Heart of Life [Myléne]

[MUSICHETTA AVARE]

The Latin Quarter was not a place Chetta ever thought she would be comfortable passing, especially now that the sun had made its descent and letting the silver moon took its place. During the day, when it was bright, with countless students and workers miling about the streets of the Latin Quarter and loiter in the open establishments, it felt somewhat safer for her. But now that the noises had dimmed down, leaving almost silence except for the odd noises or the hollering here and there from drunken patrons as she passes, Chetta felt more vulnerable. Although not enough that she would consider abandoning the area and forgetting about her intention.

Her defences are up and her posture tense as she passes more of the poorly constructed buildings, trying not to flinch too hard whenever a burst of loud noises erupted. Somehow, shrouded by the darkness people started to appear suspicious. And as much as she refuse to judge anyone by how they appear, Chetta couldn't help but pointedly avoid staring at the obvious figures lurking around the alleyways. She wondered if those figures were harmless drunks vomiting the contents of their stomach, too drunk and will likely pass out in the gutter somewhere or the dangerous criminals, equipped with weapons lurking in search for their victims. Whoever they were, she didn't bother staying too long to contemplate further.

The Musain held a completely different atmosphere compared to the eerie and frightening feeling she get on the street of the Latin Quarter. The Musain felt warm and lively despite the lack of patrons currently occupying the front room. It wasn't odd exactly, considering the establishment weren't the most popular. Unless you were students who were secretly planning to overthrow the monarchy, that is. if it wasn't for the slightly too long length of her dress, Chetta would have skipped her way towards Mylie, who she knew must be behind the bar.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Myléne!" she greeted the dark haired girl, her ever present smile plastered on her face. "How are you this fine evening? I hope those lads hadn't soured your mood too badly." She leaned closer towards the table, feeling only slight discomfort due to the constraining corset she wore under her dress. She wasn't a fan of wearing them, waving it off as nothing more but a bother. But as much as she hate the idea of wearing a corset, she had never indulge in the idea of forgoing the article of clothing. "Tell me, had they drunk all of the wine and ale? I would assume so by the lack of gentleman in here."

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

Mylène was working the bar alone with the Madame tonight, at long last a shift without Lucille. She knew it was mean to think that way, but there was just something about the girl that made her alarm bells ring. Sometimes she thought to feel her glances in her back like sharp knives, and when she turned Lucille would smile that false little smile and fuss about some thing she held in her hands. And then… the incidents. It had started out with little things, barely recognizable, things that just happened in a tavern occasionally. First there would be a burn hole in her apron which she couldn’t explain having acquired, then there was the story with the glass shards. It couldn’t be Lucille’s fault of course that the Madame had found them after all… or could it? In general, Mylène was feeling like her employers both suddenly were looking at her with different eyes. Could she really be imagining all of that? But why would Lucille want to sabotage her? In truth, they never had been the best of friends, but Mylène herself could not imagine that anything she might have said or done would justify any foul play from Lucille’s part,

In the end, however, she knew she had to live with whatever was thrown her way. If she caught Lucille on anything openly, she would confront her about it without any doubt, but as there was nothing yet to really put her finger on, she would push it in the back of her mind, never being a worrywart. She had thought about these things far too much already! As if to add to her inward resolution, she heard the door being opened, and she saw a small frame slip through, quite similar to her own. A grin already started to spread on her features as she saw the girl approach, for it was none other than Musichetta, the friend and mistress of Lesgles and Joly! The two girls, even though Musichetta was a few years older, went way back, even to Mylène’s gamine times. It was quite funny how they both had found their way into this very special group of friends, each in their own way.

