#ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ -Paris-

[maitretmaitresse]

'Mourning'

             It was a rare occurrence that Pierre heard from home. That was by design. The Thenards had labored under the belief that their youngest son died in Italy - a happy accident of the rapidly disintegrating French Empire and Grand Army. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d learned otherwise, but the angry letters from Berthe and the occasional Michaelmas letter from Josephine shortly after Eponine was born were enough for him to know that they had.

              It was an even rarer occurrence that he bothered reading the ones from Berthe - they all read the same way. “Come back to the farm, the bank’s threatening to take the land if we don’t have a man sign on it and Henri still hasn’t come back, disgrace on the family name” - he was aware, that’s why he’d changed his. It was lucky that he’d opened this one, though.

                            “Josie...” No tears came to his eyes. Those were exclusively for drunken revelations and eleborate cons. Instead, the light fell from his eyes. His thin lips hardened into a line. His throat tightened. “Only forty five...”

[maitretmaitresse]

@pontificalandwarlike from x

                            “Take it from someone ‘oo saw the last round’a toffs lose their heads.” He began, much with the air of a father giving his particularly stupid son advice. “Government don’t stick t’France. Any revolution’ll hide back under a new king, ‘nd then it’s all fire’nd pitchforks again. Nothin’ t’be done but sit back’nd see what’cha can make.

[maitretmaitresse]

             Starter for @scepticiism

                            “Wot’d I say? The damn bastards act like they’re all sufferin’, but it’s an act.” Beatrice grumbled, pulling her shawl more tightly against the wind. “If they wos poor, they’d ‘ave somethin’ better 'an this.”

            Pierre rolled his eyes, taking the journal that was thrust into his hands. “Look, if we wos fooled by it I’m sure we can fool someone else. Maybe it’s an early, stupider copy’ve Candide or somethin’ - y'think bookkeepers know wot they’re talking about?”

             The street was empty enough that the argument could be heard - a sharp contrast to the daily hustle of Parisian distractions. all earie glows of half flickering lamps and howling November winds, menacing the poor with what was to come.

[maitretmaitresse]

🍞 just let him CATCH a bread thief for once >:|

                 Something something obligatory Les Miz Joke - Always accepting tbh

                 Stealing bread was beneath him. It was terribly common, the sort ofthing any man would do to feed himself. But it was dire straits all around –the famine which caused the first revolution seemed only to loosen for thoseclasses who hung onto the republic, and whether or not the Baron du Thénardaccepted it, he had officially fallen into poverty.

                 Soit was a bakery he’d broken into and, after having thoroughly emptied the cashdraw – he had some dignity remaining to him! – he began stuffing everythingfrom leftovers to what was still rising. They had access to a stove, surelyBeatrice could be relied upon for that at lea-

                 Thelights were turned on him so quickly he didn’t even bother to stifle the loudcurse of “Putain!” which was quickly followed by “Poucette,” as he regarded his captor.

                 Saywhat you will about the man, but he was smart enough to know when the jig wasup. He dropped his hands – as well as the bag – and awaited whatever smartremark Javert would inevitably have for him. He’d been planning it long enough,and knowing the inspector’s predilection for comebacks, well…

                Itwas going to be a particularly insufferablenight in prison.

[maitretmaitresse]

@vergeofhistoric I’m sorry I had to continue this sorry

                  it’s too cold for her to sleep anymore. the inn used to be a comfort, with it’ssoft sheets, with the people who used to fill the halls and laugh and be merry. but the beloved inn is gone. their home is run down and in shambles, giving the family barely anything. winter is making it’s way to paris, and she can feel the cold settling in her bones. the only thing    PROVIDING    her even a little bit of protection from the chill is her shivers, the movement helping her heat up just a fraction of a bit.

                  she gaze meets her father’s, before she’s shrugging and curling a bit more in on herself, glancing back down at the book on her lap. she’s been trying to observe the words for the last hour or so, trying to understand what they were saying, what it all meant, but she was illiterate. every word was causing her a mighty headache.    ❛    been tryin’ t’teach m’self how’t read. been thinkin’ it’d be a useful thing’t know. do you..    ❜    a moment of pure hesitation, a small but of worry making it’s way onto her features,    ❛    d’you think you could just teach me a lil bit    ?   please    ?    ❜

               Pierre shifted to face his wife on the sleeping palette, just to check that their discussion hadn’t woken the small woman – he didn’t know why he’d worried. She’d famously slept through the canons of war after their wedding.

              He pushed himself up, cursing as Beatrice opportunistically stole the worn quite as he did so.

