All In a Night's Work (Tag: Feuilly)

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Even though the sun had set nearly an hour ago, the stones of the street warmed Eponine's feet, putting off all the heat they had soaked up throughout the day. The air was so humid and barely a breeze swept down the sidewalk, making it feel more like swimming than walking. Rue Saint-Denis was far from deserted, even though the night was pressing in on the city. Shopkeepers were locking their doors for the night, scurrying home with their heads down. Already, the lovely ladies of the evening were calling out to the men who really had no other purpose to be on the street. Occasionally a man would leer at her, but she could always count on another girl to snatch him up after she refused. Eponine frowned and stepped around a couple already entwined with each other as they stumbled into the alleyway, laughing. Eponine's nose wrinkled up in disgust, but she kept her course, heading to find her own safe place to stay for the night. She thanked whatever higher power there was that it had finally stopped raining, even though the ground had yet to dry off. At least it wouldn't be as hard to fall asleep as if the rain was pelting down on her.

Just as she was about to turn down a vacant alley when the flash of a blue sash caught her eye. She stopped and peered out of the corner of her gaze. She sighed as she saw a member of Patron-Minette talking to a ragged prostitute but keeping his deadly gaze on a young man walking on the side of the street. 'Scoping out a profit no doubt.' She shook her head and turned to continue down her alley, but again something stopped her. She squinted and peered at the workman hurrying along. She had seen him somewhere before, not unusual for her on Rue Saint-Denis. She had been living most of her adolescence on this street, whether at home or on her own. She had had to build up her instincts on who to trust and who would be a good target. Unfortunately, the young man before her was giving off all the signs of being an easy mark. And the thug saw it too.

It wasn't until the young man passed Eponine's alley that she recognized him. His modest clothes were speckled with paint, his finger darkened by ink. One of Les Amis. Feuilly, she believed his name was. Something seized at her, spurring her into action. She could go to the man following him, explain that Feuilly didn't have much money to give them, to just leave him alone. It might work. But what if there were more? More muggers waiting in the shadows? She could yell for the police, but a crime had not been committed yet. Slowly an idea took shape in her head. Hiking up her skirt around her ankles, she jogged up behind Feuilly. "Excuse me, Monsieur. You," she said, her voice quiet and soft. "You're a friend of Marius's, are you not?" She glanced over her shoulder to find the Patron-Minette thug staring at her. She hoped he recognized her and left the pair alone. She hoped her plan would work.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly was lost in thought.

Truthfully, he should have known better than to get tangled up in his own thoughts when walking home from work, especially after dark like this. He knew, even from experience, that pickpockets would be active in the dusky light. But the walk had become so mundane, such a feature of his daily life, that it was easy to forget about the threats that might still linger.

On a typical night, he would be left alone. There were much richer men than he in the Rue Saint-Denis after dark, and they were almost certain to have money on them given the reasons for their arrival. Some might be rich men, even rebellious young aristocrats—and even if the majority were workingmen like himself, they were at least there for the prostitutes. And prostitutes, if nothing else, demanded money. Even freshly paid, Feuilly was unlikely to have enough money on him to make a better target.

It really was a pleasant evening, he decided. Warm, and it had stopped raining—which was especially pleasant, given the condition of his roof. Storms always left everything in his shared room damp, if not genuinely wet, and it all took forever to dry out properly and began to reek of mold until it could be washed.

Perhaps, after the revolution, a new republican government—with deputies drawn from the working classes, otherwise how could equality mean anything at all?--would provide some kind of stipend for things like repairing roofs. It would improve the health of the workers and the children in cities like Paris, too, not just be a pleasant windfall for the thousands who couldn't afford such improvements on their wages. There would have to be other things as well, freeing them and making their lives better...

The sound of a girl's voice behind him startled him slightly and he turned toward her, prepared to tell her no without even hearing her words. He had taken her for one of the prostitutes until he saw her. She looked somewhat familiar to him, though he wasn't sure that he could place the face without any other information.

