thecapitol | 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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"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.

Thicker Than Blood Start

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