#Sɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ ᴅᴏᴡɴ -anon-

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*a note in an unfamiliar but elegant hand arrives on paper bearing the Sharpe family crest, reading simply "She is better off without you."*

           “Bill, bill, death threat from the priest, bill…” Pierre’s thin mouth hardened in a hard line as he came across the other letter. After a moment of thought, he threw it into the fire with the rest.

                         “Letter from Berthe, ma puce?” Beatrice called idly from her chair over a trashy romance novel.

              “Somefin’ li’ that.” He muttered, waiting until he saw the last bits of envelope curl up and burn before leaving it unattended

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*sends Thibault Thenard a box of very large, very alive brown moths, postmarked from somewhere in Cumberland*

          Horrified Thibault noises

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❧ Have you ever been jealous of anyone? ❣ How salty are you feeling right now?

                Saltmeister - Accepting

❧ Have you ever been jealous of anyone? 

              Admittedly, sort of, but there’s more to it than that. When I was first getting started roleplaying on tumblr, I saw this post about how if you have less than a hundred followers you’re garbage and it’s okay as long as you’re having fun sweaty :   ). I was still really vulnerable about tumblr and my aesthetics (which aren’t good now and were a lot worse before if you’d believe it), so this hit me really hard. Even though I realize that’s completely stupid now, I still have to reinforce it.

              I tell you all this because I can get kind of self-concious when I see people announcing 1200 follow forever lists or whatever before I check myself and remember that it doesn’t matter.

              So long story short, I don’t get jealous of specific people, I just have one stupid insecurity which is completely my own problem.

❣ How salty are you feeling right now?

               At Roleplaying? Not very, actually. I’m REALLY angry at the economy but that’s a different story.

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I had a character question in mind that I then forgot ^^’ idk if this is what I was planning to ask or not but here we go: if their personalities were switched or if there was like a genderbent au or whatever, how different do you think their story would be, if at all?

              This isa funny question because between the brick and musical, that’s sort of whathappened.

      Before I launchinto this: I acknowledge that there are transphobic elements tocisswapping/genderbending whatever the term is, but I’m not going to pretend I’manywhere near qualified to talk about that so I’m just going to talk aboutsomething that happened in the shift from 19th century literature to20th century musical theatre.

               So if we go back to the brick, we can codethem thusly:

     Madame Thénardier:

Tall, absurdly strong

Loyal

Loves her girls

Physically violent

Unintelligent

Frequently described as masculine

    Monsieur Thénardier:

Cunning

Unfaithful

Indifferent to children

Absurdly fucking short you guys don’t understandI’m lead to believe this man is four foot eleven if I’m reading it right

Descriptive language swings feminine

Might have been in seminary???

               That last point doesn’t haveanything to do with this question but I don’t get to talk about it enough okay

     Shared traits:

Avarice is life 

Nationalists

Morality?? Religion???? Don’t know them sounds lame

                Now,even in the brick they’re supposed to be comic relief – and in modern day, thesetraits assigned to each gender aren’t super funny anymore. It’s the “fatherknows best” paradigm. So, a lot of their traits were switched in the musical.

               To answer your question properly, afew things would change, but only to the extent that they’re now the Brick Thénardiers– and in reference to the entirety of Les Misérables, there’s virtually nodifference.

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👶

           So I’m just gonna pick the least favorite - Not Accepting

          Her clotheswere tattered, even more than her elder sister’s – likely because they had oncebelonged to Éponine. As much as it hurt Beatrice’s vain soul to clothe herdaughters in hand-me-downs, she had no choice. Though she herself was more thanwilling to imitate good Lady Godiva in the streets, she wouldn’t force thatupon poor Azelma – at least not until the girl was old enough to decide forherself.

           As aresult, the dress was a bit loose around the bust, a bit tight around the hips.The mother did her best to let things out and tighten others as she could, butfabric was tight – nearly as tight as the money to buy it.

           She hadwide eyes, like her father’s when he bothered to open them, but in her mother’sshade which might have been warm in a different sort of woman. Her hands weretoo long for her arms, her legs too long for any woman. She towered over manymen she might have wished to court – indeed, she was ten inches taller than herown mother.

           Not thatBeatrice wasn’t the mistress of her daughter. While Éponine had finally managedto escape the tyrannical grasp of the Thénardiesse, Azelma was still firmlybeneath her thumb.

