Enjolras spat with violent fury at the ground.
"Come on let me buy you a drink, you'll feel better in no time," Grantaire said to Enjolras with a pat on the back.
"It's not even nine in the morning" Enjolras snarked with judgement.
"Yes but I cannot drink alone now can I?" Grantaire relaxed back in his chair letting the words intended to hurt run over him like water
"You did it all last night and the through the weekend. What? Is another hour too hard?" Enjolras intensified his efforts to hurt Grantaire. Grantaire again, did not let him succeed.
Grantaire leaned in closer towards Enjolras, close enough that he could smell the ale on his tongue. "Ahh yes but you're so pleasant the few times you indulge me," Grantaire flitted his eyelashes. Enjolras leaned back in his chair with a smirk. He was fed up with Grantaire's antics but knew being angry with him was infantile. He was not the reason for Enjolras's problems nor could Enjolras remain mad at him for long, despite Grantaire's talent for pissing him off. The clever girl was the only one to blame for his situation now.
How did she manage to pull it off anyways? Enjolras' things were scattered throughout his different coat pockets and yet she managed to empty each one during their short interaction without him noticing a single thing. In fact when he grabbed her waist he specifically remembered her not even touching him? How on earth did she manage this? That crafty little minx!
If Enjolras had not been out 300 hundred francs he would have been impressed, even congratulatory. However he had been carrying the large sum of money on him in order to stock up on supplies for l'ABC. Enjolras had never been a working man, he was an idea man. However those ideas hardly paid the bills and though he'd never admit it to anyone Enjolras often found himself looking to his wealthy family for support.
Little did his family know whatever leftover money Enjolras did have he would save for supplies for a coming revolution. If his bourgeoisie family ever truly understood that Enjolras' one passion in life would ultimately include their very downfall, he would be instantly cut off. Enjolras had no idea what they would do if they knew how they were indirectly funding the revolution through helping him.
Enjolras banged his right fist hard on the table. Too hard he thought. So hard the empty mugs of ale Grantaire had downed earlier clamored to the ground. So hard that he thought his hand might be badly injured. "Stupid idiot" he mumbled to himself quietly attempting to stifle his pain. Ashamed by his stupidity of holding 300 francs at one, ashamed by his carelessness of underestimating the thieves of Paris, and extremely ashamed that his temper had caused him to scream at his only friend and then injured his dominant hand. Enjolras's temper was volatile but the worst damage was always to himself. He winced in pain examining his hand beneath the table. All good but a bruise would definitely form at the base of his fist.
"If you want to help me, Grantaire, you can spot me the cash to get my clothes cleaned." Enjolras said a little kinder now.
"I cannot, no money you see!" Grantaire shook out his empty purse with a laugh.
Enjolras sighed with a shake of his head. "And how were you planning on buying me a drink then?" Enjolras snapped.
"My good nature and rapport with the owner!" Grantaire laughed. One maiden in the bar was in love with him the Café owner's daughter, but other than that the entire staff saw Grantaire like an insect stuck to their shoe, unable to wipe off. Grantaire would often swindle free drinks or never pay his tab, but still managed to come back the next day to be served again. It was Grantaire's pride and joy to flirt his way into a free drink. Even if Majoriné, the owner's daughter, was no beauty Grantaire would gladly use his beauty and charm to stay in her good graces.
Grantaire was once admired by a whole gaggle of ladies. Grantaire was handsome, classically so. Like Enjolras he had a strong chin and sharp cheekbones, but instead of Enjolras' greek like nose Grantaire's crooked in the center from breaks through the drunken years. His crooked hooked nose gave him character which he only used to advance his charm. Grantaire had beautiful eyes too and when sober they would light up every room with their green shine and specks of brown. But years of trauma had led to years of alcoholism, however Grantaire never seemed jaded to the others allowing drink to smooth his sharp edges. Those years of wear had changed Grantaire's face from young and bright to haggard and lost.
The café door opened in waltzed a young boy no older than eleven. Enjolras greeted his young friend, Gavroche, the street boy. Gavroche grinned at him assessing the mud that was still very much caked on Enjolras's clothes.
"What happened to you?" laughed the boy.
Enjolras shot a playful glare, though he was becoming genuinely annoyed by the lack of compassion he had received by his friends. "I fell this morning. Some street wench knocked me over to rob me," Enjolras said slightly embarrassed.
"I knew it was you!" Gavroche plopped himself in a nearby chair and grabbed a swig from Grantaire's ale. Gavroche then signaled to the waitress to order and got himself the largest plate on the menu, something that surprised Enjolras.
"What on earth do you know about this?!" exclaimed Enjolras.
"It don't matter your'a money's gone but let it be a lesson and a good one at t'at" Gavroche wriggled the mug of ale from Grantaire's grasp to grab another large gulp.
"What do you mean gone? Do you know who that girl was who robbed me? You have to tell me. You don't understand Gavroche. That money was for l'ABC to defend itself, now we will be months behind our schedule." Enjolras began raising his stern voice even louder.