The girl wasn't dressed like the various 'ladies of the evening' who lined the street, and, as her words registered in his mind the familiarity suddenly made more sense. “Marius?” He nodded. As she glanced over her shoulder, he tried to follow her gaze. Didn't see anything unusual, just the usual sights of the street. “Yes. You're...” he looked at her for a second, trying to think of her name. “I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten your name.”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine tried to keep her smile in place as Feuilly peered at her. Her plan depended on him not getting suspicous and trying to run from or face the danger that threatened him. It took all her willpower not to look over her shoulder again as he followed her gaze. She swallowed hard, praying that the blue sashed man didn't take Feuilly's look as an invitation to begin his advance. She had to work fast. Back up plans and escape routes were already coursing through her brain. If they had to run, which way was fastest? Which would get them to a hiding place quickest? Which hiding place would Patron-Minette not look for her? Most of all how could she convince Feuilly to go with her if she had to?

Her face fell for a moment. He didn't know her name? Surely Marius had said something about her. She was no Cosette in his eyes, but they were old friends. Did she really mean so little to these people that they couldn't even be bothered to remember her name? Gritting her teeth to steel her resolve she clasped her hands in front of her, beaming a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Eponine. It's Eponine. Don't feel too bad. I'm sure you've got a lot to think about besides some random girl's name." She hadn't meant the last bit to be as biting as it had come out, and chided herself. If she offended him, he might leave and then he'd be in real danger. "With your plans and all. I've heard a few things."

Then it dawned on her. One thing she seemed to notice about all the boys at the meetings. Get them to start talking about their grand and glorious revolution, and they could go on for hours. It's as if the world around them faded away. It was risky, but she had to try. "I dare say I don't really understand most of what is said. I suppose that's why I still listen from time to time. Marius has tried explaining it, but I guess his language is just over my head." She strode up next to Feuilly, tilting her head down the street ahead of them. Her skills at playing a part in a con came in handy every once in a while. She hugged her arms protectively across her stomach and glanced down the abandoned alley to their left. She willed a bit of apprehension to flash across her face before looking back at the young man beside her. Her voice was small and soft as she spoke. "Are you heading to a meeting now? I'm actually looking for him and thought he might be there." Now all he had to do was offer to escort her, brave strong man that he was. And all she had to do was swallow her pride and let him.

And keep to the well-lit main streets.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Feuilly instantly felt bad at her response to his confession that he did not remember her name. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything; it might have come back to him eventually just from talking with her. He doubted it, but it might have. And then he could have asked Marius later, discreetly, and never hurt her feelings. He frowned, apologetic.

“I apologize, Eponine, I should have remembered.” He knew what it was like to barely be acknowledged as a person, but the hurt tone in her voice made him feel like not even that should matter. “I don't have that much on my mind... really.” He had no excuse, and he knew it. He wasn't even a student like so many of the others, whose main occupation was to fill their heads with facts and ideas. All he had to do was make fans that someone would buy, filling his head was something he had to do on his own time.

At least she didn't seem to stay upset. In fact, she was downright talkative. He did remember seeing her around, now that she mentioned it, and there had always been some implication that she was there for Marius. Feuilly thought she might be better off chasing after Courfeyrac instead, but obviously it wasn't his place to mention that.

He grinned, though, at her mention of having heard things and her apparent desire to learn more. If Marius and the others were speaking over the heads of regular people, then it was perhaps his place—even his responsibility—to talk to them instead. He knew the language of the working class, their concerns and problems. It could only help their cause, and he already expected to be able to bring a few of the other men he worked with to the barricades when the time came.

“He may be there,” Feuilly answered with a nod. He couldn't promise that, of course, but the likelihood was high. He was himself usually the one to arrive late, entirely the fault of his working hours and no comment on his devotion to and interest in their ideas. “We can walk together if you want.” He got the impression that was what she wanted; if she expected him to be able to give her advice on Marius, he wasn't sure what he would be able to say.

