tushanshu_logs

Characters: Éponine Thénardier and Open!.
Date: April 6.
Location: The Wood Sector.
Situation: Éponine arrives in Tu Vishan, and her first order of business is to wander around the Wood Sector, completely confused, but eventually, said confusion gives way to a bit of curiosity. She'll be bemused for the most part, but Thénardiers are a bit like cats in that they can land on their feet.
Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for possible references to past violence. I'll be starting with prose, but I'm flexible about formatting.

Sometimes, it was all too simple to tell when one was lying and when one was not. But try as she might, Éponine could not make out if these kedan, as they said they were called, were trying to make a fool of her with their strange tale. There could not really be a place between life, death, and dreaming, could there? Nor could there be a place that was neither heaven nor hell.

Éponine remembered the confusion she felt upon hearing this, confusion that was deepened by the fleeting memories of her own death. Or perhaps she had not died at all, even if that failed to explain the blood-stained state of the blouse and trousers that she wore.

Why were her clothes torn and in such a state? Why did she feel so turned about? There was a fight, a fight with guns and bullets and loud sounds. She could recall that much, even if all the rest was flashes and blurs and faces she couldn't quite make out.

Shaking her head, she tried to clear her thoughts. Something was happening, something strange,, and she meant to find out what that something was. But no sooner had she taken a step forward, she found her progress impeded by a person that she had failed to notice until that very moment.

"Oh! I am sorry, I did not see you."

Surely it was not too difficult a thing to understand Éponine's state of confusion and bewilderment in light of everything she had seen and been told.

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Gavroche's eyes narrow, and he takes in the other. Really looks, eyes raking over the figure, taking in the features, and--

"Eponine."

There's no joy in it. Nor is there sorrow--there's hardly any emotion from the little boy as he snakes down the tree expertly and takes a few more steps. His own clothes are the exact same as they were when he arrived--probably more than a little smelly, probably kind of gross--but he doesn't seem to mind. It's something you're used to, on the street.

He doesn't say anything else. Just looks at her, evenly and calmly. Perhaps too calm.

For a moment, Eponine just stares. She looks the young boy over, takes in everything from his appearance to his clothes, and this lasts for quite awhile before her voice returns to her.

"Gavroche."

In a similar vein, there is no emotion in Eponine's voice. She had not expected to see him, but there he was, and how strange it was to see him. And he had mentioned the barricades. Had he died upon them too? That was just one of the many questions bubbling up in Eponine's mind, but all she could do was look at him silently.

They stay like that, silent, locked as still as statues. He is numb, and he dares not to breathe. If he breathes, Gavroche thinks, this whole thing is over and his sister will vanish in the blink of an eye. She'll leave, just like he's heard whispers of foreigners doing so. She'll just crumble into dust, or melt away like ice, or just go without a sound, without warning.

Don't move, Gavroche wills. She's going to go away.

It is, perhaps, far more difficult being a twelve years old than the messy blonde lets on. It is also, perhaps, as equally difficult (if not more) seeing someone you thought was well and alive and noticing that yes, while they're here with you now, they're well and dead.

Gavroche lets out a flurry of wails then, and his resolve not to move has faded quickly. He's angry, he's confused, but he's sad. Eponine has passed away. His sister--who, perhaps not as close as proper siblings should be, is still his sister--has left the streets of Paris under the circumstance of death.

The gamin charges and at first it's with a fist--and he hits her, roughly, and hits her again and again and again but despite the roughness his hands bounce off the other like he's punching a pillow. It's the second or third or maybe even sixth hit and he lets his legs buckle from underneath him, his howling more pained than angry. He's collapsed onto her, arms wrapped around in a hug.

His sister is here, but at what cost?

Eponine stood there, watching Gavroche, wondering to herself what he was going to do. The seconds drag on while she watches him, both of them completely wordless, their eyes locked onto each other. It probably has been said somewhere that a lot can be said with a fleeting glance; well, minutes are passing and the two of them are still standing there, still watching each other. Who can say what is being exchanged between them in that silence?

