I APOLOGIZE FOR BEING A HORRIBLE PERSON WHO DIDN'T UPDATE.
I was in two shows, and then I had tons and tons of school, and it all piled up, and since it took so long, I give you this, the longest I've written, and I love you all, and please review.
"Once upon a time, there was a girl called Evangeline. She was young, having lived on the earth for just under seventeen years; she was healthy, with a stomach that was full more often than not and a pretty, ruddy complexion; above all, she was vivacious and charming. However, she was often unhappy, for she spent all of her time worrying about and planning for the future. When she was young, she had heard the fable of the grasshopper and the ant, a story designed to teach prudence and wisdom to children, and she had learnt from it all the wrong lessons.
"When she was growing up, she was told that she must learn all that she could. When she asked why, the answer was always so that she could be happy and successful when she was older. So she devoured knowledge like a ravenous wolf would devour a rabbit; however, she kept a secret from the world. She never told anyone that she learned sometimes just because she enjoyed it.
"As she grew up, she learned so much and became filled with so many facts that she was rewarded; she was taken away to a special place with children her age that, too, spent their time learning. They shared her love of knowledge, and, though they did not really know why, they stored away knowledge and facts so that they could be happy and successful when they were older.
"She grew into her young adulthood, and, before long, she was told that she must learn more than ever, that it was essential that she learn the most, that she appear the brightest, that she stand out from among the others. However, she spent so much time learning and worrying about the future that she forgot how to be happy. She forgot how to learn for the sake of enjoyment, and she became infected with the kind of sadness that's bone deep, that's hidden in the eyes and the smile. She faded away, a shadow of her old self, left only with the vestigial remains of a once-great spirit.
"The woebegone Evangeline found solace among others who felt like her, and also among fairy tales. She spent much of her time traveling amongst the stars with a mad man who had lived many lives; she solved mysteries by observing alongside a lonely genius; she fought terrible monsters with a pair of brothers; she disputed with noble families for a throne forged in fire and blood; she helped a curious creature bravely face elves and Orcs to destroy true evil; she had tea with the insane and the lost; she searched negro streets for an angry fix with angelheaded hipsters who held her hand; she walked along a beach, listening to the mermaids sing, wondering if they would sing to her; she wandered Heaven and Hell; she explored Mont Blanc and Tintern Abbey. She learned much more from these fairy tales than she ever had from her professors and textbooks, and she eventually grew detached from the cold world of education that she had once loved.
"When the Judgment Day finally arrived, perhaps she would not meet her world's definition of successful, but she was wise in the ways of contending, like an old friend of hers who had battled men and monsters for twenty years, and she was quite content to live in the world of her imagination. She lived an insouciant life punctuated by coffee with madmen who reminded her of Hatters and Rabbits, by discourses with souls that quaked when they heard the name of "Moloch," by words exchanged with shy suitors who knew that a compliment is something like a kiss through a veil, by kisses bartered from passionate Apollonian revolutionaries, by friendships and love affairs with artists who knew to measure a year in love, by music and dance like something out of an opera, by flowers that she wore woven into her hair, by love and kindness and emotion and a gentle wisdom. She was timid, yet intrepid, and, above all, she was happy."
Cosette looks up, nervously biting her lip; she needn't worry. Eponine's mouth is slightly open, eyes widened, looking, for all intents and purposes, shell-shocked.
"I know I'm not Jehan, I can't write poetry, never have been able to…" Cosette trails off timidly.
"It's gorgeous, C. It really is," the other woman reassures her, anxiously tucking a strand of her dark hair, glossy and recently washed, one of the perks of having moved in with Grantaire, and looking into the bright blue eyes across the coffee table. "Wow. You may not be a poet like Jehan, but, goddamn, you have a way with prose."
Cosette blushes prettily at Eponine's praise. "I hoped you'd like it. I showed it to 'Chetta, and she wants to make it into a short film, y'know, to show the negative effects of the current education system…you know how passionate she is about that…and I was hoping maybe you'd be Evangeline?"
Eponine's mouth falls open. "Wait…really? You want me…to be in your movie?"
"Yeah! I know that you're majoring in accounting, but Courf told me that you're really into theatre…I mean, really, when aren't you singing…and I think you'd be a great Evangeline," Cosette beams, taking a sip of her latte (organic, fair trade).
