daughterofawolf | (no subject)

Entry tags:

bev,
hopper

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Eponine knows Bev's stayed with this Hopper man before; she knows a little about him from her and from asking around. What he looks like. That he had a child, maybe, or took care of one; that he was a Sheriff, back home, a sort of head of police -- not a trait that inherently makes him more trustworthy, in Eponine's mind -- that there were some strange things that happened where he was from. Just murmurs.

She knows that Beverly likes him, that she trusts him after all that's gone on in the house, after all that's happened to her. And that speaks worlds. It should be enough, too, but Eponine is older than Bev is, and she fancies herself more experienced in worldly things. For all that she's willing to take advantage of men's hospitality when it suits her, she can't help feeling disquieted about the whole thing, having no eyes on the situation. Men, in her experience, are never wholly selfless. At the Home, at least, they were all together, whatever might happen. She can't begrudge Bev for finding somewhere better to stay, but it means another thing to ponder when she wakes from a nightmare and can't sleep again.

More than she'd like, really. She shouldn't worry about people. It's a liability. But here she is, and Bev is her best friend here, a bit like family whether she likes it or not.

She snoops for only a little before throwing the idea to the wind. A few days in, she walks right up and knocks on the door, bold. If she wants to come spend time with her friend, a girl can't be blamed for that.

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Hopper's not expecting anyone, but Beverly's here -- she's been here a lot lately, which he actually kind of likes, even if he hates the reason she feels like she can't stay at the Home these days -- and he's used to a time when kids ran back and forth and knocked on doors all the time when they wanted to see their friends. At the moment he's in the kitchen putting together lunch, which isn't much, he's not a cook, but he figures peanut butter and jelly sandwiches aren't too terrible and he's licking grape jelly off his thumb as he heads for the door.

"Yeah, just a sec," he calls, because his hands are sticky and he has to double back and head into the kitchen again to grab a towel, wiping his fingers hastily.

When he opens the door and finds a teenage girl on the other side, he pushes it wider to let her in. Kids in this place aren't as trusting as they were in Hawkins, so he doesn't expect her to just hop on in, but if she's here because she's friends with Beverly, it'd be nice if she didn't think him a complete ass right off the bat.

"Here to see Beverly?" he asks. "I was just making some lunch."

Beverly, for her part, doesn't expect that it might be for her when there's a knock at the door. It's not like she lives here, after all, though her few friends at the Home and the staff there know where she is. She's not used to having people who would come see her, anyway. Even last summer, when things started changing back home, she would never have let anyone stop by the apartment looking for her. That would never have ended well.

Here, though, that won't be the case. She likes it here, perhaps a little more than she intended to let herself when she'll be stuck in the Home for years yet. Even ignoring how fucked everything has been there, and that there are a couple of people she feels bad leaving, it's nice to have a little more freedom, a little more privacy, a chance to have what she imagines is something closer to normal.

When Hopper opens the door and asks whoever's there if they're here to see her, Beverly jumps to her feet, a small smile playing at one corner of her mouth. If he has to ask, then it seems likely, and that's kind of a thrill in its own right. After the question, it isn't much of a surprise to see Eponine there — she'd have guessed it would be her or Eddie — but she's pleased even so. "Hey," she says. "I didn't know you were stopping by."

Eponine, for her part, has a story already on her lips when she knocks on the door. Or half-formed, anyway, a sort of thread of one she can spin out into whole cloth if pressed. Although, having no sort of communication such as a phone, back at home, it's commonplace to answer the door to a knock, there's also a bit of custom to it and certainly she isn't of a class to be visiting people very often. Except, of course, those she has to be ready to persuade of her own need of them.

Monsieur Hopper, as she's starting to think of him, is so unflappable in the face of a teenager at his door, immediately widening the door, that she's almost taken off her guard, a dozen explanation unraveling before they're woven at all.

She smiles, bemused, and realizes her stomach's growling a bit at the mention of lunch. She hasn't wanted to eat much, in the Home, with the bugs and moldy food, and nightmares that put her off eating at all. And she's so used to going without that she saves her lunch money most times to have for spending. "Yes, I --"

Eponine grins and steps in, a bit half pleased at Beverly's smile. "I didn't know either," she admits. She can't admit out loud that she was worried, not in front of M. Hopper, but she can admit it wasn't much of a plan. "But I was around, and I thought you must be bored to death without a million girls in your business every moment," she adds with a smirk.

