A/N- Quick update because At the Gate is overdone. So, they probably didn't have bars and whatnot in the 1800's, I wouldn't know. Heck, I was surprised to hear they had pool and tennis. Whatever. Also, I don't really care how far I had to twist these stories to get them to fit together... I just thought it should be done.

nebulia- Depressingly overused. This idea, however, I doubt is.

Robyn-Enjolras- Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. This fic here is cute in a bizarre way...

Nouveau Ami

Eponine was upset.

She reached deep into her pocket and found a bit of money she had been saving for a baguette or a lemon square when she could no longer stand her aching stomach, but desperate times, you know.

Pushing open the door of the pub, she wandered over to the bar where a gentleman sat wrapped in a dark cloak and asked for a bottle of absinthe. The man behind the counter gave her one, took the money, and disappeared into the back room.

Eponine climbed up onto a stool and rested her forehead on the top of the bottle, thinking miserably about her horrible day. Opening the absinthe, she took a deep swallow and nearly choked.

"Careful," the cloaked gentleman said, "that stuff can be rough on you."

"What do I care, monsieur?" she replied irritably, almost forgetting to be courteous.

He made a move as if he had turned to look at her, but the shadows in the room and the cloak about his body made it difficult to see his face. "What's the matter, my dear?" he asked kindly.

To her horror, Eponine burst into sobs. She buried her face in her thin arms and whispered, "I took him to her house."

"Hmm," the gentleman said sympathetically.

"I don't know why I did! Well, I wanted to see him happy, of course, but I know now he'll never see me, never notice me, he has his pretty little bourgeois."

"Ah, so he doesn't love you? He loves another girl... rich, beautiful, sensitive, blonde?"

She looked up, startled. "How did you know that, monsieur?"

"Ah, my dear," he sighed, "the ailing recognize their own symptoms in another better than any doctor could."

"You mean..."

"Yes, of course. Your curses are mine, too, dear."

"Yeah, but were you stupid enough to show her to his house? Without me, he never would have found her."

The man shook his head. "I actually had her in my... ah... power, but I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"She... oh, it's difficult to understand."

Eponine smiled at him. "You seem to be a nice fellow, monsieur. Why didn't she love you? Your competitor must have been quite a man."

"Ah, it isn't about who you are, my dear... it's about your past, your lifestyle... your face."

"Why, isn't that who you are?" Eponine asked, confused.

The man took a breath to answer this question, but paused, then exhaled. "I suppose so. Tell me, have you ever been a... well, less than a respectable citizen?"

Eponine thought of Montparnasse and nodded. "Often."

"Are you well off?"

"Not at all."

"And most importantly, do you think a boy such as yours would consider you to be pretty?"

Eponine thought bitterly of her matted hair, missing teeth, and starved figure. "No, monsieur."

"There you have it, then, my dear. Your boy, he's a very pretty boy, is he not?"

"He is."

"Then," the gentleman concluded grandly, "he does not know that there is more to a person than looks. At least, that is what I..."

"Tell yourself," Eponine finished.

"Ah, very good point there, my dear."

She sighed and gazed at the bubbles floating lazily through the absinthe in front of her. "They are quite a pair, Monsieur Marius and the young lady."

"As are Christine and the Vicomte," the man added. "Perhaps it's true, then, that we are just..."

"Too ugly."

"Too violent."

"Too poor."

"Too insane."

"Too in- you took mine!"

He laughed. "Mademoiselle, I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name."

"Eponine, monsieur, Eponine Thénardier. And you?"

"I am Erik."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Erik," Eponine smiled, holding out a bony hand. As the man reached out to take it a smell that could hardly be described as anything but, well, death assailed her. "As I said, monsieur, you seem to be a nice enough man. Why doesn't your Christine love you? You can't be that ugly, after all."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, can't I?"

"Not as ugly as I, anyway."

The gentleman paused for a moment, then said gravely, "Would you like to see?"

"Um... yes."

"Then follow me," he instructed, rising from his seat. "We'll need to go somewhere more... well, out of the public eye."

