fandomtownies | Fandom Post Office, January 27 (Tuesday)

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Fandom Post Office, January 27 (Tuesday)

Well, there was no help for it, Éponine was going to have to be out in the cold for at least part of the day whether she wanted to or not, which, having a nice warm coat and gloves -- and shoes that fit and didn't squeak, which was very important in her book -- notwithstanding, held no appeal whatsoever; no amount of cajoling, pleading, or outright attempting to bribe any of her coworkers would succeed in getting one of them to take her route.

(Yes, she knew it could have been worse than having to be outside in the cold for a few hours. She was all too aware of how much worse being out in the cold could be. She just . . . constantly had to fight off the thought that she could easily end up in that situation again, and she wasn't as likely to have many people to stop and chat with along the route today to distract her from it.)

So there was a giant carafe of hot chocolate behind the counter, clearly labeled "PROPERTY OF É. THÉNARDIER, HANDS OFF" in large, shaky block letters.

"That goes for you, especially," she warned the gremlins as she shouldered her mail bag and headed out the door.

She'd consider it a pleasant surprise if half the carafe was left by the time she got back, really.

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Don't touch the hot chocolate. She'll know. She'll find out, somehow, that it was you.

In the post office, or out in the streets, depending on whether you like your conversation ambiance toasty or chilly.

The streets were haunted!

Well, more or less. More like "Bob was bored, and never saw a pretty girl he didn't want to flirt with".

He grinned when he saw her, and tempered his appreciative look with a courtly bow. "Miss." Girls liked the old courtly thing, right?

She'd always been half convinced the streets of Paris were haunted at night anyway. All right, maybe part of that had been the liquor but still.

"Monsieur," she greeted him, and nodded. There was a hint of caution in her tone, granted, but all things considered could you really blame her for reflexively being skeptical about unexpected attention from men she didn't know?

Not at all! Not that a bit of wariness would stop Bob; he'd just have to win her over. Or piss her off enough she told him to go away, but he always tried to avoid that outcome.

"Ah - French?" He grinned, and continued in that language, "What's such a lovely French flower doing on such a small American island?"

And -- sorry, Bob, but she burst out laughing at that. Two years in Fandom had helped, but her sense of self-esteem was still too ragged and old habits really did die too hard for her to take that at face value.

Or . . . believe, really. That might be more accurate.

"My job, at the moment, 's it happens," she answered, because she couldn't help being a smartass sometimes.

"Oh?" Bob eyed the bag. "What's that?" He tried to peek in, wondering if it was too soon to just reach his hand through it. "Delivery of some sort?"

Was it a shame he couldn't offer to carry that for her? Maybe. Then again, he probably wouldn't have thought of it if he were still alive, either.

Éponine hitched the bag just a touch further up on her shoulder and said in as dignified a voice as she could manage, "That's right, it is. I'm with the post office here, d'you see?"

She really was pathetically proud of it from time to time.

Which was why she also would have insisted on carrying the bag herself, if he (could have) offered.

"But folks here expect to get their letters before it's too late out. That makes sense, I think. I know I'd much rather not have their mail to worry about when it's getting to be dinnertime. Ordinarily I might stop for a minute or two, go and get myself a cup of coffee on my way past the Perk, but good lord! It's slow enough going today as it is and I'd like to be back indoors where it's nice and warm sooner rather than later."

About 90% of that rambling was entirely superfluous, but that was always a risk when someone gave her an opportunity to talk.

Oo, the post office!

...What? Bob had recently gotten a letter. He could touch it. He was pleasantly disposed toward Fandom's post office.

"Winter can be a bit miserable, can't it?" Not that Bob felt the cold, but he could commiserate. "But rain, snow, or sweltering heat, the jobs must all get done, hm?"

"Seems that way," Éponine agreed. "Well, there's more comfortable jobs to be had, but worse all the same, and I've got a warm place to sleep and enough to eat so you won't see me complaining, no sir. Good lord! I'd rather this than have to be cooped up behind a desk all day. There's sunshine more often than not."

Did this mean she had to relish the thought of going out in the cold? Not as far as she was concerned.