"…yeah, yeah, I'd love to." She's speechless. "When…did I come up with Courf?"
Cosette's expression is suddenly guarded, but not ominously so. "Oh, we were just discussing the show we went to see last Friday, and he said that it was one of your favorites."
It's true. Red is one of the most thought-provoking and real plays Eponine has ever seen, the kind that gets down into your stomach and makes it difficult to just sit in the seats, the kind that renders your appetite gone for the next few days, the kind that makes sleep impossible because all you can ever see are the faces of the actors, the set, all you can hear are the words, such passionate pleas and pithy witticisms. But that doesn't explain Cosette's reaction.
"Okay…" Eponine says suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. Cosette averts her eyes; she's a terrible liar.
"I have to go now, lovely; I'm due to meet Pontmercy's grandfather in an hour. Are you sure that this dress is appropriate?" Cosette stands up one last time, giving a slow twirl in the baby blue dress with the lace Peter Pan collar and the long sleeves. It would look frumpy on anyone but Cosette; on her it just looks vintage and chic.
"You look wonderful," Eponine promises, and, gathering her notebook and coffee into her hands, stands to give Cosette a kiss on her cheek goodbye.
Cosette glows. "Thanks, love. See you at the meeting tonight?"
"I might be a bit late…Gavroche needs to be picked up from something…but I'll be there!"
"Good. Ciao, bella," Cosette says, offering a final breathtaking smile before turning to float out of the small coffee shop.
When Eponine arrives at the meeting that night, everyone is there except for Cosette and Marius, which would be strange if they hadn't had a prior engagement. It must have run over, she thinks to herself, before settling into Feuilly's side. He starts a bit, having begun to nod off to sleep (he works too much, she thinks but doesn't express), and, once he realizes it's her, grins and throws his arm around her; she presses her face into his broad shoulder and inhales. He smells like sweat and wood dust and smoke and Old Spice Fiji, and it's a wonderful smell. To think that she had ever denied him!
She remembered the conversation that followed that awkward morning after:
Eponine felt herself being jarred awake. She blinked sleepily before sitting up and attempting to glare at the adorable man kneeling on her bed. "What?"
Jehan, his hair that was typically styled to perfection askew and awry after his "morning after" with Courfeyrac, grinned. "Feuilly, huh?"
Eponine shot him a look. "You woke me up to gossip?"
"Of course!" he smiled. "Now, spill."
"There's nothing to spill," she lied, vaguely remembering what had happened at Feuilly's party.
"You know he's Polish, right?"
Eponine blinked. "I don't follow?"
"So, there's the distinct possibility that he told someone about it," Jehan explained.
"What in the hell does that have to do with him being Polish?" Eponine asked, confused.
"I have no clue; I just wanted to bring it up. I also wanted to use it to say, 'Eponine Thernadier, you have no clue where that Pole has been!'" Jehan barely got out the punch line before lapsing into a cackle that sounded like a mix between a high-pitched giggle and a wheeze. Eponine was not amused.
"Jean Prouvaire!" Jehan looked back at the doorway guiltily. "I swear to God, if you've been making her tell you about Ginger McPolishpants without me, I will be one very unhappy alcoholic." Grantaire walked into the room with what can only be described as a swagger. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that read Comme Des Fuck Down. Eponine gasped.
"Oh, my God, you so got laid!"
Grantaire swatted at her half-heartedly. "Did not."
"Then what's with the walk and the sex hair and the general, 'Bow down to me, peasants,' attitude you've got goin' on here?"
"I dunno what you mean; this is pretty standard," Grantaire deadpanned. It was Eponine's turn to lazily swing at him. "But, my sex life is not the topic of conversation here. You slept with Feuilly, didn't you?"
"No!" Eponine protested before seeing the looks on the two faces in front of her. "Maybe…"
"Was it good?" Jehan asked, eyes wide.
"I don't want to talk about this!"
"Yes, you do," Grantaire interjected.
"Yes, I totally do. Oh, God, you guys. I will preface this by saying that I've slept with a decent number of boys, and a decent number of girls, and I've had some truly terrible sex, and I've had some sex that was so good it can only be described as spiritual. So, I say that so that you can understand what I mean when I say—and, remember, I was pretty gone at the time, so it may or may not be an accurate description—but, holy hell, if I don't want to have his abortion," Eponine's eyes glazed over a bit at the memory. "I dunno who taught that boy—nay, that man how to fuck, but good God, a blessing on their household."
