thecapitol | This is my patch

Entry tags:

This is my patch

Who| Gavroce and whoever
What| Arrival and exploring
Where| training area
When| Day of his arrival
Warnings/Notes| N/A yet

He was taken out of the room after the test - he thinks it was a test but he's not really all that sure. He followed behind the talll, imposing people, keepin' his mouth shut as they directed him into that box thing they'd lead him into before. He didn't like the boc thing, it moved strangely and made his stomach feel all funny, and it did enough of that anyway.

He was given a room though, and as he held the card he couldn't help but eye them up. No one just gave someone a room. There had to be a catch, there was alwayus a catch. What did he have to give them in return for the room? He poked a dirty finger on the clean sheets covering the bed, surprised at the softness he felt there. He was left alone, standing in the middle of the room, looking around as if he'd never seen anything like it before.

"Well, enough o' tthis," he muttered to himself, pocketing the card and making his way out of the room, and out of the building. Time to get to know this new city; maybe he could find a way home to Paris.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Eponine had been out and about after the night before. Her head still ached from the huge wig and the ropes of lights she had had to wear - and all the alcohol she had consumed to make herself forget. For now, her hair was still scraped into the tight top-knot that Valeria had made her wear beneath the wig the night before, though she had donned more comfortable clothes - a baggy, high necked t-shirt and a wide, dull skirt to hide her body.

She walked without purpose - just walked. And then - surely she knew that little boy? Surely she knew that bright blonde hair and that cheeky little face. She stopped, a look of horror on her face. And then she began to run towards him

"GAVROCHE? GAVROCHE? Is it you?"

Javert still doesn't especially like venturing into the city alone. It's too disorganized, too foreign to him. Javert likes his world broken down into easy, cognizable pieces, likes to sort them into boxes, and he doesn't have enough mental boxes for all this new information and new culture and especially all these flashing lights and people.

As such, when he does go out - this time to ask the librarian if she has even a single tome in French - he's in a particularly sour mood. His normally stony face is pursed into the slightest of scowls, and he looks upon every Capitol citizen as if he suspects them of being about to commit some crime.

He nearly runs into a little boy underfoot. He stops and brushes the encounter off his coat. "Pardon."

Gavroche turned at the sound of his name being called, trying to see if he could recognise anyone who would know his name well enough to call it. There was someone coming towards him who was .... well he supposed they were sort of recognisable but he couldn't place it, not at all

"'Ere, 'ow you know me name?"

"Gavroche?"

Eponine's face was a picture of confusion as she came closer. "It's me, Eponine. You ain't gone soft, have you? Wot're you doin' here? When did you get 'ere? Have they taken you in yet?"

Gavroche looks up, and a grin breaks upon his face. Well, this s a face he knows well enough, yes indeed. Never thought he'd see it here of all places, not here at all. "Well, good evenin' dear h'inspector, lovely evenin' my dear!" He greeted with a wide grin. "Ain't never fought I'd see the likes of you runnin' round this place."

Gavroche's face is a picture. "'Ponine? But yer all clean!" He had never seen his sister clean before, at least not within his memory which probably wasn't as long as he'd like to make out but he said longer than he rememembered. "Wot you mean, gone soft? Been taken in where?"

"I scrub up alrigh' don't I? I'm a proper lady."

She barked a hollow laugh. "'Ere. It's the Capitol - not Paris. Have they taken you in? Have they given you a score?"

"Aen't ever fought I'd see yer as a proper lady. Am I gonna have ta be polite round ye now?" Gavroche gives his own laugh at what he says, not as hollow sounding as Eponine's. He thinks. "I was taken into this room, where I climbed a lot of stuff. Said I was 4, woteva that means."

"Well, you'll be dressed up as a proper gent. They scrub you 'ere, whether you want it or not."

Now she grinned. "If you think I look a lady now, though, you should have seen me last night. I had a real ball gown with magic lights on it!"

It faded, though, as he described his assessment. "They gave you a four? Well... it is more than they gave me. Gavroche, you understand what is happening, where you are, no?"

"Aen't gonna be no gent. H'im a comrade of equality I am," Gavroche tugged on his jacket, making sure his rosette - dirtied as it was - was shown off as proudly as he could manage. He listened to his sister's description of her outfit the night before, and he couldn't help but snort. "Aen't a kid, 'Ponine, I know there aen't no such thing as magic lights."

He gave a shrug. "Aen't got a clue, am just here."

"Well, not here you're not. They dress you up in whatever they want. I think Valeria burned my clothes from Paris...I bet your stylist will do the same, Gavroche. And it DID have lights on - it is called 'electricity' here. It is like fire, but not. It doesn't burn and doesn't flicker. It's like magic."

But at Gavroche's words, Eponine bends down, clutching his shoulders, and looks her brother straight in the eyes.