"The outdoors type?" Bob grinned. He still rather loved being outside himself. "I hate when I've been cooped up too long. The same four walls all the time will drive you mad; I'm convinced of it."

They certainly made him drive Harry mad when he didn't have anything to do or see.

"Oh, there's plenty to be said about being indoors," Éponine amended quickly. "It's ever so much nicer than being caught out in the rain with nowhere to go, or having to sleep in --"

She bit off the end of that sentence and shook her head, then barrelled on: "But it's nice to be able to come and go as I please, or at least mostly as I please. And say! You're new around here, aren't you? I recognize most people on the island now, so long's they've been hanging about for a few weeks, and I don't recognize you yet."

"I'm wounded!" Bob declared theatrically, grinning. "I've been here weeks already, and I don't merit the recognition of a pretty lady?"

It probably had something to do with him not getting any mail.

He let the comment about sleeping elsewhere pass; it didn't seem conducive to a friendly conversation. Instead, he stepped back and gave her another courtly bow, this one from a more elaborate time. "Hrothbert of Bainbridge at your service, milady," he said solemnly, then grinned again. "You can call me Bob."

"Ah!" Éponine clapped her hands and laughed. "Then I do know you, in a way! That's to say I've heard of you on the radio, only I hadn't a face to go with the name."

She was a bit more relaxed now, enough so to allow herself a small, amused smile at the bow.

"Well, then, it's nice to meet you as well, Monsieur Bob."

"The pleasure is all mine," Bob assured her. "And you are...?"

"Éponine," she answered quickly, and even though she was noticeably more cordial now there was still a hint of wry amusement in her smile, like if he was going to persist in treating her politely and even flirt with her then she was going to indulge him, because if he was deluded enough to think she warranted that, who was she to tell him otherwise?

(Her sense of self-esteem was a special place. Sorry, Bob.)

Well, since flirting was about all he could do, Bob was going to make the best of it! It was an art, really.

"How long have you been on the island, milady?" he asked.

...it was totally more suave than "come here often?", shut up.

Well, you know, she wasn't going to stop him. He didn't seem inclined to do more than that, and what was she going to do, not enjoy a little flattering attention even if she did think he must clearly have mistaken her for someone else?

Probably a good thing he hadn't gone for that second line, or she'd have laughed more.

"How long? Good lord! Let's see here, it's been . . ." Éponine trailed off and stared into the distance, humming distractedly to herself while she counted. "Two years and then a little something more now, I think. Yes. How d'you like that? I don't know where the time's gone."

"It sneaks off when you're not watching it," Bob suggested. "Probably having more fun than we are."

"Oh, I don't know. There's lots of fun to be had around here," Éponine mused, "even if it's an odd sort."

It was still a strange thing to think about, how the time had passed; she'd never expected to make it to twenty.

"Is there?" Bob perked up a bit. "Do tell!"

"Depends what you like to do, I suppose," Éponine said. "Me, I don't mind sitting and watching people for a few hours just to see what they're up to. Getting something to drink and finding a bench and getting comfortable. There's the movie house, and that's a nice way to pass some time, 'specially if you've never seen a movie in your life before coming here, like me. And there's the bookstore, and the library, and interesting things in the shops that you might not find anywhere else -- well, I think it's all fun. But then, there's some who think it's fun when things happen, like that silly business with the flying fish, which I don't care for. Let 'em go out and fight eels if they like! I'd rather find somewhere inside to be while that's all going on, and wait until it's over."

"You and me both," Bob said. "Though I suppose things like that do make the people-watching more interesting. What sorts of movies do they show here?"

When she got to Hannibal's house on her rounds, he nodded to her pleasantly. "Mademoiselle. How are you today?"

"Very well, Monsieur, and thanks for the food you sent over," Éponine said brightly. "It made for a good few days of dinners, just the sort of thing one wants around Christmas."

She rummaged in her bag and with a soft exclamation of "Ha! There we go!" pulled out a packet of mail that she presented to him. "There's your post for the day. No one's got the funny idea to post 'round bricks today, thank god, but wouldn't that help keep the cold out, me lugging those all over the place!"