"Well, come on in," Hopper says, stepping away from the door and leaving it hanging open for her as he drapes the dish cloth over his shoulder. "And, hey, I'll have you know I'm a barrel of laughs and I'd never let her get bored."

He flashes a grin at Beverly as he moves past her again, heading back into the kitchen. While he doubts Beverly completely bored, he also knows he's not going to be as entertaining to her as her friends are going to be and he's happy he can let her have them over if she wants. It had never stopped feeling shitty, telling Eleven she couldn't see anyone but him.

"I'll put together another sandwich," he calls back to them. "And I've got some carrots cut up and there's cake for dessert." It's a crappy freezer cake, but he figures they won't mind.

Given the state of things in the Home, Beverly doesn't actually think that being bored would be a terrible alternative. That seems like far too serious a direction to take things in, though, and she doubts either of them needs to hear it. Eponine saw her in the shower when there was blood pouring out of it. Hopper saw her afterwards, listened to her talk about weird things going on there without ever seeming to question her. If there's anyone who shouldn't need that reminder, it's the two people here now.

It's strange, though not at all in a bad way, for Eponine to be here now. Maybe she should have invited her over sooner. The truth of the matter is, though, that Beverly isn't used to having friends, or to staying somewhere that it would be alright for her to have people around at all. Hopper doesn't seem fazed, though, and she's more than a little pleased, perhaps even relieved, for that to be the case.

"I don't think anything is as entertaining as having a million girls in your business all the time," she replies, clearly teasing, shooting Hopper a quick, grateful smile before she ushers Eponine over towards the couch with her. "I mean, no privacy ever? Hard to beat that, right?"

It's almost as though M. Hopper wants her to think well of him, which both amuses and bemuses. Who cares, indeed, what her opinion is? But since she does, it's not a gesture that goes missed. Whether it plays into a good impression or not has yet to be determined, but she's overwhelmed in a good way at how unflappable he seems by another teenager showing up at his door. And he just goes ahead to make her food.

It's almost too nice, but if that's suspect, it's at least in a very different way than she'd been afraid of.

She's glad when Beverly teases back, as she'd been completely sarcastic. "I know I'll never get tired of it," she drawls and grins, following her to the couch. "New ones every day, too. Were you there when Cosette arrived? I can't remember."

"Do you have cake all the time?" she whispers, an aside, to Beverly, grinning. "No wonder you moved in here. I'm going to camp out."

Hopper just can't cook, that's the thing. When Sara had been around, Diane had done most of the cooking because that was just how things were done. She was home with Sara anyway and he'd been out, first a beat cop, then riding around in a squad car, and he'd never been one of those men who expected dinner to be on the table when he'd come in the door, but he'd just never gotten the practice cooking it himself either.

The sandwiches don't look like much, but he slaps another one together and figures they're better than nothing. The carrots are just kind of shoved haphazardly into a bowl, he doesn't know a thing about presentation and probably figures they don't care much either.

"C'mon, table," he says, nodding toward the little kitchen table he's got. Normally he doesn't mind eating in front of the TV, sitting on the couch, but when Beverly stays over, he figures he's got to have some semblance of rules. It's different than it was with Eleven, he doesn't have to outline rules to save her life, but if she's staying here, she's not going to be running wild all over the place either.

"I was, yeah. She and I met," Beverly says, nodding, as she makes her way over to the table. If anyone new has shown up since, she's been in and out too much to be really aware of it, but she'd liked Cosette when they met. A part of her feels bad for all the others who are still stuck there, who don't have a place to escape to like she does, a respite from the years looming ahead of her until she turns eighteen. She feels safe here, which isn't something she ever thought she would be able to say of sleeping alone under the same roof as a man old enough to be her father. She can't say the same for the Home, though having Eponine in the same room and Eddie nearby makes all the difference when she is there.

Taking a seat, she whispers back, grinning as she does, "Maybe not all the time, but a hell of a lot more than I'm used to." Just the fact of someone else making her meals at all is unexpectedly nice. There are people in the Home who do that, too, of course, but she hasn't trusted the food there for a while; back home, she made nearly all of her own meals. This is something different than the meals the staff prepares, anyway. That's their job; this is someone going out of their way for her.

The more time she spends here, she finds, the harder it is to get herself to leave.

"Thanks for getting lunch," she says, warm, because it feels right.

