thecapitol | New kind of victory.

It seemed that women's eyes had been trained on him.

Not that Marius had been conscientiously searching for them; he would never have noticed, in fact, had he not caught the eye of several, each of whom then turned to their nearby friend, giggling. He desired to run away from those deciding glances and mocking laughter, like he had the freedom to back in Paris, but freedom in this world is nothing but a chimera.

Eventually, one of the ladies dared approach him and whisked him along to dance (he had not improved much in this particular social necessity, he thought) and to mingle with her acquaintances, and the process had been repeated with another woman, and so on and so forth, until he lost count of the number of roses he gave away.

Exhausted, he allowed himself to collapse on the seat beside Eponine, jumping a little in surprised recognition only once he turned his head to her.

"Ah..." He blinked confusedly, wondering what it was particular that she found amusement in, then added after a second's pause, "I see you find the party enjoyable."

She caught her breath. Marius. He hadn 't spoken to her since before the wedding. And it hurt . It hurt so much that it quelled the laughter.

"Yes, Monsieur." To Eponine, her voice sounded nothing like her own.
"Yes, it is the most lovely party I have been to." She couldn't look at him . She couldn't look near him. She fixed her eyes on her knees and balled her fists in the flimsy material of her dress.
"You do not care for if?"

Marius's forehead creased, first because her reactions left him rather nonplussed, and then because her question puzzled him equally. He took his eyes off her and directed them towards the sea of festivities. It seemed like any other party he had been to.

The exception of this, however, was that several people had been interested in what he had to say about Cosette. Ladies (and several gentlemen, much to his confusion), upon managing to coax a thought or two from him about his wife, went on to act in a manner alarmingly similar to swooning.

So he canted his head to one side, giving off the appearance of reflectiveness. "It is a fine party, I suppose."

"It is lovely, Sir. You know, before we came here, I had not had a day off in an age. They dance in such ways as we did in Paris, Sir... though not you, perhaps."

She glanced quickly at him, before looking back at the crowd. She didn't want to go home at all. She didn't want to go back to cleaning for Nathaniel in exchange for a promise to help Cosette in the arena. She didn't want to feel rotten every single day. She didn't want to be forced to watch Marius and Cosette together. She wanted to stay in District Three now.

He followed her gaze, to the flowers and the dances and the social circles that were slowly unveiling themselves. A day off, she said, but he did not see it that way. This, as everything else, had been nothing but tedious. The constant need to masquerade as the besotted boy from Paris was easier; the repression of his other opinions, of the need to air his grievances about the Capitol, to insist to the people of District 3 that it is no less acceptable to force people to fight in the Arena even if they can be brought back, had been more difficult. But say a word against the Capitol and he may very well have sentenced Cosette to a death she will not return from.

Sometimes he felt it was the lies that would be the death of him instead.

Except that Cosette kept breathing life into him. His moments with her were the only times wherein he did not need to pretend. They were the only thing that was real for him in this world.

"I rarely dance, not even in Paris." He said it after a considerable pause, more to himself than Eponine, and he began to unconsciously tug at the cuffs on his sleeves as he continued observing the party.

Eponine bit her lip and looked away again. Of course he did not dance. Not with her, not with Eponine. He would say anything to avoid dancing with her. He wouldn't want anything to do with her.

"I bet you dance with Cosette, don't you, Sir? If... if she asked you, would you dance with her?"

She was torturing herself, and she knew it. The words tasted funny, bitter on her tongue: her mouth twisted as she asked her questions. She didn't want to know the answer, and yet she did. She wanted to imagine them together. She wanted to imagine him holding her, what it would feel like, to be turned about with his strong arms. She wanted him... that was it. She wanted him. So much.

But she couldn't look at him, either.

A brief smile crossed Marius's face, reflexively, his eyes drifting to the garden where the most curious petals of purple and orange bloomed, half-hidden from his vision in the midst of the crowd. "She could ask me to drown myself in the Seine and I would have obeyed her."

The manner in which he said it was simple, plain, as if it was the most common truth in the world. If what he said hurt Eponine's feelings, he would not realize; he was by now too preoccupied with thinking about Cosette and wishing she was here with him, because maybe then, forcing himself to continue living through each hour, minute, second, would feel less of an ordeal.

