I PREFER THE TERM RAZOR SHARP (MYLIE <3)

[msieurthernadier]

Louis Thenardier had, had what some may call a rough day. A day plagued with interruptions, with brawls, with threatening looks and with even more threatening words. Louis had yet to unsheath a knife but he had come close, it seemed that people where becoming less and less fearful of him the closer time came to this apparent revolution. Bah, he spat on the floor a gob of phlegm that mixed with the grime already there, he wasn't about to take any crap today. Monsieur Thenardier as he was known to most of the people of Rue Saint Denis, technically owned the place. Not physically, he had no deeds on no buildings, he had no bill of ownership, the people weren't his slaves. But he and his gang the Patron Minette, they had money comin' in they knew who owed them what, they knew what people had and what people wanted. Louis checked his pocket-watch and grumbled something a rumble in his throat that only made him want to spit on the floor again, a luxury he had attempted to curb after a particularly vicious verbal attack from his dear wife. He spat again though, damn her and damn the people giving him dirty looks, he dared them to make a move, he dared anyone to make a move on him. He was a good man, kind, principled and intelligent. Cunning? certainly. Sly? Even moreso. But vicious? Perhaps.

Louis Thenardier allowed himself a moment's respite, lighting his pipe as he stopped, the scent of burning matcheads filled his nostrils, he waved the match till it ceased burning and dropped it the blue smoke of burning tobacco filled the air as he surveyed the street, he pursed his mustachioed lips and exhaled again he was deep in thought on how to keep his various business enterprises running. He knew damn well he would have to go collecting today, he'd take a few of the boys with him show 'em a good time at some poor bartender's expense, he was owed a few favors. He checked the time again, damn.... too soon to be goin' home and too late to consider a walk into town. He began his leisurely walk up and down the street nodding at a few people he passed, most greeted him as 'Monsieur Thernadier' some just inclined heads, others glared stormily but kept their harsh terms to themselves or at least until Louis was well out of ear shot.

It was known on the street that Monsieur Thenardier was a crack shot with a knife and knew how to use them up close just as he knew how to throw them afar, in total he carried no less than six knives and a large, heavy cleaver. He was adept and very well experienced in the use of all of them, his father had taught him so and he had learned and listened avidly. His father had taught him how to kill, how to throw and how to pick a proper fight. He had taught Louis how to be a real man and Louis had listened in awe of his Father, the only man he had ever truly respected. Louis had remembered everyone his father had told him and he had respected the dying man's final wishes. 'Raise your family as if they were God's gift to you Louis and you will never go wrong' Louis had lived by that, he breathed that. He had taken it to heart in a way that no man had ever taken anything else to heart.

He had treated his daughters as well as they could ever hope to have been treated, money was lavished on them, gifts, pretty dresses, dolls, anything they could have ever wanted was provided for them and then some. Louis could not even bring himself to shout at them when they did bad things, much less smack them, they were simply too angelic, too beautiful and too perfect for him to consider such a violent recourse for something so simple as a small fight or a stolen doll or an argument with their mother. Louis was a doting father yes, but the contrast between doting father and feared gang-leader was one that was so obvious that it almost caused people to visibly raise eyebrows when they saw just how obviously adoring he was around his daughters.

When he heard the raised voices, the girl screaming and the shouts of "POLICE! POLICE!" on his street? He reached for a knife his top hat still placed at a jaunty angle on his head, he kept walking booted feet making soft clunks as he did. His one functioning eye full of malevolence, the glass eye strangely void of all life. One hand under his jacket the other curled into a hard knuckled fist he turned into an alleyway and found an odd site.

A girl, slightly familiar standing being harassed by several police officers of varying height and build. Louis was glad to see that giant pig Desjardins was nowhere to be found, which made his life a little easier. He reached for a knife and then another. Now thoroughly well armed he spoke. His voice was odd, it was French unmistakably, his mother's American heritage abounded in his accent and mannerisms however, his tone had a uniquely 'New York' feel to it. "Excuse me gentlemen... but ain't there someone you should be askin' abou' bein' here?" he grinned, his lips curling into a smile the knives in each hand razor sharp.

