Oh my goodness, thanks for sticking with me! I finished this chapter a long time ago, actually, but my computer wouldn't let me on FanFiction. New laptop for Christmas, and that problem's solved! At least it's longish to make up for lost time… Thank you guys!
Chapter 4:
Weeks went by.
Jacques was put in charge of all "prank-related business", as Gavroche put it, and the group was constantly on guard.
However, nothing happened. Gavroche, a strategist to the bone after years of eating by opportunity, was endlessly confused.
Finally, after mulling it over for a few days and singing a soliloquy about changing his ways (just kidding), he decided that his friends were merely trying to make them let their guard down before they struck. Gavroche snickered to himself. The very thought was offensive to his skills as a leader. When the older men struck, they would be more than ready. They would be prepared.
*****
On the other side of the city, Courfeyrac was sitting in his world history class, diligently taking notes... or so everyone thought. His tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration.
He dud not notice his professor until he lifted the paper right off of Courfeyrac's desk and started reading. Courfeyrac lunged for his paper, but it was out of reach in the professor's fingers. To his horror, the man started reading aloud:
"Prank War Ideas..." he mused, reading the heading. He stopped and looked through his spectacles, down his long nose to Courfeyrac. "You will see me after class."
"Yessir," Courfeyrac mumbled, looking at his shoes with sudden interest.
*****
The cafe was bustling with the usual crowd that evening, but the usual cries of revolution were quiet. Instead, eight men sat huddled around a table in the back, talking in low whispers and looking around anxiously. Courfeyrac was mysteriously absent.
"I say we take them out with no mercy!" Joly exclaimed, slamming his fist into his opposite palm. Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder.
"Erm... Joly? Calm down."
Joly sat down defeatedly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Right. Sorry."
Grantaire set down his bottle with a clang [gasp... he put the bottle down!] and stood. "Joly's right. Forget morals, we need to pull something so low-down and despicable that they would never think of retaliating." Feuilly clapped at the speech, but Enjolras mused over this thoughtfully.
"Hmm... You mean like exploit their weakness?"
"But they're streetwise orphans who live in an elephant. These are kids who've never had a franc to themselves in their lives! They don't have a weakness!" Bahorel argued. Joly got a sly look on his face.
"Never had a franc to themselves in their lives, huh? This could work..."
*****
"C'mon, boys!" Gavroche shouted, deftly sliding down his rope. Kids streamed from all corners of the elephant, behind the ears, out the back and the belly, through every nook and cranny. They had one mission: living.
For a while they ran about the streets of the city, shouting, stealing, dodging policemen, and making a general ruckus. Then, suddenly, a tiny boy called Marc gave a great cry.
"Hey! Hey, look!" There, in the middle of the street, flush against the cobblestones and fairly gleaming in the grubby sunlight, was a ten-franc piece. There was a brief silence (as long as silence can be with a group of gamins), before they were on it, scrambling over each other like puppies, yelling and fairly tripping over themselves. They launched themselves at the piece of shining metal, finger closing over... nothing? The kids looked up in amazement, only to see the precious coin two feet farther along in the street.
Confused, but eager for the money, they edged toward it slowly, Jacques reaching out, getting unbelievably close-he lunged, and the piece skipped along the street as if by magic, landing a good few feet away from the boy's clenched fist.
Gavroche stepped out from the crowd, the gamins a tight clump behind him, breathless with anticipation. Most of them had never had a franc in their lives, much less ten. Still, they respected their leader, and waited for his signal.
Gavroche scrutinized the coin with a streetwise eye, carefully noting the thin string tied around it and the way that the string led around the corner. Motioning to his boys to be quiet, he followed the string, quieting his footsteps as only a boy of his upbringing would know how. When he reached the end of the string, just before the bend, he lifted it lightly from the ground, gathered himself, and gave a great pull, yanking the end from around the corner.
"Hey!" came a protesting voice, "that's our-" Courfeyrac's head poked around the corner, but he stopped when he saw all the children. "Oh. Um. I'll just... begoingnowbye!" He scrambled to leave, but was quickly jumped by a band of angry orphans-which, needless to say, is never a good thing.
"Get his face!"
"His pocketwatch! I got his pocketwatch!"
"Make 'im pay!"
"Ow-no, please! Stop! Ouch! G-Gavroche, help me!"
The self-proclaimed King of the Gamins smiled in satisfaction. "My work here is done."