For Eponine's part, she is thinking that Gavroche will be angry and will most definitely scold her when he learns that she has been at the barricades. Despite her best efforts to keep that knowledge from him, it seems that someone has seen fit to thwart those efforts.

And even though she has put on a brave face thus far, somehow, being confronted by her brother has damaged the walls she put up and the facade the presented to those who inquired about her well-being. Perhaps it is because he is family, and at the last, she wished to keep him from learning what she had done.

But all of that gets pushed from her mind when Gavroche finally moves, and wails, and begins to pound at her with all the strength of a twelve year old boy from the streets. She is rooted where she stands, moving slightly with each blow, but her gaze is still fixed on him. But then he's stopped, and he's fallen against her, hugging her.

Eponine finds herself putting her arms around him, too, because in spite of everything, in spite of them not being especially close, he is her brother. And that, in this moment, is the only thing that has any meaning.

"Gavroche." How does one comfort a distraught boy? Eponine is not good with this sort of thing at all. "What is this noise all about? Surely there are others who deserve this noise more than I!" That does not sound particularly comforting, so Eponine stops and tries again. "How strange that the two of us should find each other here!" She feels an odd pang that she cannot quite help. She wonders again if Gavroche's presence here means that he too has died.

And that is hardly a comforting thought. But there is, right in front of her, a boy, her brother, who needs to be comforted. Only, she is not good at doing that. And so she awkwardly ruffles his hair a few times, while pulling him in closer to her, in hopes that actions will say what her words cannot.

'There are others who deserve this noise more than I' and the sad part is Gavroche knows it's true, because they weren't exactly estranged but it wasn't like they spent every waking moment together. Gavroche didn't do brotherly things and Eponine didn't do sisterly things.

He forces himself to sniff and tries to calm himself down, taking deep breathes. He can't remember the last time he'd cried like this! No, he honestly can't. Perhaps alone, in his elephant, hiding away from the world.

Why, he's twelve years old. He shouldn't be crying like a babe! Not infront of Eponine. She might tell Marius of all of his ugly sobbing--and Pontmercy, much as he was wont to do, would surely tell Jehan, Combeferre and the others. And what a fool he'd look like, a sniveling brat and a proud gamin.

There's a big difference, Gavroche thinks, between being a gamin and just a waistrel. Whether anyone else realizes that is beyond him. He brings a sleeve up on his jacket to wipe away his tears and awkwardly hiccups as his breathing is still quick and doesn't agree with him, nor does the sudden pounding on his head.

"If we're both here, maybe more of us will come. Montparnasse, perhaps?"

There was no time for brotherly things or sisterly things, not in the world they had lived in. What with the wars going on and the things the older Thenardier was involved in, things like pursuing sibling relationships were not much of a priority. Is Eponine happy with that? No, she most certainly is not. But while she knows she could not change anything back home, at least here, there seems to be some kind of second chance to make things better or at least different than they were.

She pokes Gavroche on the shoulder, a teasing gesture. "Stop with the tears, marmotte. You are too big to be carrying on like that." Wherever that particular word came from, Eponine is not sure, but it seems fitting, in a way. Or maybe it is not fitting at all. It just came to her mind, and so she used it to address Gavroche.

"And perhaps! What a thing that would be." Eponine smiles at the thought of others joining them there; others who had hopefully not passed on and were still living.

Marmotte. Gavroche's face twists and it's hard to tell if it's amusement or annoyance--perhaps it's the special brand of both that Gavroche has always been so fond of--and he's still trying to wipe the redness out of his eyes, as if doing it forcefully enough will have better results and not just give him a bigger headache.

"There's a lotta 'em. An' y'know? Ones from the barricade. The leaders are, huh?" He nods. "Enjolras an' Courfeyrac and Combeferre."

[open]

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augh, that was so sad. Now to see if I can match that. Thenardier siblings, bringing all the feels.

;_; bbies

I just want to gather them up and hug them.

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