"I ain't a snitch, so quit askin'. But I'll take pity on yah today only," Gavroche smirked glad to have control over the older men he looked up to. Gavroche pulled out the gold pocket watch and handed it to Enjolras with an exaggerated bow. "Here you are, Monsieur Enjolras the Great," Gavroche said mockingly.
Enjolras was furious Gavroche wouldn't help him recover his cash. But he had to admit had he been in Gavroche's position he likely wouldn't have even returned the watch. Enjolras knew that Gavroche could greatly improve his life pawning the watch and he knew the sacrifice he had made returning it to him.
"I appreciate this Gavroche, you don't know what this mean to have it returned to me. Although it's Monsieur Enjolras the III to you," He said mocking himself now. "Enjolras the great was my great grandfather. He was a powerful revolutionary during the first rebellion of France. I wish to follow in his footsteps."
"Aye, I saw the sentimental value instantly. Even an urchin like me can have a heart." Gavroche punched Enjolras's arm lightly, confident from his large gulps of ale. "I'm just warning you quit letting those younger than yah from taking advantage. You're looking weak," he bellowed out a boyish laugh. Gavroche's large plate of potatoes, meats, and parsnips arrived. He began eating ferociously as it was his first real meal in ages.
Enjolras huffed back in his seat knowing it would be selfish to pry more on the lost money. It's not like getting more from his parents would be terribly hard, just utterly embarrassing. But it wasn't more shameful than demanding the desperately needed francs his thief had clearly shared with Gavroche. Or even bothering the police about such matters.
Enjolras would rather loose all his money than face the police, those class traitors. His hatred for the police boiled, common men worse off than even he, fighting to maintain the monarchial order that oppressed them and kept their families' and communities' struggling. No, going to the police would only punish the girl far harsher than deserved and Gavroche was right anyways Enjolras had been taught a valuable lesson. Never get distracted by pretty girls.
Enjolras rose from his seat with a sigh, knowing his day had already been ruined he simply wished to return home where he could run a bath, change, and visit the woman in his building that did his laundry. "Well I clearly need to get back to work then," Enjolras said. "Tell the club I will not return until at least evening. I have lost much of my work." Enjolras was incredibly frustrated, he had spent all morning working on those pamphlets and in an instant they were gone.
"Oi ya shit! Are these yours?" Gavroche said his mouth full, using the vocabulary he had picked up from the men themselves as if it would impress them. With a clumsy flourish Gavroche handed Enjolras his pamphlets back.
Relieved Enjolras thanked Gavroche. "Well this will definitely save my time. Maybe then I can return sooner. However Grantaire I know you'll likely be right here where I left you in six hours," Enjolras teased. Grantaire attempted to protest but was distracted as he once again had to fight off Gavroche from stealing another sip of ale from his glass. And with that Enjolras left the café without saying goodbye.
Éponine was happy, truly happy for the first since she was child. She looked down at her dress. It was a light blue made from satin and covered in bows. Her hair was clean, untangled, and pinned up like how Éponine had seen the high class ladies wear their hair. Cleaned up and pampered her beauty was undeniable as she sat atop an elegant ottoman in grandiose park. Before her splayed out on the softest linen picnic blanket were of the finest pastries, spirits, fruits, and meats money could buy. Inferior versions Éponine had only tried on very few special occasions since her parent's bankruptcy.
Éponine breathed in the sweet smelling air through her nose. No sewage smell plagued the city any longer. All she could smell was the fresh food before her a soft cologne of the man next to her.
It was the man from neighboring apartments that Éponine had been so taken by in such an instance. Now in the daylight of her fantasies she reimagined the handsome stranger even more beautiful than the truth. His eyes a little more striking, his hair a little more black, his teeth a little less crooked, his face little more symmetrical, his build a little larger.
Together in that park they drank spirits and chatted away. The dark haired stranger leaned in close to Éponine and she found herself blushing to his sweet nothings that danced on her earlobes with hot breathe. Éponine's pulse quick-end. A hot burning sensation begin boiling in her belly tingling down to her legs as the handsome stranger turned to stare at her with his mesmerizing green eyes. He surprised her slightly by grabbing the nape of neck with his strong hands pulling her into his body, she surrendered happily to his touch. Unfamiliar chills ran through her body as the stranger pulled her into him. Slowly he leaned in for what Éponine's lips so desperately craved.
Éponine heard a loud commotion and the handsome stranger yelled "Éponine?! Éponine?"
Éponine awoke to her younger sister shaking her and calling her name loudly. The most pleasant dream, ruined by harsh reality. Éponine was still in her filthy home, in a filthy dress, with a filthy family and a swollen ankle. Azelma, Éponine's younger sister, had also remember the days when their family was a part of the bourgeoisie. Like Éponine, Azelma desperately wished to return to those days but knew she would likely die a peasant on the streets.
Again like Éponine, Azelma saw the bankruptcy as a moral failing of her parent's particularly her father. His laziness and stupidity had caused their downfall, not the monarchy. Azelma or Éponine had no interest in destroying monarchies or revolution, in fact if given the opportunity they would likely do anything to become high class again. Even if it meant sacrificing morality, by now they had both felt they had suffered enough for an entire lifetime, what had morality ever done to improve anyone's station or quality of life? Certainly wasn't occurring in Paris.