                          “Well, tryin’ t’do it in the dark ain’t helpin’, is it?”

              Lighting a precious match, and then a candle, he sighed to himself at the request – she could never think of this when it was light out, could she? He also mentally cursed that damned schoolmaster in Montfermeil, who consistently corrected his own grammar, but apparently couldn’t be bothered to teach his daughter.

                          “D’you remember yer alphabet?”

              He didn’t take the time to answer her question proper, but judging by his taking to her side, a lesson was in order – however brief it may be before their hands froze solid to the book.

[maitretmaitresse]

           @clxquesous

            "We've got the law uncomfortably close, 'Sous." Pierre ground his teeth as he peered out into the foggy streets, the lamplight from above filtering through the dust and smog and scattering into nothingness beneath the cobblestones.

            "There's a rat. I know it." The tone was hard, a far cry from that which he normally used. His hands appeared to rest easy, one at his side, one on top of the sill, but there was a hardness about his stance which made one nervous.

      Why he was telling this to a man he suspected deeply was uncertain, but he maintained his even voice. Everyone in the Patron Minette was a suspect, but the old general's intuition kept bringing him back towards the younger members of the group. Montparnasse was immediately stricken, however - the boy reminded him too much of himself, when he was that age.

      Which left one prime suspect.

[maitretmaitresse]

@ask-darling-eponine continued from here

                   The Thenardiesse sucked in air through her teeth, rubbing at her temples painfully. “Eponine...” She shook her head, fried curls bobbing around her face. “D’you know who the father is?”

[maitretmaitresse]

      @lcpapillcn continued from x

spinning gears count the time, ticking minutes that pass by. a certain agitation hidden in its veil. good honest country girl ponders silently, conflicting matter punctuated by a soft wrinkle that appears between golden eyebrows.

abrasive crowd moves on up and down the streets, nonchalant glances cast towards her way. among faceless bodies, the center of her attentions. a small shop humbly existing among imposing buildings and their crystal chandeliers. she can hear the familiar sounds from inside, the all so missed scent of herbs and tea as vivid as any memory can be. yet she has too much of a cargo to look after. packages, bags and boxes piling around like an intrespassable wall.

gaze turns back to a near door, silhouettes equally familiar move on the inside. their laughter bursts like thunders in the sky and she knows madame and the girls would soon be ready to move on to the next shop.

one solely desire still rings in her mind, repeating itself, and the face staring back at her seems to be her only hope to accomplish it. ❝If you could be so kind as to watch over my cargo. I promise I won’t be long. I’ll be right across the street on that shop.❞

                Beatrice could hardly believe her luck at her young friend’s approval. Were she the sort to do so, the Good Lord above would have been thanked a thousand times over for the trust of a stranger. In a kinder woman, one could write this off as the joy of the virtuous.

                The Thénardiesse was not this sort.

                The smile on her cracked, heavily made-up lips widened in mock graciousness, gloved hands clasped in front of her despite the searing hot weather. Beads of sweat ran down her powdered face and shook away as she nodded eagerly, a few wayward curls sticking to the ugly mess congealed on her worn face.

                                  “Of course, mon amie, it’ll all be right here when yeh get back.”

                Already her eyes scouted out the pile of shopping and trunks, darting from one bit of shine to another, like a particularly kleptomania-inclined magpie. They flashed back to Ella, however, so as not to arouse suspicion before the girl too off. To think, she’d only been leaning against the boulangerie waiting on unsuspecting tourists to pickpocket and now she’d make off with enough to feed the family for a month! And perhaps pay for a new pair of shoes, and a dress for little Éponine…

[maitretmaitresse]

“I can’t walk.” ( from CHRISTOPHE ; you had to KNOW I WOULD SEND ONE OF THESE )

Injury starters - not accepting

       Letting out ahuff of extremely irritated breath, the master grunted in agreement. “Wellya could if ya tried, but yer not gonna do it without whinging are ya?”Cruel as he was, the snap was clean enough that no amount of repeating thephrase “it’s just a sprain, walk it off” was going to help.

       Like aworkhorse, the lad was worth more to them healthyenough to work than he was laid up or ill, but taking one’s partially adoptedson behind the woodshed and putting him out of his misery was generally frowned upon, even in whatever twisted morals guided the Thénardiers,so several bandages and a splint were in order.

             “Just be glad yer young yet.” Muttered the man, wrapping upChristophe’s calf roughly, but shockingly correctly. “It’ll heal up b'forea month’s over.”

       He gave theboy one more firm squeeze around the leg to make certain it was set properly -one which no doubt hurt like hellfire, but one meant to aid nonetheless - andstood back up to his full height.

