In Bad Company (Tag: Eponine)

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse disliked the turn the parade had taken, though it was from no moral qualm about the old woman's death. The National Guard was a nuisance, but the raging complaints of rich students about politics and their overly complicated ideas on the matter were useless to him. If the people of France hated their rags, well, he, Michel the barefooted gamin, had shed his rags long ago. King or republic, it meant nothing at all to parallel world cloaked in the cover of darkness.

Instead, it annoyed him that it had become too chaotic even for thieves to work well. A thick crowd shoving about was easy to steal from, but in a roiling panic it was too easy to be knocked down and trampled. Besides, the prospect of being shot at did not appeal to him. Too risky, with the National Guard nervous and the women already shrieking. Irritable, he did not bother to find some target to trail away from the scene and rob in some other darkened alley.

He had disappeared, silent as a specter, back down into his world below the streets. Later the stragglers from the day's events would stream back to their lodgings, drunk or simply disoriented, and then he could make his profit. For now, however, the surface would be too closely watched. His luck would be better further from the site of the parade, and he could catch a few there. He turned his steps toward the Rue Saint-Denis. Surely at least a few of them would head in that direction, and he could find Eponine there as well.

The question was what Eponine had to do with those young men. She ought have no more use for them than he did; she, Thenardier's daughter! Spending her days tagging along with or at least sighing about those stupid, idealistic students and their little converts. She wasn't one of them, and her glances at one of them aroused a jealousy within him. Who did she think she was, running about with those? They were meant to be victims, not lovers. The thought twisted his face into something halfway between a snarl and a derisive grin.

He resurfaced near enough his destination. The grisettes recognized him; he liked this, though they were not his concern tonight. He tended to avoid the older prostitutes; he had no idea if his mother might still be among them, and he had always had better prospects than them. The atmosphere of the street was different than a normal night even so, and though he managed to slip his hand into a few pockets, the evening would not be marked as one of his most successful.

Montparnasse stopped when he came to the alley where he knew Eponine spent most of her nights. The sneer returned to his face. No doubt she hid this from those students.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

The streets were nearly deserted by the time Eponine made her way to Rue Saint-Denis. The good honest people of Paris who had only ventured from their homes so late for the parade had long since gone back to the safety their houses provided, likely much sooner than they had planned when they left that evening. The celebratory mood that had started as the sun had set had shattered, leaving behind a solemn apprehension in the lower class of Paris that drove them back behind their locked doors and windows. All that remained on the street at this hour were the denizens of the underworld, lovely ladies and pickpockets, drunks and vagabonds, and even they were sparse after the chaos of the parade. The whole of Paris seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for the storm to either pass or completely break loose. Eponine kept her stride purposeful as she moved through the shadows, her bare feet tapping on the dry pavement, her chin held high and her eyes darting from alley to street corner. She didn't fear the people lurking in the darkness, but neither was she stupid enough to think she could let her guard down. She'd seen too much misery and violence on this street, some of which she had even had a hand in, to ever be fully at peace on her street.

Upon reaching her usual alley, she tugged her shawl around her shoulders and slipped between the buildings. For the last several months, Eponine had called this bit of darkened pavement home. It was a dead end alley between two rundown houses so she only had to keep an eye on one direction as she settled in. One of the houses had begun to lean and the eave on the side jutted out over the alley, providing shelter from the elements. During the winter, Eponine had hung a ratty blanket she had nicked from a merchant off the eave to provide even more protection. Between the threadbare blanket acting as a curtain and the corner of the alley, Eponine had created the semblance of a closed off home to herself. Of course it hadn't been long before others had taken notice of her nook. She'd had to run more than one beggar or thief off from her little sanctuary. Usually it simply took a stern look or some harsh words to send them scampering. On rare occasions though she had had to fight, bringing out her claws to defend her shelter. As she approached the end of the alley, she curled her fingers into a tight fist and steeled herself for a fight as she pulled the blanket back. Blessedly she found it empty tonight and let out a relieved sigh, hooking the blanket back to let the moonlight into her corner.