The cops looked at him and Louis could see the fear in someone's eyes. "You think I have some sawta care for why yaw're here or who yaw're afta?" the cops continued to silently stare at him as he removed his top-hat and placed it on the wall. "Now ya have until I count to five to get offa my street or I'm gonna cut ya... cut ya so deep and painful like that you won't even live to tell the tale." the cops stared resolutely as Louis counted down from five, his eyes fixed on them with hatred.

He got to two and they were gone, he shook his head and moved towards the target of their harassment, a street girl... recognisable in some way... he pursed his lips as he placed his hat back on his head. "Oi Girl... what's your name?" those thoughtful, deceitful eyes narrowed as they focused on her face.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

You knew those days you should have rather stayed in bed practically from the moment you woke up. But then, you were an optimistic character and therefore pushed through, egged on by the false illusion of things only getting better by the hour. That would soon turn into things getting worse by the hour, but then it was already too late to turn around and crawl back under your blanket. You were up to your neck in troubles before you even could wrap your head around why on earth that should be the case… and all because some days simply were not made for you. Mylène was experiencing such a day and she was already fed up enough when she only just turned into the Rue Saint-Denis, keeping her head high to give the typical ‘don’t touch’ me expression that was needed nowadays when a girl of her age walked the streets alone, even in broad daylight as it was now. There were just too many people around with nothing to do, and boredom always made people reckless. You could try to steer clear of the shady characters of course, but you had nigh to no chance when they showed themselves to be wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Not that she would have ever viewed constables as sheep or anything of the good sort, she had lived on the other side of the law for too long to not get the ‘fight or flight’ instinct whenever she laid her eyes on them. But she was late for a meeting with one of the old members of Les Corbeils who had sent her a message saying he was in town and wished to see her. Since this man had been one of Alain’s closest friends, the thought of maybe today finding out something more about her tutor’s whereabouts made her heart beat faster and her step quicken. He might have been gone from Paris for two years, but now finallyworking up the guts again to return. Maybe even more of the Corbiers would return now… but no, she wouldn’t belong to them again, she now had her life with the ABC café and she liked it that way. She had improved immensely in those two years, from what had been a child of the streets, only knowing how to steal and run to a girl who slowly was able to write and could follow basic debates about the french philosophers who had laid the ground for the first revolution. Not that she had forgotten how life was down at the bottom, but she wanted to USE this knowledge to make life better for those who couldn’t have followed her up.

Lost in these thoughts just the thing happened she had wanted to avoid. Her mind had registered a little commotion at the edge of her visual field, but she had not turned to look what it was. Now she felt a small body pushing past her and suddenly something was dropped into her hand with the hissed command of ‘RUN!’. Instincts, sharpened and trained for years kicked in immediately and Mylène started forward with three big strides until her brain caught up with the situation. But then it already was too late. She heard the sharp angry outcry of a man: "POLICE! POLICE!" which was soon taken up by others, and as she just registered the purse in her hand, when she was already grabbed and surrounded by the same fleet of constables she had seen lounging on the street nearby, pushing her against a wall. “Now, now, what’d we have ‘ere!” one of them drawled, grabbing the purse from her hands and tossing it at the man it had been stolen from. “Hussy complice wasn’t quick enough!” “Eh, think I know this one even”, another interrupted, taking her chin roughly between two fingers and turning her head to the side. “Been a thieving brat ever since that high. Looks like a ‘respectable lady’ nao, but you ain’t change on the inside!”

Mylène cursed under her breath and pulled her chin out of the man’s grasp, glowering at him. There was no use in trying to get them to believe she hadn’t been involved in the theft. Now they had mapped her out as a thief, nothing but a miracle would sway their opinions. She was as good as arrested! Not to mention that they now started to ‘search’ her for any hidden weapons she might have, tossing lewd comments back and forth. Great… just the perfect day! “Hands offa me, ye swines!” she snarled, falling back into her old sewers accent she had tried to get rid of over the last few years. “Or I’ll teach ya some tricks I din’t unlearn either!”
But before she could put actions behind her words, she suddenly heard another voice interrupting their face-off. A voice, soon accompanied by a figure, and both Mylène knew all too well. Mon dieu, wasn’t there a better miracle He could have worked?!