“What part don't you understand?” He asked the question sincerely, the prospect of being able to explain it exciting to him. The concepts themselves were simple enough, but perhaps Marius presented too much in the language of the law he studied. Feuilly hadn't particularly noticed it, but then, everyone had sounded strange to him when he had first begun to attend the meetings.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

As they began down the street together, Eponine let the relief wash over her momentarily. Her whole body seemed to uncoil as she smiled at Feuilly, falling into step beside him. She walked close enough to make it obvious she was with him to anyone who saw them, but not so close as to be familiar. She didn't dare look over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. No sense in making Feuilly paranoid or worried. Instead she slipped into a casual gait, letting her arms cross loosely across her stomach. The loose threads from her shawl tickled her elbows as she brushed them aside. She glanced at Feuilly, smiling as she noted the ink staining on his fingers and faded paint spatters on his clothes. She had noticed him before at meetings, always surprised at seeing someone who didn't dress as fine as the other Les Amis. But she had never given much thought to him, spending more time speaking to Marius.

Eponine waved off Feuilly's apology, not letting her guilt at snapping at him show. She wasn't mad at him, far from it. More than anything it hurt that Marius thought so little of her that he had never spoken of her. That he apparently never thought of her if she wasn't around. And why should he? She wasn't worthy of the young baron, she knew that. But to never even mention her to his friends? None of that was Feuilly's fault, and she knew she had been out of line in taking it out of him, however briefly. "It's alright. Really." She thought she heard footsteps behind them, but didn't look back.

Shaking off her thoughts of Marius, Eponine bit her lip as she went back over everything she had heard at their meetings. Her mind filled with the beautiful words and the worlds they conjured up. She tried to think of any question she had been too afraid or too distracted to bring up to the boys before. Anything to keep the two of them talking and moving along. A memory jumped into her mind and she opened her mouth to speak. Only to close it again, trying to find the right way to word it. Say something wrong and he might get offended and leave. And she had to make sure he stayed with her. She opened and closed her mouth a few more times before finally asking. "I hear a lot about this new republic and how it will make life better for people like me. How the leaders now don't really care about the poor, but the new leaders will. Who is going to lead? How can you be sure they'll care about 'some random girl' from the street?" Eponine smiled over at Feuilly at the last question, trying to tie her prior bristling to it. In truth she was concerned about this new world the young revolutionaries spoke of, if her life would really be better or if it would continue on much the same as it had before.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

It was strange, in a way; clearly, Eponine was quite familiar with their little circle, and as Feuilly thought about it, he remembered seeing her at their meetings fairly frequently. But she had always seemed to have faded into the background. There was never any question that she was there for Marius, but beyond that Feuilly had scarcely ever heard anything from or about her. Courfeyrac and Marius were close; it was possible that the former knew more of the situation—and if anyone in their circle of friends would know something about a woman, it was Courfeyrac. Feuilly, for his part, felt that it was not his place to ask about whatever there might have been between the two of them.

Whatever had brought her initially to the ABC, Eponine seemed to have relaxed as they began to walk. She didn't seem to hold a grudge, and for that he was grateful. She seemed anxious, however, when it came to actually asking him about their plans and ideas. He looked over at her, waiting attentively for whatever question she might wish to ask him. He was no Combeferre, to explain every intricacy of the revolution's philosophy, nor was he an Enjolras to paint it all in rousing speeches—but he wasn't ignorant. He knew revolutions in general, and he knew what the causes of this one would be—intimately.

For most purposes, that was enough. He could explain it to men of his own class, sometimes well enough to get a promise of assistance for when it was time for the barricades to be thrown up and defended. That his recruitment would very likely lead some of those men to their deaths was regrettable, but revolutions always had their martyrs. In committing his loyalty to Les Amis, he had made peace with the understanding that it might take his life.

He had never had all that much to lose, but like most any worker in France in those years, he had a world to gain if they should be successful.

Her question was a good one, but something he was quite used to trying to answer. It was the concern of all the working class in Paris, whether they had come to realize it or not. Selecting the leaders would be extremely important in making sure that this time the revolution would not fade away as it had last time. “We hope that by bringing in a government drawn from the people, the people will have their concerns better addressed.” He sounded like a pamphlet, and one written by one of the students at that. If she had difficulty understanding Marius' explanations of things, this would not help. He frowned slightly, trying to speak naturally and not using phrases memorized from others' speeches.

