“There flowed in her veins some of the blood of the bohemian and the adventuress who runs barefoot.”
So a short comic, in which Eponine is the one to find Cosette in her garden and takes her on a romantic adventure through the streets of Paris, because Eponine would know all the best places in the city from her nighttime wanderings and then they kiss and stuff.
I meant to be working on my Real Serious Art with a Real Serious Deadline but… half-assed watercolor Cosette just kind of happened to me and I was about to add Marius to her but… uh. clearly he was busy sleeping with Courfeyrac because Eponine showed up instead.
this is definitely for pipistrellus, who encouraged me to read The Brick and deserves nice things (like canon era femslash).
When Cosette saw her, or rather didn’t see her, it was the day before Marius’ birthday and her hands were full of the present and wrapping paper and streamers and balloons and all the other things she had bought for his party. She was hurrying to her bus and could hardly see through the yellow and blue steamers waving in her face. So of course she bumped into someone.
“Watch where y-” that someone said and then stopped, breathing in sharply. “Cosette?”
Cosette looked up from the ground where she was trying to stuff the streamers back into the bag. The person she had bumped into was taller than her by a good head, their black hair a mess from the wind.
“Sorry, do I know you?”
“Yeah. I’ve changed. You’ve changed. We’ve both changed. You’ve changed more, though.” For a moment Cosette felt a flicker of annoyance, the same one she felt towards her father when he wouldn’t agree to put the heater up in his room, but the next sentence out of the person’s mouth made her remember who they were. “Your hair used to be lighter.”
“Eponine!” Eponine Dubois. They had been together in that horrible foster home when they were small. Eponine hadn’t been very nice to her, but over a decade had passed since then.
“Cosette.” Eponine lit a cigarette.
“What are you doing here?” “Where are you going?”
The two asked their questions at the same time, Cosette’s full of surprise and Eponine’s almost casual, as if she wasn’t meeting someone she hadn’t seen for years. Her hand was shaking, though, and she dropped her cigarette on the ground.
“I’m…living here.” A pause as she ground her cigarette out on the ground. “I could ask the same of you.”
“I’m living here, too. With my father.”
“Oh, so the old fart adopted you?”
“Eponine!” Cosette’s anger suddenly flared up. So Eponine hadn’t changed at all after all these years. Still adding mean comments wherever she could place them.
Uncharacteristically, to Cosette’s eyes, Eponine apologized. Sort of. She mumbled ‘sorry’ while lighting another cigarette. But Cosette knew enough about human nature to guess that Eponine was embarrassed to have said what she said.
“How did you recognize me?”
“Your nose. It’s very unusual.” Cosette put a hand up to her nose. It was unusual for a black girl. Small and slightly upturned, almost European. She tried to be positive about it, but she really didn’t like how out of place it looked on her features.
“I have to go. But we should-” Cosette hesitated. Eponine was part of her past, after all, and not a part she liked to remember. But she was suddenly curious about Eponine. How she had gotten here, where was Eponine’s little sister Azelma, and what had happened to the Thenardier’s, the people who had owned the foster home. Closure the therapist she had seen as a child would probably have called it. “-meet up some time. Talk over old times.” Both she and Eponine winced at her wording. “Anyways, can I give you my phone number?”
“If you want.”
Cosette gave Eponine her phone number and Eponine dutifully typed it into an old Nokia phone and gave Cosette her phone number “in case you forget to call”, though they both knew that was hardly a possibility, and that it was much more likely that one of them would chicken out.
Only when Cosette reached her bus stop did she realize that she had missed her bus and that the next one wouldn’t come for half an hour. At least Marius’ balloons were safe.