None other than Louis Thénardier, con-artist and self appointed Master of the Court de Miracle, member of a band of thieves widely known as the Patron-Minette was just scaring the hell out of these constables. You might not like the man, as in Mylène’s case, but he sure as hell knew his work and his patch! Soon enough the police had legged it, and Mylène was left alone with Louis, who eyed her curiously and apparently didn’t recognize her. Oh typical… oh so typical!
“’Tresting that name shouldav escaped ya!” she replied sassily, still not quite able to hide her accent now she was dealing with things of the past. “But then, escroc-monsieur, ya know half of Paris, makes it difficult to keep all names.” Maybe that nickname would help his memory a little. She had invented it for him long ago, as a teasing reminder of his ‘occupation’, mixed with the name of a famous Parisien food.

[msieurthernadier]

Louis Thenardier almost had to repress his smile as it tugged at the sides of his lips, he could feel his ornate mustache bristling against the soft skin of his upper lip. He looked at her coldly though despite the small smile, his face betrayed no other motion, a raised black eyebrow however accompanied that small movement of his lips. He looked at her face and pursed those lips the smile disappearing, before looking her up and down, some realisation coming into his eye that glittered with a memory left buried now dug back up. "Ahhh it's my little sparraw-hawk." she used her 'affectionate' nickname for him and he used his more affectionate one for her. Louis had remembered her as soon as she uttered the words and even as he regarded her with a critical blue eye, he could tell she was making something of herself. She wasn't dressed in rags, nothing too dirty, nothing too clean but they lived in a dirty city Louis wouldn't ever expect Mylie Lacoquine to be dressed in anything particularly clean.

Not that she wasn't a clean girl but if memory served him correctly (as it often did with people he had cared about at some point in his relatively long life) she just seemed to accumulate dirt, not from rolling around in it, simply because the girl had loved to climb and hide and climb higher and hide in many more difficult places. She loved to steal, she loved to take things and hide them or buy food with them, Louis as a younger man perhaps had been rash in some of the actions he had taken, but he felt no remorse. He had matured and aged gracefully and grown up slightly from his days as a tavern-keeper. He was a respected man about town now, ableit he had an unsavory reputation, a gang-leader, a murderer, someone who intimidated those who tried to fight back against him. He was dangerous but he had a soft streak in him that was obvious to those who knew him well.

Perhaps it was that soft streak that had lead him to spare the girl a knife wound or even death at the tip of one of the many knives he had used in his shows at the bar. Perhaps it was fate or some sort of divine intervention that had caused him to allow the girl to run whilst her friend had been left behind bleeding to death. Louis had long questioned as to whether he would go to heaven or to hell and he'd long since realised that it didn't matter where he went as long as his daughters went someplace special. It didn't matter if he had to go down to the very darkest reaches of the ninth circle as long as his daughters got to go to heaven. That was the kind of love and affection he held for them, the devotion to those he considered his blood. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Eponine and Azelma, his other children where no longer his own and he was glad to be rid of 'em but his two daughters? Not a chance he could ever do such a thing to them.

Perhaps that was why the girl hadn't died that night with a knife in her back as her friend had. Because she reminded Louis of his daughters. His 'sweethearts' he never wanted them to be upset, never to be sad and maybe a little of that love had filtered into his feelings about the slightly disheveled girl in front of him. She could have been Eponine's age, "Well one halfa Paris I know, the other hawlf knows me." he said matter of factly. "Ya know me sparrow hawk I ain't ever been good with names..." he could remember hers though. "Still in trouble with the law I see.... you not remember any of the tricks with the knife I showed ya?"

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

His little sparrow hawk... well sure! The nickname, as fondly as it had been spoken, caused a frown to flicker over Mylène’s usually open and happy face. There were just too many memories connected to that name, memories she might not have tried to outright forget, but at least shove a little into the back of her mind. For one, it suddenly made her think of little Pépin, a boy who had escaped from the factory with her and lived two years in the Cour de Miracles, until he had ended his young life by Thénardier’s hands. He might have made it seem like an accident, but Mylène had seen the flicker of annoyance and hardness in his eyes the moment he had realized Pépin was trying to steal from his customers. To rid this man of some profit had been as dangerous then as it was now. Mylène and one other boy had escaped that night, and in her little heart she had sworn to hate Thénardier forevermore. Just that he had never made it easy for her to truly hate him.

