thecapitol | Thicker Than Blood Start

Thicker Than Blood Start

For Tributes with keen eyes, they'll notice that Peacekeeper presence seems increased and yet infinitely more ineffective in the last few weeks. Peacekeepers seem harried, as do the Stylists, and most of the Escorts titter and plot without alerting the Tributes as to what, exactly, is so exciting. They simply say that this weekend they'll know.

And so it happens that on the weekend in question, the Tributes are woken by their Escorts early and brought to a restaurant for a hearty breakfast. The restaurant is nothing spectacular, although they seem to be trying to make an impression on the television cameras that float around. The sleepy, cranky meal goes by and then the Tributes are led back to their Suites for a mandatory meeting.

Sitting on couches and the floor, in chairs and on windowsills, standing off to the side - people from the Tributes' homes are waiting to greet them in each District Suite. Some are confused, some accepting, some frightened and some elated to see their beloved. Either way, it should be an eventful reunion.

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Gavroche was most decidedly not a chld, and so did not return the childish glare by sticking out his tongue and pointedly ignoring his sisters. Let them be as odd as they wanted. Not like he had an idea what was going on with 'Ponine anyway, she's never been all ... like that with 'Zelma before.

... Yeah, he was just gonna have another roll.

"She'll be sick. Ain't go no control."

"No, not lice. A woman glued - you know glue, yes? She glued a wig to my head. I ripped half of my hair out getting it off. That woman - " Eponine pointed over at Jessica... except there were two of them. She stared for a minute before turning back to Azelma. "One of 'em cut the rest off. She's trying to make me beautiful. See - teeth!" She grinned, showing off her fake white teeth.

To Gavroche, she ruffled his hair. "I know she will. I am, all the time, when they wake me up. But OH - HOW GLORIOUS is it? How glorious to be sick from eating too much than from eating nowt at all?" She ate a biscuit in two bites - not because she was hungry, but because she could. And OH how good was that.

"Now tell me, both, of home? How is it with me gone? Are you still taking the letters, 'Zelma?"

Thenardier's first order of business in this dream - which he hardly suspects is a dream because it hardly feels like any unconscious dalliance he's ever had - is figuring out how to keep all the riches of this lavish building on his person. Little things start to disappear into his pockets and he's already started to suck up to the Escorts, who appear to be at least something of an authority figure here.

He doesn't even recognize his eldest daughter or his son. He does recognize Azelma.

"Azelma," he barks, beckoning she come near before dropping his voice. "Stop stuffing your face and let me see if that fancy dress of yours has any pockets to hide some of the finery here."

"'Course I am." The younger girl beams, prouder than she has any right to be. Things were the same as they'd always been, as far as she's concerned. Truth be told, if she never goes back to Paris, if she stays sleeping in this world forever, she'll be just fine. "Your teeth are so pretty, 'Ponine. How do I get me some like that?"

It's fear that's mixed with obedience that has Azelma at her father's side in an instant, hunk of bread still sticking out of her open mouth. She turns around for him, to allow him to inspect her new outfit. "There's a pocket sewn into the side, see here? And look who it is, Father! Eponine is here! And Gavroche!"

Gavroche may have glanced at the teeth - it's odd to see a full set, and not to mention so white! If it weren't fer the voice, he reckoned he wouldn't 'ave known his own sister. "Wouldn't right know, 'bout the sickness. I aen't really been full before." He takes another bite of his roll, pocketing a couple for later. Then he pauses, considering. "Don't feel hunger much as you, any rate."

He eyes his Pa after hearin' 'im call Azelma over. He's probably going on the rob again. Gavroche personally aen't fer that, but he aen't gonna try to stop his Pa.

Eponine straightens up as soon as she hears her Pa's voice. It's a practised instinct that makes her clench her fists tight and tilt her chin up just a little bit and grit her teeth. She's a little bit ashamed to say that she's scared of her father, but she is. After their last meeting especially...

But there's nothing to be done, is there? He's here now, and with her sister.

"Not a greeting for your own daughter, Pa? Now there's a fine thing. I've been gone almost two years and not even a 'hello' for me?" She snorts. "I thought you'd care a bit more than that for me." She shakes her head. "Shoulda known, eh?"

If Thenardier feels any guilt for not recognizing his formerly-deceased daughter, he doesn't show it as he finishes examining the pocket in Azelma's dress and slips a fancy coaster into it. "'Ponine, eh? And here I thought you must have rotted in prison by now."

