"You know, I never did ask your name."
Enjolras' designer looks up at him from jotting down Enjolras' measurements, a look of pleasant surprise flickering across her face. God, am I so rude that people are actually shocked when I'm nice? Enjolras wonders to himself. To be fair, most of their fitting sessions were spent in silence. She had assured Enjolras that that day's was the last - for the 'interview', she'd said. In two days, it would be the fifth of June.
The tributes had trained in the stations for three days, and were now being fitted accordingly for an interview with Caesar on the fourth. Caesar had visited the tributes and assured them that he was skilled in the art of interviews - Enjolras remembered him vaguely from American news stations, and the man did have the tendency to turn any weak response in to a memorable one.
"Perpetue." the designer - Perpetue - answers, and Enjolras nods to recognize it. "The coat you made me for introductions - it was lovely, Perpetue. Thank you." Enjolras says, and Perpetue gives him a kind smile. "All in a day's work." she chuckles. "You know, the girls in the mainland, they fall all over you - the rest aren't too big of a fan, though." Perpetue pauses, as though gauging if she should say more; eventually deciding that she can. "We went to the same university. Before you... you know."
Enjolras cracks the smallest of smiles at this. "Yes, I know." he says quietly, amusedly. Perpetue takes this as a sign that it's alright to keep talking. "You were always so attentive in the few Law courses I shared with you. I merely thought that it was intelligence - a top-notch brain at work - but then you stopped showing up in class, and the next thing I know, you're building a barricade off the rue Mondetour the day of General Lamaraque's funeral." The memory of how it all came crashing down is far too vivid for Enjolras - the National Guards outnumbering them before they could even erect their defenses; how they slammed the butt of their carbine in the back of Enjolras' head, knocking him unconscious and leaving him unaware of who was safe or not (by the looks of the roster of tributes, five of his men - and Mabeuf; the churchwarden, Marius' best friend - were able to make a run for it).
Perpetue seems to notice Enjolras' stoic silence because she promptly apologizes in earnest, ducking her head to write her numbers. Enjolras doesn't feel the need to say anything else until their time together is up. "Will it be red?" Perpetue smiles slightly at his question. "If you wish, monsieur." she assures, making a note of it. "The blood of angry men." she jokes to have written, and Enjolras grants himself a grin.
"A world about to dawn." he echoes.
/
Enjolras waltzes back stage on the evening of the interview in a crimson waistcoat, the buttons flashes of bronze - the white long sleeve polo underneath it is unbuttoned at the neck with a black cravat swung loosely around his neck. It is an unusual and roguish sight, but Enjolras knows what Perpetue's design nods to - the romanticized image of Enjolras a chief and a leader, a rebel and revolutionary.
The guards usher him in to line. Without much surprise, he's the last one set to be interviewed by Caesar. Madame Hucheloup* is in the front, followed by the two Musain girls; the Patron-Minette; the Thénardiers; then the Les Amis boys. Of the Les Amis, Marius is to go first - directly in front of Enjolras is Combeferre. "Seems they've ranked us based on how dangerous we are." Combeferre says under his breath. Caesar has just been announced as the master of the ceremony, and is already beginning his spiel to greet the audience. "That can't be." Enjolras answers quietly, only responding when Combeferre gives him an inquisitive look. "If we were ranked as such, you wouldn't be at the end of the line with me."
From in front of Combeferre, Courfeyrac lets out a snort, and Combeferre shoves Enjolras in the shoulder in turn. They snicker among themselves just as Madame Hucheloup is introduced on stage. Her designer had put her in a clean, simple frock, and had brushed back her hair - without her apron and her hat, Madame Hucheloup looks years younger. Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac watch her from the television the organizers have propped up backstage.
"So, Madame, I've heard that you used to own a café!" Caesar prods smilingly. "What would you serve in your little corner of France?" This gets Madame Hucheloup animated, as talking about the Musain always had. She exchanges a little badinage about her cakes and coffee in comparison to that of America's; Caesar eventually shifts tides. "Now that you're going in to the arena, who's going to look over the café?" Caesar questions. "A family, perhaps?"