"Now you listen to me because I ain't joking. We are going to be put in a strange place, and the other people are going to try to kill us and each other. You hear me? Gavroche, you're going to die, and people who live here will watch us and bring us back to life."

Gavroche gives a noise of dismissial. As if anyone was really going to dress him up. And what was a Valeria when it was at home anyway. Did coming here lead to people speaking all kinds of nonsense? Was that what was happening to Eponine? Had this place made her a bit touched in the head?

"..." His mouth opens at her long explanation. Watch them die and bring them back? He can't understand it. He wriggles out of his grasp, turning on his heel to run.

"Gavroche!" Eponine shouts after him, and then begins to run after her brother. "Gavroche! Stop! Why are you running? Papa is not here!"

Wandering the city and watching its inhabitants had become Enjolras' go-to pass time in the days since his arrival. He still hadn't gotten over his morbid fascination with the locals and their brightly colored fashions, and he'd found a number of good spots where pausing and observing didn't attract undue attention back at him. It was in one of these spots --a collection of park benches a few blocks from the training center that wasn't, in his opinion at least, vast enough to be considered a park-- where he'd spotted the boy.

A pang of guilt hit him, so powerful that at first Enjolras thought he may have been hallucinating the whole thing. Gavroche hadn't actually been part of their group. He would be a casualty of the situation and one for whom Enjolras himself had never truly accounted. Children weren't meant to die for the Republic, that burden was meant to be shared only by the men who had incited the barricade. Of course, by that logic M. Mabeuf should have been spared as well. Enjolras sighed heavily, they were all equally damned regardless. Perhaps they had always been.

He watched the boy move with a boldness nigh impossible to mistake. It was definitely Gavroche, somehow here in this place. In his contemplations, Enjolras' voice returned and he called out to the gamin in a typically measured tone that wasn't altogether lacking in fondness. "They won't take kindly to your antics here, Gavroche. I still entertain the theory that they've managed to grow extra sets of eyes."

Inspector. Javert's attention snaps from the crowd down to the urchin about his waist. He hasn't been introducing himself as Inspector to anyone, not since he asked to resign in disgrace.

"Do I know you?" Because for the most part, Javert knows every miscreant and their offspring in Montreuille-sur-Mer, and yet this boy's face is indubitably unfamiliar. Granted, they all look the same, street rats with their shifty eyes and wide mouths, but Javert doesn't recognize this one in particular.

'Pruna' was still exploring the city, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the weird people with stupid hair. She still had no shoes on, she didn't believe that stupid mans words about diseases. No one got diseases from being barefoot or half of Gauig would be dead by now.

She spotted the boy and instantly gravitated towards him. He was the most ordinary person she had seen since being left in her room, his hands and face dirty whilst everything else was scrubbed clean and weirdly colored.

She got close and hid in the shadows, curious and wanting to know more about him.

"Aen't running from Papa!" He stops, and turns to look at his sister, anger on his face. "Who watch people die fer entertainment? Nah, yer touched in the head, 'Ponine."

"Well, 'Parnasse for one. Claquesous, Babet... Papa.. Gavroche, you know lots of people who do. Maybe I am mad. I don't know... but that is what they do, Gav, whether you like it or not."

"Even if you don't, I know you," Gavroche says, wondering why Javert is playing this particular game. It's a fun one to play, so he's good with playing along but still, it's confusing to the little gamin.

Gavroche recognises that voice, and turns with a grin, "Pretty Face!" he greets happily. "Woulda fought ye'd end up 'ere of all places." A pause. "Where is 'ere anyway?"

Gavroche knows when people are following him. He's got too many kids to not have picked up the skill. "'Ere, I aen't gonna bite. What's yer name?" He figures the direct approach would work as best as any. He's not exactly armed, unless you count sheer cheek, so being open and friendly seems like the best idea.

She had a point, that was what was irritating him most. The types of people he knew would watch someone die as entertain. But... "Ye can't bring back the dead! Don't even go to Church an' c'n tell ye that."

"These people CAN, Gav. They have magic. And you need to be CAREFUL, okay? More so than Paris. We are not in charge here, Gavroche."

She doesn't know how to stress the importance of just behaving to her little brother. She doesn't want him to end up in trouble.

"I've heard stories. They cut out your tongue and make you a servant if you are bad."

And for the first time in a long while, Gavroche feels what he thinks might be the dtart of fear. He looks up at his elder sister. She wouldn't lie to him about something this important, would she? What would be the point of it all?

"...Why we 'ere?"

She shrugs, apparently unmoved by the horror surrounding her.

"Don't know. To die, over and over. And be dressed up all pretty in the mean time."

She's saying nothing about the sexual harassment that many have experienced.

"You need to be careful, okay? No saying you're the mayor and whatnot. You listenin'? I don't want to be watchin' you 'aving your tongue out."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 3

This is my patch

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject