"Who the hell is she?" A were with curly black hair and large sideburns asks as they go through a door of some café.
"Cool it, Courf. She's with Bahorel," Flower Boy replies, "I don't know what goes through his head." Red Hat, who must be Bahorel, says, "Just trust me. It will be good. She's cool."
"Fine. Go in. If Enjolras gets pissed, it's on your head not mine," the new were, Courf, states.
"After you my lady," Bahorel opens the door for Éponine with a grand gesture. Éponine smirks and enters. It's bright lighted. Multiple strobe lights force the room into different colors every few seconds. Several boys stand around a map of Paris, and many other maps line the walls. They're all were; Éponine can smell it. A blonde boy wearing an old fashioned red waistcoat is clearly the Alpha. He points towards to a road in the suburbs, and says, "If we take this road, we could be out of here before moonrise."
"You won't get out of Paris fast enough. The Patron Minette will catch you as soon as you hit the boulevard. Then, they'll slaughter you," Éponine cuts in. The blond's head whips towards her. His eyes flash Alpha red, and he lets Éponine see his pearly whites. She smiles back, showing her Omega bottle green eyes.
"What is she doing here?" the Alpha asks.
"I brought her. Calm your tits, Enjolras," Bahorel answers.
"Éponine Thénardier, and you are the new alpha in town whose going to get him and all his friends killed if he doesn't tuck tail and run," Éponine denounced.
"Oh really? And why's that?" the boy from the door has come in. He stands looking at Éponine defiantly.
"Because, Courf," Éponine says, using the nickname Flower Boy used when they entered, "I could put anyone of you on your asses, even pretty alpha boy, and I'm an omega."
"Are you sure about that? I bet you ten bottles of the best wine in Paris that you can't," some drunk, from the smell, challenges her.
"I don't know, Grantaire. I don't think you have that much money," Bahorel jokes.
"You have a space?" Éponine demands, "If you don't believe me, I'll have to show you."
"Yes, Mademoiselle Thénardier. Of course we do. Do you need any other clothing? Any tape or the like?" The next one that speaks is a high-ranking beta, second in command by the looks of it.
"I'll fight like this. And just Éponine is fine," She replies.
"Okay. Right this way then," Beta boy answers. He turns and goes through another door. Bahorel comes behind Éponine and slings an arm around her shoulder. He whispers, "Remember, they're all classics," meaning classically trained boxers, "so let's see the streets."
"Please, I kick ass for shits and giggles," She whispers back. He throws his head back and laughs. She laughs, too, but hers is very different than his. His is a jolly laugh, the cheerful bark of a well-fed dog. Her is a terrible laugh, the cold roar of a starving wolf that sends shivers down fire.