"Thank you." He took the packet. "And I will probably have to gift you with a bit more food after this week; I'm afraid I've got quite a few packages arriving. I wanted to let you know - if there are many, please feel free to hire a rickshaw, and bill it to me."

He smirked. "Warm it might be, but I can't imagine lugging things like that is pleasant."

"Good lord, no, I wouldn't want to do it!" Éponine exclaimed, laughing. "No, thank you, I can think of less inconvenient ways to keep from freezing."

She grinned slyly for a moment, having spotted an opportunity in the offer of hiring a rickshaw, but the smile wavered; maybe she shouldn't take advantage of it? Or maybe she should; it wasn't like she didn't let people pay her on the side to do some unofficial delivery as it was.

"It's kind of you to offer," she said finally, and with some difficulty, "but it's my job, after all, and we've got a cart we can use for jobs like that anyhow."

Which they still wouldn't let her drive, but details.

". . . though I wouldn't turn down the food."

It was progress, all right?

"Food it is," Hannibal agreed. "And if you change your mind about the rickshaw, let me know."

"That all depends, Monsieur, on whether they let me drive next time," Éponine said, only about half joking but smirking all the same.

Hannibal chuckled. "Oh, dear. Have you been banned from driving?"

Éponine laughed, a rough, short bark of amusement. "I haven't got a license, so they say I'm not allowed. How d'you like that! As if some silly piece of paper makes anyone else better at it. I learn quick, I'm sure I'd be good at it if they let me try, but no luck convincing them yet."

Liabilities and legality, pfft.

"I can think of many more dangerous things around here than letting someone try to drive a rickshaw," Hannibal said. Which didn't mean he was going to let her get behind the wheel of his Bentley, no. "Are there even licenses for those?"

"Oh! It isn't one of those," Éponine amended quickly. "It's -- what d'you call it, a golf cart?"

You wouldn't want her behind the wheel anyway, Hannibal. "And I don't think you need a license for one of those either, but what do I know about that, anyway?"

Honestly, what an annoyance.

"I see. You don't need licenses for those, either," Hannibal said. He shrugged. "But this place is a law unto itself, and I'd hardly suggest taking a joyride in one."

Except for the part where he totally would.

"You're no fun, you aren't, any of you," Éponine pretended to complain, though she was grinning. "No, I'm not sure they aren't just trying to be difficult. Anyhow I don't mind the walk, most days."

"I'm a teacher; I'm not allowed to be fun," Hannibal said, grinning back. "But yes, just so long as it isn't too icy or cold, it's a pleasant walk. And when it is, well - would you like some coffee?" He waved back at the door. "I've got a pot brewed."

Éponine's eyes lit up. "Wouldn't I! You're a real gentleman, you are. That'd be just the thing on a day like this."

Hannibal smiled. "I do my best. If you'd like, you're welcome to step inside; if you'd rather not, I'll bring it out to you. Cream or sugar?"

"I --" Éponine bit her lip, evidently torn.

Finally, she shook her head. "No, I'd better not go in. I might be tempted not to go back out again for a while, and someone will be unhappy about having their mail come late."

Also, technically, she wasn't supposed to, but that was not really her main concern.

"As you like, mademoiselle." Hannibal nodded to her. "Cream or sugar?"

"Oh, yes, cream please, Monsieur, and plenty of sugar!" If Éponine sounded a lot like a small child there, well, it was a habit to take advantage of any opportunity to get sugar.

The adorableness of that even got Hannibal not to make a face over ruining good coffee.

He stepped back inside and set the mail down, made up a heavily sugared and creamed cup of coffee, then made another and poured them both into a thermos; he somehow didn't think a glass mug was the most practical while walking.

He brought it back to Éponine with a smile. "There you are, mademoiselle."

*faceplants into keyboard*

*throws people at you*

Does Éponine have a uniform or anything showing she's post office, or just a large bag?

Oooh good question.

I'm going to guess that Fandom's post office is prooooooooooobably not obligated to be 100% compliant with USPS standards (they probably stopped trying to make it be) so it's just the bag, really.

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Fandom Post Office, January 27 (Tuesday)

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Talk to Éponine [1/27]

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Question!

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