As she slipped into her makeshift bed, little more than a couple blankets, she tucked her legs under her and pulled the small pouch of coins from in her corset. Eponine leaned back against the wall, replaying the day's events in her head, starting from the moment she had taken her place at the Maypole. When she had crashed into, literally, that damn Lark. Cosette, the last person she had wanted to see at the Fair. And still she had struck up a conversation with her, against her better judgement. It seemed Cosette honestly did not remember her, which was probably for the best. Eponine looked a mere shadow of the bright girl with beautiful dresses and an easy smile. It was as if she and Cosette had swapped places, Eponine now in the rags her family had forced on Cosette as a child and Cosette was in fine dresses and had soft ringlets in her hair. How could Cosette recognize the tormentor of her childhood, when she looked so different. And of course, Eponine had let it slip that she was friends with Marius. Why she will never know, but Cosette had told her where she was living, asking her to pass it along to her beloved Marius. Her stomach twisted in on itself as she remembered the way she had simply nodded, too ashamed to refuse the girl.

And then the parade. Oh, the parade. She had been invited to the Masquerade, voted May Queen by the people of Paris, but Eponine knew better than to attend. Even if the invitation wasn't a fake, even if it wasn't a ploy by her father to regain her trust and affection, she could not walk into that ballroom, full of aristocrats. She may as well have walked into a pit of vipers. No doubt it would have been safer. People like her just didn't belong among people like them, as they likely would have reminded her the whole night. If not in speech then in deed. No amount of primping, polishing, satin and lace could disguise what she really was - the daughter of a common street thug and a gamine to the core. So she had chosen the parade instead, mostly as a chance to spend more time with Marius. Perhaps to forget her encounter with Cosette at the Fair. Girls like Cosette were creatures of sunlight and spring. The dark night was Eponine's domain, her time. She could steal away with Marius in the torchlight while the Amis rallied the people to their side. She would be helping yes, but only him, staying by his side, sharing in his laughter and smiles. But it was not to be. Because there she was again, intruding on her territory, lighting up her darkness more than any torch held by the crowd. The way he looked at Cosette in that moment, as if no one else in the world existed but them two, twisted inside Eponine, dragging her heart to the pit of her stomach. Marius had never looked at her with a tenth of the admiration and affection he held in his gaze at Cosette, and it seemed he never would. Even the brief time clinging to his hand during their flight from the chaos had been more friendly than it was intimate, although she still remembered the feeling of his hand in hers.

Eponine was still sitting back in her little corner, daydreaming about her all too short time with Marius that night, when she heard someone at the end of her alleyway and moving closer. Quickly she pulled the leather tie on her pouch tight and stuffed it back down the front of her corset as she sat upright, ready to defend her scrap of stone. In the moonlight, she could make out the outline of a top hat atop a tall lean figure. The shadows seemed to move around him as he stepped forward a sneer on his face. "Montparnasse." In one fluid movement, Eponine was on her feet before her shelter, arms crossed, a matching look of disgust on her own face. She had seen him at the parade, his knife out, his predatory gaze on her as she grabbed Marius's hand and fled. But he had melted back into the shadows when the crowd panicked. She should have known he would seek her out again after seeing her with the young students. He usually did. She swallowed hard, eyeing him up and down. He didn't look armed, there was no glint of a knife in his hand, but that meant nothing. Parnasse was good at what he did, something Eponine knew all too well. "What do you want?"

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Eponine's eyes on him excited Montparnasse, her look full of venom and fire. He had known she would be here, and he—as he usually was—had been correct. Reading between the lines of her posture, he looked eagerly for the signs of her fear of him. They were there, were always there, hidden beneath this veneer of aggression. And there... yes. He recognized the mannerisms, the movement of the muscles in her neck as she swallowed. He had no plan to harm her, at least not tonight—but she did well to remember he could.

“I saw you tonight,” he responded in a deliberately cold tone. “I don't approve of your keeping company with them.” He readied himself for whatever explosion might come out of her, some insistence that she did not belong to him, that he could not command her around. But he knew that she, like anyone, could be induced to do whatever he wished. The game was simply getting there. Her mannerisms, her stance, even her tone of voice would change and he had the ability to control that.