She just couldn’t figure him out most of the time, he treated her kindly, had often helped her without her ever asking for it – Heaven prevent she would EVER ask something of him!! – and right now was just another of these incidents. It could have ended badly for her, could have spoilt every attempt she had made to get out of this life, and just because he had been there and his fearsome reputation had aided her,she was still here. Of course she ought to thank him,but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I wouldn’t know when I ever became ‘your’ sparrowhawk, but yeah, it’s me!” she retorted sassily, tossing her hair back in a defiant gesture, a quirk she hadn’t been able to undo no matter how hard she tried. “Seems you’re still pulling the same old scare act. Sometimes I really wonder what it IS that makes people scared of you… not like you’d look it much.” She was of course implicitely claiming that she had no fear of him, and that was partly even true. Mylène was cursed with a thorough lack of fear for most situations and people, always going by the principle: ‘will work out… somehow… there’s always a way out.’ So far, he luck had held… but also thanks to people like him who were there at the right place and time.

Of course he would assume that she still went roughly about her old ways and had been caught, what else to think when you encountered a late thieving girl surrounded and cornered by members of the Parisien police force? Mylène wasn’t even sure if she should go to lengths and deny it, or simply let him believe what he wanted. But then, a little bit of pride flamed up inside her, and she acted on it.
“I’m no longer earning my money pickpocketing”, she pointed out, but then added with a sassy grin: “Well, not mainly. Sometimes there’s that old itch in your fingers. But this was just a misunderstanding. Some brat appointed me accomplice in its crime and simply legged it.” Rolling her eyes at his next comment, she replied: “Be sure I remember most of them… also the one you showed on my friends.”

[msieurthernadier]

He nodded at her last comment, that one had stung, the words had bit into his conscience and gripped his heart and squeezed for a second before releasing into his blood. If Louis hadn't have been a more sensible man he no doubt would have knifed the girl long ago as well, well perhaps if he hadn't been so sentimental he would have stuck her and left her to bleed. But he hadn't, he'd thrown the knife it had whizzed and sung through the air and it had caught her little friend in the back and he had died. Oh boo-hoo... weepy-weep, cry-cry, sniffle-sniffle. The little brat had been trying to steal from Louis himself, not from his customers or even his devil-spawned wife. But Louis Thenardier and though the man was fair and often willing to do good by children he could stand nobody stealing from him, nobody taking the money that he worked hard to earn for his own children. If the street-kids wanted charity they could find it in their coffins for all Louis had cared for at the time.

So why had he spared her then? His Sparrow-Hawk who had survived and been left unscathed where her friend had been knifed in the back for some basic thievery. Louis frowned as he thought about it and considered the act and then reconsidered the act. He took off his top hat and smoothed his lank,greasy hair and frowned and then pursed his lips and then frowned some more and then put his top hat back on his head and then looked up at the sky. He listened to the girl as she spoke of her lack of fear of him, of her insults about his stature. "Well ya neva were one to mince yaw're words Sparraw-hawk." he said with a soft smile at the times where she had denied his charity behind the shield of childish insults, but also the times when she had taken the coins from him and been equally insulting.

It didn't matter particularly to Louis whether the girl had starved and died out on the street, but some part of her waifish appearance had struck a chord deep within him. Just like the chord that had been struck when she had made her comment about the friend that he had 'practised' on. But the one about fear had made him think even more deeply than any other remark she had made. It was true Louis was of a smaller stature than many men, indeed he was wiry and strong and beneath his coats was muscle and strength that was belied by his thin frame. "People fear me... because I ain't afraid of killin' 'em when they get in my way. I ain't afraid'a takin' a knife and running 'em through with it... I know my craft and I've fawght my way to the tawp of the food chain in Paris. Ain't nobody gonna take tha' from me."