Eponine shrugged and followed him out of the tavern and to an empty alley lit only by one streetlamp. He lowered his cape with a flourish, revealing a face covered by a mask.

"Really, monsieur, it can't be that bad."

"Just watch," he sighed, removing the mask.

Eponine had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. Erik recognized the look of terror on her face and sighed again, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "This always happens," he muttered.

"Well," said Eponine, averting her eyes, "that was something of a surprise. But, monsieur, I know you are kind."

He laughed again. "You know me to be kind. You don't know that I am kind."

"What have you done? I'm sure you've done nothing worse than I ever have."

"Let's see, then," he smiled, replacing his mask. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Me, no, but I've helped my father to do so once or twice."

"Theft, of course."

"All the time."

"Well," said Erik, "have you ever kidnapped someone and forced them to stay in your underground lair until they were miserable and then threatened to blow up an entire building if they didn't agree to marry you?"

Eponine blinked. "That, no, not quite... Though it's not a bad idea."

"Anyway, I left the opera after I let Christine go, and now I'm out of a job."

"Eponine!" hissed a voice, "is that you?"

A young man joined their group.

"Hullo, Montparnasse. This is Monsieur Erik. We were just talking about... business."

The devilish dandy raised an eyebrow. "Our kind of business?"

"Exactly."

"You have any experience?" Montparnasse asked Erik.

"Loads," answered Eponine.

"In what? I write operas," Erik volunteered.

"No, our kind of work."

"Thievery, villainy?"

"Yes, that."

"Quite a bit. I've murdered, kidnapped, and stolen... what else... blackmailed, of course..."

"Two other fellows and I are meeting later on for a job. Would you like to join our group?"

"Group?"

"Yeah, we've a gang."

"Fearsome," added Eponine, "they're colombé."

"Say what?"

"Known," Montparnasse said. "It's argot."

"Ah."

"So? Are you in?"

"I suppose. Don't call me Erik, though. That shouldn't be spread too widely."

"What, then?"

"I don't know. You pick a name."

"Does it matter?" Eponine sighed.

"Do stay out of it. We don't need foolish women clucking their tongues at us."

Erik seemed to disapprove of this. "Don't treat the poor girl like that."

"And why not? It's only Eponine."

"And what is that supposed to mean, monsieur?"

"Listen," Montparnasse said, leaning toward him, "if you knew that girl the way I know her, you'd know there's not much there."

"And that, monsieur, is where you are certainly wrong. I've known her for a little less than an hour, and already I find your behavior appalling."

"Look, fine, I'm sorry, Eponine! Are you in or not for this evening?"

"In, I suppose."

"Good. Eponine, you'll show him where to go, right?"

"Yeah, Montparnasse."

"Good," he said again, and left.

Erik watched his retreat, shaking his head. "You have to put up with that and your boy loving the pretty blonde?"

"Sickening, isn't it?" Eponine agreed. "And you haven't even met my father."

"Tell me, then, what is this about a street gang?"

"The Patron-Minette. Montparnasse is at the head, along with Messieurs Babet and Gueulemer. They're always recruiting men."

Erik fingered his mask. "Will they mind never seeing my face?"

"I doubt it."

"Good. I'll help them out, then. I can be rather handy when it comes to crime. I have experience and quite a few seamless tricks."

Eponine raised her eyebrows. "What kinds of tricks?"

"Well, I'm a ventriloquist. I can make my voice come from anywhere..."

"Such as the streetlamp," the streetlamp said with Erik's voice.

"Or that house over there," said the darkened window of a nearby tenement.

Eponine stared at him, wide-eyed. "That's incredible!"

"Quite fun, too."

"There's some things Montparnasse can do, but that isn't one of them!" and, on realizing the implications of this statement, Eponine flushed. "I mean..."

"It's perfectly alright, dear, I understand. Tell me, why do you let him treat you like that?"

She lowered her gaze to the ground. "He's the only person who ever took me... made me feel loved... important... Until tonight." And she smiled at Erik.

He glanced around. "How long do we have until that job?"

"A few hours."

Impulsively, Erik grabbed Eponine's hand. "Perfect."

A/N- Hahaha I hope your eyes are all twitching!