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The Park, Most of Sunday

Had the carnival changed? Retreated? No, but perhaps it had filled up even worse over the past twenty-four hours or so.

The look on that mustached man's face certainly exuded a certain amount of triumph as the lights went on again early on Sunday morning. He stabbed the ground with his cane and watched; if experience counted for anything, then there would be yet more pouring into his carnival today.

The feeding was good, here.

That scent of cotton candy rolled over the island once more, and the carnival's music touched what it could not.

It's a new day, Fandom. Come, enjoy it.

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Was there something off about Éponine exhorting her to have fun?

Maybe; something in Cosette's hazy memories of childhood stirred and started to take shape. There was Éponine, clutching her mother's skirt and glaring accusatorily at Cosette while Azelma peered out from behind her; Madame Thénardier calling her name in that furious tone of voice that meant nothing good; Father, looking on in alarm and confusion as Cosette gently placed the purloined toy on the floor and walked toward Mme Thénardier, already failing to hold back tears.

"That beggar has dared to touch the children's doll."

And then Father had gone out, and come back shortly afterward with a doll, and given it to her. Catherine was a much finer doll than Éponine and Azelma's could ever have been; she understood that now. And for the first time she made herself really look at Éponine, made herself take in the sunken eyes and missing teeth and persistently haunted expression. She didn't know the source of that expression, but if she thought enough about the other life she inexplicably still remembered living she could guess.

She'd managed to escape, but Éponine had not been so lucky, and Cosette was far too warmhearted by nature to let the half-remembered past overwhelm her instinctive surge of sympathy.

"Don't you think you ought to, as well?"

Éponine laughed, and while it wasn't quite the discordant, slightly unsettling sound of her usual laughter it was still raucous.

"Have fun? Good god! What makes you think I'm not? She spread her arms wide. "Look at the life I lead, and tell me there's no fun to be had -- as you'd see if you try a game or two."

As it turned out, mentally preparing herself to actually go in for the hug was a little harder than anticipated, but Cosette couldn't help wondering if Éponine had been as trapped in her life before Fandom as she was here in this carnival.

Well, she'd been trapped once, too, and Father had saved her, so oughtn't she follow his example?

"Thank you, no," she said politely, put a hand on the counter, and hopped over with no regard for whether such a thing was unladylike. "But I've something to give you after all."

Then, before she could reconsider or Éponine could ask, she rushed in and hugged Éponine as hard as she could.

"Oh, hell -- what's all this about, what's got into you?" Éponine demanded, trying to shove Cosette away. "Either play the game or make yourself scarce, you haven't got any money and that's all I care about, this isn't any use to me at all!"

She squirmed more in what seemed to be a futile attempt to break free, spitting out a string of colorful curses, until the impulse to fight abruptly dissipated and she just stood there, resigned.

And a touch annoyed, it had to be said.

As determined as Éponine was to get away, Cosette was equally determined not to let go.
This did not mean she didn't feel a little bit uncomfortable about this situation; it felt a little too much like opening herself up to suppressed memories she'd rather not recall.

"I don't think you knew any better," she said softly, more to herself than to Éponine. "You couldn't have, could you? You weren't taught any differently."

She really meant to give herself something to focus on instead of letting memories (or more accurately, emotional reactions she couldn't quite explain) overwhelm her, but if what she was saying sounded a lot like a litany of forgiveness, well . . . maybe it was beginning to have that effect.

She had stopped struggling, but after a point Éponine was enough herself again that when she realized what was going on she remained still for an entirely different reason.

There she was, doing someone else's dirty work through no will of her own, again, and of course it was Cosette who found her. Of course she couldn't have gotten free of the situation without someone else's help, and of course it had to be Cosette, because the damned universe liked playing a cruel joke at her expense every so often.

"That's enough of that," she rasped out, and finally shook herself free.

Well, it would be a lie for Cosette to say she wasn't at least partially relieved to be able to step back.

"Are --" She had to swallow; her throat was dry. "Are you all right?"

It was, somehow, both a surprising emotional high and the worst thing in the world all at once to have Cosette standing there and looking at her with genuine concern. Éponine stared back at her, awash in a mess of relief and resentment and trying to think of something to say; she wanted to thank Cosette and curse her out.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times in indecision, but the gratitude and anger seemed to cancel each other out and leave her at a complete loss for words. She couldn't pull her thoughts together enough to process what had just happened, let alone come up with words.

It was all just too much; she turned and ran away.

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The Park, Most of Sunday

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