"Oh, no - my husband died a while back." Madame Hucheloup says, a tinge of sadness in her smile. Sympathy ripples through the audience, and Caesar looks genuinely compassionate when he apologizes. "It's quite alright, dear. It happens." Madame Hucheloup assures him, and it's true. Enjolras had come to recognize that in the slums of France, in the very underbelly of poverty, people could go missing - or people could die - and it wouldn't be a big deal. Perhaps that was the reason why the people of France didn't protest against Javert's game; the tributes would merely be another casualty of the lower class, another name no one would remember.
"Any children?" Caesar wonders aloud, and Enjolras knows the answer - none - but Madame Hucheloup glances off stage, over the heads of the Patron-Minette and the Thénardiers, smiling at the Les Amis so fondly before she turns to Caesar that something inside of Enjolras physically aches. "I have my boys." she answers, and Feuilly, from somewhere in the middle of the line, lets out a quiet sob.
Caesar wishes Madame Hucheloup good luck, and the next interviews go by in a blur. Caesar proves to be an extraordinary host, pulling out the personalities of the tributes. Matelote and Gibelote tell anecdotes of their days as baristas, Gueulemer shows off the muscles he'd gained during training, Babet talks about his family that he 'lost as one loses a handkerchief', Claquesous goes through the interview with an air of mystery, Montparnasse enthralls Caesar with stories of life in the underclass, and Azelma rebukes every story Montparnasse told with her own account of the horrors of living on the street.
"'Atta girl." Enjolras hears someone say, and he glances to the source - it's Éponine, her arms crossed over her chest. She's smirking at the television, and Enjolras catches what she's looking at: the look on Montparnasse's face. He's scowling, obviously displeased that Azelma had taken a very different perspective on what he'd just told the audience. It's then that Enjolras realizes why the Patron-Minette are not as dangerous as the Thénardiers - the Thénardiers have nothing to fear and nothing to lose but each other.
When Caesar calls out Gavroche and the small boy bounds on stage, there's a palatable shift in the audience. Gavroche is young, after all - only around twelve. The crowd already knew him from introductions, but they hadn't prepare for his character; Gavroche is every bit of a child as one could expect, cheery and spitfire. His feet barely reach the floor as he talks to Caesar, and it's an image that sticks in Enjolras' head. Gavroche didn't belong in this competition.
Gavroche tells Caesar about living in the hollow cavity of the Elephant of Bastille, and the 'adventures' he can go on. When Caesar asks him about his chances, Gavroche declares that his strategy is speed: "If they can't catch me, they can't kill me. Don't count me out!" The audience eat him up, all the way to when Caesar asks him what he feels about competing against his sisters. Gavroche starts to honest-to-God weep a little - wiping the tears off with the back of his fist, like a child - and Enjolras feels the disappointment radiating off the crowd. They don't want this little boy to die, either.
He glances again at Éponine to see how she's reacting, and her face is unreadable, except for that faint smirk. Enjolras doesn't understand her humor until she's called on stage and she swoops Gavroche in to a hug before he walks off. This elicits aaawwws from the audience but from backstage, Enjolras sees Gavroche's face - tears gone, lips curled up in a snigger as he's shielded from the cameras - and of the Les Amis, Grantaire is the one who chortles at the sight. "Those three are a force to be reckoned with." he comments laughingly.
Despite trying to catch her reactions in the past hour, Enjolras is only able to fully appreciate Éponine's appearance once she's on stage. Her designer had put her in a deep blue, off the shoulder dress with lace at the bodice; her make-up, as a close-up shows, is all ashy and earth-toned. For a fleeting second, Enjolras thinks that she looks like she is going to her own funeral.
"Might I just say, you look absolutely ravishing, my dear." Caesar tells Éponine. "I could say the same about you, Caesar." Éponine shoots back, a pleasant smile gracing her lips. Enjolras has to admit that he's a little entranced - with a little make-over, Éponine had managed to look like a mademoiselle. "Are you enjoying France?"
