A/N So, whaddya think of the last chapter? Remember, this is MUSICAL BASED and Grantaire is not yet alcoholic. By the way, even if characters have a particular accent, I'm not even going to attempt to write in accents. Not only does it save you the pain of having to try to read it, but it also saves me the pain of when everyone comes after me about how bad the accents are. (Yes when I attempt to write accents, they are that bad.) Remember to review. Thanx. JP

Chapter 2

Left, left, walk for two blocks, then turn right, left, in this alley, out the other, right, left. Within twenty minutes of following her brother along the dark, Parisian streets, Madeline had completely lost track of where she was. Her knowledge of the grand city was limited to what it looked like during the day. With the rumors of violence and revolution spreading among the lower class of Paris, Madeline had been forbidden to go out after dark by Grantaire. Tonight would prove if this restriction was for good reason, or not.

"Maddy, are you sure you want to do this?" Grantaire whispered to the fifteen-year-old. "Just say you want to go back, I'll see you back. Just say it and-" The young man was cut off by his sister, who had sheer determination within her eyes and heart.

"I am not going home, Grantaire." Madeline uttered, simply. Yet the six words were ladened with so much meaning. There was no return. Madeline knew she could never return to her somewhat naive, previous existence. Both she and Grantaire knew very well that the knowledge she would gain would not be remotely forgettable.

With that, Grantaire nodded and knocked on the door to the tiny building that now stood before the brother and sister.

Madeline could feel her heart pound within her chest as the click of the doorknob resounded in her ears.

"Who's it?"

"It's Grantaire, Bastien." Grantaire answered the shadowed man, Bastien, in the doorway.

"Who's this, Grant? She looks mighty pretty-" This time it was Grantaire's turn to cut someone off.

"This is Madeline, Bastien, my sister. Hands off, understand?" Bastien nodded. Madeline had to fight herself not to laugh at the look on this 'Bastien's' face. She also felt some pity for the poor man. Grantaire could be as imitating as anyone when he wanted to. Grantaire lead Madeline into the building.

What awaited Madeline behind Bastien was beyond anything Madeline had imagined, fore she had attempted to imagine the place her brother described on numerous occasions.

From what Madeline could see, there were four tables. At the nearest, women sewed clothing, presumably for the men when the time came to fight, which would come, Madeline knew. At the next table, women and boys, most of whom she expected to not even yet have deepened voices, by the look of them, were making what looked like small silver balls, bullets. No one sat at the third table, but guns and other weapons were stacked up. At the last table, men, at least two dozen of whom appeared to be not more than thirty-five years of age, swarmed the table. Madeline could not tell what they were doing,as there were so many blocking her view of the table.

"Maddy, go to that table, over there." Grantaire told his sister, as he pointed to the bullet-making table. "They will show you what to do."

Indeed, they did. The process of creating the bullets was not hard for Madeline to catch on to. A girl, Giselle, who was not much older than Madeline, showed Madeline, step-by-step, how to make a bullet. From he melting of the scrap metal, to shaping the melted metal into small spheres in the molds, Madeline managed it very well. When she completed her first bullet, she couldn't help but to be internally proud of her accomplishment. After repeating the steps Giselle had taught her, Grantaire called over to Madeline, causing her head to snap over to the direction of the fourth table. Se was somewhat surprised to see that the men had started to leave the table.

"Maddy, come here!" Her brother called. Madeline was somewhat nervous. Because Grantaire forbid her to go out without his permission and his knowledge of whom she would be with, Madeline seldom met new people. Yet, Madeline never held it against him, as these restrictions were for her safety. When Madeline reached the table, Madeline bowed her head. She was not quite sure if it was out of embarrassment or nervousness or both.

"Madeline, these are some of my friends. Corfeyrac," Grantaire said, as a tall man bowed slightly. "Lesgles," The next man bowed. "And this is our leader, Enjolras." Madeline had heard his man's name spoken many times by Grantaire. Grantaire had much admiration for Enjloras's ideas and dedication. When Madeline looked up at him, she was somewhat surprised at her initial reaction to his appearance. He is very handsome, she thought. The man that looked down at her was around the same age as her brother. He truly was what revolution would look like if it ever took a human form. He was fairly tall, very tall for the height-challenged Madeline. His green eyes were sharp and contrasted his pale skin and dark hair. He wore a belt the colors of the French flag knotted over his brown vest, coarse, off-white shirt, and stained pants. No, do not think of that. Madeline internally scolded herself. You are here for France, not for suitors, which you've never wanted, anyway. Try as she did to avoid thinking about the handsome man, she simply could not. She bent her head down in embarrassment and dipped into a scaled-down type of curtsy.

Madeline saw the man, Enjolras, nod his head and walk out the door that lead to the dark street. Not long after, Grantaire had gathered his and his sister's frayed coats and left, as well. Madeline still felt the red heat of embarrassment glowing brightly in her cheeks. Do not think about him. There is no time for this foolishness. Think of the revolution, think of anything else. Do not think of him. Madeline redundantly thought. She was thinking of him, the entire walk back to the flat, in fact. And, in another part of the divided city, Enjolras shared the same thoughts.