“Those students.” He emphasized the word, although he knew she knew exactly whom he meant. They were too good for her, an entirely different sort of person than what she could understand. Any interest they had in her would melt away as soon as they found out what she really was, their words about... what was it, equality? All of that was meaningless, but they would sucker her into like they wanted to pull toward them all those mindless, obedient forms on the streets of Paris.

The girl was weak. Far weaker than he. It would go better for her if she understood this. “So tell me, why do you think they'd want you around them?” He stared at her for a moment, trusting that the few seconds of silence would intimidate her. “Did you at least get something out of them?”

Some part of him did hope she wasn't so stupid as to consort with them without even picking their pockets clean. If, by some absurd miracle, they actually considered her some sort of friend they likely would never notice. Drunken schoolboys always were particularly easy targets, easy to trick, to mislead, to rob blind, often cowards when faced with the prospect of death—as if it was something they had never seen before, never so much as considered the possibility of.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine felt her jaw tighten as Montparnasse looked her over, as if she were an common whore of the street. She saw his smirk at her apparent apprehension and scolded herself for being so transparent around him. Weakness had no place when she was with Montparnasse, it had to be buried, hidden away somewhere he could never find it. Or else he would exploit it. He'd needle it out and expose it and her. And she'd fall for it every time. He'd get his hooks into her yet again, and after all was said and done, she'd hate herself a little more in the morning. She took a deep breath, digging her nails into her arms, and lifted her chin in defiance, staring daggers at him from across the short distance between them.

Anger bubbled up in Eponine as she tried to laugh off his comment. "Since when do I care what you think about the company I keep? Have I ever needed your approval before?" It was a stupid question. Of course she had, once upon a time. When they were younger, Eponine thought that the vagabond was the handsomest thing she'd ever seen. She'd reveled in his attention, laughed along with him as they tore their way through the pockets of the unwitting citizens of Paris. What a team they had been, and still were in some ways. One look from his bright eyes were enough to set her heart to racing. Of course she'd desired his approval. She'd desired him. Before she'd been witness to the depths of his appetite. Before the blood and the pain and the terror. Now there was a reason she stayed back until she was sure he was unarmed, until she knew his intentions.

"They want me around because they're my friends, Parnasse." Eponine wished she sounded more sure of herself. Honestly, she was only close with Marius, and by extension Courfeyrac. The rest she had not really spoken to yet. Probably because she was so tied up paying attention to Marius. Or was it because she knew she was below their station? What would she have to say to them? In the eerie silence of the alley, Eponine locked her gaze with him, taking a deep breath to steady her thudding heart. The seconds ticked away, neither looking away, as the nerves at the base of Eponine's neck tingling more and more intense. Until finally she dropped her stare first, silently cursing at the ground for her shortcoming. "No, I didn't. I don't steal from my friends." Instinctively, Eponine's hand reached to the top of her corset, her finger hooking the pouch just inside at her chest. He meager haul from the day, but it would sustain her for a while if she made it stretch. And just as quickly, she realized what she was doing and crossed her arms again, gripping her upper arms tightly to keep from reaching for the pouch again.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

The tension of Eponine's anger made her more attractive to Montparnasse, though it was never really a matter of beauty that drew him toward her. Sometimes he liked to remind her of this, that there were plenty of other girls in Paris and many of them were particularly beautiful. That she was lucky he kept coming back to her, because she couldn't really expect to surpass him and most other options she might have were significantly less than he. The defiance of her stare, the set of her jaw—these did attract him, but the challenge was what could intoxicate him.

He chose not to answer her question of whether she needed his approval, instead moving closer again to where she was. It was intrusive into her pathetic little home, and he knew it—but he dared her with another haughty glance to stop him. He did not doubt that she knew he could be armed in an instant, even though there was no knife in his hands. He didn't particularly want to use it tonight, at least not on her.

She used a shortened form of the name he'd taken on. Not Michel, the name of his childhood by which he had first begun to move about the streets. He rarely thought of himself that way, either—it was forever linked in his mind to the life a gamin, still unaware of his own power. As Michel he had been a somewhat skittish boy, a child who looked the innocent but learned to be a quick and effective thief. Neither, however, did she call him Montparnasse—the name he had grown into, no longer a helpless child almost as likely to beg as to steal. He would never beg again.

