Title: The Garret of a Bohemian
Author: Camberleigh Fauconbridge
Rating: PG - 13 / T
Pairings: Enjonine [Éponine/Enjolras] Mosette [Marius/Cosette]
Summary: Inspired by Giacomo Puccini's "La bohème". The world's greatest example of redemption is combined with the world's greatest romantic tragedy. A group of friends argue and fall in love as they struggle to survive in a Parisian garret. Not based off RENT. 25th Anniversary. AU. É/E.
Disclaimer: Les Misérables and its musical counterpart are the property of Victor Hugo, Cameron Mackintosh, Claude-Michel Schönberg, Alain Boublil, Herbert Kretzmer, Trevor Nunn, John Caird, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of Les Misérables. La bohème is the property of Giacomo Puccini, Henri Murger, Luigi Illica, Giuseppe Giacosa, Théodore Barrière, Robert Dornhelm, all the casts and all the creative teams that have produced any production of La bohème. No money is being made from this story, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Imagined Cast: Ramin Karimloo as Enjolras/Rodolfo; Samantha Barks as Éponine/Mimì; Hadley Fraser as Grantaire/Marcello; Nick Jonas as Marius/Schaunard; Jonathan Williams as Combeferre/Colline
Author's Note: So am I the only one who at least has heard of La bohème?
All right, we've gotten to a hard part: Éponine as Mimì. The traditional image for Mimì in La bohème is frail and beautiful. The traditional image for Éponine in Les Misérables (in the book, at least) is the opposite of frail and, frankly, not that pretty.
What would you like to see? Éponine in a La bohème type of image, being at least passably pretty? Or Éponine in a Les Misérables type of image? I'm going to need some feedback, because I can't quite decide. She won't come in during this chapter, so there's time to decide.
Act I: Rodolfo
Scene 2
Enjolras descended the old staircase quickly, rubbing his hands over his arms in a futile attempt to retain warmth. Was this winter trying to outdo the winter of 1788-89?
As he went, he glanced at the various open-or-closed doors that housed the other tenements. There was Marie— she went by no other name— a deeply religious elderly woman who was convinced that the Virgin Mary had spoken to her. There were the Martins, a middle-aged husband and wife who fought like devils over the slightest thing. There was Adrien, a young man who kept to himself; Enjolras had spoken to him once. There were the Laurents, a couple who were the exact opposite of the Martins— the Laurents were young and in love; everyone in the building suspected they had eloped at some point.
One other tenement was occupied by a young woman who went by the name of Éponine. Enjolras had never spoken to her, but he had occasionally seen her on the staircase; she would often have a piece of embroidery with her. Other times she would be meeting a man right outside the building; the men would be different every time. Was she a lover to these various men? Perhaps, or perhaps not; Éponine kept very much to herself.
Enjolras reached the area that passed as a lobby and went to the landlady's office that doubled as her living quarters. Mme. Bougon— or, as Grantaire called her, informally, Ma'am Bougon— had a sharp tongue and a gruff personality, but generally did any request that one made.
He knocked on the old wooden door. "Mme. Bougon?"
After a few seconds, the door opened. "Good evening to you, M. Enjolras. What is it?"
"Do you happen to have any cleaning supplies?"
"Let me look." Bougon stepped out into the "lobby", locking her door behind her, and went to a small closet. There was a limp, filthy rag and a bucket of water that was nearly frozen. It was unclear as to whether there was any soap in the water. "Will that do, monsieur?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll bring it back as soon as I'm done." Enjolras nodded and went to the stairs. As soon as he started climbing the stairs, the building's main door opened. Combeferre pulled a dazed Marius into the lobby.
"What happened to Pontmercy, Combeferre?"
Combeferre sighed. "A girl, that's what happened. I'll explain more when we get upstairs. Help me with him, won't you? I don't trust him to walk on his own."
Once they got to the garret, Marius was unceremoniously deposited in a chair. Enjolras asked again, "What actually happened, Combeferre? Was it a lady of the evening-type, or..."
"Do you think he would have enough courage to enter a brothel? Unfortunately for him, penniless, starving artist that he is, it was a respectable, rich, bourgeois-type. What was her name... Colette—"
"Her name is Cosette," Marius said. The dazed, stunned look had not left his eyes. "Her real name is Euphrasie, and 'Cosette' is a nickname. That's what she told me."
"Apparently," Combeferre said, "he was at a house translating documents and he met this Cosette. She caused him to be so enamored with her that he translated whatever she gave him for free."
"It was a little book of poetry, Combeferre," Marius muttered.
"But you translated it for free. Do you ever think with your head? That could have been a little extra money, but love comes before bread with you, I guess."