But then he gets a good look at her, and yes, it's definitely her, under the strange picture of health she's become. She still doesn't look up to snuff with the other women around here, but her skin is clean, her teeth bright, her body not starved. And so Thenardier's demeanor changes. "Of course it's good to see you again. How much are you making now, with new teeth like that?"

"Don't." Eponine folds her arms about her waist, hugging herself close. "I 'on't make nothing. It's... It isn't like that here, Pa. "

So he thought her dead in jail? He hadn't even bothered to check, to look for her, to give her even a bit of a funeral? He didn't know where she was, and he obviously hadn't cared. Eponine knew that her father didn't care much, but it still hurt to hear it. It hurt all the more when Eponine thinks of Eva, and how much love the woman had given to a complete stranger. Her father couldn't give her even half of that love.

But her face betrays nothing, and she comes a bit closer so that she can try to take the coaster back out of Azelma's pocket.

"We don't need to do that here. We don't have to do nothing. I don't do that. Not a penny, Pa. And you won't be getting a penny of my money either, so don't you be asking me for it. Don't you dare."

Azelma knows better than to get in between her family during a feud. Instead she kept her mouth shut, sidestepping her father so that she's standing closer to Gavroche, not quite cowering behind the boy.

For his part, Gavroche is just keeping quiet. He knows it aen't his place to interfere wi' his Pa an' his sister, even if he wants to. He spied that Pa put somefink into Azelma's pocket though, an' he glances at it, hand sneaking towards to see if he can sneak it out. No sense gettin' all of them in trouble now, is there?

"You got money, 'Ponine? Right lady yer are now. 'Spect I'll 'ave to mind me manners, an' bow around yer."

Thenardier shouldn't be surprised by Eponine's defiance - the last time he saw her living, she was shouting him down, he assumed as the product of one of her extreme moods. Still, it's grating.

"I don't remember giving you permission to talk back to me." And as if to make the point, he grabs her wrist so she can't take the coaster away. "You best start explaining where they gave you the attitude along with them new teeth and skin."

Eponine hardly spares a glance at her siblings. She's glad that Azelma is out of the way, and Gavroche at least has the sense not to interfere. Instead, it's her Pa that's her focus, and her expression slides into her old sullen sulk. Her shoulders rise and her chin tucks down, already anticipating his next moves.

"It ain't attitude. It's -" Or maybe it is attitude. Maybe it's foolhardy with her father, but Eponine can't help but retort. "This isn't Paris. This - life is good, Pa. Food, clothes, anything. Anything you want. Teeth, Pa. A bath - Pa, we can be ladies and gentleman here - Pa, I am friends with a Prince and a Queen. It isn't like Paris at all."

And even telling her father, Eponine realises how true her words are, how silly she had been to try to insist on Parisian rules all the time. Perhaps it's the start of a turning point for her after all this time. She can't hide the hope in her voice - she doesn't try to. Nor does she shy away.

"But if you're gonna hit me, Pa, we ought to go to my room. Mademoiselle Jessica will tear you apart if you lay a finger on me."

Eponine nods her head over at Jessica - or is it the twin? - on the other side of the room.

"Oh? And how is it you're earning your keep with this lot, that sees fit to drape you in this clothing-" he grabs a handful of her dress and tugs on it, sneering that it doesn't tear and somehow, the quality of her outfit makes him even more angry, "and pretty you up? Did you stop to wonder what the price of that might be?"

Since losing the Inn long ago, Thenardier's been better at making long-term plans, at flying from illicit means to illicit means with less and less downtime between. Say anything of Thenardier, but he's a prodigious worker in his scams and schemes. Greed and sloth may both be sins, but they rarely coexist.

"Who's this Jessica? Is she the one keeping you all precious? Have you robbed her for all she's worth, yet, or are you still thinking pity will pay for your meals forever?"

"Pity?" Eponine felt her heart sink right down. She could act as cocky as she liked to her father, but she was still as insecure as ever about whether people genuinely liked and wanted her, or just pitied her as a charity case. "Do you think that's it? Why they talk to me?"

