm an adult. I can do what I want." She holds his gaze challengingly.
"Damned if he doesn't let everyone do what they want," Grantaire says, nodding sagely. "That's his motto. Or something similar, at any rate."
"It is not my motto," Enjolras retorts through a stiffened face. "I just believe in freedom from the monarchy. That doesn't mean or imply anarchy at all."
"I'm hardly being anarchical by not cutting my hair," Eponine points out.
"You are when Bousset is carrying it for you."
"He wanted to! He literally volunteered!"
"Most of the people of Fraternité have deluded themselves into believing that the monarchy is good for them!"
"Will you two just stop? Bousset has not been deluded into carrying Eponine's hair, although I do agree on the fact that it is slightly frivolous to cart around." Combeferre deliberately steps between them, causing Eponine to lean around him to glare at Enjolras.
"Subject dropped," she declares then, as if daring him to say otherwise.
Enjolras ignores them both and treks on alone.
Occasionally there came the sounds of birds and other small woodland creatures that Joly was convinced were large, mammoth bears dying to eat them, so they finally stopped at a small bar not too far off from the outskirts of the more populated villages. They were not to meet Marius until later in the afternoon, so they had time to pick up some supplies, much to Grantaire's delight. Combeferre places an order with the threatening-looking bartender as the rest of Les Amis seat themselves at a table only to find themselves surrounded by more threatening-looking men.
Eponine is the only one at ease besides Enjolras and Grantaire, and is in the midst of amusedly watching Joly twiddle his thumbs on the table top as the blond man's eye flicker nervously around the room. "Quaint place you lot picked," she says off-handedly.
"I'm sure they're lovely people," Joly squeaks, as if declaring otherwise was an invitation to have all his bones broken. From the next table over, a man burps loudly, causing Joly to start in the direction of Combeferre and Feuilly, who are both walking over with trays of food.
Next to Eponine, Enjolras stirs slightly, a tiny straightening of his relaxed posture. His eyes become more alert, turning from pools of blue into what could have been the sky reflecting off of a hard, shining blade. Just as she begins to ponder this sudden change, the same man from the next table over speaks up, leaning forwards to squint at Enjolras' blinding golden head.
"Haven't I seen you someplace b'fore?" Scratching the back of his burly head. The man is heavyset, which a firm line for a mouth and a sloping forehead. There is a pair of glasses tucked into his front pocket, Eponine notices with a note of confusion, and there is a small, maroon book sitting on the table in front of him.
Enjolras turns calmly to face him. "Me? I don't think so, sir."
"No, really." He frowns, then nudges his tawny-haired companion, who was reading his own book under the table. "Don't he look familiar?"
"Huh?" Stare. "Maybe. Don't get a lot of faces like that 'round here." A short shrug of wide shoulders, and then he returns to his page, thumbing it carefully.
"I'm quite sure we've never met," Enjolras says firmly. "I'm very good with names and faces, myself."
The burly man does not seem convinced. "No, I've seen you somewhere, just ..." As he trails off his gaze searches the room, before landing on a poster tacked on the wall, the one Enjolras had been trying valiantly to ignore. "That's you!"
Eponine follows the gaze and chokes back laughter. There, pinned crookedly to the wooden pole, is a picture of Enjolras. Or, rather, a picture of how Enjolras would look with Bahorel's nose. That was not to say Bahorel's nose was unattractive. On Enjolras' face, it just looks plain ridiculous, she thinks.
If he was disturbed, Enjolras didn't show it, and she gave him points for that. "Look at that -" He gestures to the nose with a practiced hand. "- does that look like me?"
It might have been more convincing if Grantaire and Bahorel hadn't been guffawing in the background, eyes watering.
"'Wanted'," the man reads out, sounding out the last word. "'Enjolras. Known to be travelling with six com-pan-nee-uns.' Sure looks like you and your friends here."
"We have six and a woman in our party," Enjolras counters.
"So what should we care if you picked up a lass along the way? No offense, of course, miss." The man pauses. "I like your hair."
"None taken," Eponine says lightly, smiling. "And thanks, I'm growing it out."
Laughing rings loudly, starting from the pit of the man's stomach all the way up to his mouth. It's a boisterous, deep sound that seems to shake Joly, who rises abruptly from his chair and excuses himself to the bathroom. The man takes his seat, swinging the chair around so that he's leaning forward against the backing. "I like this one. Feisty," he nods in approval. "What's it like travellin' with this bunch?"
"Like having seven children," Eponine says smoothly, propping her arm around Grantaire's shoulders. "Isn't that right, R?"
Grantaire nods weakly, the last of his tears streaming down his face as Bahorel snorts a few more times before blowing his nose into a napkin.
"Well, what brings a lass like you to these parts?"
Eponine appears thoughtful as she considers what she wants to say, before deciding to be honest. It wasn't as if all of the others didn't already know about her and Marius.
"There's ... a boy. We've known each other for a long time, but ... he's fallen in love with someone else," Eponine starts haltingly. "He's being a complete idiot and I have to show him that. If this is the way to do it, so be it. I'll do whatever it takes."
"That's a lovely dream," interjects the man at the opposite table. He had put down his book, and is now focussing quite intently on the conversation at hand. "I once loved a lass who had eyes for my best friend."
"What happened?" Grantaire asks interestedly.
"The two of them married," answers the man at their table, shaking his head.
The second man raises his goblet. "Let's have a toast to the young lady here. I hope you an' that boy find happiness."
"I'll drink to that," Grantaire agrees, stretching over the table to clink cups with him.
Eponine, now assured and radiant at the outpouring of support, smiles. "Thanks." She raises her own goblet in recognition.
Noticeably, Enjolras' drink remains firmly attached to the table. The man in Joly's seat frowns at this.
"How about you, rebel boy? You have a girl back home that you want to see?"
AN: asrturtu. ; u ; Sorry. I can assure you that this will continue to be updated, if not at a good pace. I hope you enjoy this shortish chapter and that it will tide you over until I can push out some better, longer updates. I haven't really looked this over, so sorry for any mistakes.