Her father had found her. It had only been a matter of time, but damn, it hurt. Her bones ached, and even after she had escaped him, she could still feel the hands and taste the iron of blood in her mouth. Nothing a little fog couldn't fix.
Éponine had fled to the streets, as she always did after a bad beating. In fact, she spent most of her time wandering the streets, mainly pickpocketing. She used her mastery of illusion to charm her appearance into that which it was not, in hopes of stalling her father's men from finding her. Perhaps it was the magic, or perhaps it was the frilly bonnets and jewelry-embellished dresses, but Éponine had found she could cloud her view as well as the rest of the world's, sheltering her from herself, if only for an hour. Plus, the puffy sleeves covered the fast blossoming bruises on her arms.
She had just stepped onto the crumbling sidewalk when a voice floated to her ears, causing her to flinch. Just the person she had been hoping to miss.
"'Ponine!" Marius called again, running to catch up with her, a certain annoyed-looking revolutionary tagging along behind him. "I was hoping I would find you! I still haven't thanked you for that night."
She did not have the chance to reply before the blonde leader approached them, eyebrows knit in obvious frustration.
"Lovely day, isn't it?" she giggled. Better tread carefully.
"Ah, yes. Very…" he cleared his throat, eyes stormy. "Lovely. So," he gestured to her finery, "Are you rich?"
"Oh, yes." She giggled again. Act dumb, her father always said, easier to get into their heads that way. "This dress is nothing compared to some of the things in my closet. I have a pretty plum colo-"
Enjolras snorted. "Madam, excuse me for saying so, but you severely underestimate my apathy. I was asking on account of the people Paris who starve in their rags while you bask in the glow of riches. Do you even know what if feels like to be hungry?"
What do you know of hunger, rich boy? she wanted to ask, but held her tongue, instead opting to keep playing the empty-headed bourgeois girl.
"I diet." she chirped, smiling cheekily. "Who cares about the poor, anyway, right? We're better than those rats."
His eyes flared, sparkling with something more than anger. It was quite beautiful, actually. He glared at her a few seconds more before letting out a breath of air.
"I should never have expected a person like you to understand." he spat.
Marius could stand it no longer, having two of his best friends fight like that. "Enjolras, please. You don't know her. She saved me-"
"You're right." the blonde interrupted, turning on his heel. "And I wouldn't like to. I'll see you at the cafe, I expect?" Enjolras was speaking to Marius, but Éponine just couldn't resist the urge to irritate this man.
"Of course. In fact, why don't we walk together?" she offered her arm, grinning mischievously to herself. Who did he think he was, anyway?
Enjolras, being the gentleman he was, could not refuse her arm, knowing how unseemly it would look. Reluctantly, he took her arm in his and they began the walk to the cafe.
"I actually have to go." Marius said, smiling at the change. "I have a meeting with my love." Enjolras rolled his eyes, and Éponine suppressed a sob. I am strong, she reminded herself. The three split into groups, giving nods of goodbye.
"So, Monsieur, how come you've taken up such a strange pastime?" she remarked, genuinely curious and tired of silence. "Find poor people interesting?"
He flinched, as if he had taken her remark to heart. "I suppose. But not in the way you're thinking. Not that you would understand."
"Ah, Monsieur." she smirked. "You did it again. Said, 'you wouldn't understand'. Who are 'people like me', exactly?"
He looked shocked for a second before regaining his composure, as if the fact that she had a brain was surprising.
"Mademoiselle, I do not mean you any offense." he said, struggling to put his majestic opinions into simple mortal sentences, no doubt. "I only feel that you are too occupied with your dresses and jewels to see the suffering around you."
"You know nothing of me, sir," she said, withholding a snort of distaste at the words on his lips. How opposite from the truth they were. "Please refrain from speaking as if you do."
Once again, Enjolras was caught unaware. Not expecting that, eh, rich boy? she smirked to herself.
They were silent the rest of the way to the cafe, and he did not speak to her the rest of the evening. Éponine could not help but wonder why his friends referred to him as the "Marble Man". He was so readable, if you only knew how to look, and so uneducated in the ways of the mask.
In that room of dreams, of men who were dreams and hope personified, Éponine felt just a tiny bit at home. Invisible or not, she identified with the cause and wholly agreed with what the young revolutionaries spoke of. And, throughout the whole evening, Éponine could not help but watch the golden-haired leader. He was not marble, but she had put it on herself to find out what Enjolras was truly made of.