"I know her from home. But I don't think she remembers me," Eponine confesses. "Which is probably for the best." She gets up when Beverly does, following her quietly. It's so strange to her to be fed without question, just out of hand, as though her presence is enough to merit food off someone's table, but she isn't going to do anything to jeopardize it.

She grins back at that. She hasn't been around them long enough to make a total decision, but Beverly is smiling and relaxed, and she isn't acting as though kindness is contingent on her good behavior or right words. Eponine watches the room with interest, taking in the little knick-knacks, the way M. Hopper moves, the things at the table.

He puts down sandwiches and carrots, and Eponine nearly goes straight for it before remembering herself. "Yes, thank you," she agrees, brushing up her manners. "You didn't have to make me anything."

She takes a carrot even as it's said, though.

Edited 2018-04-09 05:17 (UTC)

"I mean, Bev needs to eat, I need to eat, it'd be kinda shitty to just make you sit there and watch," he says with a shrug, sitting down at the table as well. The words may be brusque, but they're not unkind. He may not know her, but she's Beverly's friend and that's good enough for him when it comes to whether or not she's a good kid. Beverly isn't the sort to just trust everyone, he's already learned that and he can't even blame her, he feels the same way.

"Y'know, I didn't even catch your name when you came in," he admits before taking a bit of his sandwich. "I figure you already know who I am."

She's here, after all. She'd known Beverly was staying here. Given what he knows about kids and the way they look out for each other, chances are she's here to check up on the situation.

"Oh! Right," Beverly says, eyes widening a little, though she's still smiling as she speaks. "Hopper, this is Eponine. Eponine, Hopper, obviously." She thinks — hopes, anyway, even as she determines that she will talk about it if she has to — that it will speak for itself as an introduction. Of all the others at the Home, Eponine and Eddie are the only ones she's really mentioned, particularly after Eponine was the one to find her after the incident in the shower.

For a while, she'd thought she and Eddie would stick together and that would be that, the two of them the only members of the Losers Club here. She's never really been close to other girls — or anyone, before last summer, but the point remains the same then. Eponine has changed that.

"So, wait, you and Cosette know each other, but she doesn't... know that she knows you? That's got to be weird."

Eponine smiles a little at that. She doesn't say that she'd have been completely unperturbed -- jealous, perhaps, but not surprised -- by others eating in front of her without sharing. Food is not an unlimited resource to be handed out freely to strangers. Not by most. But he hadn't made it seem like charity, either, and for that she gives him more credit, even, than for the kindness itself.

There's much that people do to put others in their debt. This doesn't seem like one of those times.

"Oh!" she exclaims, halfway into a greedy bite of gloriously un-spoilt sandwich, when he points out that he doesn't know her, but then Beverly's properly introducing her, and Eponine hastens to chew and swallow.

"Monsieur Hopper," she says and holds out a hand to shake his, properly like an adult. "Beverly has only said good things," she adds, perhaps unnecessarily, but it's one of those things that you say when you meet someone, she thinks.

She chuckles a little, turning to Bev. "And - yes. Sort of. We were children together, back at home. My parents ...cared for her for a bit while her mother worked." Her eyes still on Bev's for a moment, trusting her both to understand the situation and that Hopper doesn't have to know what that means. "But then she was taken in by a rich man," she goes on, "who knew her mother somehow. I don't remember exactly, we were very young, and she younger than I, so I suppose it makes sense she doesn't know my face. But I knew her, at once. I haven't told her any of it."

Cosette had been so fond and thankful to have another French girl to speak to, and Eponine was so much someone else here; she didn't have to be a Thenardier except by name. Why ruin it?

It's pretty cute, the way she reaches out to shake his hand and he reaches out across the table to meet her halfway, all the while trying to imagine Mike or Will or Dustin doing something as polite as that. Hell, not even Eleven would think to do something like that, but then, her childhood hadn't exactly been what most people would think of as normal.

And it's funny, the idea of Beverly having said anything about him at all, but he's sure, given a little bit of time, she'll find something negative to say about him. If she stays here for any length of time, he's going to end up pissing her off eventually. It's just inevitable.

"Not like you're gonna tell me any of the bad things," he says with a laugh. He doesn't really follow the rest of what they're saying, most of it the sort of talk that's specific to both teen girls and Darrow.