           Her voicewas quiet, an odd mix of a Southern accent and her mother’s metropolitan one. Fewheard it in person, though – Beatrice or Pierre typically spoke for her when inpublic.

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🍼

                     Paternal instinct? Don’t know him, sounds lame - Not Accepting

               Helooked at the tiny, red screaming ball of daughter in his arms, then back tohis wife, somehow sleeping through both her cries and the dull thunder of canonfire in the distance. Not that he would have suggested childbirth to be astraightforward process – he’d been the attendant, as the only man permitted tosee her in such a state aside from the medic, who was less than enthused athaving to deliver life when so many others were dying.

               Themedic had left now, content in the knowledge that both mother and daughter werealive when he departed them, leaving Pierre to confusedly care for the littlebeing he’d spawned.

                Herface was scrunched up, just barely dried of birthing fluids. She’d fed just afew moments ago – what else could she want?                 Awkwardly, he held heragainst his chest as he laid back – always holding her head, as Beatrice hadnearly ripped his head off for making that mistake.

                                   “Hey littlegirl…” he began, uncomfortable in the knowledge that she couldn’t understandhim. “I know ‘s pretty scary, but could’ya maybe quiet down a lil’ bit?” Heglanced over at the sticky, sweaty mess that was Beatrice. “See? Maman’ssleepin’… ‘Must be safe.”

                Whether it was by his self-consciousmutterings or his heartbeat, the newborn found some small solace in her father’swords, and curled up into herself. She didn’t sleep, but regarded him withhuge, brown eyes which matched her mother’s. It was almost skeptical.

                Hejust stroked her solitary curl of hair back and sighed in relief. “That’sbetter…” After a few moments, he kissed the babe’s head and closed his eyes inrest.

                                   “You’regonna be a little spark, aren’t’cha?”

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yO you've probably answered a question like this before but I haven't seen a post about it and I'm curious so I'm gonna ask anyway - in your interpretation of these two, how do you think they took Eponine's death? Were they sad at all?

           Actually,I’ve only been asked once – and it was directed at the raccoons so they bothlied through their teeth, so thank you for asking!

           In myinterpretation, Bea and Pierre didn’t know that Ponine had died until wellafter the fact. Éponine, being the basically grownass woman that she is, andher parents being the negligent-bordering-on-abusive bastards that they are, itwasn’t uncommon for her to disappear for a few weeks at a time, especially aftera fight. By the time they crashed the wedding, they were becoming a bitnervous, but still hadn’t considered death as an option. They genuinely thoughtthey’d raised her better than to get shot.

           So Mariustelling them that Éponine died at the barricade was a genuine shock that theygot over quickly – at the time. With five hundred francs (and subsequently,rent for a year) at stake, they didn’t have much time to process it.

           However,after they’d made off with their ill-gotten goods and spent most of it on clothand booze, they hurtled through the grieving process whether they liked it ornot.

            It wasoutwardly worst on Beatrice, who was only able to keep it together for threedays or so. Melodramatic as she was, she did love Éponine to the point ofexcess and spoilage – not to mention that she was her only child. Pierre neverfully recovered though, since he didn’t allow himself to realize he was hurtingat all.

           The endpoint of it is, yes they hurt, but like all of their emotions, they buried downtheir grief until it couldn’t be heard from, except at their worst moments.

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May I have this dance ( masquerade starters) from Lumiere @misfitting-mistrusted 💛💛

          Hide Your Face - Accepting

@misfitting-mistrusted

              Thewoman eyed up her potential partner several times over, each time dotted by aglance toward a tall, sulking man in the corner. A smirk took her heavilypainted lips as she acquiesced to the stranger’s request.

                           “Course.”

               Thejarring switch between her manner of dress – which, while gaudy, was at leastin style – and her speech – an assault on the ears both in tone and accent – wouldfrighten most, but before he’d had a chance to change his mind, she’d taken hishand in a way which would be appropriate in a tavern, but certainly not in aproper ballroom.

                Thatthis Thénardier had been granted a title was such a point of contention in thefledgling community that they’d nearly considered dismantling the nobilityagain, if only to have a reason to strip him of it. But unfortunately, theBaron and Baroness du Thénard were too clever to allow it – and too in lovewith their position of petty respect.

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Wrath

             A Marriage of Cunning and Fury - Accepting

            “So… Beagot caught, huh?”