Caesar laughs. "Very much, yes! But aren't I the one supposed to be interviewing you?" he reminds Éponine. The audience laughs along with her. Enjolras had never paid much attention to her before, but he recognizes charm when he sees it. Éponine is quick to establish a rapport with Caesar, the two of them acting as if they were merely friends that were merely catching up. "With looks like yours, I'm certain you've got a boy waiting on you. Do you?" Caesar kids after Éponine's humorous story of her pre-interview preparations, and something glints in Éponine's eyes as she denies it. Caesar presses, though, and Éponine heaves a defeated sigh. "Well, there is someone." The audience makes some noise at this, egging her on. "I've always admired him - don't look at me like that, Caesar! - but just from afar."
"Let me tell you what you can do, Éponine," Caesar throws an arm around Éponine's shoulders, pulling her close as though he's going to share a secret with her. "You go and win this thing, and go back home, and that boy will have to go out with you. Isn't that right, folks?" The crowd cheers, but Éponine makes a big show of plastering a fake smile on her face. "I'm afraid that isn't possible, Caesar." she says sadly. "Because he came here with me."
Enjolras isn't certain if her role of lovesick fool is a role or her actual sentiments. It was common knowledge among the Les Amis that Éponine was the girl who constantly tailed Marius. Everyone knew of her devotion to the boy except, it seemed, Marius himself. Enjolras remembered the collective disappointment of the others when Marius had asked Éponine to help him search for Cosette. Nonetheless, it felt odd for her to pull the card out of nowhere, especially since she was familiar with Marius' budding relationship with Cosette.
"That's bad luck." Caesar says quietly, reaching out to clasp her hand. "And, oh, you're here with your siblings - Gavroche and Azelma. You're the eldest, aren't you?" Éponine nods mutely. "What have you got to say about that, Éponine?" Caesar questions her, and Éponine lets a moment of silence pass. Enjolras knows what the pause is for - he feels it in his bones. It's a heartbeat of sympathy, an opportunity for people to look at her and think that she has a lot to lose - her siblings, the one she loves.
"I really don't think there's anything to say, Caesar." she answers, sad in her own right. "All I can do is try." Another pause. "And try you will, my dear." Caesar says as he pats Éponine's hand. "Try you will. Ladies and gentlemen, once again - Éponine Thénardier!" The applause leads her out, and Combeferre lets out a small grunt of approval. "The girl knows how to play the game." Combeferre explains when he spots Enjolras' questioning gaze. "She tugged at all the right strings. Let's hope that we can do the same."
Marius tells the audience about Cosette and speaks in to the camera a promise of coming home to her. Jehan shares one of his poems and offers a girl in the front row the flower in his breast pocket. Bossuet trips on himself on the way to Caesar and makes the audience laugh about stories on how unlucky he can get. Bahorel shares the bar jokes he's heard over the years. Feuilly teaches Caesar how to make a fan out of scrap paper. Grantaire taunts his way through his minutes, bantering with Caesar about the whole idea of the competition. Joly sort of stumbles through his interview, too anxious to try and be charming, but Courfeyrac makes up for it, coming up next and tugging at his bow tie to the point that the females in the audience are squealing.
When Combeferre ascends, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Enjolras is left alone back stage. It's a suffocating feeling, standing there with no one else but himself - he straightens his waistcoat and pats it down, only then feeling something in pocket of the vest. He pulls it out and is surprised at what he sees. It's a cockade pin - blue, red, and white - eerily similar to the one he'd worn on the day of the revolution. Enjolras even thinks that it may be the exact same. Thank you, Perpetue, he thinks as he pins it over his breast.
Combeferre promises to give Caesar a show, and Enjolras straightens himself to his full height. "Now, we have for you the last of the tributes." Caesar begins. Enjolras' eyes flutter to a close for a moment - he'd spoken in front of crowds before. This was child's play. "Aaron Enjolras!"
The audience's reactions are mixed - Enjolras hears their applause, but he catches the booing as well. He was, after all, the head of the revolution. Caesar offers Enjolras the same smile as he offers everyone else. "It's a pleasure to have you here, Enjolras!" Caesar chirps. Under these circumstances? I don't think so. Enjolras wants to say, but he bites his tongue when he catches Combeferre's eye. Combeferre shakes his head ever so slightly and Enjolras knows what he's saying; Enjolras has to pull the right strings. He's already treading on thin ice. "It's a pleasure to be here, Caesar." Enjolras returns, plastering on the cheekiest grin he can manage. The Les Amis used to kid about how his smiles were so rare - little burst of sunshine on a rainy day, Jehan would sing-song - and Enjolras finds himself being reminded of why he was never very smiley in the first place. (It makes his jaw tick, whenever he forces it.)