But just Parnasse. He scarcely noticed it, though it fit so smoothly into the signs of weakness she again suddenly showed. She had held his gaze for that moment, tension and excitement flowing through him as he reveled in the challenge, but then she had looked down. He was given a taste of the assurance of his victory. He smiled crookedly, extending one hand in a slow but graceful movement that quickly brushed her face before drifting toward the pouch in her corset that she had reached for, disregarding her defensively crossed arms.

“What's this, 'Ponine?” An artificially gentle, cajoling tone took over his voice. He knew exactly what it was, and although he had no particular intention of taking her money, he enjoyed the game.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

As he took a step closer to her, Eponine narrowed her eyes at Montparnasse, her fingers tightening painfully on her arms. He was already close enough to touch her, all he had to do was reach out and there would be little she could do to stop it. She was suddenly very aware that he had backed her into the corner of the alley she called her home. The only way out was by him, and while she was fast, he was too. That's part of why they were such a good team. They just could not be caught, though the police had tried on several occasions. They would think they had the pair cornered, trapped in some alley or behind some shop, and they always found a way out. Down some path that only they seemed to know, usually laughing the whole way about the dullards the police had on their side. And more often than not, their escapes ended the same way, a tangle of limbs and blankets and clothes, the excitement of the chase overpowering them. She tried to push the memories from her mind, bring the ones she used as a reminder of who he was back to the forefront.

But he was standing so close, he was filling her senses. Eponine could smell the brandy on his breath as she drew in a breath, not overpowering, but just enough. She could make out the fine cut of his long jacket and waistcoat, his top hat settled on his dark hair. She could see the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he looked her over, taking in her rags and defensive posture, how his lips turned up in a smirk at his name on hers. Her heart was racing, blood rushing through her ears, making it hard to focus as he reached out to her. His hand gently caressed her cheek and she let her eyes fall closed for a moment, let herself get lost in the past, their past, like she had so many times before. A time before pining after Marius, a time before she had left home, a time before she went to bed in an alley hungry each night. They say ignorance is bliss, and that's just what she had back then. Blissful ignorance, and in her weakness, in the wake of likely losing Marius to Cosette forever, she longed to have it back.

And then his hand drifted down her neck and towards her corset, towards the measly bit of coin she had managed to slip off the people at the Fair that day. She knew she had made a major misstep, grabbing for the pouch earlier, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. Now her food for the next week was in danger of being stolen by Parnasse, and it woke her from her daydream. Her eyes snapped open as his fingers brushed past her collarbone and she cursed the butterflies they released. "That's mine, Parnasse," she hissed. Letting go of her arm, she swung her right hand to swat his away violently, forgetting for the time that he could be armed in a matter of seconds.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

He could have pulled a knife on her for that swat, but it wasn't worth it. Not yet. Instead he fixed his gaze on her face for another moment, moving his other hand quickly try to catch at hers. She might give him a few bruises now and then, but that had always been true—and he returned them. His smile melted away, replaced with a firm expression, his voice harshened. “Shh.” He knew the money she had in the pouch was what she would live on for a while, though his rogue's mind didn't see why she couldn't simply get more.

That was always how it had been in the old days. Before she'd taken to consorting with those students, who'd managed to turn her head despite everything. She was lucky that he was not the kind of man to refuse her because of her interest in them.

The smirk partially returned to his face, doing nothing to soften it. With a scoffing sound, he reached again for the pouch—but he let his words come more gently again. “Why should I even need this, hm?” He glanced back down toward the pouch, more interested in its setting than in the money itself. Then he turned his eyes back toward her face. “There's always more to be had, Eponine.” He touched the skin of her arm again, letting his fingertips rest there for a moment, his eyes daring her to pull away.

“Just like before.” He let the words hang there as a double entendre, more than willing to slip into the streets to steal alongside her and, in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity, even to let her keep all their earnings—or to turn his attention to other things. He leaned in slightly closer than he had already been standing, aware of how her eyes had hung on him when he had first reached toward her. She said she didn't care about his approval, but he doubted it was true.

