Entry tags:
OOC Contact
Email: thats.just.a.lollipop.tree@gmail.com
IM:firewants2bwater (I'm rarely on AIM, so email or Eponine's HMD would be the best bet for contacting me).
DM: Open!
HMD: Right here!
Email: thats.just.a.lollipop.tree@gmail.com
IM:firewants2bwater (I'm rarely on AIM, so email or Eponine's HMD would be the best bet for contacting me).
DM: Open!
HMD: Right here!
OOC: CR Chart
(Hopefully there will be no more daggers in the heart).
Gavroche: Beloved brother. It's odd for Eponine, having to adjust to her brother's being roughly her age now, but she's learning to adapt. They're devoted to one another, regardless.
Cossette: Her old rival remembers nothing of Eponine, or the way she treated her, and Eponine is wounded by both the just-injustice of her unhappiness and Cosette's happiness and the strange way this world works. She now hopes to make friends with the girl.
Entry tags:
IC: Contact Post
There's a light inside, if you care to look.
Leave a card if you can, tho' I'd like a coin more.
For Marius
[Sometime after this]
Eponine is fully braced for the eventuality of encountering Marius after her talk with Gavroche. Preparation cannot fully, however, brace her for the reality of it.
It's an ordinary day, and she's just moved back into her Milliways apartment after a holiday in the Below, when it finally does happen. Marius will note that she seems healthier, more robust, though her eyes...
...Well, those will stay the same.
Eponine is fully braced for the eventuality of encountering Marius after her talk with Gavroche. Preparation cannot fully, however, brace her for the reality of it.
It's an ordinary day, and she's just moved back into her Milliways apartment after a holiday in the Below, when it finally does happen. Marius will note that she seems healthier, more robust, though her eyes...
...Well, those will stay the same.
For Gav
It's been a long idyll for Eponine down in the Below. She's grown a bit plumper in her time there, and seems a bit less haunted. Good company will do that for a woman.
And Eponine - who has little to no idea how to proceed in her continuing quest to become a woman - has been wandering about, trying to prepare herself for the return to Milliways, to the notion of usefulness.
She's expecting her brother to enter her guest room at any time...
And Eponine - who has little to no idea how to proceed in her continuing quest to become a woman - has been wandering about, trying to prepare herself for the return to Milliways, to the notion of usefulness.
She's expecting her brother to enter her guest room at any time...
Entry tags:
1832. Again
In the end, she doesn't heed Gavroche's earlier advice to run. If she did that she'd be no better than her parents. Instead, she smudges her features with dirt from the coal bin and rushes off to find Marius and deliver the letter.
But she's too late. Far too late.
The door has played a trick on her. She should have guessed that it might. The Rue Plumet has been blocked off for the king's parade, and she's helpless to do anything but watch as the same disturbance and participate in the same flight to the barricade.
Marius is grateful to see her; calls her silly. Tells her not to die. Reads the note and laments his choices. His presence arrests her and reduces her to the state of a pining ninny; she wonders if she should have been noble, sacrificed herself in silence.
But it doesn't matter. Her original analysis is confirmed, and he loves her not.
**
She falls asleep on her aching feet, leaning against a chest of drawers, holding a musket against her shoulder. The sound of shouting and gunfire waken her, and the stand-off lasts for hours, her eagle eyes scouring the holes and cracks with suspicion.
The tension breaks when she sees the silver barrel of a shotgun peek through the hole.
On instinct she shoves the closest person to her away - and that person happens to be Marius. She feels a keen pain in her shoulder, reaches for her breast. His arms reach for her but she shakes her head and staggers backward.
She has time enough to see the look of surprise on his face as she falls backward and through the open door of the inn.
But not the inn she expected to land within...
But she's too late. Far too late.
The door has played a trick on her. She should have guessed that it might. The Rue Plumet has been blocked off for the king's parade, and she's helpless to do anything but watch as the same disturbance and participate in the same flight to the barricade.
Marius is grateful to see her; calls her silly. Tells her not to die. Reads the note and laments his choices. His presence arrests her and reduces her to the state of a pining ninny; she wonders if she should have been noble, sacrificed herself in silence.
But it doesn't matter. Her original analysis is confirmed, and he loves her not.
**
She falls asleep on her aching feet, leaning against a chest of drawers, holding a musket against her shoulder. The sound of shouting and gunfire waken her, and the stand-off lasts for hours, her eagle eyes scouring the holes and cracks with suspicion.
The tension breaks when she sees the silver barrel of a shotgun peek through the hole.
On instinct she shoves the closest person to her away - and that person happens to be Marius. She feels a keen pain in her shoulder, reaches for her breast. His arms reach for her but she shakes her head and staggers backward.
She has time enough to see the look of surprise on his face as she falls backward and through the open door of the inn.
But not the inn she expected to land within...
OOM: Upstairs.