“If the people in power used to be workers—not all of them, but some of them—then they'll want to treat us better.” He shrugged. “There're lots of kinds of people in France. A king's only one kind an and he doesn't know what it's like for us. In a republic we can have people who've been all sorts of things and from all different places too. Then they'll know.”

He smiled, ideas rushing into his head. “And I think then we can pick, too, with elections—they used to have that in Poland, before it was partitioned up, but then it was only aristocrats and they mostly were picking a king. But see, this could have become something even better and more just than that if they hadn't been betrayed like they were...” He cut himself off, realizing that what he was about to say didn't much relate to what the girl had asked. He didn't even know if they would let women vote in the elections the republic would reintroduce.

“You know they even had laws in Poland that people could be different religions,” he added, very uncertain of the relevance of what he had just said. There were moments when he wondered if he really was the only person interested in such facts about such a distant place, but it only served as more evidence of how free people could be in their own countries under a fair system.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

As they strolled down the street, Eponine searched her mind to remember any details she knew about Feuilly.  She knew she had seen him at the meetings and that he was among the poorer revolutionaries.  His clothes and habit of showing up with ink stained fingers were enough to tell her that.  But aside from that she realized she knew very little about him.  She wondered how he had found the group, and how he could believe in this revolution if he had seen any of the same life she had.  What struck such a chord with him that he would be willing to die, possibly in vain, for this cause?  Granted, he didn't seem to have as much to lose as some of the others, with their family wealth and bright futures.  The poor always had less to lose andalways seemed to be the first to lose it.  Eponine felt a twinge of guilt as she wondered if the rest of the Les Amis realized what they were asking of Feuilly, if they even saw him as an equal.  It was something she'd been wondering about for a while, ever since they had been talking of rallying the people to their cause, to their fight.  She knew they meant no harm and she hoped they honestly wanted to make things better for people like her and Feuilly.

And still it all looked to ignite a passion in him that made her smile.  While he didn't speak with the same fire as Enjolras, one would never mistake him for someone who was ignorant to the inner workings of their cause.  In fact, for someone from such a low station in life, Feuilly was incredibly well-informed.  She did her best to hide her surprise, knowing how much it upset her when people judged her by her appearance.  Too many times had her pride been ruffled and her temper gotten the better of her when she had to prove herself more educated than the common street urchin people took her for.  Still, to hear this young man with paint on his clothes speak about the governments of far off places shocked her.  There was an intellegence gleaming in his eyes that told her these were not borrowed words but true knowledge that he was passionate about.  Which of course only intrigued Eponine further.

The idea of putting people from every walk of life in charge sounded like a good idea to Eponine at first, but only on the surface.  Her time navigating both the streets and the seedy people who populated them had taught her that in general, people were not to be trusted.  Everyone has an agenda.  And any amount of power or luck would make them more bold in pushing that agenda.  Knowing about a life like hers and actually doing something about it are two different things. She could only stare at him as he rattled off about Poland and how the government had collapsed and the country split up. Blinking a couple times, she let out a short laugh. "Poland? Really? Why does it matter what laws they passed in Poland?"

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

Eponine's question caught Feuilly slightly off guard. What did Poland matter? Of all the things he'd been asked about it, that was rarely the question. “Well... it's a captive country,” he explained, his speech quicker than it had been. “Things were better when it was free, but it's been taken over by other powers.” How could he begin to explain something when the connection was so clear to him, but yet apparently not to others?

“When the Poles revolted last year, they said that their revolution would bring freedom not only for them but for people in Russia too. Even though Russia is what's oppressing them! But when you have a king like that,” he paused for a second, searching for the term used for the Russian one and failing to find it. “I don't remember what they call him, but... well, it means that the people suffer and are oppressed. Just like here.”

He wished, of course, that he knew more about the situation on the other side of Europe. He knew well enough the background of all those injustices of the last century or so; he knew about the repression and dismemberment of nations under the weight of empire. It saddened him, and made him feel that those poor countries shared some distant kinship with people like them—people who, though no less human than anyone else, as capable of intelligence, of courage, of every other good trait, were bound to an often starving half-existence that almost completely ignored their minds and their spirits.