Laughing, she tossed the towel on the bar and went to embrace her friend quickly. “If it is not ma chère Bagatelle! Is that yer busk ‘m feelin, or yer spine? Girl, yer gettin’ thinner by day!” she joked, using a special nickname she had bestowed on the girl from the moment she had learned that Musichetta basically meant ‘little music’. It was particularly amusing to her that a bagatelle was at the same time a short musical piece and a little love affair, which she thought befitting to her friend’s lifestyle. Then she raised her hands in a comical gesture, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “They drained us te the last drop! Which is why they now set up their quarters across the Corinth Wine shop, since they are rumoured te still have beverages en masse.” Of course, there were fairly different reasons why the lads didn’t frequent the café as much as they used to. They had become serious, were spending their time endlessly planning their revolution. They wouldn’t let themselves be distracted by wine, singing and fun anymore. “At least ye are still faithful te me”, she concluded, blowing Chetta a kiss.

[MUSICHETTA AVARE]

Musichetta couldn't help feeling that small pang of disappointment upon noticing the absence of Les Amis from the Musain. She had been counting on at least given a small peek of both Joly and Lesgle, doing whatever it was that they had done these days. She knew enough on the matters of their beloved revolution. Their quest to free dear Patria from the tyranical clutches of the Monarchy and how it seemed to be closer and closer. She can see it from the way every single one of them had been behaving these days, tense and agitated. And as much as she supported their ideals, she couldn't help as she also kept growing weary and worried. Not only about both Joly and Lesgle, seeing as both were the love of her life, but also about the well-being of each of the Amis, even Enjolras, who she had to admit slightly frightened her.

She couldn't let it show though, not in front of Mylène. Not when she looked as cheerful and spirited as ever. Chetta returned her friends embrace, attempting to squeeze her friend as hard as she could muster, which weren't actually hard at all considering her small and thin frame. And getting even thinner by the day. she mentally supplied. "Oh chérie, you need not to call me Bagatelle now that I am no longer a child." she playfully chided her, despite how she had started to grow fond of how Mylène always used the nickname. "And I may have gotten thinner, but I do hope that was my busk you're feeling. I do not wish to inflict more worry upon Joly about the condition of my spine." There was a certain fondness she always felt whenever she had mention the hypochondriac student. That fondness which somehow managed to put a smile on her face and further masked the selfish disappointment.

At her friends exaggerated antics, she stifled a laugh. Mylène had her hands raised in a gesture and a loud sigh escaped her lips. Chetta let out a small smile before carefully schooling her expression into one resembling one of shocked and flabbergasted. She even let out a mock gasp as she clamped one hand over her mouth and one rested itself where her heart should be, clutching it. "My poor, poor mademoiselle!" she cooed. "How could they! I could not fathom how they could abandon a lady after draining every last drop of wine. That is not away to treat a lady! Do not worry, I shall always remain faithful to you!" she declared as she went in for another embrace.

She blushed profusely after their little antics, looking around to make sure no one had noticed before clearing her throat, putting her proper lady act back in place. Her parents wouldn't be too happy if they knew their little Musichetta gallivanting around the Latin Quarter after dark, raising her voice and behaving generally unlady-like at all. "Mon Dieu, I am certain you have been spending your time with Monsieur de Courfeyrac. You are starting to behave resembling him!" She was glad she had ran into Mylène, after being unable to caught sight of the men she was hoping, especially considering she wouldn't wanted to have to sneak her way to the Corinth, fearing the amount of drunkard she had to deal with.

[MYLÈNE LACOQUINE]

The way Chetta embraced her, it was as if she was trying her best to squeeze all juice out of Mylie or break her in two, quite impressive for such a dainty damsel indeed! Mylène gave a breathless laugh, returning the squeeze with force of her own, entering into a little game they had played a lot ever since they knew each other. But through this squeezing she realized there were a lot more bones palpable than last time she had done it. Musichetta was really growing thinner! It must be the overall poverty and bad conditions making themselves known. Mylie was always rather thin and stringry, but she still had at least some flesh on her bones,and that of Chetta was vanishing. She did not want to pry though, knowing herself how little good it usually did to be confronted with the obvious observation of someone else. But she filed this information away for later, already concocting a little plan in her head.

