"Think you'll say yes, if he asks?"
Azelma is hunched beside him, her taller frame scrunched to the point where her brother's head stands taller than her own.
"I think maybe," she says, "if he asks."
Gavroche hums a note of acceptance. Her mother would not be so nonchalant, and Azelma appreciates the differences.
Which is why her mother does not know – anything about it. Her mother would gasp and let her eyes bulge out dramatically and say "oh, dear, isn't this wonderful? Someone calling after you after all these years!"
(Her father would bleed the poor man completely dry, so that's out of the question right from the start.)
She hasn't told her mother much of anything, lately, only let the woman coo over her and fuss with her dirty tangles and talk about her darling, dearest daughter.
Mostly Azelma thinks she cannot tell her mother because, whatever the circumstances, she is still her mother. Azelma has been pushed into unwanted situations before – she lets her thumb brush over the thin, spider web scars on her knuckles that have overtaken the skin there, simple marks left from class that cracked against the force of her small fist – but she will not be pushed and prodded when it comes to matters of the heart. And her mother would be… disappointed. Hurt.
She doesn't want that, just as she knows she could not accept a wedding she does not want.
If there is to be a wedding.
She is going to be absolutely certain of absolutely everything before she even insinuates acceptance to the as-of-yet unasked question.
Helping along a revolution just because her older sister has been taken in by the ones behind it is probably not the best way to relieve some of the frustration the situation brings, but Azelma Thénardier is newly eighteen, and seems to be looking at the world through new eyes.
Specifically, those eyes which Gavroche seemed to possess when he dropped the surname Thénardier and became ruler of his own domain.
And –
She knows she is attracting looks for her limp hair and the darkness beneath her eyes, and she grimaces right back at any who dare to stare at her.
Once she knows she is no longer the object of attention as she was, as she shoves her hands into her threadbare pockets.
"Think 'Ponine knows what she's doing?"
"D'you?" is his response.
"Dunno," she says contemplatively, "but I hope so."
She lags a step behind him as they reach the street corner, and he stops to nudge her bony shoulder with his own. "Come on, 'zelma, you'll do fine."
Gavroche calls for the two that have trailed behind with a short cry of "Thomas! Alain!" and they are off.
Azelma looks at the pamphlets in her hands, looks over the crude, thin lettering. These are mostly for show, and she is not to give them to anyone who appears too interested – it is, after all, unlikely that their efforts will garner genuine attention so soon, and she does not with to be hauled to Les Madelonettes for the words. Not until she has figured this out, at least.
She steps out so as to be easily in view, and sets about it.
"Listen here," she cries, her voice reedy as it floats over this morning's thin crowds, "listen here; I've news for you all. Pirates brave and daring, ready to defend you from the king who has abandoned you…"
A/N: Deciding against my sister's suggestion to post something completely random and deleting it after today, and my terrible early idea to just not post anything today, have something different but still relevant. Happy April Fool's Day, everybody! Hopefully it doesn't seem too strange!
Also, I've been plotting out… well, the plot, almost to the end. It's possible we've not long to go! Then again, I meant for the 13th chapter to take place closer to the 8th, so who knows how long I'll drag this out.