"Darrow," Eponine tries out, as though it is a new slang word she's learning to use. It certainly isn't a French city name, but to hear Marius so blithely describe it as the future...?
She tilts her head at him and puts her hands on her hips. "I am dreaming," she says, "or you've been reading too many novels." Still, she darts an uncertain glance at the strange lights illuminating the city above.
"I just saw you," she says stubbornly, and again she's unsure, and doesn't like it a bit. He does look -- older, or sadder, at least, than she remembers, his hair not quite the same, his clothes different. Eponine feels a prickle at her neck. "Why, you'd just spotted me at the barricades, and you told me to deliver a letter to that bourgeois sweetheart of yours instead of staying. And I did it, you know -- and was just about to be on my way back."
Only she ended up here. Where he is, too, not the barricades at all. Whatever God or devil has brought her here at least has a sense of humor about what it was she was trying to do.
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Date: 2017-12-04 12:50 am (UTC)She tilts her head at him and puts her hands on her hips. "I am dreaming," she says, "or you've been reading too many novels." Still, she darts an uncertain glance at the strange lights illuminating the city above.
"I just saw you," she says stubbornly, and again she's unsure, and doesn't like it a bit. He does look -- older, or sadder, at least, than she remembers, his hair not quite the same, his clothes different. Eponine feels a prickle at her neck. "Why, you'd just spotted me at the barricades, and you told me to deliver a letter to that bourgeois sweetheart of yours instead of staying. And I did it, you know -- and was just about to be on my way back."
Only she ended up here. Where he is, too, not the barricades at all. Whatever God or devil has brought her here at least has a sense of humor about what it was she was trying to do.