Even if there were bad things, Beverly thinks that they would probably be largely inconsequential, for reasons that are entirely too serious to talk about over lunch. Eponine knows a little about the life she left behind, if not any explicit detail. Someday, maybe, if this keeps working out, she should work up to telling Hopper. Now isn't the time, though; any time she considers talking about it, she still starts to feel somewhat ill, anyway, the secret one she kept for too long for anything else to be the case. Better just to keep it to vague mentions of an unhappy home life and weird shit happening at the Home here.

"What's there to complain about?" she asks instead, smiling brightly as she does. "There's no blood in the showers, there's cake for dessert, we go bowling sometimes..." She casts a quick look at Eponine, one that's likewise meant to say what she can't out loud. He doesn't come into her room at night; he doesn't look at her like he can barely keep her hands off her and has no intention of doing so. She feels safe. That doesn't come easily.

She makes a mental note to ask more about this connection with Cosette later, though she thinks she's picking up on the implications there, given what the two of them know about each other's lives.

"Not that blood showers are a very high bar to pass, but, you know."

She grins at Hopper's tease; he seems very good-humored. But it's that look, exchanged between herself and Beverly, that does more to ease Eponine's worry than any of the benign conversation and strangely easy domestic situation than anything. And that look says too that they can keep each other's secrets. It's good.

She takes another, hungry bite of her sandwich, much easier to eat now that she feels more at ease about Beverly, while she talks, and takes a drink, chuckling. "No blood in the showers," she ticks off on her fingers, "no bugs, no haunted basement...And a room to yourself, even! I think you might have work on your hands if you were to try and make Bev complain, Monsieur Hopper. The Children's Home needs some upkeep." She says it cheerily as though that's all it needs. If Beverly's mentioned the blood in the showers, then Hopper is trustworthy with the odd things, too, but he might not be altogether on board with Marcus' idea that someone is possessed, for instance, and she doesn't want herself or Bev put in the position of a safe adult thinking she's crazy.

"What's bowling?" she asks, then, tipping her head.

Hopper's not exactly a philanthropist, but Eponine talks about how the home needs some work and he frowns over his sandwich, wishing there was something he could actually do to help the others. He can't give them all a home, though, as much as he might want to and he sure as hell isn't cut out for it either. Most of the time he can barely take care of himself.

"It's a game," he says. "A sport? You take a heavy ball and roll it down this long wooden lane and knock a bunch of pins down at the end of it."

Two months ago he would have thought it was weird to have to explain bowling to someone, even with all the shit he's seen and done, but now it doesn't seem like such an odd thing.

"It's fun," Beverly says with a grin of her own. "You should come sometime. That would be okay, right?" The way she asks, it's clear that she doesn't think there's any reason for it not to be, but it's probably best to ask anyway. She's a guest here, technically, no matter how often she may stay here, and she doesn't want to overextend her welcome or risk reading too far into — well, anything. But Hopper has taken well enough to an unexpected guest now, and she likes the idea of the people she's become close to getting along. Hopper, Eponine, Eddie, they've all made all the difference in the world for her as far as her being here is concerned. "I mean, the most you get out of it is bragging rights, but that's the same with any game. Sport. Whichever."

"Oh!" she says. "I think there is a game like that where I'm from. It's just called boules - I guess it would be balls. You aren't knocking down the pins, though, you try to roll it close to another ball." She's never played. It doesn't work well in the city, where it's so close, and there's work to be done.

It's such a strange childish thing to be invited to play a game with someone, and yet very much a novelty. Much less go to spend time with someone and their -- well, guardian, of sorts -- that's meant for nothing but fun. "I'd like to play, if I might," she says, tentatively, oddly unsure if she'll be welcome to.

"Though," she warns, more self-assured, "I can be competitive."

"Yeah, of course," Hopper says to Beverly's question, even though he's sure she already knows the answer. "If I can kick one girl's ass, I bet I can kick two."

He likes Eponine and he can see why Beverly likes her, too. It's pretty weird, the way he's got this knack for finding himself around girls of this age who are both self conscious and so damn strong all at once. Maybe he doesn't know Eponine all that well yet, but he's always had a good sense of people and he thinks Beverly, of everyone, would probably be drawn to other girls like that.

Eponine warns she can be competitive and Hopper shrugs as he takes a bite of a carrot. The grin he flashes Beverly is a little conspiratorial, but only so she knows he's only teasing. "That's fine, I need a little competition," he says. "I beat this one flat the first time we went."

Which is actually not true at all. He's not much of a bowler and the game had been pretty close.