He can tug all he likes at her dress. Eponine doesn't care. She has a wardrobe full, and a stylist who never fails to produce more. But her dad's words strike true. The Peacekeepers and the GameMakers certainly don't pity her. But the others? Even Eva? Is her kindness based on pity? And Ian - he came when she had nothing. Did he pity her? Sigma must have. It made her feel sick. But she could refute her dad at least, on Jessica and the other natives.

"They kill me, Pa. That's their price. Not pity. Murder. You'd probably get on with them in that - plotting people's deaths. They are worse than Patron Minette though. Much worse. It is Jessica's job to keep me here 'till they kill me again. That is why she dresses me so. Duty, Pa, not pity."

"You don't look dead to me. All the better for that." Means he can still get something out of her. Thenardier drops the dress and starts to grub around the room more to see what's valuable, to decide on how best to fleece their oh-so-generous guests.

"The rich don't have any duty to people like us, don't you know? They might have once, but beasts, all of them, as greedy as anything they call us."

That is about the closest to a compliment Thenardier has paid Eponine in years and she can't help flashing him a smile in return. It fades as hee begins talking again, and she rolls her eyes with impatience.

"I know, Pa . You don't think I know? Oh God, I have had it . They laughed at me: she dressed me in proper rags , Pa - worse than Paris, and attached a bottom to me and led me as they lead convicts through the streets by my neck. I know some people hate it , Pa, but it ain't truly like that here. It ain't Paris. An' all this, it's mine! Just as much mine as yours."

She raises her voice just a little, so that everyone else can hear if they chose to listen.
"So there 's no point in pocketing it. You 're stealing from me ."

Stupid girl. Never was good for her brains, he thinks, but then again her mother wasn't terribly sharp either. Devoted, perhaps, but a far cry from brilliant.

He has half a mind to slap her, but there is some company that can't be done in, and now she's gone and drawn attention to the whole thing. It's not as if he's compelled by violence, either, but merely frustration at his stupid brats, standing around gawking and gawping.

"Well, what's your bright idea for what we do now, 'Ponine? Let me hear it. Lick their feet?"

Granted, he'd do it for a sous, but still.

"I ain't licking no one's feet." Eponine lowered her voice and her eyes. Despite her words, both she and Thenardier knew she 'd do it if he told her to.

"Look, Pa. You will be fighting to the death soon, and Azelma and Gavroche too. So eat . Fill up. You might sleep on my floor . Azelma can have pretty dresses - I have wardrobes full. And that is it. We can go..." She hardly dares suggest it. " We can play, just as when we were children. You can meet the man who loves me, and my dog. You can see Madame Eva - she is a mother to me, Pa. We can have a nice time ."

Her tone is getting a little more desperate the more she lists things.

"Fighting to the death?"

And for just a moment, fear flickers in his eyes. He's not the type that likes to fight for his life; he'd rather pick through the corpses of others. Some people are built for shadows and subterfuge, not the harsh glare of the sun in a gladiatorial Arena.

"Your mother, dead as she is, won't be caring too greatly that you've found a replacement."

"Yeah, fight. Weren't you listening to me? You never listen to me. They bring us here to fight and they watch us on a magic box. I tell you, I have died maybe seven times now. Maybe more. I lose count." She begins to laugh. It sounds slightly hysterical.
"Course, you being a soldier, you'll be alright."

She doesn 't want to think of her own mother being dead somewhere.

"Mama 's in prison. Saint-Lazare's. I hear things. Anyway, how d 'you know? You couldn 't even be bothered to find me, never mind Mama too."

"As I've said, you don't look dead. You think I don't know a body when I see it? You're the image of health right now, except your hair."

He sneers at her jab about him being a soldier.

"Received word."

"Jessica cut it off." Eponine touches the bristles on her head self-consciously. "Madame Harley glued a wig to me - it was the only way to be rid of it." Though why she feels the need to explain that to her father, whom she is sure is not at all interested, is beyond Eponine. Her explanation dies when he confirms her mother's death though.

"Dead." It makes her feel a little bit emptier, a little bit more alone. But she shrugs, as if it is nothing. As if it doesn't hurt.

"Well, it is a good thing that a lady here wishes to be my Mama, no?"

"As long as they keep putting us up this way, it's not worth complaining about, at least." He feels some vague sense of loss - not mourning - for his devoted wife, if only because men like him so rarely find people who believe them to be sainted. His wife stayed besotted until the end, it seemed, possibly from lack of options.

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Thicker Than Blood Start

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