"Damn," Jehan whispered.
"Just think, all these years, it's Feuilly I should've been chasing," Grantaire teased.
"Shut it, you," Eponine whacked him with her pillow.
"But…you denied him?" Jehan reminded her gently.
Eponine buried her face in the pillow. "I know! I just…I couldn't deal with it, and everyone was there, and everyone was looking at me, and I wasn't even sure if something had happened, and I panicked. Does he hate me now? I bet he does…" she said all in one breath.
"'Ponine." Grantaire gripped her shoulders gently. "He doesn't hate you. He's confused. Go talk to him about it. Explain. He'll understand."
"What if I fuck it up? Feuilly's such a cool guy. What if I screw it up, and it's weird, and-"
"Eponine Thernadier." She stopped. "I pined after my Apollo for four years before he finally noticed me. Now, it may not work out; in fact, I've accepted that it probably won't. But, really, the only thing you can do is try, and I promise you that if you chicken out like a little bitch that you'll hate yourself forever. Do it for Past Grantaire; that boy looked for love wherever he could find it, and I guarantee you that if he were standing here now, he'd be telling you to go for it. Oh, wait. He is. I'm right here, bitch, and if you value our friendship and that one time we fucked," he ignores the look on Jehan's face, accompanied by some unattractive spluttering, "then you will call that manly man right now and make a date for coffee." Eponine was silent before reaching for her cell phone.
"'Ponine?" Feuilly nudges her gently. "You okay? You seem a bit out of it."
Eponine looks up at him before leaning over to plant a gentle kiss on the left corner of his mouth, his copper scruff scratching her lips in a way that was definitely not unpleasant. "I'm fine. Don't worry."
He nods, trying to hide his grin as he turns back to the meeting.
There is a shriek from downstairs, and a very ragged Cosette, dress torn, hair in disarray, blood smeared on her face, kicks the door to the private meeting room open. "Help…Marius…his grandfather…me…help…blood!" She's gasping or hyperventilating, Eponine can't tell which.
Musichetta very calmly stands up, grabs Bahorel and Feuilly, the two strongest, by their shirtsleeves, calls, "Joly!" over her shoulder, and marches over to Cosette. "Lead the way, babe. We're here to help." They disappear just as Combeferre and Enjolras are getting to their feet.
"What happened?" Courfeyrac asks, distress evident in his voice.
"I have no clue," Combeferre answers, "but from the evidence, it appears that Marius is injured in some way. Also, Musichetta is a hell of a woman to have around in a crisis." This last remark is directed towards Bossuet, who is on his feet back in a corner and grins at praise of his girlfriend. "Good choice."
"What the hell are we standing here for, then?" Courfeyrac demands. "We have to go help Marius!"
Hours later, after Marius is safely in the hospital, Cosette is cleaned up slightly, and Combeferre has relayed his compliments to Musichetta, the story comes out.
"We were at tea with Marius's grandfather—he's English, you know—and they started disagreeing, and that turned into an argument. I tried to swing the topic away from politics, but Mr. Pontmercy just snapped at me, which only served to further infuriate Marius…"
"Typical," Courfeyrac murmurs. Now that his former roommate and good friend is out of immediate danger, he's feeling a little more relaxed.
"And I don't remember who pushed who first, but it turned into a fight, a legitimate brawl, and I was terrified, and then Marius was on the ground because his grandfather had a cane, like we're not civilized people, like we beat people when we don't agree with them…and I should have called 911, but Mr. Pontmercy threw us out and my cell phone was inside, so I dragged Marius as far as I could, but then I couldn't. So I came to get you guys…my perfect guardian angels…" she plants a kiss on Bahorel's temple and Musichetta's forehead, the two sitting nearest to her, and blows kisses to Joly and Feuilly, "and you helped me. He'd lost a lot of blood, I was terrified. Thank you all so much. For helping. For being here now, in a hospital waiting room, drinking truly terrible coffee, on a Friday night. You're all wonderful, and I love you." Cosette is tearing up, and she's not the only one; Jehan and, surprisingly, Joly are wiping away tears. It's Musichetta who smiles and calls out, "Group hug!" but it's Eponine who runs in to be first to hug her friend; God, how times change, she thinks as she wraps her arms around the small blonde and inhales the familiar scent of strawberry.