The Polish revolution, however, had failed. It had broken his heart to read that in the papers, after following the story as closely as he could for the eleven months the uprising lasted. He did not want France to follow that example; not only had the uprising failed, but it had turned into a war first. And Feuilly, orphan and worker that he was, knew where the soldiers would have to come from if this new revolution turned into a war. The real monarchists might be the commanders, but they would not be the ones maimed and dying on the actual battlefield.

“We don't want ours to turn out like that one, though,” he finally added. “It ended in... October, I think. And it had turned into a war...” He sighed. He knew that a revolution meant blood, but that didn't mean he had to like the prospect.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine found herself staring at the young man next to her, surprised at his knowledge and passion for a country that might as well be a world away. He spoke as if the goings on directly effected his life and the lives of those he cared about. She had heard bits and pieces about the situation in Poland, but never really paid any attention. What was happening across the continent did not put food in your belly or a roof over your head. Poland's government collapsing didn't mend the tears in your clothes or keep you warm when winter's chill cut through you. The fate of the Poland's revolution certainly didn't keep you safe when the shadows came alive in the night. Perhaps it was a bit selfish of her to never give it all a second thought, but in a life of immediate needs, a little selfishness could keep you alive.

The way Feuilly compared the failed revolution to the one she knew they were planning hit her deeply, however. All out war in the streets meant a lot of people getting killed on both sides. And innocents caught in the crossfire. Eponine knew that wasn't what the Amis wanted. Most of them didn't even want to have to fight, although they would if it came down to it. In her heart, she felt that if it did come to all out war, none of her friends would live through it. Especially if their revolution failed like Feuilly said the Polish one had. "I see your point."

Eponine ventured a glance over her shoulder and was unsurprised to see the thug from earlier, still trailing them several yards back. She grimaced as he glared at her. No doubt he thought she was going to lead his prey to an easier out of the way location and was getting impatient. Eponine simply narrowed her eyes and turned back to the young man next to her, careful to steer them on the main road. "So how would you change it? Make it better?" Anything to keep him talking and distracted. If she could just make it a little further to the meeting, then she could confront the Patron-Minette crony without putting Feuilly in danger.

[CHRISTOPHE FEUILLY]

The weight of Eponine's eyes on him made Feuilly blush slightly. He was used to being relatively invisible; he supposed Eponine must feel much the same. It was rare—exceedingly rare, beyond the context of the Amis—for anyone to ask him much about these things he spent his free time studying. He had learned long ago that he was more likely to get a stern look to remind him that he was no student than even a crumb of interest.

Of course, Eponine didn't seem exceedingly interested in the details of what he had to say, either, as she glanced behind her. He began to pick up, only then, on the idea that she had noticed something that was putting them in some degree of danger. Police? No, she was a friend of Marius'... she would know better than to talk politics and philosophy with him with the police close behind. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but then realized very suddenly that there was every likelihood this girl knew how to handle the streets at least as well as he did.

And clearly, she had some plan. Giving her a slightly wary glance, he remained silent on the topic of whether they were being followed and kept his mind on revolution. It felt dangerous, though he also felt like an instructor in the whole idea of revolution—and that thrilled some part of his mind.

“The revolution? Well...” The actual strategy of revolt he didn't know so much about. Within a single battle at a single barricade, he supposed he could handle some level of command. They would need weapons, and from there? A barricade would give them something to defend, and a few men positioned in a nearby window could fire on the attackers to help the defense. “We try to make it happen fast,” he concluded. “And gain enough support that they can't raise an army against us. We have numbers on our side if we can get the word out. The people have far more reason to support us than them.”

The newspapers hadn't discussed the technical bits of what was happening in Poland enough for him to know exactly how they had failed. Neither had he ever had any chance or reason to study military strategy—revolutions held his interest far better. Even within the study of revolution, the materials he could obtain were hardly how-to manuals for running one's own. With the shadow of a crooked smile, he looked down at his feet. “I also hope that perhaps one of the students knows more about the strategic details than me.”