Eponine is somewhat aware of the fact that she hasn't been herself over the past few days. The rapid disappearance of her fever and the hacking, lugubrious cough and plugged nose have been major clues that she's ill, with the same sort of dreamy, delirious fever that would wrack her when she was sick in the slums.
She still has the occasional urge to paint her face, cover herself in fur and dance like a can-can girl.
It's something she assumes - hopes - will pass eventually. The fur-trimmed blanket lying over her is something of a compromise to the illness.
Visitors welcome.
OOM: The Unheard And Unsaid
It's dark here.
Darker than she can remember, even in the blackest of winter.
In the distance there's the scent of cordite, the glow of a torch.
But not here.
She is still as a Bastille Day statue, contemplating him.
Darker than she can remember, even in the blackest of winter.
In the distance there's the scent of cordite, the glow of a torch.
But not here.
She is still as a Bastille Day statue, contemplating him.
Entry tags:
Paris, 1832 (a little fall of rain)
It's raining again.
It's Hissing like a snake about her neck, moistly pressed against her ear and whispering in her ear - love-talk. Promises that coil like muscles and pour into her mind, constricting it.
And she, she who was a wretch, she who had so little now stands at the threshold of ruining three lives in a single gesture.
For Eponine, the choice is simple: it's her heart or Cosette's, and the little blonde maiden hasn't done Eponine a favor in eleven years.
It sounds reasonable, when she thinks of it like that. Cosette is young and beautiful; she'll make some man a pretty wife, have his children, be the light of his lie.
But for poor, skinny, fallen Eponine, there is only Marius - Marius and his unstinting patience, his endless love, his kindness and his open ears. She wants to consume him within her, swallow him like a communion wafer and be absolved forever of her foolish pride.
Yes, it would be so easy to lie - to throw away the letter and go to the barricade with a smile, wiping Marius' brow as he pushed the soldiers back to hell with his bare hands.
She stops, sole arched in mid-step as the rain kisses the back of her neck.
No. That will never happen.
I love him...
She must tell Marius. Cosette will be his salvation from the endless saber rattling, the Sisyphean effort of blending in with the ABCs. Eponine will pick bullets for them in her hat and coat; she will be a martyr for the cause, will make Gavroche beam with pride. He will get along without her, the way he always has, living in his elephant, leading his merry gang of beggars.
The midnight bell chimes, the gutters overflow, and her skin leaps. Eponine is going nowhere; the discontented circle she has walked in is wide and aimless, the trail of the insane, the damned.
But only on my own...
Marius doesn't love her. Never loved her.
She knows it. She carries the shattering truth deep within her breast, glittering like a hammer made of diamonds. Her head slides back, back, into the warm beckoning shower, as if those diamonds have imploded and are shredding her heart, her soul.
The rain soaks into her face, her skin, her hair; she is saturated; she is baptized; she is in a state of grace...
...Then Eponine wipes her dripping nose against her dirty palm and steps over the threshold of her building.
Apparently even the soulless need creature comforts.
It's Hissing like a snake about her neck, moistly pressed against her ear and whispering in her ear - love-talk. Promises that coil like muscles and pour into her mind, constricting it.
And she, she who was a wretch, she who had so little now stands at the threshold of ruining three lives in a single gesture.
For Eponine, the choice is simple: it's her heart or Cosette's, and the little blonde maiden hasn't done Eponine a favor in eleven years.
It sounds reasonable, when she thinks of it like that. Cosette is young and beautiful; she'll make some man a pretty wife, have his children, be the light of his lie.
But for poor, skinny, fallen Eponine, there is only Marius - Marius and his unstinting patience, his endless love, his kindness and his open ears. She wants to consume him within her, swallow him like a communion wafer and be absolved forever of her foolish pride.
Yes, it would be so easy to lie - to throw away the letter and go to the barricade with a smile, wiping Marius' brow as he pushed the soldiers back to hell with his bare hands.
She stops, sole arched in mid-step as the rain kisses the back of her neck.
No. That will never happen.
I love him...
She must tell Marius. Cosette will be his salvation from the endless saber rattling, the Sisyphean effort of blending in with the ABCs. Eponine will pick bullets for them in her hat and coat; she will be a martyr for the cause, will make Gavroche beam with pride. He will get along without her, the way he always has, living in his elephant, leading his merry gang of beggars.
The midnight bell chimes, the gutters overflow, and her skin leaps. Eponine is going nowhere; the discontented circle she has walked in is wide and aimless, the trail of the insane, the damned.
But only on my own...
Marius doesn't love her. Never loved her.
She knows it. She carries the shattering truth deep within her breast, glittering like a hammer made of diamonds. Her head slides back, back, into the warm beckoning shower, as if those diamonds have imploded and are shredding her heart, her soul.
The rain soaks into her face, her skin, her hair; she is saturated; she is baptized; she is in a state of grace...
...Then Eponine wipes her dripping nose against her dirty palm and steps over the threshold of her building.
Apparently even the soulless need creature comforts.