"Ah! Who have you brought for us now then, Enj?" One of the members cheered, and the group all grinned at Éponine.
"This," Enjolras gestured to Éponine, "is the beautiful voice we all heard not half an hour ago."
"Come on lads, get a chair for the lady! Let her sit down and join us!" The Friends all shouted and made a ruckus as a wooden chair was passed around for Éponine to sit on. She smiled and laughed as they all drunkenly tried to get the chair to her, and Enjolras watched intently with his arms folded, his brow fixed in a furrow.
"Your revolutionaries are quite the comedians, Monsieur." Éponine laughed, but Enjolras didn't share it.
"They are not my revolutionaries, Mademoiselle, but they are their own. I did not force them to join my cause to fight for the impoverished, and the sick, and the needy."
"That is not what I insinuated, Monsieur, I merely thought that as their leader, you would-" Enjolras held up his hand to stop Éponine from talking anymore.
"Don't worry about it. Drink." He said, handing the petite girl a cup of red wine. She took it, out of politeness, but fought to hide the tears that burned at her throat and threatened to spill over her cheeks. He nodded, and turned around, leaving Éponine to be introduced to his boys by herself.
Left listening to The Friends, they temporarily distract her from her heartbreak over Marius, and they make her laugh with their jokes and Éponine decides that a few of her favourites are Joly, with his childish happiness that could spread like wildfire, Jean Prouvaire's way of putting things so romantically, and Grantaire's slurred sarcastic reply to nearly every utterance by someone in the group. Yes, sarcasm had always been known as the lowest form of wit, but Éponine was, well, Éponine, and so it was her best loved form of wit.
And their talk of change for 'the Motherland' honestly would be inspiring, were it not obvious that they were just a bunch of bourgeois boys who would sooner die in their revolution than cure the diseased or feed the hungry.
Éponine tried to disguise the fact that she was constantly looking for Enjolras. His mood swing had confused and upset her, so much so that it had her at a point of almost tears which she had to conceal from the boys. No revolutionary leader was going to make her cry, not on her watch, not if she could help it.
Why had he done that? She thought to herself. What did I do? Nothing. I simply made the mistake of classing his friends as though they belonged to him. I know nothing of he and his friends, of whom decides to lead and who decides to follow. What does he expect of a street urchin like me? He and his boys are none of my concern, and shall continue to stay that way until I begin to notice a change of the lonely, destitute streets I walk each day.
Éponine stood up, and the group looked at her.
"I'm afraid I have to leave and find my friend, but it was an utmost pleasure to sit here and chat with you all." She smiled at them, thanking them all for the bother of keeping her company. Each insisted that it wasn't a burden, and looked forward to seeing her at their next meeting.
She nodded and turned away, knowing there was no chance of that.
Éponine was back to square one again, because she could not find Aimée anywhere. She asked around for her, but everyone just said the same thing, that they had seen her earlier but not since.
"Gavroche!" Éponine called to the child, and he made his way to her. "If you see Aimée, tell her I have left and gone home."
"Why are you goin' home, Ép?" Gavroche asked, a confused look on her face. "M'sieur Enjolras is looking for you. Shall I fetch him?"
"No, don't do that. If you see him again and he asks of me, tell him that I have left. Goodnight, Gavroche."
Éponine turned and walked toward the doors that led outside. She dodged and ducked her way through couples still dancing, gypsy boys throwing punches at each other for fun, and Enjolras' eyes, whom she had spotted up at the bar again, talking to someone she did not recognise.
She had made it through the doors and out into the cold night air without anyone on her tail. However, once she'd gotten through those doors, it was a different story.
"Éponine," A voice hissed, and her blood ran cold. Trying to make a run for it, she was stopped in her tracks by a rough, calloused hand clamping itself tightly around her wrist. Éponine gasped and looked back, looking down at the hand before slowly trailing her eyes up to look at the face. The voice had already told her who it was anyway.
"Montparnasse, I am tired." Eponine groaned, keeping her eyes to the floor.
"I'm sure you are, after that party. Must be exhausted." The assassin mused, nodding his head in fake sympathy for Éponine. She was confused.
"Why do you mock me? It is nearly daylight, and I have not slept the whole night. I do not have time for this." She tried to wrench her hand from the grip, but Montparnasse only held on tighter.
"Éponine, I want you to do something for me."
"'Parnasse, why could you not have me do it tomorrow? I want to go home-"
"Éponine do not be a pest. You know what I'm asking for." The moonlight caught a glint in his eye, and Éponine felt sick to her stomach when it finally dawned on her what he wanted. Using all the strength she could muster, she yanked her hand from his grip and began walking as quickly as she could in the opposite direction to him.
"You are disgusting, sir!" She called back, quickly snatching a tear off of her cheek with the back of her hand.
"Come now, Éponine." He said, calmly. "You know who I am, and what I can do. I won't hesitate to see my skills used on you, or perhaps someone close to you."
Éponine stopped, and slowly turned to face him.
"And why me? There are plenty of women who take up what you are asking for as a profession, who have far more experience than I, so why me?"
"Everybody knows you have the prettiest mouth, Mademoiselle."
Montparnasse's voice and meaning did not make it sound like a compliment. He made it sound dirty, he made Éponine feel tarnished, like she was worth less than the scum on the bottom of her shoe.
Swallowing, she took slow steps toward him. Images of her family's murdered bodies flashed through her mind, making her feel sick. She didn't care about herself dying, and Montparnasse knew this. But it would be worse than death to see one of her younger siblings, laying dead in a gutter somewhere, at the hands of this man in front of her.