"I couldn't just ask her for extra money!"
"Luckily," continued Combeferre, ignoring Marius, "the father of the love of Marius' life gave him a few extra francs for translating more than he was supposed to, which means we scraped together enough to buy wood, bread and wine. Even if it does go against Marius' determination to be a starving artist whose only appreciated after he's dead."
"First of all, I'm not an artist, and second, you can be an artist and be appreciated before you're dead. Look at Mozart, with his Le nozze di Figaro, or Don Giovanni—"
"Ironic that you should bring that particular opera up, with your Cosette–"
"I think we've had enough of torturing Pontmercy," Enjolras said, as Marius look ready to strangle Combeferre. "Let's divide up the food and finally get a fire started."
"Wait, we shouldn't eat the food now," Marius interrupted. "Let's save it."
"Why?"
"Well, let's go out, instead."
"We don't have enough money to go out, in case you haven't noticed."
"Now we do. It'll be on me this time. Do you really want to spend Christmas Eve in here?"
"I guess not." Enjolras looked at Combeferre and Grantaire. "What do you think?"
"I say let's go," Grantaire said, and Combeferre agreed. "What about the Café Musian?" Everyone agreed, but then a knock came at the door.
When Grantaire opened the door, Mme. Bougon was standing there, holding a bill in her hand. "Good evening, gentlemen. I have a rent issue to discuss. May I come in?"
All four remembered that the rent hadn't be paid for at least two months. They shouldn't be going to a café with money that could be used for the rent; they had already wasted some with the food and the firewood. "Of course, madame," Grantaire said, letting her come in; this time he didn't call her ma'am to her face.
"Now, messieurs, you are aware that you haven't paid rent for two months?" Bougon asked. No one answered. Enjolras picked up the rag and began cleaning the window; he had no desire to be part of the conversation.
"Why don't you have a seat, Mme. Bougon?" Grantaire said. "Combeferre, stoke the fire, will you, and Marius, bring the madame a glass of wine." The three could tell what Grantaire was doing, and hopefully Bougon wouldn't.
"I'd like to call a toast," Combeferre said as he raised his own glass, catching on quickly, "to Mme. Bougon's health. May she live to a ripe age, healthy and happy." Marius and Grantaire repeated, and the four drank. Enjolras said and drank nothing.
Quite soon, after repeated toasts and evading the subject of the rent, Bougon was more than a little drunk. Evidently she was someone with whom it did not take much to become intoxicated.
"What's this about your feelings for a M. Benoît [1]?" Grantaire said, setting his glass to the side.
"What about him?" Bougon asked, somewhat slurred.
"I've heard a rumor that you're often seen with him at the Mabille Ball."
"Oh! Well, he certainly can be very charming. But why do you want to know?"
"Would M. Bougon be happy if he heard about this?" Combeferre asked.
Grantaire saw another opportunity. He affected an air of mock disappointment. "Oh, Mme. Bougon, tell me it isn't what I think it is." Marius almost started laughing, but quickly turned it into a cough.
"Well—" Mme. Bougon seemed highly confused. "M. Bougon doesn't like the Mabille Balls, and M. Benoît does make the evenings delightful."
"But, my dear lady, you are married! In the good name of morality, it would be unwise for us to associate with you."
"I say—"
"And don't worry, your secret is safe with us." Grantaire led Bougon to the door.
"Now, wait a moment—"
"And have a merry Christmas Eve!" Grantaire shut the door before Bougon could say anything else.
The four looked at each other.
"And we've still got the rent money."
"Grantaire, we're going to have to pay it eventually," Enjolras said as the others pulled on coats.
"We will— just not right now. Let's go before the café closes."
"You can go ahead. I still have to work on the column."
"Are you sure, Enjolras?"
"Yes, I'll meet you there. Try to get a good table."
"All right." Combeferre, Marius and Grantaire left, shutting the door behind them.
Enjolras lit one of the precious candles with the flames from the somehow-still-burning fire; he knew from experience that firelight alone would not be enough. Then he sat down and rewrote the first few sentences from the most recently-ruined draft: Our society is built on the back of its lowest members. This cannot continue.
Then there was, for a second time, a knock on the door.
It couldn't be Marius or Grantaire or Combeferre; they had already left. Was it Bougon? But she was still drunk and at least somewhat confused; he didn't think she would remember enough to come back.
He got up to answer the door, unaware that at least for tonight, he would not be going to the Café Musian.
[1] Benoît is the name of the amorous landlord in La bohème. He only comes in for one scene, but provides at least part of the comic relief. Since I put Ma'am Bougon in Benoît's place, I decided to at least reference to him.