I go by the name of Eponine, not that it's any of your business. I don't care who I talk with, as long as you don't look down upon me. Alright?
((Independent Eponine rp and ask blog. I do not own Eponine, nor do I own Les Miserables. Her face claim is Samantha Barks. Eponine will rp with anybody from any fandom. She is usually from the Les Mis verse, but will rp any verse.))
Eponine looked at the buttons, wondering how on earth is worked. Surely there must have been thousands of codes. How on earth did anybody remember them? “So, how would I be able t’ reach m’ sister?” she asked, deciding to hand it back to the woman before she managed to break it or something.
Nodding, the girl took back her phone as if was offered, but, sighed a bit sadly as she did so.
"Technically speaking, yes. But, she’d have to have another one of these on the other side, and you’d have to know her specific ‘code.’ That’s just no possible in this day and age." However, the hooded woman couldn’t help but look up at Eponine with a curious, and almost worried look, as she finished speaking.
"Why? Do you not know where she is?"
"Not right now. She’s probably off wanderin’ somewhere. She’s always off somewhere, that girl," Eponine sighed, eyeing the device carefully. She still wondered how it was even possible. “So, why’re y’ here then, mademoiselle?"
Biting her lip, the young woman nodded. Her counterpart sounded a bit like her own sister when she spoke of her. ‘Always off somewhere…’ Words like that were all too familiar to her. And so, she guessed that perhaps she was worried about her siblings, just as her own was probably worried about her right now.
"I’m here by accident, really." The Drake began to explain. “I was meant to go back, yes… but, not this far back.” Quieting herself in though, she looked towards the muddy, Parisian ground, before looking back up the other with a smile. “Though, if I’m to be here for a while, I might as well do some good. Perhaps I could help you find your sister, Eponine?”
Far back. The words still sounded odd to her, yet Eponine was inclined to believe the woman. How else did she have all the fancy gadgets? She must’ve been from the future, and the gamine was quite wary of her.
The question caught her off guard and she stumbled on her words slightly. “Help? Well, uh.. oui. If y’ want.”
"Poetry? Ain’t that all fancy words and rhymin’ stuff? Why’d y’ enjoy that?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.
He nods a little, stifling a bit of laughter at the girl. But he was no stranger to people being confused by poetry. He understood that not everyone had an appreciation for the arts, even if he himself felt like he might wither and die without it. “Poetry is food for the soul,” He tells her with a smile.
"Poetry is makin’ everythin’ sound nice when everythin’ is actually fallin’ apart," she corrected, with a scowl. Eponine didn’t understand why she was being so defensive about it. It wasn’t as if she’d read poetry before.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle. How are you today?" The young girl asked the slightly older one, kicking at the dirt-caked pavement with her almost non-existent boot.
"Alright, thanks. Nothin’ out o’ the ordinary," she shrugged, glancing at the other. "Y’self?"
"We lie and cheat and thieve," she stated, with a nod. “It’s all we can do, ain’t it? But when they find out, we get sent t’ prison and told it’s our fault we’re starvin’. It ain’t fair at all, is it, monsieur?"
"Such is society, the truth of humanity." The god sighed. “Even in a civilization far more advanced than yours, such occurrences are nearly every day. There will always be the rich and the poor, and it is a struggle for the latter to become the former."
“‘S almost impossible f’ the poor t’ become rich,” she agreed, although her thoughts flitted immediately to Cosette. A child who had even less wealth than her, who now resided in a beautiful house not so far away. “‘Though it ain’t impossible.”
"Difficult, yes, but not impossible, nor improbable. Imagine the world at your feet, every person at your command. Food aplenty, clothes of the finest silk… and all of it just a conquer away," the god mused aloud, glancing out in the distance where the wealthy lived, atop mansion-like homes.
"Sounds amazin’, don’t it? Too bad y’ need a certain amount o’ luck. Luck that I don’t ‘ave." With that, she followed his gaze over to the distance. "Reckon you’ll work t’ get there?"
"T’ see? Go on then, show me," she dared, suddenly curious. She smirked and folded her arms. “Surprise me."
The hand he extended flattened, his palm up a soft flicker of green flame sprouted from a small emerald fire into a snake that coiled in his hand before the reptile had then shifted into a twig that grew into a rose in his palm. His eyes watched her facial features as he smiled at her expression. “Like I said.. a god, I have many more talents if this is not enough.”
Her eyes flickered as she saw the flame, and her lips parted slightly in awe. “That.. that don’t mean y’ are a god though,” she muttered, although it was really for her own reassurance. She didn’t know what to believe.
"Be in m’ own book? Who’d read that?" Eponine asked, scoffing and then flashing a grin. To her, her own life wasn’t one to be talked about. It hadn’t been great up that point and she didn’t want people to pity her. She’d rather people hated her than pitied her.
