Éponine Thénardier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
filleauloup) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2015-04-14 08:54 am
filleauloup) wrote in fandomtownies2015-04-14 08:54 am
Entry tags:
Fandom Post Office, April 14 (Tuesday)
So yes, Éponine had made a hasty retreat from the radio studio this morning, but sitting there and having to read notes about other people having nice family experiences (even if those families weren't exactly theirs), with Cosette, had been just a little too much. Oh, she was relieved not to have had a visitor this year, but she normally did a decent job not thinking about how awful her own family was. Weekends like this past one were a little too good at reminding her.
She had enough work to do today to keep her busy -- and keep her mind off of it -- for several hours at a time, but in the inevitable lulls she found her thoughts drifting back to her family. Not her parents -- she didn't give a damn about her father any more, and her mother . . . well, that was a complicated, but no less fraught, subject. Azelma's well-being worried her, but thinking about that was too upsetting for her to want to dwell on it much today. Her two youngest brothers had been shuffled off to some other person so long ago that she barely even remembered she had them, but hopefully they were better off; the last she'd heard, Magnon had led some rich old bourgeois womanizer to believe they were his, and was living fairly comfortably off the deception.
Gavroche, though -- he had always been a bright spot in her life, even if he had been living on his own for the last several years, and she had no idea what became of him after the last time they encountered each other at the Rue de la Chanvrerie barricade. She wouldn't have expected him to run away; whether or not he had believed in all of Marius's friends' talk, she knew her brother well enough, and he would never have passed up an opportunity to thumb his nose at rich people. God knew he'd gotten himself mixed up with the uprising in 1830, too, and him only ten years old at the time. Still, 1830 had been different. The odds had almost been in their favor then. This last time around they hadn't had a chance, not with the way the soldiers had been storming the barricade looking for survivors just before she made her escape. But no, she wasn't going to think about that either, or the memory of the acrid smell of gunpowder smoke and the sound of grapeshot rattling off every wall in that narrow little street would be overwhelming. She'd get lost in it even if she could remember hearing Gavroche's voice over the din, singing one of his irreverent songs in an unmistakable mockery of the national guardsmen.
Very well then, if she couldn't avoid her thoughts drifting toward him, she'd at least try her best to think about other things: Gavroche seeking out her and Azelma to share some bit of stolen pastry with them, or mouthing off at Montparnasse, or gleefully scandalizing shopkeepers who only wanted him to leave. He'd been the best of them, he really had, and she even caught herself smiling wistfully from time to time as she went about her work.
[OOC: Open, no OCD!]
She had enough work to do today to keep her busy -- and keep her mind off of it -- for several hours at a time, but in the inevitable lulls she found her thoughts drifting back to her family. Not her parents -- she didn't give a damn about her father any more, and her mother . . . well, that was a complicated, but no less fraught, subject. Azelma's well-being worried her, but thinking about that was too upsetting for her to want to dwell on it much today. Her two youngest brothers had been shuffled off to some other person so long ago that she barely even remembered she had them, but hopefully they were better off; the last she'd heard, Magnon had led some rich old bourgeois womanizer to believe they were his, and was living fairly comfortably off the deception.
Gavroche, though -- he had always been a bright spot in her life, even if he had been living on his own for the last several years, and she had no idea what became of him after the last time they encountered each other at the Rue de la Chanvrerie barricade. She wouldn't have expected him to run away; whether or not he had believed in all of Marius's friends' talk, she knew her brother well enough, and he would never have passed up an opportunity to thumb his nose at rich people. God knew he'd gotten himself mixed up with the uprising in 1830, too, and him only ten years old at the time. Still, 1830 had been different. The odds had almost been in their favor then. This last time around they hadn't had a chance, not with the way the soldiers had been storming the barricade looking for survivors just before she made her escape. But no, she wasn't going to think about that either, or the memory of the acrid smell of gunpowder smoke and the sound of grapeshot rattling off every wall in that narrow little street would be overwhelming. She'd get lost in it even if she could remember hearing Gavroche's voice over the din, singing one of his irreverent songs in an unmistakable mockery of the national guardsmen.
Very well then, if she couldn't avoid her thoughts drifting toward him, she'd at least try her best to think about other things: Gavroche seeking out her and Azelma to share some bit of stolen pastry with them, or mouthing off at Montparnasse, or gleefully scandalizing shopkeepers who only wanted him to leave. He'd been the best of them, he really had, and she even caught herself smiling wistfully from time to time as she went about her work.
[OOC: Open, no OCD!]