"'Ponine, why are you sleeping? You're going to get us both beat being lazy like that," she whispered with fear in her voice. Éponine rubbed her little sister's back, it was emaciated and bony like hers, she smiled at Azelma.
"It will be okay dear sister, I found a true fool today and found my share before breakfast," Éponine said proudly still lying under the thin covers. She did not mention the extra money she planned to stash. If Éponine were to ever runaway she would of course bring her sister, but she knew that her sister being only fifteen would likely spill her secret before she could finalize the plans thus ruining everything. It was better if Éponine handled it herself. Éponine was nineteen, nearly twenty, and though she had always been independent she had no idea if she could manage living in Paris on her own. This was very much mans world and even when wandering streets she had known for half her life she often found herself terrified of the men she would encounter in the streets.
These men often would mistake her for a prostitute, and if she wasn't careful when rejecting them some would beat her or attempt much worse. Éponine had always managed to make it out relatively unharmed as long as she had her guard up and her fists ready. Men often would approach Éponine begging for gratification Éponine would sometimes accept only to find ways of robbing the men blind before completing the solicited tasks. Éponine couldn't bring herself to actually sell her body for money. Her former bourgeoisie status had given her an unearned air of superiority and she looked down on women that sold their bodies for money. Lying to herself that drugging men to rob them was instead a superior moral alternative. In addition, Éponine was terrified of the pox and diseases ladies of night would complain of. Rejection of the practice, though as desperate for money as she was, was Éponine's last cling to her sense of self and control over her body.
Éponine rose from the bed careful not put weight on her swollen ankle. She straightened her filthy clothes as she climb up from the straw bed. Éponine only had one proper dress that she wore only for special occasions. Daily she often only wore a thin shift that loosely hung down her breasts cinched tightly at the waist by a dirty and tattered brown skirt that revealed glances as far up as her knees from tears. Around her waist she had wrapped thin white cloth that had turned light brown from dirt. This was in attempt to accentuate what little form she had, almost like a make shift corset. Making her waist appear absolutely tiny while giving her breasts some support and making them look slightly large than they were. Her body without it was rather boyish and made her extremely insecure.
Years of malnourishment had not only caused her pain, hallucinations, and dreams haunting the sweet relief from death, hunger had robbed her of the womanly body Éponine so desperately wanted. Instead Éponine barely survived the transition of adolescence to adulthood. Éponine's body was more focused on surviving once puberty hit, and even at nineteen her body had only had the strength to bleed three times in her life.
"What happened to your ankle 'Ponine?" Azelma cried in shock at the sight of the swollen ankle. It was now the size of a potato and hurt just as much as before. Prehaps with Azelma's help Éponine could make it to a doctor, but Azelma would never believe Éponine could afford it without asking questions. Éponine felt stupid for putting on brave face for her little brother Gavroche earlier, she desperately needed his loyalty now.
"I hurt it working. That's why I came home to rest," Éponine replied nervously.
"What will we do 'Ponine? You won't walk right for days," Azelma was more worried for their father's reaction than Éponine's health but that Éponine's priority as well.
Éponine tossed Azelma five francs. "Go grab ice and if you can try and see if there's any merchants selling opium, but the ice is essential!"
Azelma grabbed her coat wished Éponine goodbye and walked out the door. Éponine did need ice for her foot, but more importantly she needed to find a good hiding spot for the rest of her money before Azelma got back. Éponine did a quick scan of the room. Using all her strength and one ankle she lifted the straw mattress from the floor. Beneath the head of the bed a panel in the wall had begun to wriggle free. Éponine pried the panel off the wall placing her stolen purse behind it. Then replacing the panel and then the bed, it was completely unnoticeable.
Satisfied with herself Éponine began undressing she grabbed a frock of her mother's. It was grey and ratty but it would do for now. Éponine was finally going to pamper herself and have clothes sent out to be laundered. Éponine smiled to herself. Her life had never been this blessed before, for once she began to wonder if God no longer wished to punish her, if he was ready to welcome her back to the blessings he took from her so quickly. For once Éponine had a reason to be hopeful for the future.
A/N
Hey guys I really didn't want this to sound like I am bashing sex workers bc I'm 100% not. I love adult consensual sex workers, they are amazing people! And it's 100% necessary work! Because it would be extremely common for girl like Éponine to become a prostitute during this time I wanted to find reason why she might reject it (since she is not a prostitute in the book). I wanted to also show the hypocrisy she has with this attitude of thinking she is better than women who are prostitutes because she will occasionally drug or/and rob men (wether they deserve it or not).
Also like prostitution during this time was gross af like diseases everywhere... no condoms..not many cures... just yuck... so definitely don't think that's what I believe about sex workers now since it's a much safer industry now.
Anyways love to hear from y'all and please fav/review/vote it definitely gives me more motivation to write more frequently, but now I'm finally getting to the meat and potatoes and feeling way more hyped.