He could still exert all the power over her in the world, and she would come back to him. Such was as good as his whenever he cared to have her, however much she fought against him. She always would give in, and often enough it would even be her idea.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Montparnasse's hand seized painfully onto Eponine's wrist as she swung at him. She struggled in his grasp for a moment, opening her mouth to hiss curses at him. Before she could, his voice became harsh as his smile disappeared, just inches from her face. He shushed her and her struggling ceased, her eyes locked on his. Anger flashed in hers, both with him and herself for allowing him close enough to grab her. But then, she always did. They had played this cat and mouse game with each other for years. She knew he was bad for her, that he was dangerous, some might even say evil. But in her life, she knew she couldn't do much better. Maybe that's why she came back, over and over. She could never hope to turn the head of someone like Marius, but in his own twisted way, Parnasse made her feel desirable.

Eponine couldn't stop the shiver that shot through her as his hand brushed her collarbone again, reaching for her pouch. This time she managed to grab for it first, wrapping her fingers over the top of her corset. She back the tremor in her arm as he gently graze his fingertips along it. "You forget I know you, Parnasse. You always need more money. Or at least think you do." He stepped closer to her again, looking down at her with a taunting look in his eye. Trying to break the spell he held over her, she took a step back, only to feel herself collide with the wall of the building, a curse escaping her lips. She leveled her gaze at Montparnasse, taking another deep breath.

"There's more to be had, sure. But I'm not sure if you noticed, the Guard had other plans for the parade. Only an idiot would be out on the streets looking for profit now." Eponine highly doubted he cared about the death of that poor woman at the parade. During her flight from there with the students in tow, she didn't need to be told that the gypsy's blood weighed heavy on them. It was ironic, Parnasse and those like him had more reason to feel guilty about the life that had been snuffed out. They had begun the fight after all. And yet, the students who wanted a better life for everyone were the ones to mourn her. She might have laughed if it hadn't been so sad.

"Just like before? Before what, Parnasse?" Eponine tried sounding as if she didn't care about what he was offering, that refusing him was the easiest thing in the world to do. But something in his gaze told her, she had failed.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

The anger in her face made him want her. The challenge was there and alive, no matter what quick moment of vulnerability he thought he had seen and knew dwelt there within her. He felt her shiver at his touch, and he felt powerful. It was a different power than feeling the breath go out of a victim, but the sensations were close. He liked them both, sought them both out. “I don't forget, Ponine.” He put his hands on either side of her as she bumped against the wall, not touching her for the moment but keeping her essentially trapped.

He did need money, but she was not his target for theft. He didn't need to be an idiot to go look for profit at all; the chaos of the crowd's flight surely had left some disoriented and in bad parts of town. “I wouldn't go back to the parade route tonight,” he said in an almost thoughtful tone. “But the Guard's looking for a riot. Not for two thieves.” And killing a Guardsman was no different from killing any other man; if one gave them trouble, he could take care of it.

He moved his face closer to her, pretending he was going to kiss her. He paused a few inches away with his lips curled into more a snarl than a smile, then spoke in a hissing whisper. “They don't catch the good thieves.” They had always been good thieves, knew every trick slip among respectable society and leave them a little poorer. The most harmless of crimes, and, almost counterintuitively for Montparnasse—who had found the severity of his crimes almost directly linked to his pleasure in perpetrating them—among the most exciting.

“Before them.” He moved back, only half a step away from her but it allowed her a little more space to make her decision. “Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I mean.” He didn't like the careless tone she had taken; as much as he suspected it was a ruse, it made him almost uncomfortable. If it had even the slightest tinge of truth, it meant that some of his power over her was broken. He refused to believe her tone was anything but a feint, one of her last defenses against him.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

He was surrounding her, slowly but surely, pressing her back against the wall, his hands on either side of her. Parnasse's arms and chest worked with the wall to create a cage around Eponine, however easily it seemed to escape it. Of course he didn't forget. How could he? If anyone truly knew Montparnasse, it was Eponine. They had shared a past together, both happy and sad, mundane and passionate, and it was not something one just discarded like a worn out shawl. Much as she hated to admit it, Parnasse had made her into the girl she was today, for good or ill. They had saved her parents and each other from spending time in a cell. They had laughed as they split the bounty of a heist. And she had seen his transformation from thief to killer, all the while running right alongside him.