            “Yeah,copper came when I wos at market.”

             “Wot…Wot’d they catch ‘er on?”

             “That’sthe funny thing, Bracqué…” Thénardier began in a drawl, the drapes falling shutwhen he came away from the window to face his partner. “She wos charged wif theRobert job.”

       Bracqué’s faceblanched with that knowledge, the young man’s hands beginning to tremble evenwhile clasping at each other in a desperate bid to look calm.

               “Weren’tyou in charge’a that one, boy?”

               “M-monsieur,I don’t know h-!”

       Along-fingered hand shot out and wrapped around his stammering throat. Thénardier’seyes glinted dangerously in the low light.

                “Don’t lie t’me, y’bastard. Ya sold us out – ‘owmany? They knew Bea, the rest’ve us’re already on the run.”

       In lieu of ananswer, Bracqué gave a terrified, gasping squeak, his own hands desperatelyclawing at his employer’s.

                 “Didya really think I wouldn’t find out? Or did ya think I’d be behind bars ‘fore Idid?”

       He loosenedhis grip for a fraction of a second, but decided against letting the man speakfor himself.

                  “Yaain’t so smart, Bracqué. If ya ever wake up, y’d do well t’remember that.”

        Red-faced,rapidly turning blue, the man couldn’t do anything as he was thrown to thesplinter-infested, wooden ground. Everything went dark with a sickening snap ofcrushed bone as Thénardier’s heel came down sharply on his neck. Blood dribbledfrom his mouth as his attacker fleeced him, finding a burner phone – which wasimmediately smashed like its owner’s neck – a wallet full of squealer’s cash,and a few photos. Kids? Siblings? He couldn’t be sure – Bracqué wasn’t morethan twenty.

                            More importantly, he didn’t care.

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😡🍎

                Of Munries and Raccoons - Accepting

😡 = What makes the mun and muse the angriest?

                At the moment, Bea and I share an answer of “when you sew something incorrectly and don’t notice until five steps after the mistake so you have to rip it all out and ARGH”

                 For Pierre, it’s either the obvious betrayal or when you can’t account for five cents in your checkbook balancing.

🍎 = What do the mun and muse like to eat for a snack?

             Bea loves apples, Pierre likes strangely artisinal dried fish when he can get them, and I’m a pretty big fan of grape tomatos.

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kyanite and mica

           Raccoons and their Shinies - Accepting

KYANITE: an anger headcanon

              80percent of the time when Pierre is angry, he yells and cusses and probably hitsa few people, but it’s over within ten minutes. It’s more of a purge so he canreturn to important business with a basically level head. However, the other 20percent of the time – when someone working for him really fucked up, whensomething completely unrelated to him doesn’t’ fall into place, or if you fuckwith his wife, he goes quiet. This is what you have to watch out for, becausehe’s probably calculating the exact price of a hit, or whether or not he’swilling to waste a bullet on you.

              Afterthey lost the inn, the entire week-long trip of nothing but walking was done insilence. Even Éponine was old enough to know what Papa being quiet meant, andBeatrice wasn’t going to touch it with a ten-foot pole. He’ll usually clawhimself out of it in a few days, but it is something to watch out for.

MICA: what my muse views as their worst personality trait

                   You have to understand that Beatrice and Pierre, in their main verse,are two of the most self-assured, unduly confident motherfuckers to ever graceBroadway. They know who they are and what they are, if I may borrow from Oliver!,and they’re damn proud of it.

                   So, you’ll have to forgive me that the only thing I can come up with isthat Bea thinks that she’s too sentimental. She’s actually not – to mythinking, she’s about the correct amount of sentimental – but she dislikesbeing attached to anything. Growing up during the French Revolution, she knewnothing was permanent. Her time on the campaign with Pierre during his supply-mandays only made that worse, and seeing Amelie – her sister and best friend – diewhile giving birth cemented in her mind that nothing would last and therefore,you shouldn’t care for or about anything.

                   However, she does get attached to things thatremind her of the past. She keeps all of the presents she and Pierre exchangedduring their short, whirlwind courtship, and Éponine’s baby clothes, eventhough she knows they could be put to much better use in mending or being soldoff. She only got rid of the latter after Éponine died at the barricade, alonein a pawnshop. She couldn’t bear to cut them up herself, so the few pennies shecould get for them was the most she could do to get them out of the apartment andout of her mind.