Oh people had tried and people had failed and politicians that he didn't like had died and people who tried to fight against Louis Thenardier were put down viciously with no quarter given. Louis would never ask for mercy and therefore would expect no mercy to be asked for by his enemies. He pursed his lips and looked at her, glass eye staring forward his real eye looking at her face. "Well I'm glad ya got outta pick-pocketing.... I was starwting to worry about cha..." he looked at her carefully hands in his trouser pockets. "The Police shouldn't so much as breathe around here withou' me sayin' so foist." he grumbled and remained standing... "So what ya doin' that's stopped ya from pursuing as noble a profession as bein' a pickpocket?" he said with an almost paternal look in his eyes.

So what the Gang-Leader had a soft-spot for her. What are you gonna do about it?

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène knew very well about her big mouth, and Thénardier had even put it rather diplomatic and nicely. She was used to far worse titulations, starting by impudent brat/shrew and ending somewhere between unspeakable cusswords and calling her the twice-cursed daughter of a terribly ill mother with a questionable profession. She usually laughed these things off, rather proud sometimes even that she could get people to use their countenance, because they had underestimated her. Everyone would think there was not much of a fight or spunk in a girl as petite as her, but they all soon learned better. Louis reaction made her think back herself on the many times when he had – by some default she was sure – tried to be nice and she had rebuked him. Sometimes it had even been nice to try a few of her word tricks on him, just to see she wasn’t getting rusty, but he himself could be rather disarming with the way he treated her. Hadn’t she known that her father and mother had lived quite a few miles outside of Paris and had been peasants, she might have started to think a bit more closely about his rather inexplaianble fondness of her. One could almost think he put her in one line with Éponine and Azelma!

“’Course not, cause where’d be the fun in that?” she retorted impishly. “If we always bit down what we thought, this land wouldn’t go anywhere. I’m a spark in the torch of progress!” She was subconscioulsy quoting Enjolras in one of his grand speeches now, and only realized it when the words had left her mouth. Dieu eternel, these boys were starting to rub off on her with their sophisticated talking! Somehow it didn’t quite fit to how Mylène usually acted, or at least HAD acted in her time before the ABC café, but then she was more or less making fun of it anyway. She was a simple girl, not anyone’s figurehead,and whether she was aiding the boys in their hopeful progress was her own thing and no one else’s. There surely would not be any mention of her later on, when the revolution was through. It would be the boys that were remembered, and it was good that way. She had used her quick wit and sharp tongue before she had met Courfeyrac and the others, and she had been famous for it before them. “And anyway… now I have my nickname La Coquine for it, I must do it justice.”

Thénardier was very proud of his achievements, and in Mylène’s eyes, as much as she hated to admit it, he could very well be proud indeed. The Cour des Miracles, the underground place where the thieves of Paris lived wasn’t an easy spot to live in, since even amongst those with little to no money, fights were omnipresent. They didn’t want to belong to any master and yet all tried to be masters of each other. One needed stealth, a quick mind and a streak of brutality to even survive down there, not to mention being a respected figure. And Thénardier was respected. More feared than respected, but even his enemies had to admit that he was a darn cunning bastard. “Unless of course someone comes along and proves to be just the type you can NOT outwit, and then you’ll tumble down from your fine pedestal”, she pointed out and showed him the tip of her tongue.

That he had been worrying about her surprised Mylène not just a bit, but she let it go without a comment, only raised an eyebrow meaningfully, as if to say: ‘yeah sure you do!’ As far as she remembered, she had been more trouble than anything for Thénardier, and he rather saw trouble dead. What would it be to him if she ended up arrested?! But somehow the little mischievous and adventurous part in her had been piqued when he talked about being the best. She’d like to show him once that she still hadn’t lost her touch with pickpocketing. It would be dangerous of course, Louis didn’t often take kindly to these jokes, but it was too much of a thrill to pass up. Too bad though he had both of his hands in his pockets now… she needed him to take them out. Well… distraction was everything. “I’m following the noble profession of serving drinks to young throats that can afford them”, she quipped, nonchalantly leaning against the wall and keeping her gaze anywhere but near his pockets. She knew his visual field was impaired due to his glass eye, but he knew that she knew… so what he would probably least expect was a little assault from the direction of his GOOD eye… well… patience…