What he said was true, the Guardsmen were likely just trying to contain the chaos back at the parade. If they stayed far away from that area, picking off people too distracted or drunken to stop them, they didn't risk getting arrested. Or worse, shot at. No doubt more of the criminal underworld of Paris would have the same thoughts they did. And there were few as skilled as Eponine and Montparnasse. Eponine felt the corner of her mouth begin to rise in a smirk before she stopped herself, clenching her jaw again. She did need the money, especially if she was going to be able to gather the things she needed for her plot with Mylene and give some to Gavroche and still have some left over for herself. The more she could get her hands on, the less she had to worry in the coming weeks.

Her mind was set to spinning however as he leaned into her. He looked like he was going to kiss her and her heart jumped into her throat. Her mouth and lips were suddenly dry and licked them quickly, trying to pull in a breath past her hammering heart. Eponine knew she could push him away, fight him off, get away. One quick, well-placed knee and she could slip past him when he doubled over, fleeing into the darkness. So why wasn't she? Did she really fear his capability for death? Or had it really been that long since someone had made her feel like Parnasse had? As he whispered, she felt his breath against her face. It distracted her for a moment and it took her that long to process what he had said. They wouldn't get caught. There's no way they would get caught, not them. She knew that, as well as her knowledge of how much she needed the money.

Her dark eyes looked up to meet his amber ones, willing the fire in her gaze to remain bright, and that it burn there for all the right reasons. Montparnasse was her past, dark and deadly and hard to escape. No matter how hard she tried, it and he would always find her, trying to drag her back down. She strived for a brighter future, the one that Marius and his bright smile promised, but it would not be here tonight. Or even tomorrow. Tonight her past had called on her again. Tonight was the time for shadows and dark deeds. "Fine, Parnasse. Just like before. I need the money anyway." She tried to sound flippant, that he hadn't dredged up old feelings and excitement for her. Her arms crossed across her chest again, brushing against his waistcoat in the scant space between them.

Tonight, she'd surrender, just a little. Just to survive a little longer for that brighter tomorrow.

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse almost preferred the old days. Not too far back; not before he had learned to steal and then, slowly, to kill—but far enough back that he hadn't had to deal with the others. Eponine was a better assistant in pickpocketing by far than the lumbering Gueulemer, whom Montparnasse doubted was ever quick and sneaky enough to live by the sort of crime Montparnasse had so often preferred. He disliked the obligation of the gang, and he knew better than to trust those within it—for men like them worked, in the end, only for themselves.

He could see that he was winning. Her hesitation always increased, it seemed, when she had spent time with those schoolboys—but he was still more powerful than them. She resisted him, but he could still draw her into his schemes. He could only assume that most of the students she had begun to apparently prefer were secretly trying to get rid of her. Montparnasse supposed he likely would have in their position, with all the femininity of Paris and all of France, perhaps the world, at his very feet.

Or perhaps not. It was hard to say on those things. He didn't want their books and their debates, and what he did want from them he took as he pleased. Students, he had discovered, were almost frustratingly easy to kill. The particularly scholarly ones were even easier to rob; they often hardly seemed to notice that they'd lost anything. It made them boring targets, however lucrative they could be.

And boredom wasn't what he was looking for tonight. No, he would lead her back down into the catacombs and then up again into some district where they could find a challenge, whether that be slipping through a window in the Faubourg or into the pockets of the more adventurous students elsewhere in the Latin Quarter and lost young aristocrats trying to taste more lower-class pleasures. Most of that particular class of fools would not even notice him until the garrote had already found its place around their necks, their money into his pockets.