"So, Enjolras, since you've pretty much witnessed all the interviews of the tributes before you, tell us: who are you most afraid of?" Caesar asks. "Right in the deep end, aren't we, Caesar?" Enjolras snipes, eliciting a few laughs from the audience. The safe answer would be that he was afraid of no one, and it would be the closest to the truth - Enjolras is surprised that, for a moment, he considers answering he's wary of Éponine. "I think I'll have to say Feuilly," Enjolras answers slowly. "He might craft a ginormous fan out of leaves to just blow me away."
It's a joke that's not even remotely funny, but Caesar laughs - and the audience titters - anyway. "What have you got to say about that, Feuilly?" Caesar calls out. "Yeah, I just got a call from the éboueurs**," Feuilly shouts back. "They want their joke back!" His quip is even less witty but it still tickles everyone else in to chuckling. Enjolras figures that it's their bond that's amusing; that they could openly toss at one another despite tomorrow's impending competition.
Caesar and Enjolras small talk for a little more. "Now, I don't want to be the one to bring this up, but you're quite attractive - isn't he? Isn't he?" Caesar announces. The females of the audience let out screeches of approval. Enjolras flushes, uncomfortable, and scowls inwardly when he spots Grantaire laughing to himself. "Before you can even ask - no, Caesar, I do not have anyone I'm involved with." Enjolras warns sternly. This seems to add fuel to fire, though, because the girls in the audience have nothing to be disappointed over - there's a few hoots and shrieks as Caesar raises his palms in a gesture of defeat. "No one? At all?" Caesar wonders out loud, and Enjolras can't help himself.
"Patria. The motherland." he blurts out. The audience is laughing - and so is Caesar - but the Les Amis are giving Enjolras looks. Combeferre is shaking his head a little more roughly, Grantaire has stopped laughing, and Courfeyrac is making a gesture of slashing his neck, telling Enjolras to shut up. Democracy. Equality. Fairness for all of us France's men and women. Enjolras is temped to add, but his eyes run over Éponine and her eyes - dark and angry - bear in to him, her eyebrows cocked upwards as though challenging him and his moral compass. "And a hard thing it is, to compete against that!" he hears Caesar chuckle. Enjolras had lost focus - had lost his chance - and since the moment's passed, he opts to grin instead as though it were a joke.
Caesar thanks him for the interview, raising his arm over his head as he reintroduces him, and Enjolras stalks to place himself in between Combeferre and Grantaire. "Wotcher, Apollo," Grantaire mumbles. "You might trip over your wounded self-control." Enjolras is so overwhelmed that he survived the interview without making it any worse than it could possibly go for him that he ignores Grantaire's taunt. In fact, he reaches out to grasp Grantaire's hand, and Grantaire starts a bit before smiling his lopsided grin and going to grip Courfeyrac's hand, too.
It's such a small thing, but it begins there - Enjolras holds on to Combeferre and Combeferre reaches for Bossuet; Joly is the one who goes hand-in-hand with Gavroche, and Éponine clasps hands with Montparnasse. Gueulemer is a bit hesitant but he eventually gives in and connects with Gibelote, leaving all of the tributes - all twenty of them - a human chain. The audience picks up on this as Caesar is saying his goodbyes, and the crowd begins to stir.
Enjolras doesn't know why until he spots Caesar motioning for the cameras to cut feed; until the lights go off, plunging the tributes in to darkness; until Grantaire is mumbling a string of curses as the event hosts wrench them apart. Their togetherness, from the outside, could be interpreted as a stand - as a bond - as an impossibility for Javert's plan to ensure they would all go down in a slaughterhouse.
Even without meaning to, Enjolras manages to spark defiance.
* A note: I've been spelling Madame Hucheloup as Houcheloup the past two chapters - terribly sorry!
** Éboueurs - Garbage men.