[msieurthernadier]

Louis smiled softly at her new choice of job as he began to walk back down the street, he scanned the surrounding area as he nodded at her words, a few of his men had been waiting at the entrance to the street he had walked down. All dressed in the same way, top-hats, boots and overcoats where the name of the day in Patron-Minette, they all followed their master and the different clothing served to distinguish them to both allies and to enemies. Particularly the pigs. Louis frowned slightly at the memory of the police and all the things they took away from people. Not just him, but others as well he had thrown the cops off Rue Saint-Denis and indeed from the cour des miracles almost straight after he'd assumed leadership of his gang. Only the very hardy, very bold and very tough police officers tended to walk around on patrol in this villainous haven of despair and pain. Including that bear of a human being 'Sargent Desjardins' who'd made it very clear to Louis that he wasn't going to just walk away, Louis had had to stop himself from burying his cleaver in the man's back almost immediately.

But now was not the time to remember past grudges and bring them to the fore it was a time to look at a girl he had considered almost a daughter at some point. Of course she'd never forgiven him for what he had done to her friend and in a way Louis both understood and respected that decision, he was of the mind that if someone was to kill one of his friends (as if he had any real 'friends' ) then he would probably not rest till that friend had been avenged. But Louis in a way was a lonely man plagued constantly by his rather tiresome wife and though his daughters provided him with their light. He often felt that in a way he had already burned that bridge a long, long time ago that his babies were never really going to look upto him like he had looked upto his own father. That burned Louis slightly, it cut deep into his blackened soul and it forced him into a very human mood that threatened to overrun the excitement of having a good ol' drink later that evening. As he did almost every evening or perhaps go to the theatre. He mused thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked, his men behind the unlikely pair of the pretty teenager and the rough, mustachioed gang leader.

Louis paused and stopped and his men stopped and he looked around thoughtfully, something crossing his face. "Y'see Mylene... that's where yawr wrong.... I don't imagine there'll be anyone comin' anytime soon who can outwit or out foight me." he carried on walking at his leisurely pace, still thinking about something else his mind occupied, as he turned away from her briefly. He expected her to say something about how he was destined to fall and she was right and no doubt he would lose his grip on his power as was the want of people who ruled through fear. But he'd damned if he'd let it get to him especially coming from a street-runt he'd helped out of the gutter and out of his own purse he'd have anyone know. But he didn't let it show just walked and nodded and looked at her carefully. "You serve those A-B-C kids now then?" someone behind him laughed, muttered words about the group spread through the five or six men who were behind. Mostly concerning how much their boss hated the arrogant little brats.

Louis looked behind him briefly, his pockets suddenly unguarded by his hawk-like vision. "Now, now boiys... remember we awre in the company of a lady..." he grinned as he spoke in a mocking tone and his men laughed along with him. He carried on walking, completely oblivious if his pockets were lighter or had been picked of the coins he kept. His real money was kept particularly safe in a place that you'd have to get pretty close to, to get anything out of. "An intellectual no less." he mused again with that mocking tone. "Come to tell us all about how awre failin's ain't even our fawlt." the men laughed and he laughed along with them. Taking a look at Mylene a little more closely. "I'da thawght you were smawrter than tha' Sparraw-Hawk." he said pursing his lips again worriedly.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

There were not many people in the world who could be a match for Thénardier – but in Mylène’s eyes only concerning his self-esteem! She couldn’t think of anyone who would so readily put himself before everything and anyone, be brutal to the point of complete ruthlessness, and still call himself a benevolent benefactor. Whatever had gone wrong in his brain at some point in time, Mylène only could hope it was not a catching illness. But at least she knew by own experience that self-overstimation led all too often to serious problems and several tight spots, and it was often more luck than actual knowledge and aptitude that got you out of these. One day, she was sure of it, even her Escroc-Monsieur would have to step back and accept he had finally found his master – and if this master only was the circumstances themselves. In the new world the ABC friends and so many others who just needed a rallying call wanted to bring about, there would be no place for underground terror, protection money and a band of thieves walking around with top hats and sashes.