             “Don’t think yer gettin’ out’ve work just coz you can’t walk, gotit. You’ll still do everythin’ the mistress tells you, understood?”

       Turning toleave, Pierre called one last warningover his shoulder.

             “And no more’ve this clumsiness!People’ll think we don’t take care’ve you!”

       One wouldthink irony beyond the old lieutenant, but if one ever had doubts, now wouldhave been the time to voice them.

[maitretmaitresse]

@swaniiiisms liked for a starter

        Brisk air on the docks signaled change - even more than they typically did for the mess that was Paris. The Seine's placid, if not polluted, waters couldn't signal the direst in the city above it. Riots and rallies flooded the streets like the rising tides - it seemed France was due for another revolution. Another sneeze that the rest of Europe would be dealing with until the smaller states recovered their senses and relented to the powerhouses of England and Austria.

        None of that seemed to bother the rats which ran along the ropes of the ships sailing through with their goods, nor those which unloaded them. Legally or otherwise.

                    "Beatrice, goddamnit, y've gotta move," came the hiss from one such louse, his voice just barely audible above the waves outside, face shining only dimly in the moonlight which shone in through uneven floorboards and portholes.

              "Well if y'd not loaded me down with all this it wouldn't be such a damn problem would it?"

                    "I told ya, Brujon couldn't make it so we needed yeh." He rolled his eyes and began to bargain, as was the bedrock of their marriage.

                    "Look, if this goes like it ought, you'll get that new material for 'Ponine's dress."

              "I'D RUDDY BETTER!" She nearly yelled before recovering herself. Her eyes glowed fury despite their common color, evidently unimpressed with what he had to offer.

              "That's the goddamn least I'm after, Pierre Thénardier, I oughta get a new set've pearls after this nonsense!"

[maitretmaitresse]

💐 @ask-darling-Eponine

        Please forgive me everyone who happens to read this - Accepting

@ask-darling-eponine

            “Y’know…Never really thought I’d be standin’ here, givin’ this speech, but here we are.”

            “Sincethe day she wos born I knew little ‘Ponine would be trouble, just like ‘ermother. Always mussin’ up her shoes, gettin’ crushes on whichever lad wosboardin’ with us, ‘nd stealin’ Bea’s romance novels when she wasn’t lookin’.”

     A smirk at thewife who was somehow more smashed than he was.

             “But I’lltell yeh, I couldn’t ‘ve asked for a better daughter, or character witness incourt, ‘nd even if I’m glad not t’deal with ‘er bills, the sentimental bit’a me’ssad t’see her go.”

     Another drainedmug clattered against the table.

               “S’justknow, if I hear one goddamned word ‘bout the groom not treatin’ ‘er right,there’ll be ruddy hell to pay!”

[maitretmaitresse]

Starter for @lepetitgamin

                  The Thénardiers were not what one would typically call somber. Even now, currently homeless, trudging through the back allies of Paris looking for their daughter, they were decked out in absurdly garish clothes for their stations. Flowers made of old satins conned off passing travelers and kerchiefs made from the same stuck out of every available pocket and were sewn to every hem. But they were destitute, whether they admitted to it or not.

                  And as much as they would like to blame the other for their current plight, they had made their bed together; to part now would be idiocy.

                              “We could move back in wif Papa Robert, y’know-“

                                          “Beatrice, we are not movin’ back t’yer father. Christ knows Hugo’nd Brujon ‘aven’t moved out yet, we ain’t addin’ anofer three people t’that house.”

[maitretmaitresse]

🍞 ( from christophe OMG )

                Something something obligatory Les Miz Joke - Always accepting tbh

                  Admittedly,the Thénardiers prided themselves on not actually having to steal bread. Money, clothes, jewelry – all wasproper and honorable in the eyes of the good Saint Nicholas. But food? That wasthe domain of the desperate and noble. Anyone would steal to feed their family –it took an artist to lift unnecessary trinkets for profit.

               Timeswere especially hard, however – winter had blanketed Paris in its white death,and irony of ironies – Éponine was ill. City air hadn’t been kid to her, northe cold and coarse care.

               So bread was needed to free up cash formedicine, and while her husband searched for one, Beatrice would provide theother.

              Atleast she would have, had she not been caught by the bourgeoisie brat.

              She’dwatched the flat and seen the old man leave not ten minutes ago – no wife, sowhat was a kid doing here? Her eyes darted desperately at the windows, but allwere too high for her to reach – and the boy was blocking the way she’dentered.

              The boy who, when examined closer,reminded her of someone long forgotten…

                                  “Christophe?”