Hey guys, here's the next chapter! Enjoy!
Also, sorry I haven't updated much lately. I've come down with a bad case of the plague.
Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis or the characters
Enjolras watched as Grantaire offered Eponine another drink and she refused yet again. Neither she nor Marius had mentioned anything about her being pregnant, so Enjolras knew not to mention it, assuming they were keeping it a secret for now, at least. He smiled to himself, noticing how Eponine seemed to almost literally glow. But, moreover, she radiated happiness, which was definitely new. It is good that she is happy. She deserves happiness, they both do.
"C'mon, Ep'nine," Grantaire slurred, "have a drink!" he pushed the drink towards her.
"Again, no thank you." Eponine replied politely.
"Why not? Are you pregnant or something?"
"Grantaire, I, unlike you, do not enjoy getting intoxicated, nor do I particularly enjoy the taste of alcohol."
Grantaire shrugged and then downed the glass he had been offering her. Eponine couldn't help but laugh slightly. Marius wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Jean smiled, seeing this, and wrote something down in a journal that he brought with him everywhere. They all knew, of course, that this was where he wrote his poems. There was no doubt that Eponine and Marius had just inspired a new one.
"'Nother bottle!" Grantaire said to a passing waitress.
"Grantaire, I think you've had enough." Enjolras said.
"No, m'fine."
"You're clearly drunk."
"M'not."
"Yes, you are."
"Do I look drunk t'you?" Grantaire asked.
"Yes." Les Amis chorused.
"M'not drunk!" he argued, standing and nearly falling back down. It only proved even more that he was drunk.
"Yes, you are." Enjolras repeated. Grantaire fell back into his chair. "Come on, Grantaire, I will help you to your room." Grantaire mumbled something, but allowed Enjolras to help him up and to his room.
"So," Jean said, looking at Marius and Eponine, "have you set a date for the wedding?"
"We were thinking in late July." Eponine replied with a smile.
"You're all invited, of course." Marius added. Then, turning towards Courfeyrac, "Courf, would you be my best man?"
"I.. I would love to!" Courfeyrac said, a huge grin forming on his face.
"Jean," Eponine said, "will you be my man of honour?" Jean Prouvaire's mouth gaped open and he nodded happily, at a loss for words. Eponine smiled brightly. Jean, apart from Marius, was the closest with Eponine of the Amis. It was hard not to like Jean. He was nice, sweet, and a dreamer, as well as a very likeable person in general. He simply got along with everybody. Jean got up and went over to Eponine, hugging her. Eponine smiled and hugged him back.
"Any idea what kind of wedding dress you want?" he asked her. This caused all of the other Amis to laugh. "What? It's an honest question..." Jean said, confused as to why they were laughing. It was then that Enjolras returned.
"Now that Grantaire is asleep, hopefully for the rest of the night, we can begin the meeting."
"Come now, Enjolras, tonight is a night for celebration!" Courfeyrac said.
"You said that last time." Enjolras replied.
"Well, bedding Louise was a big accomplishment."
"And the time before."
"I passed that huge test."
"And the time before."
"Michelle smiled at me."
"And the time before."
"Okay, I'll admit that that night, I just wanted to get drunk. But Enjolras, Eponine and Marius are getting married. This is definitely something to celebrate!"
"Alright." Enjolras said, "But next time, we are having an actual meeting."
...
Within a couple of hours, everyone, except for Combeferre, Enjolras, and Eponine, was drunk. Courfeyrac and Lesgles were singing their own drunken version of La Marseillaise ("Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé! Contre nous de la tyrannie l'étendard sanglant est levé."), which Feuilly and Bahoral were dancing to. The latter of which had nearly started a fight with a chair that he claimed had tripped him. Jean was reading out one of his poems, but he was reading it backwards. Joly was telling Marius all about the plague.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME!?" came a sudden shout.
"Bahoral, that's a chair..." Combeferre said.
"Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes mugir ces féroces soldats?" Courfeyrac continued to sing, though Lesgles had stopped and turned his attention to Bahoral's fight with the chair.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
"It's still just a chair..."
