"They say the Sentinel is forever in pursuit of her first target, a strange, white-sailed ship." Jehan's fingers twist her hair deftly as he talks, tugging firmly but never hard enough to hurt as he pulls tangles into a manageable braid.
Out of habit, Éponine shifts to sit straighter, though her attempts to look back at him are thwarted by a finger laid along her jaw and a murmured "be still."
So she asks her question facing forward, eyes cast up, watching the Barricade's own rippling in the wind. "Aren't most ships white-sailed?"
"Yes," he responds, "but there is a certain ring to it." The whole thing sounds like something from a fairytale, is what it is.
She leans back, slowly so as not to jostle him. "I did wonder why there hadn't been any recent sightings."
Jehan sounds slightly distracted when he responds. "Mmh. Seems they're at it again."
He releases his hold on her hair and curls the tail of it around her neck for her to inspect. When she tosses a grin over her shoulder at him, he nods, and begins the process of pinning it up.
He has barely started on this when another speaks. "What are you talking about?"
Éponine does not have to look to know the voice belongs to Bossuet, but she does so anyway, and sees he is stifling a yawn as he approaches them.
"The Sentinel," she answers. "Are you alright?"
He blinks blearily as he nods, "couldn't sleep much. It's just my luck." Despite his words, there is no unhappiness in them. He treats his luck like a lady, he'd explained to her – she may often leave him, but she is never cruel to him.
In any case, he has watch duty tonight, the same as her; he will get no more sleep.
"What's the plan, if they catch up?" she wonders aloud. Jehan declares his work finished, and more stable than the mess she had it in earlier – he is kind enough not to call it a mess, but she knows it must have looked like one – and he hands her the worn cap, which she worries with her thumbs.
"Nothing," comes Bossuet's voice. "Flee, basically."
"And yet we are pursued," she murmurs, back still against the crate Jehan rests on, "and accept it as necessary. How noble."
Their captain is brave and bold to the end.
A thought strikes her – if he had seen her on the streets, would he have acted the part of the white knight to her, and would she have let him? – and then another, one more useful. An idea. "Is there anything planned for tonight?"
By this, they know 'anything' means meetings and the like.
"Nothing more than the usual," answers Jehan.
"I'll find someone to take over watch, then. If you like?"
A laugh from Bossuet. "I'd like nothing more."
She nods, and rests her chin on her knees.
The sound of boots ascending the stairs reaches her ears, and then a voice. "Might I request the presence of our dear, lovely 'Ponine?"
Grantaire.
Her bared teeth form a grin at the nickname as she hops up and there is, if it is possible, even more of a grin in his voice as he adds, "she is late for her lessons, and the lower decks have need of her backside."
"M'sieur R," she greets, mock-demurely, as she slides past, "I think it is your backside that will be on the floor. After all, if you remember the last time – " It is an argument for the sake of it, and her voice is swallowed up.
She tips her hat to them as she descends.
A/N: (I'm sorry it's just
there was Doctor Who
and a holiday
and hours of applications
I'll make it up to you eventually but at least there's a post?)