So she gulped down what little pride she had left in herself and led him to an alley at the side of the building where the party was. It was dark, and grimy, and Éponine hated to get on her knees here but she reminded herself of the safety of her family because of it.
Montparnasse was handsome, and he was only a few years older than Éponine. But his personality repulsed her, and so everything about him did also.
Just as she had begun to unbuckle his belt, Éponine heard her name being called from the entrance to the alley. Both she and Montparnasse whipped their heads around to see who it was.
Whoever it was could see her clearly due to the moonlight streaming down on her face. However, the figure was silhouetted in the alleyway and therefore no facial features, or anything for that matter, could be made out. But he began to walk forward, and Éþonine caught sight of a red coat.
She stood up quickly. "Enjolras, what are you doing here?" She rushed, brushing down her dress. Enjolras wasn't looking at her though. He was eyeing the slender man who had himself pressed against the wall. Though talle, Montparnasse clearly was no match for the buffness of Enjolras' arms and so, seeing no need to stick around, he darted further into the alley and away from the two.
"Éponine, what are you doing? I come outside for some air, and I find this?" He asked, his face showing pity and concern, and a little bit of shock. "If it is money that you need, do not resort to this kind of thing. Here," Enjolras dug into his pockets but Éponine stood back, putting a hand up to stop him.
"I do not want your charity sir. This was not for money. You wouldn't understand." She moved to walk around him, but Enjolras grabbed her arm, gently, a frown spreading on his face when she flinched away, as though he would hit her.
"Then allow me to walk you home. I can't let you leave and know you are walking in the dark by yourself." Éponine nodded.
"As you wish, M'sieur."
The first part of the walk was silent, until Enjolras spoke up.
"Do you love that man? Is that why you were doing... what you were doing?" Éponine laughed a little at how childlike he sounded. He really was The Marble Man who knew very little about love. Not that she knew much more, but she clearly knew more about feelings than him.
"No. I should think I would have to be mad to love him, or someone of his kind."
"Why so? Who is he?"
"What are all these questions, Monsieur? Are you jealous?" Éponine's playful side began to show, but she carried on before she could get an answer from Enjolras. "He is a gang member, of the Patron-Minettes. My father is close with them, so they are… family friends, I suppose. Or even more like family. My father would care more if one of them were to die compared to his real family." She laughed once again, but it was a dead laugh, a hollow one with nothing to it.
"And you'd do that with a family friend?" Enjolras asked, surprise in his voice.
"As I said earlier, sir, you wouldn't understand."
"Then help me to." He stopped, and stared at Éponine, as she turned to look at him. She looked down at the floor, smiling, before moving forward to take both of his hands.
"There is no longer any need for you to understand, M'sieur, because you came and helped me out of that situation, for which I am incredibly grateful."
Enjolras noticed the way that she was extremely polite and well spoken for a child of the streets. It was almost unnatural, and from this he could only deduce that she had been like him, of at least middle class, but had fallen into a life of destitution. He felt sorry for her, more sorry for her than he'd felt about any gamine.
Éponine let go of his hands, and kept walking forward, at a slow pace so Enjolras could catch up when he was ready. He stared down at his hands, unable to forget how small and bony her's were, how cold they were, and how he almost missed the feeling of them being there. He looked ahead at her back, and saw her shoulder blades protruding, looking as though they'd come through her tanned skin at any moment.
After catching up with her, Éponine changed the subject to earlier on in the night.
"So what was your problem tonight then?" She dared, feeling brave.
"What do you mean?" Enjolras turned his head and looked down at her as they walked, confusion playing across his face. She looked up at him and couldn't help but laugh and shake her head.
"Earlier. When you introduced me to your friends and then left. It was near two hours you were gone!"
"Did you not like getting to know my friends?" He teased, and she tutted.
"Well I must admit that I would've liked to have gotten to know you a bit better too!" She confessed, and Enjolras laughed.
"One thing you should know about me is that I'm a very secretive person."
"Wow," Éponine joked. "I wasn't going to ask your deepest, darkest secrets or anything. Maybe just something like your favourite book, or colour."
"My favourite colour? No, I'm afraid that's far too personal." Enjolras replied, very seriously, earning a fit of giggles from Éponine. Her laugh was high pitched, making her seem innocent, but her usually raspy voice and malnourished body told a different story. Still, it was nice for Enjolras to see her smiling, her eyes that looked decades older than her biological age all crinkled up and shining.
"This is where I leave you." Éponine smiled at Enjolras after recovering from her laughing fit. They stood outside a block of apartments, which he recognised.
"Marius lives here, doesn't he?" He asked.
"Yeah, he does." Éponine tried to make it seem as though she hadn't noticed his presence much. But her voice failed her, and broke somewhere in the middle of the short sentence.
"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Enjolras suddenly blurted out, and Éponine looked at him, then quickly turned away.
"I'd rather not talk about it." She remembered all of the ways he had looked at Cosette at the ABC meetings, and especially tonight. That cold grasp of rejection was creeping up on her again, and the backs of her eyes began to prick with heat.
"Red." Enjolras suddenly began, and Éponine nearly interrupted him with her confusion. "Red, because in 1790, revolutionaries adopted the red flag as one that symbolized the blood of those who died in the demonstrations. Because it is the colour of fire, like the passionate fire that rages in my heart when I talk about change for our country."
His favourite colour, Éponine realised. How he loves red!
She hadn't realised she was smiling at him until he called her out on it.
"Why are you smiling at me?" He half laughed, but his question was serious.
"You have a very ungovernable love for red, don't you?" Éponine teased, and Enjolras laughed, dropping his head and shaking it at the floor.
"Good night, Éponine." He smiled at her, and she gave a slight curtsy.
"Good night, garçon rouge."