“Ah, keep telling yourself that, Louis-dear”, she chirped with an exaggerated sickly-sweet voice she had often heard the street floozies use to attract their customers – gladly a fate that had never been hers and she knew she had to thank God daily for having been spared this ordeal – “but also be sure that I will be there to say I told you so should that day ever come. Oh, it will be an interesting day indeed!”
Even though she had expected nothing else but scorn from Thénardier and his men when they found out who she was working for now – or rather where – their comments still stung, especially because not all of them were about Louis and his relationship with the ABC friends, but rather about HER relationship with them and what kind of ‘service’ she offered. Her ears were sharp enough for catching those kinds of comments, and she realized that she might have spent too much time out of such company, since she apparently wasn’t used anymore to dirty talk as much as she had thought to be. “Wha’? Gotta problem wi’ that, even if’t were so, Babet?” she threw at one of them, a tall man of such a thin complexion Mylène sometimes swore she could hear his bones rattling. “’Xcuse me for wanting a bit more flesh on them guys bones, for fear o’gettin’ bruises on contact!”

Not that she had ever come close enough to one of them to really know a difference, and it angered her a little that her honest affection once again was put into that kind of pigeon-hole. But then… they were scum of the streets, were they not? She had once been one of them, and now they were jealous! And anyway… her anger was immediately washed away when she realized that Thénardier had actually left his pocket ungarded for a second. Swift like a snake, her hand darted forward, slipped inside and closed about a few spare coins. It wasn’t much, maybe even just deposited there as a treat for pickpockets to fall for, but that didn’t matter. It was the idea itself that counted… she had managed to outsmart the one-eyed fox! If that wasn’t a reason to feel smug!
“I’m smarter than you think”, she replied with a mischievous grin. “But then you always underestimated me, Escroc-Monsieur. Them boys … most of’em are dreamers, I give ye tha’, they dunno wha’ life’s like dun ‘ere… but them have the contacts! They come from above an’ look below, for a change. They know how to do this shizz, they know how to rally the masses. There’ll be change, Thénardier, whether ye like it or not!”

She wondered whether and when he would notice something was missing. Probably the next time he put his hand in his pockets again… in which case she needed to prepare a quick escape probably. If anything this man did not like to be made a fool of in front of his men.

[msieurthernadier]

"Them boys..." he began in response to her and he could think of any number of things to say about 'Them boys' them swaggering school-kids who pranced up and down Chanverrerie, there red-coats and tri-colors and general arrogance was something that Louis despised. He hated them, he hated their leader that little blonde punk Enjolras and just the boys in general upset him and ruined his nice view with all of it's lovely people who gave him money. "Them boiys...awre whawt's wrong with this ailing country." he pointed down at the ground. "And as sure as this ground is here beneath my feet I will make suwre that none of this revolution crap comes here to Saint-Denis." he said angrily and carried on walking his eyes shifted angrily in the girl's direction. He had no bones that one day he would meet his maker, he was forty five years old past middle aged and though he was strong, wiry and fearsome, he was not the man he was twenty or even ten years ago, but he was strong and so cunning he could have tricked a bag of weasels into believing they didn't need to struggle anymore.

This girl and her group of 'friends of the alphabet' or whatever they were calling themselves Louis had seen their ilk come and go in glorious so called 'revolutions' that only caused more pain because there was always one more tyrant to subvert this apparently 'good' cause. It didn't particularly matter to Thenardier who controlled the country, as many things did not matter to him outside of his city, chief amongst them was who actually controlled it. Louis Thenardier didn't care for politics, or politicians or the nefarious, money-grubbers. Though the same could be said of himself and his gang, Louis considered himself above all of that childishness of lying and deceit and for the most part stuck to his 'principles'

He had laughed as the girl picked on one of the members of his gang, a sprightly and lanky man but no less of a fighter and a rough, hardened individual as anyone else in the gang. The Patron Minette was full of men like that, men who didn't appear to look too strong, plenty of men who did. But those tall men with wiry muscles and sharp eyes and rough, calloused knuckles who knew how to make a man hurt with all manner of weapons including their own hands. Louis valued them.