“I knew you wouldn't be able to resist.” Montparnasse leaned toward her for a kiss again, in earnest this time. He knew she might slap him yet—but that was just another part of the game.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine opened her mouth, starting a snappy retort to Montparnasse's arrogant declaration. But her words were cut off by his lips pressing into hers. Her eyes went wide for a moment, her body tensing, readying itself to fight him off of her. Her instinct was to jerk a knee up fast, catching him in the stomach or possibly lower. To show him just how much she could resist. It was an instinct she had developed over the years of living on the street. Sure she was the daughter of Thenardier, strictly off limits to most of the seedy chaps that roamed the streets. But even that wasn't enough to deter some men. They were either too desperate or too drunk to care. So she had to learn quickly how to use her slight frame to deliver the proper blows to disable a much larger and stronger aggressor before they pinned her.

Of course, she hadn't always been so fast, or agile, or observant. Just a few short weeks after running away from home the first time, she had found herself cornered in an alley by a man twice her size who had long since past the point of intoxication. She had been transfixed, frightened by the lust in his eyes when he lunged, pinning her to the wall, knocking her head against the wood with a painful crack. Lights danced before her eyes as she had tried to focus, to push the man back, the smell of the ale on his breath gagging her as he had attempted to kiss her. His large hands had gripped her wrists, securing them to the wall on either side of her head and she had closed her eyes, praying it would be over quickly. When suddenly the man had yelped, a strange, strangled noise and his lips had left her neck, followed quickly by his hands. When she had opened her eyes, she'd discovered the man's face, red and swollen, and his hands clawing at his neck. Above them both stood, for lack of a better word, her dark angel. Montparnasse, dapper as he was now, but with a vile anger in his eyes, like she had never seen before. She'd begged him to spare the man, scrambling to her feet. With a low hiss, a demand for the man to "apologize to the lady", Parnasse had released him, grabbing Eponine's wrist and dragging to the abandoned flat where he had been staying at the time.

It wasn't the first time he had saved her, nor the last. And maybe that's why she couldn't stay away from him. Because he was her dark angel, simultaneously the best and worst she could do in Rue Saint-Denis. Her eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered to that thought, the image of him standing over her, the relief she felt as he'd pulled her out of that alley. Her fingers gripped the smooth cloth of his vest, tangling around the buttons as she leaned into him, pulling the memories of their treks through the darkness of the catacombs or their nights in his flat to the forefront of her mind. Somewhere through the haze that had settled in her mind as he had overtaken her senses, a voice screamed in her head not to give in so easily, not to get entangled, to just do the job and get home. With a great effort she managed to force herself to break the kiss and extracted her hand from the fabric of his vest, bringing it against his cheek with a sharp slap. Her other hand still crushing his vest between her fingers and her lips swollen, she tried to catch her breath, watching his reaction. "Maybe I can. Let's just get to the job."

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

The tensing of Eponine's body made Montparnasse think, for a moment, that he had earned himself a kick. He almost broke the kiss then, out of concern for self-preservation, but then she had taken hold of his waistcoat. A slap he still almost expected, but he was less concerned about that than being kicked in earnest. A slap, at least from her, hardly had the potential to bring him to the ground in the way that a properly aimed knee or foot might.

He came out of it breathless, half relieved that her fingers still clutched the fabric of his clothing and did not turn against him. For a moment, he considered asking for more than just a kiss—but there were things to do. She had agreed to go with him, and whatever other experiences might occur before he withdrew off the streets for the morning. Straightening his hat, he began to compose himself to speak.

And then he nearly stumbled, recoiling in response the sharp pain of her slap on his cheek. So she was still fighting, after all! His own hand shot to his cheek, rubbing at the place where she had hit him. It was probably red, he thought, and he willed the mark to fade away before they set off into the streets. The darkness would conceal it, of course, but the mark would hurt his vanity anyway.

Eyes slightly narrowed, he made a grab for her wrist with his other hand. She still grasped his vest, still watched his face. Still ready to follow me, then. There was something attractive in that; that she would let him kiss her, would still go with him to rob blind those respectable sorts that somehow thought they might still roam Paris as night fell, but would fight him anyway. The blend of willingness and resistance was exquisite.