"You did not," Beverly protests, though she's laughing as she does. It was a close game, which she'd appreciated, in a weird sort of way; it made it seem all the more like he wasn't just trying to humor her by taking her to play the way some people might have. She feels like that at the Home frequently. Granted, she can't blame the staff there for it when they're just people doing jobs, but it's just one more reason to like staying here. She's not an obligation. Hopper wouldn't let her stay here with increasing frequency if he didn't want her here.

"Clearly," she adds, turning to Eponine, "competitive is not a problem."

Eponine laughs out loud at that, and at the little argument. For some reason, it's sort of nice for a man to brag about being able to beat her, as unexpected as it is: it makes her feel as though she's not considered fragile for being a girl or young or both.

"Apparently not," Eponine says, and grins. "It's a challenge, then! I think you'll find yourself surprised, monsieur. I'm a quick learner. And Beverly and I, we make a good team, I think."

She smiles at Bev, conspiratorial.

"Hey, bowling isn't a team sport," Hopper protests, then considers that for a second, because he's pretty sure he's seen people wearing matching shirts when they go. He's not sure how that works, but he supposes it actually has to be possible.

"I guess it can be," he decides with a shrug. "But if you two are gonna gang up on me, then I think I deserve to have a partner, too."

Maybe he can convinced Lucy to come with them. That seems a little like he's trying to make it a family affair, turn it into something more than it is. He likes Lucy, he just doesn't want to mess it up by putting too much pressure on her.

"I think that sounds fair," Beverly says, shooting Hopper a broad, teasing grin that's meant to say that she knows exactly whom he's thinking of. She's fine with that, too. She's met Lucy, she liked Lucy, and she would hope that the same is true in turn. Regardless, it's clear that Lucy means something to Hopper, and if she's going to continue staying here the way she has been, it's something that's bound to come up eventually. So far, it seems worth encouraging. "We could do two against two? Kids against adults?"

To Eponine, she adds, "Oh, definitely a good team. They won't stand a chance."

There's a tease to Beverly's smile that says she knows who M. Hopper has in mind, and Eponine looks between the two of them, her smile widening in curiousity.

"That sounds like fun," she says; of course it would likely be more even to have one adult and one child per team, but she thinks it'll be more fun to play with Bev, especially as she doesn't even know who Hopper's intent on inviting.

"Who's the second on the adult team?" she asks as innocently as she might. Eponine's never been good at repressing her own curiosity, and if she can't suss out the information on her own, she might as well ask.

This he'd never counted on. Eleven wouldn't have known to ask him, would probably never think to question how he thinks of Joyce and he'd been happy with that. Beverly seems to just leave it alone, too, but she's met Lucy, so it might have something to do with that.

Eponine just asks, though, and he finds himself momentarily stumped.

"Uh... Lucy," he says. "That's her name. She's a, uh, a friend."

He's not sure what else to call her. They've been on a few dates and Lucy has seen him at his absolute worst and she still seems to like him, although he doesn't know why. All of that doesn't mean he can call her anything other than a friend, though. He doesn't want to presume and it's not like he's good at relationships either.

"She's nice," Beverly promises, cutting in quickly. There's still a slight teasing lilt in her voice, but she isn't going to outright say that it's anything more than it actually might be. Even so, until expressly told not to, she sees no reason not to be a little encouraging. Hopper's the one who first seemed interested in including Lucy, so she may as well carefully push it just a bit and see where it goes. There's no harm in it. "I've met her. It'll be fun. And, hey, that might make the teams more even, too."

The last is something of a dig at Hopper, but she accompanies it with a bright smile, struck again by how strange this is. Her dad would never have taken her bowling, or encouraged her to bring a friend, or anything like that. Of course she would wind up wanting to spend whatever time here she can.

Eponine hadn't meant to be overt about asking after Monsieur Hopper's romantic situation -- after all, she and Beverly aren't lovers and they make a team! -- but she can tell, from his frazzled response, that he isn't sure what to call this Lucy, either.

She laughs, though, at Bev's slight tease. "Well, you have excellent taste in people," she says, airily, both a joke about herself and a bit of warmth toward Hopper and how nice he's been, "so I want to meet her too, now."

Eponine catches herself nearly about to clean up a stray smear of peanut butter -- the only remnant of food -- from the plate with one finger, and reminds herself that licking the plate clean might be sensible, but it's not polite and she doesn't want to give a bad impression. She wipes her hands neatly with a napkin and glances back between Hopper and Beverly. "What does she do?"

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