But he still laughed as his Sparrow-Hawk was rude to them... as he had turned he felt something, just something tiny pinching at his pocket, so tiny was the feeling that it barely registered, but the thief and the criminal and the cunning, wise man that Louis was instantly reacted to it. Reacted as in he was aware that Mylene had stolen from him, she had put her hand in his pocket and taken his change. The money he had intended to pay for some fresh bread for Azelma. "I hope my dawghter's keepin' well Sparraw-hawk." he said moving around to the girl's front blocking her within a circle of top-hatted, hard faced men who didn't look to be moving anytime soon. He grinned and licked his lips not in a sadistic, lustful manner, simply to smooth out the dry skin. "Now. Ya can keep what yew stole frawm me. I don't mind dat. I respect it of cawse. Ya keep that money dawrling... but just keep an eye on Ponine for me.... I ain't got no other chances for redemption side from her."

(OOC Notes: Come on look at his signature and tell me you don't think he's just a tad adorable)

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

So it was obvious Louis didn’t like the ABC friends, but Mylène didn’t really care. She was not out for his approval about her chosen lifestyle, she was her own man so to say, and not subject to anyone concerning her decisions. She liked the band of friends very much even though sometimes she would tease them about the otherworldlyness of their ideals. But not all of them were like that. Feuilly for example, he was a poor workman and he had grown up in poverty like so many in Paris, he knew what he was talking about. And Courfeyrac might be of noble blood by birth, but he had a heart of gold, brightly burning with the ideas of the world he wanted to see. And Enjolras, talkative and loving the big scene as he might be, would be a good leader to whatever it turned out to be in the end: rebellion, open war, slow but definite change… you named it. In any way, she preferred their company on most days to those conmen around and including Louis Thénardier. It was not like she felt to be better than them now, but she had finally learned that this was not all to the world that you could expect.

“An' as sure as the sun comes up in the morning o’er these stinkin’ streets, change will come whether ye wan’ it or not”, Mylène retorted nonchalantly, though a tint of passion could still be heard in her voice. “An’ either ye flow with the tide or ye get washed away with it. Yer own choice.” Of course the Escroc-Monsieur would think that the whole of the town, or at least Saint-Denis belonged to him, and he made sure everyone thought so as well, by collecting money from basically anyone selling something on there, but that didn’t make it even more right! Underground terror was as worse as being terrorized by a king and an impartial parliament from above… though the voices speaking out against THAT were far and few between. Mylène could only hope one day Thénardier really would have to rethink his ways or perish… and that she could be there to witness it.

The merry and joking air of the moment when she had picked on Babet and had gotten some laughs and sneers on his expense, was washed away quickly though, and Mylène even saw it coming. She saw the flicker of realization in Thénardier’s good eye and even though his face remained mostly deadpan, she knew she had been found out. You couldn’t hide anything for long from this old dog! His lackeys followed him swiftly and without any spoken commands – well trained poodles,all of ‘em! – and within seconds she found her way blocked. Silence was sometimes more effective than any hissed or called threat, and boy they knew what they were doing! Patron-Minette weren’t the uncrowned kings of Paris Sous-Sol for nothing! But then there was Mylène… and she had been cursed (or blessed?) with a remarkable lack of fear ever since she could remember. She knew she OUGHT to be afraid now, at least a little… but she wasn’t. Her eyes had scanned her surroundings before, and she had mapped out two or three succesful escape routes over their heads. Risky… acrobatical exits, yes… but exits all the same.

“So, you noticed, eh? Told ye ye underestimate me!” she grinned at him sassily, but then one of her eyebrows darted upwards as he made this… yes, it was some kind of deal. Keep the money… that probably also meant keep the hand that had took it. Instead, she would have to watch out for Ponine?! King’s rotten teeth! Groaning she shook her head. “Can I have the bag of fleas instead? Je t’implore!” Eponine wasn’t exactly easy to look after, since she shared a few traits with Mylène herself: challenge-loving, free-spirited and not very fond of her father. This could only mean trouble…