“Let's go.” He kept his voice quiet, determined. A city's worth of riches awaited them, ripe for the taking. “Half and half split.” It was as generous as he felt like being. Almost laughing—an oddly joyless sound, almost dangerous—he added, “I should give you less because of that slap.”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Montparnasse seemed as breathless as Eponine felt. It was like the air had been stolen from her chest by his kiss, like he had done so many times before. Somehow in the midst of their kiss, 'Parnasse's hat had been tilted to the side, and Eponine wondered for a moment if one of her hands had abandoned his vest to find it's way to his hair. She honestly didn't remember doing so, but their kisses tended to have that effect on her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of her blood rushing through her ears drowning out just about everything else. Still the sound of her hand connecting with his cheek echoed off the walls of the alley. Eponine held her breath as 'Parnasse rubbed his face, righting his head from where it had snapped to the side with the violence of her palm. His other arm still blocked her path out of the alley, leaving only a clear route to the dead end. Nevertheless, they were standing so close, her back still against the wall, she would have to wriggle to get past him, no matter which way she tried. And wasn't sure she wanted to go anywhere right at the moment.

When Montparnasse grabbed her wrist, Eponine thought for the moment he might be retaliating for the blow. They had traded barbs and blows for almost as long as they had known each other, so it would not have come as a surprise to her. But when it didn't come, she allowed herself a small smile of triumph. Eponine was just as aware of the effect she had on Montparnasse as he had on her. She let him grip her wrist, her fingers finally untangling from his vest. Her eyes searched his face for any signal that his jesting could turn on her. She knew his tells, but saw none, even in his humorless laugh. "Very well. Half." She grinned a little wider, fidgeting her wrist in his grip. With Montparnasse at her side, she might even make it through the night with more than enough to comfortably live for a while, even if she did give some to Gavroche or Azelma.

Eponine twisted her wrist until she broke free, pushing gently against his chest. When she had just enough room, she ducked under his arm, moving towards the entrance to the alley. Grinning over her shoulder, she grabbed his hand in hers, the same hand that not too long ago had clasped Marius's as they ran through the city. The warmth of his hand had faded, but the memory was still strong. She imagined for a moment it was his and not 'Parnasse's she held so tightly. She allowed herself to dream, only for a moment. Then Montparnasse's voice broke through and the dream dissipated. Her smile faltered slightly as she led him out of the alley. "You had it coming, 'Parnasse." She stopped at the edge of the street, looking at the young man at her side. "Where to? We could try the bait and switch. Surely there are some men out there looking for any kind of company." Her eyes glinted mischievously at him. "And we both know they aren't exactly paying attention to their surroundings when they think they've found that company."

[MICHEL MONTPARNASSE]

Montparnasse stepped back at the pressure on his chest, turning with Eponine as she twisted around him and grabbed his hand. He followed her, considering wrenching his hand free but then deciding against it. There was no harm in following, and the warmth of her skin was pleasant.

“Maybe I did,” he responded to the assertion that he'd had it coming. “But you're still lucky I didn't hit you back.” She was, however boyish his threat still sounded. It was hardly unprecedented for him to do so; he wasn't sure what had quite stopped him from doing so then, except that he wanted her to follow him into the night and did not want her to change her mind. The temptation of the students, he thought, might be too strong tonight if he gave her reason to abandon him for them.

He could get her back, of course, even if she did run off after them. But it was easier to stop it before it happened, just as it was easier to abandon a body in a place it would not be found instead of having to flee the scene and fade into a crowd. Half and half would keep her there, right where he wanted her, even without his threats and blows.

He liked her suggestion. “Bait and switch... it sounds lovely.” He smirked. Such games were fun to play, especially on nights like these. It was the one grand advantage to stealing alongside someone like her instead of alone; while he could draw some poor sod off on his own to be strangled and robbed, Eponine could make them hardly need to even be killed. It simplified the theft, though the excitement was certainly of a somewhat different color.

Smirking playfully, he took off his hat and set it on her head. She seemed distracted by something, and he hoped it wasn't more of those students. He felt threatened by them, hostile to their ends. But then, if things like the parade kept happening, they wouldn't be there to trouble him much longer. Their speeches and pamphlets meant little to Montparnasse, and if eventually the National Guard's bullets found them—well, it was no harm to him.