Feuilly and Lesgles held Bahoral back before he could tackle the chair.
"Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras égorger vos fils, vos compagnes!"
"Alcohol," Eponine said with a sigh, "it turns all men into fools."
"No arguing there." Enjolras agreed. Then, seeing that Combeferre had gone to try and calm Bahoral down, he said quietly to Eponine, "So when are you going to tell them?" he asked.
"Ah, so you've noticed then?" she said. He nodded. "I'm going to wait and see how long it takes for them to figure it out. Should be entertaining to say the least."
"How far along are you?"
"Two months." she replied.
"So you're due in July then?"
"Yes," she said with a nod, smiling brightly. "You know, I think this is the happiest I've ever been. I'm engaged to the man I love and who loves me, I'm pregnant with his children, and I have great, though some are very drunk, friends. Oh, and I'm not dying anymore. That's definitely a good thing."
"That it is."
"Dying would be such a downer." she said with a laugh. She truly was exuberant.
"I'm glad that you're happy," Enjolras said, "you deserve happiness."
"Thank you, Enjolras."
"You're welcome, Eponine." he replied. Then, after a moment, "Did you say children? As in, more than one?"
Courfeyrac came over to the two of them, therefore bringing their conversation to a stop.
"Sing it with me!" he said, "Aux armes, citoyens! Formez nos battalions! Marchons, marchons! Que sang impur abreuve nos sillons!" Neither Eponine nor Enjolras sang with him. "You guys aren't any fun..." he said, walking away. "Que veut cette horde d'esclaves, de traîtres, de rois conjurés? Pour qui ces ignobles entraves ces fers dès longtemps préparés?"
"Français, pour nous, ah! quel outrage! Quels transports il doit exciter?" Lesgles rejoined.
"C'est nous qu'on ose méditer de rendre à l'antique esclavage!" They both sang.
"Aux armes citoyens! Formez vos battalions!" Most of the other drunk Amis joined in. Eponine couldn't help but laugh. She wondered how they could still remember the national anthem when they were so drunk. She looked over at Marius, who had joined in the drunken singing. "Marchez, marchez! Que sang impur abreuve nos sillons!" Eponine walked over to him. He grinned at her.
"Alright, Monsieur, I think it's time for us to go to bed. Before you pass out." she said, taking his hand.
"Just a little bit longer?"
"Not a chance." Eponine said, nearly laughing at the puppy dog look he gave her. "Come on, before you pass out or throw up... or both..."
"Okay." Marius said, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Good night everybody," Eponine said, already leading Marius to his room. There was a loud chorus of 'g'night' from the drunken Amis, as well as a polite 'good night' from Combeferre and Enjolras.
Once they were in Marius' room, Marius turned and kissed her passionately, wrapping his arms around her.
"Straight to bed, Monsieur." Eponine said, though she did kiss him back. Marius trailed kisses up and down her neck. "Bed, Monsieur. I mean it." she said through giggles. Marius picked her up, carrying her bridal style.
"Alright, to bed it is." he said, carrying her over to the bed. He kissed her deeply and then gently placed her on the bed. He lay next to her, leaning over to kiss her fervently, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close to him. She kissed him back tenderly.
I hope you liked it! Please review!
Also, happy holidays!
In case you were wondering what the lyrics meant:
Arise children of the motherland
The day of glory has arrived
Against us tyranny's
Bloody standard is raised
Listen to the sound in the fields
The howling of these fearsome soldiers
They are coming into our midst
To cut the throats of your sons and consorts
To arms citizens
Form our battalions
Let's march, let's march
Let impure blood
Water our furrows
What do they want this horde of slaves
Of traitors and conspiratorial kings?
For whom these vile chains
These long-prepared irons?
Frenchmen, for us, ah! What outrage
What methods must be taken?
It is us they dare plan
To return to the old slavery!
To arms citizens
Form your battalions
March, march
Let impure blood
Water our furrows
(There are more lyrics, but that's the part included in this chapter. Seriously though, that's not even half of La Marseillaise.)