Eponine Thenardier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
makeflowersgrow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-02-26 12:13 am
makeflowersgrow) wrote in thecapitol2013-02-26 12:13 am
Entry tags:
Closed
Who: Eponine and Wesker
What: A reunion on the roof of the training centre
When: Sometime at midnight, around a week after the Valentine's drugging.
Where: On the top of the training centre
Warnings: Some gentle manipulation for Miss Thenardier, methinks. 'Cheerful' reunions galore. Possible language?
It's late at night - midnight now, to be exact, and it's cool up on the roof of the training centre. But Eponine doesn't feel like going inside. Not yet. It might be chilly, but the stars, the big, full moon, are all so beautiful. Eponine feels her spirits raise even from just looking on them. It's been so long since she's seen them - the last time was in the arena, before her death...
Eponine shivers and sits down near the edge of the roof.She likes looking over, and watching the people below. Only, there are no people on the streets now. The whole city is quiet. It's just her and the stars. Just like in Paris.
Eponine lies back, looking up at the stars. Maybe she can just live up here from now on? Sleeping rough is nothing new to her, and it is certainly better than waiting for Javert to arrest her in her sleep. So she lies back, for once feeling perfectly secure and perfectly relaxed. After a few minutes, she begins to hum, and eventually to sing...
She sings nonsense, about lost loves and nightingales dying; it's an old French ditty she knows, full of crude words and images, but her high, pure voice somehow makes even the worst of the swearing sound relatively innocent. In the quiet of the night, her voice echoes and drifts out, perhaps attracting a surprise visitor...
What: A reunion on the roof of the training centre
When: Sometime at midnight, around a week after the Valentine's drugging.
Where: On the top of the training centre
Warnings: Some gentle manipulation for Miss Thenardier, methinks. 'Cheerful' reunions galore. Possible language?
It's late at night - midnight now, to be exact, and it's cool up on the roof of the training centre. But Eponine doesn't feel like going inside. Not yet. It might be chilly, but the stars, the big, full moon, are all so beautiful. Eponine feels her spirits raise even from just looking on them. It's been so long since she's seen them - the last time was in the arena, before her death...
Eponine shivers and sits down near the edge of the roof.She likes looking over, and watching the people below. Only, there are no people on the streets now. The whole city is quiet. It's just her and the stars. Just like in Paris.
Eponine lies back, looking up at the stars. Maybe she can just live up here from now on? Sleeping rough is nothing new to her, and it is certainly better than waiting for Javert to arrest her in her sleep. So she lies back, for once feeling perfectly secure and perfectly relaxed. After a few minutes, she begins to hum, and eventually to sing...
She sings nonsense, about lost loves and nightingales dying; it's an old French ditty she knows, full of crude words and images, but her high, pure voice somehow makes even the worst of the swearing sound relatively innocent. In the quiet of the night, her voice echoes and drifts out, perhaps attracting a surprise visitor...
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"So you may think of me as you like. I do NOT care!"
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One final attempt, and then even he would have to admit the lost cause.
"So I shall continue to think the best of you, and you only the worst? Now there's a true shame." He allowed himself a heavy exhale and turned to the ledge, turned his back on her, as if disappointed. Resigned.
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Eponine frowned. The best? But... how? Why? She had done nothing to show him a positive side of herself.
Still, even as Wesker turned away from her, Eponine found herself drawing closer, sidling up to him so that she stood next to him, looking out at the same view.
"You think I am good? You like me, Monsieur?"
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"I think, you have a great deal of potential. But then..." he looked at her, a slow turn of his head, lenses black and fathomless, "...you don't care what I think. Do you?"
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Eponine glanced at Wesker in confusion, before looking quickly back out over the city.
Didn't care what he thought? No - no, that was wrong. Said quickly when she thought this man thought her scum. A reflex reaction, defiance against her station in life compared to those of superior class. No, Eponine craved approval from anyone that would give it to her. But how could she tell this man any of that? He would laugh for sure!
"I -"
She bit her lip, clenching her hands.
"Do you really think I have potential, Monsieur? For what?"
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"With such a lovely voice, such daring, and fiery spirit... a great many things, I would imagine."
So this one needed things a bit more directly. He could do that.
"But the secret, is that it can only be realized if you believe it as well."
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She beamed openly though. Nobody ever paid her such lovely compliments.
" Perhaps I believe... I do like to sing, even if I am bad. I say what does it matter if I am happy? It hurts only the ears and nothing else if I am truly so bad."
She doesn't, not really. Not yet. But she wishes his compliments were true. So that is part of the battle won, no?
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He smiled softly and slowly, gently, reached over to brush back a lock of her thin hair, his fingertips like moth's wings against her cheek, there and gone. "Perhaps someday, you'll believe enough to sing for me."
(OOC: Let me know if this goes too far, I'll be happy to edit.)
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"Do you want me to sing for you, Monsieur?" She asked.
Did Wesker really like her? He was treating her as if he did... Eponine just couldn't understand it, nor work out WHY.
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Eponine found herself moving closer to him, though she didn't realise it, but soon her shoulder touched his arm, and he'd be able to feel her head nodding as she replied,
"If you want me to... only what shall I sing?"
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He smiled again, the one corner of his mouth turning up handsomly, and stepped back, moving toward the nearby bench.
"Surprise me," he instructed as he sat, as regal and composed as if he were attending an opera. Not listening to a ragged, dirty girl atop a freezing rooftop.
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So she turned her back again and closed her eyes. She was imagining - imagining her self back home, in the streets of Paris, by herself. That song that she always sung to herself as she wandered at night. The one that made her cry, every time.
Slowly, she began to sing.
By the end of the song, she had turned around, though she wasn't looking at Wesker. In fact, she had lost herself completely in her memories and her longing for Marius.
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The words, combined with the passion in which she sang them, had an almost - religious fervor. For some, he might have assumed just that, but for her....
He recalled the recent holiday and the way she had begged for his favor. The favor of the man she had believed him to be.
That unknown Marius.
He turned the name over his mind thoughtfully, wondering what use it might be to him, even as he smiled and applauded her gently.
"You sell yourself far too short, dear heart."
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"It was a song I sang at home sometimes. When my Papa didn't want me in the room and I had nowhere to go. I used to wander around Paris until I was so tired I could bear to lie in the ditch or the street. Did you really like it? I did not hurt your ears?"
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"Could you really?"
She sidled over to Wesker, sitting down next to him. "I don't think I could sing all night. I don't know enough words!"
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"I can try to prepare - I can read, you know? I can read and learn songs. I am cleverer than I look."
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