The girl’s eyes widened as he pulled her up onto the bed. For a moment, she jumped a little, then started jumping like she did when she was a kid. All of her childhood nostalgia came flooding back and she let out a delighted laugh. “I ain’t done this in years!”
However, as Sam fell, Eponine collapsed onto the bed, her head leaning over the side. “I could help you,” she mused, her hair falling down into her face. “But do I feel like it?” His own laugh was contagious and she couldn’t suppress the giggles that escaped.
"I would, I would read it. Maybe I’ll write it," Sam burst out laughing at this because he really would if given the opportunity. Every person had a story. Even the darkest creatures deserved to have their tales told. And really her life turned from the moment they left the barricade and she left an entire world behind. Just leaping on the bed felt sentimental and full of joy. Yes they were adults, but who said they had to grow into adulthood so fast? Couldn’t they enjoy the time they had together without worrying about dying tomorrow? It seemed that way. To hear her laugh, that meant that the childish and impish ways were not behind them.
He looked up at her from the floor and arched his brow at her. “Oh I see. You won’t help me out! Out for yourself, I see how it is,” he shook his head and he really could get up himself if he wanted. The giggles though, that really got to him. Why on earth was her giggle so sexy too? That was almost unfair. He pushed himself off the floor. “No wonder you didn’t like many of the Amis, we always wanted to help each other. And you— would leave me on the floor! To wither and melt away…”
He was being silly and dramatic. He pushed himself off the floor and then he hopped onto the bed. “For that you pay a price, ‘Ponine.” He began to tickle her now all over. “Just say when…” he tickled her sides and he pinned her to tickle her even more.
Eponine imagined a story about her life and wondered who would be bored enough to read it. Not a lot had happened to her, granted she’d been at the barricades and was now in Italy. However, she knew that nobody who was literate would care to read her tales.
As Sam got up off of the floor, she still giggled, then mock-pouted. “I didn’t say I didn’t like the Amis,” she pointed out. “Just men in general. And they seemed to be men, unless I were mistaken.” Flashing a grin, she raised an eyebrow. Of course, she was joking. To a degree. She didn’t hate all men, that was dramatic, but up until recently, that had been her outlook on life.
She shrieked as she was tickled, trying to push him away. “Stop it! Let go!” she yelled, struggling to get out of his grasp, although she was laughing too. Eponine hated being tickled; Hated the feeling of being so vulnerable.
"Bonjour," she nodded, eyeing the people with intent. She wondered how much they were carrying on them.
Eponine nodded softly, wondering why his mood changed suddenly. But it wasn’t much to be concerned about, she decided. “Nice places everywhere? Doubt that, Monsieur. Maybe where you live.” She looked at the streets around them. “It ain’t bad sometimes though.”
He hums thoughtfully, eyebrows turning slightly down and lips pursing minutely. He really can’t imagine this place being anything other than bad, even with his Romantic views. Death is something beautiful, as is pain and suffering and all the other negative things, but this place. No, this place is something else. It makes him almost sick to think about what it’s inhabitants go through everyday.
"Perhaps not nice, but beautiful and interesting. Places that capture your senses and overload your brain. Places that make you feel—” and, oh, does this place make him feel. He loves to feel, loathes when he doesn’t, but the emotion curling in his gut right now is not something he likes. “Places that make you want to paint or write or dream. Vivid places with beautiful buildings that have stories etched into their bricks, filled with people with poems in their lines and wrinkles and bruises.” Cuts and bruises and blood - something that never fails to make him want to write. “Dark places and light places, and every shade in between— oh, forgive me, ma’moiselle. I seem to have gone on a tangent.” A blush reaches his cheeks, burns it’s bloody trail underneath the skin, and he ducks his head.
As the student described the places of inspiration, Eponine looked around them again, imagining a beautiful town full of little houses that were clean and respectable. She wondered if maybe the student saw beauty in her little hometown, but then realised that there was no beauty to be seen here.
"Y’ have a very strange view o’ this place," she replied, turning to look back at him. "I don’t know whether y’ are insane or genius. But I don’t understand what y’ mean. This place ain’t beautiful and neither are the people. Bruises and cuts ain’t beautiful, and neither is feelin’."
Eponine had no idea what the girl was saying. She merely stared at her for a moment, and then shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are y’ sayin’?”
"I’m saying that I’m a magical person from the future."
"I come from a town where fairytale characters live. My father is Rumpelstilskin and my mother is Belle. Have I freaked you out yet?"
"I ain’t never ‘eard of ‘em. And I don’t think y’ understand that I ain’t stupid. M’ Pa used t’ read me fairytales when I was a kid. They’re in books."