Oh, it hurt. He might as well have plunged a knife into her heart - a frozen knofe, no less, for Eponine felt a sharp chill creep over her, eminating from her heart, and the poor girl shivered. He would give his life for Cosette. He would not notice if Eponine ceased to exist. It was a hard knowledge to bear.

"Please, Monsieur, will you walk with me? Back to the hotel... Only, like in Paris, yoU ought to follow, lest anyone think that you disappear for me."

It was the only chance she had left.

His eyes grew slightly rounder when he turned to her, head canting a little to one side in curiosity and light puzzlement. Still, he said nothing; she might simply want to converse with him at length, after all. Enjolras's prompt rang in his ears once more: she would make a good friend. She would, and he must continue his efforts to treat her kindly, as friends should.

So he nodded, a wordless gesture of concurrence, and rose from his chair, barely even glancing back as he followed her back to the hotel, careful to keep a few steps behind as she suggested. He would make conversation as they walked but he didn't know what to say, so he remained silent.

He became the shadow of a ghost as they slipped throughthe quiet streets. Their path was unheaded by Peacekeepers and citizens alike: the latter pleased for Eponine, the former knowing it would make a good film clip later.

She led him back to the hotel, up to her stairs to her room. In the doorway, she turned back to him. "Won't you come in, M'sieur?"

Her floor was littered with ribbons and flower cuttings fromthe stylists. Eponine picked her way over and sat on her unmade bed.

"Sit with me, M'sieur." She tried to make her voice seductive. It turned husky, low.

Why was she doing this? Torturing herself? Even Eponine didn't know. Or at least couldn't put her pain, her need, into words.

Marius remained silent, completely ignorant of the stares that went their way, until they arrived at their destination. Once there, and once she had asked him to enter, Marius gulped and tilted his body a little to one side as he peered through the gap in the doorway, eyes meeting flowers and ribbons and unmade sheets. His feet were still planted to the ground a few steps outside the entrance.

"Are... Are you certain?" He was absent-mindedly playing with the button on his cuff, out of uncertainty and a sudden nervousness, though he did make an effort to meet her eyes. "It does not seem proper for a man to enter a lady's bedroom alone..."

She laughed sadly at that.

"Ah, but I am not a lady. I would say it is very proper for a man such as you to enter the chambers of a woman such as I."

She straightened the cover on her bed and patted it.

"Come. Sir, I have a question and I do not wish it to be overheard."

He remained outside for a few more seconds; it was against his best judgement, should he step in, but then Guy's words—how every home was different, but that does not mean that being different is necessarily bad—were what finally tugged him inside. Perhaps Eponine was mimicking the social conventions of the women who have come from a later time than them, those modern women tributes? She was here before him, after all, she had more time to assimilate these customs into her manners.

Tentatively, he took a step inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click but taking care to keep it unlocked. His striding was slow, almost cautious, and when he took his seat it was at the very edge of her bed, at a respectable distance away from her.

He stared at his hands that he wrung together. She was a friend, he told himself, and it was his duty to consult her with what she wished to ask. "What might it be?"

"I wanted to know, Sir..." She edged closer to him, just a little bit. "I wanted to know if you had..."

She couldn't. She didn't want to know. But oh, how she burned. How she yearned for him to say no, to turn to look at her, and realise that, in the Capitol garb, with the simple accessories from District Three, that Eponine was every bit as lovely - no, lovelier, than Cosette. She wanted him to want her. She wanted it not to be too late.

There was a blush in her cheeks when she asked, "I wanted to know if you had touched her yet? Mademoiselle Cosette? Have you - oh, have you touched her how a man touches a woman?"

"Eponine!"

Marius's eyes widened in shock and he snapped his head towards her, his mouth half-open. He could feel the heat pooling in his cheeks, travelling towards his ears and the back of his neck and spreading throughout his entire face; a reaction that likely was a far better answer than if he had affirmed it to her through words. He was far too scandalized and embarrassed, he hardly registered that she was a little closer now.

"Y-You should not be asking such an inappropriate question!" He meant for it to sound as a rebuke, but with the stuttering it came out more embarrassed than anything.

Edited 2014-01-23 16:58 (UTC)

She blushed bright red as well, but still, she persisted in her question.

"It is not inappropriate, Sir. Truly not. I ask only..."

She took a deep breath, trying to steel her nerve to ask, to suggest.

"Monsieur, gentlemen like you have a use for women like me. I can..."

She went to put her hand on his thigh. "I can show you what you must do to make her happy."