“Ye know… worrying about ye for once might distract ‘em from checkin’ his pulse ev’ry five minutes te see if he’s still alive”, she quipped. “Our Malade Imaginaire has been overdoin’ it lately in me eyes. Bu’ then ye know tha’ better than I do. Ye probably need Lesgles as balance, dunt ye?”
It was refreshing to know that around Chetta she always could do her worst, and that given half the chance the girl would even play along and join into the banter with some remarkable talent of her own. In the beginning of their acquaintance, Mylène had always contested the girl, finding it completely horrible that she would be ‘followed’ – as she perceived it back then – by someone like Musichetta, who had everything and yet rather played on the streets with the bad kids. Poverty and fighting tooth and nail for your next meal, running for your live and stealing was no exciting adventure! And yet, over time, there had grown an understanding between the girls, which had been lasting for years, and somehow fate had decided to put them in the same environment again: Amongst Les Amis de L’abaisse.

“Right??!” she fired back, putting her face into a blasé expression and raising her chin like she had seen dozens of noble gonzesses do. She even adopted the haughty accent, getting rid of her usual street slang. “It is absolutely scandalous. There are no gentlemen left in this world of rotten morals! We should design a plan of revenge on them that would make them think twice about abandoning us again!” But soon enough she could not hold up the charade any longer and started laughing, giving her friend another warm embrace. Chetta was so different from Ponine, and yet both girls in their own way could be called the closest of friends, something she had not experienced much in her life, as fending for your survival made true friendships scarce.

She was about to say something more, tease Chetta about her obvious discomfort about having had the humour horses galloping off and away with her, but then her friend suddenly brought Courfeyrac into the conversation and she gave a slight start, before she caught herself again. “Hmpf”, she made, crinkling her nose, “I’d rather say Courf takes after ME nu he learned the swag te really own the streets. So if anythin’ he’d resemble ME, right? Bu’… other than tha’ wha’makes ye think I’ve ben spendin’time wi’ him?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant and innocent. So far, Courf and her had been able to keep what had happened after the May Parade frome everyone, as they did not want anyone to think they had reason to make mean comments or gloat. Would Chetta know something? Or had she just been referring to the lessons Courf was giving her, in reading and writing, which most people knew about? Great, now she was starting to get paranoid!

[MUSICHETTA AVARE]

Chetta had to resist a giggle from erupting at the mention of her lover’s tendency to exaggerate. From the times she had spent together with Joly, Chetta of all people should knew how his hypochondria was no laughing matter. But at times she couldn’t helped it though, especially the way Mylie had bluntly chose her words to describe the Malade Imaginaire. “Oh hush, you know Joly could not help himself. It could have been his nerve playing tricks with his brain.” she fondly chided the girl. “He worries too much about the state of everything, I should rather not add to his burden.” Not with how the call of the revolution is drawing nearer.

The bright red flush of her face was definitely hard to miss now that Mylie had brought up Lesgles’ name to the conversation. While she had learn to stop flushing everytime someone mention Joly, even at the briefest of conversation, she had not learn to control the traitorous act when it comes to the other third of their trio. Joly was her lover, that much was clear. But Lesgles? Joly had at times shared her with his friend, and honestly Chetta had grown fond of The Eagle. But what to name of their relationship if not a scandal, despite how Les Amis had probably learn of their agreement (except perhaps the fearless leader himself, considering Enjolras only had eyes for his beloved Patria.) “Perhaps I do need Monsieur Lesgles as more than a balance.” she shyly muttered, eyes downcast as if trying to hide the obvious red coloring her pale skin.

Her shyness did not last long though, and a minute later a sly grin had found a way when their conversation shifted into a much more interesting subject of a certain younger Monsieur de Courfeyrac. Mylie had handled the startling shift of subject much better than Chetta, but the quick start was not quick enough to escape her. So her friend was obviously fond of the young Monsieur. “Oh just from how his eyes seemed to stray towards our favorite barmaid, obviously he is quite fond of you, the young Monsieur. Have something happen during one of your lessons with him?” She was getting more and more excited about the turn of their conversation. She was practically bouncing off the balls of her feet.

[ooc: sorry it took me so long to reply. and how short this is.]