Marius almost choked on his exclamation. "What?"

His muscles tensed, and he gawked at the hand on his thigh. He thought he understood what she was implying—and then he inwardly chastised himself, because what if he was mistaken? No, surely he must be misinterpreting her words, for why else would Eponine imply such a thing, when she knew he was already married?

Although, that still did not convince the redness of his skin to fade, and it appeared that she had shocked him into immobility.

"I can show you." She kept her eyes low, as the blush on her cheeks spread down her neck and right over her chest. She was so ashamed. So ashamed of herself. But oh - how lovely to have Marius. She shunted closer, unbuttoning the top button on the back of her dress so that it could slip down her shoulder a little.

"Don't be afraid, M'sieur."
She moved her hand up to his chest, to start on his shirt.

Marius just sat there paralysed, staring at her in uncertainty and disbelief until he felt the light weight on his chest. That seemed to snap him back to his senses, and he grabbed at Eponine's wrist, jerking her hand away from his shirt. He stared at her as if he could not believe she had the gall to seduce him, and maybe that was true; maybe underneath the layer of shock and confusion, he was thoroughly disgusted by her advances.

"This is why you led me here?" He tried to keep his voice from shaking in outrage but it did anyway. His grip on her wrist tightened, unknowingly, enough to hurt.

"Monsieur -" Eponine tried to yank her hand away from Marius' grip, thoroughly frightened by his tone.

"Let me go! Let me GO! Let me go or I shall scream."

She couldn't believe she said it, and she clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words were said. How had it gone wrong? Why was he so angry? She tried pleading, begging him again.

"Monsieur... Monsieur, do not be angry with me. Please, do not be angry. Please. Only..."

She couldn't finish. Her voice caught in her throat and she choked. She just - she wanted him so much. SO much. He had been the one light in her terrible life for so long - just once. One kiss. One loving embrace.

"I can be as much a lady as her. You know i'm clever. I can learn."

She blinked, hard, to get rid of the tears threatening to fall.

Marius seemed as shocked as she was after her outburst, with his jaw dropped slightly while his eyes flitted to her face, to the wrist turning red from his grasp, to the door that he so wished to sprint towards, to run and escape and force himself to forget this ever happened, just like he had become so accustomed to.

But her pleading caused him to return his glance to her, and he felt a pang of pity for the girl before him. He did not know what to say. He could write to Cosette until his wellspring of words had been wrung dry, but when it came to anyone else he never knew what to say.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to." He sounded almost remorseful, staring at the unmade sheets. A beat passed between them before he got to his feet, still not daring to look at her face. "This was a mistake."

"You're leaving?" She started towards him, leaning across the bed with her arm outstretched, as if to pull him back.

"Monsieur, do not. Please, please do not leave me. Please -"

She shook her head, before lowering her head to the bed so she didn't have to look any more. She didn't want him to see her crying, and she was crying in earnest now.

Marius's lips parted and he made a move to approach Eponine, but stopped abruptly and dropped his raised hand back to his side. His mouth snapped shut, because the desire to say something was not aligned with his ability to express it vocally. So he shifted his weight from one foot to another, uneasily, and it took a few more seconds before he actually spoke again.

"I cannot stay here any longer." What would Cosette think, after all? He did not want to hurt his wife. Yet he also did not want to leave Eponine without reassurance.

How did it all come to this, anyhow?

"But... But you will have my word that I will not speak of this to anyone."

"Say what you want. I don't care. They all know what I am anyway."

Her reply was muffled by the mattress she was speaking into - for she dared not lift her head. She still cried, angry, embarrassed sad tears even as she spoke.

"Just... go away. Please, Monsieur. Please, leave me."

Truthfully, Marius wanted to say something more—she was too sad, too pitiful like this, that sympathy nagged at him to comfort her in some way—but words, once again, had failed him. He nodded, even if he knew Eponine could not possibly witness that gesture, and took another step back. "I-If that is what you wish."

He turned and traipsed in the direction of the door. Once he had turned the knob and was halfway out of the room, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"Eponine, I had read your present to me." Perhaps it was the wrong thing to utter. Perhaps there never will be a right thing to say. But he thought of expressing it, nonetheless, because it was a simple gratitude that he owed her. "It was beautiful. Thank you."

And with that, he stepped outside, the door closing behind him with a gentle click.

New kind of victory.

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