ataraxionlogs | touch me i'm cold

Entry tags:

touch me i'm cold

CHARACTERS: Éponine Thénardier, and whomever wants to join her!
LOCATION: Here, there, everywhere.
WARNINGS: To be updated as needed.
SUMMARY: It's been a few months since Éponine arrived on the ship. And she still has no idea what to do with herself.
NOTES: Open! Come play! Want a specific starter? Let me know and I can toss one up.

Over the course of the month, Eponine can be found just about anywhere on the ship. From laying about in the Oxygen Gardens, to exploring (despite advice to the contrary). Perhaps you'll find her there, or sitting in the bar, drinking space booze. Maybe you even decide to venture into her apartment and say hello to the strange girl from Paris.

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"Two of my compatriots are here as well; they should suffice your francophone needs." He situates his accouterments a bit more comfortably - he still isn't used to the idea of the ship's uniform and prefers to wear his own clothes, even if they are slowly proving to be somewhat unwieldy in this environment. "I am - was, stationed in Paris as well, but we go where the King goes."

Eponine herself tries to avoid the uniform. She is more comfortable in the dresses she was gifted by her dear friends. The tightness of the uniform is difficult for a girl who is used to things that are far more free-flowing, as her rags in Paris had been.

"The King!" She leans forward, intrigued by this. "You help him, then. Do not tell that to my friends, they dislike the King on principal. And Bonaparte as well."

That gets her a slight incline of his head. He's not sure who Bonaparte is, but he will leave it for the moment. "I serve in the King's Musketeers." Privately, he would concede that it is quite possible to dislike the King on principle, and potentially even more possible after one gets to know him, but. While Athos considers the King to be somewhat annoying and childlike at times, he would truthfully say that he doesn't actively dislike the man. More often than not he is simply annoyed by him, but it isn't difficult to see that Louis is not actually a bad person. Easier still when one can directly contrast him with the Cardinal.

Now there is someone Athos takes the time and energy to actively dislike, even as he respects the man for his skill and cunning. "I believe it is French tradition, of a sort, to dislike the reigning monarch on principle."

"The musketeers! Why- they were disbanded! Before I was born! If you are old, m'sieur, you wear your age very well, for you are quite handsome." She gives him a slight smile, before moving to have another drink.

"Perhaps it is. The men that come from the same moments that I did, they certainly would agree. It was, after all, at their barricades that I met my death." She states it plainly- her death was something she had expected and welcomed. Even orchestrated, to a degree.

He quirks one eyebrow slightly at her when she mentions that the Musketeers were disbanded before she was born - hopefully she is further removed from his own time than he was even anticipating, or he will be in for an unwelcome career change at some point in the future. Or, in the past, technically, but his own personal future. He doesn't look forward to the thought. However, there is little time to dwell on that, as she pushes onward towards a compliment he has little idea what to do with. He rarely does know what to do with compliments, finds that he is no better at them than he was the last time someone mentioned an appreciation for his form beyond that of his swordsmanship. It would be rude to ignore it entirely, but he mostly just manages a fleeting curve of his lips before hiding his face as he sips from his drink.

It is, in point of fact, much easier to react to her next words, and he is both surprised by them as well as he is thankful for their apparent discrepancy within the conversation. "Your death?" That could lend an entirely different aspect to this whole place. He hadn't quite put aside the idea of the afterlife, although he had yet to determine whether the presence of his two friends and cohorts made that possibility more or less likely. "You remember this?"

Perhaps saying nothing was better. She cannot accept any complements towards her own person, not when she knows them to be lies. Eponine has never been under any illusions that she was beautiful. The matter of the fact was that she was not.

But death, that is something she can talk about. "I do," she says solemnly. "I sought it out, and it came to me. I accepted it warmly." There's a strange wistfulness in her words, the way she looks to the side, her eyes trained upward. "But do not tell my brother- we will not talk of my death to him. I only hope that he had not witnessed it, nor seen my body."

Well, if he had known she had such a skewed view of herself, he might have thought to repay the compliment. He doesn't tend to hand such things out, but when they are well-deserved - that is another matter entirely.

He wasn't even aware you had a brother, much less one that was here aboard the ship with you. He nods his acquiescence to the request before he replies. "Few can look death in the eyes and say they welcomed it. It takes great strength of character or great antipathy for the world to do so and in either case, circumstances that most should not have to face, much less those so young and bright as yourself."

There's just a tinge of color in Eponine's cheeks. His words spur her to lean closer towards him, across the table.

"You... I should thank you, m'sieur. You seem to understand it. Though, it is strange, given a bullet from the National Guard is what ended my life."

He'll assume, based on the context and name, that the National Guard is some sort of governmental military force. At any rate, he quirks one eyebrow slightly, and chooses to share something of his own past slightly. She is so free with her own, and he has already taken a liking to her. "A Châtelet firing squad helps one sort out their opinions on death fairly quickly."

It's not much, nor the whole story by any means, but it's at least an explanation into his insights. Beyond those given by simple virtue of being a soldier.

"Have-" she pauses, but only to take a drink. Then, leaning forward, a hand darting across the table to take his own in hers. "Have you been killed, as well?"

He pauses ever so slightly to glance at their hands before replying quickly enough for that not to matter too much. "I have not, just yet. The order was rescinded at the last possible moment." He hesitates, considering what else he might say there to explain his previous words. "I merely understand the sentiment behind meeting death face on. Not the actuality."

"Then you are a lucky man, in such a dangerous job, m'sieur." There's no hesitation on her part. "Death, too, has dogged your feet, I believe. You have seen it first-hand, and been so close to feel it breathe on your neck. I am glad you live, m'sieur."

Lucky is one way of thinking about it.

He supposes that's really the only way of thinking about it, but it takes a second or so. At any rate, he inclines his head briefly. "Thank you, mademoiselle." For a moment, he is about to reply 'and I you', but he realizes that isn't quite correct, is it? It is a rare occasion that Athos finds himself looking for words, but thankfully it is fleeting. "I'm glad this place has allowed you a second chance."

"Please, you must call me Eponine, for that is my name." Mademoiselle made her feel silly, as though the title mocked her. She knew it was unfounded, mostly, but the feeling was there all the same.

"I am, as well. I am here with my brother, and I shall be the sister he deserves, at long last. I am away from Paris, and all the horrors it holds. From my father and his men. The memory of my mother. All of it."

"Éponine, then." He meant no disrespect with the previous terminology, but if she prefers he be so familiar, then far be it from him to argue such a small point. "You may call me Athos, in return."

Her continuation though, that is somewhat both enlightening and concerning. Her life back home must have been difficult indeed if that is how she describes it prior to meeting her own death voluntarily. "My future darkens by the hour, apparently."

"Athos it is, m'sieur," she says with a nod. "A lovely name, for such a man." She did not have to try. The flattery came natural to her, just as, if someone was a terrible human being, the verbal lashing would follow soundly. The girl had no filter, her life had seen to that.

"Perhaps you will brighten it."

There she goes, doing that thing again. He clears his throat a little and replies simply with a small smile before he sips from his drink. Empty compliments from court he is prepared to handle. Otherwise..

"I hope that will be the case." However, if she is already from the future - he suspects this is a discussion for philosophers or perhaps theologians. He isn't the sort to put too much thought into circumstances so far out - he simply lives with what is happening in the moment and into those particular moments that this one happens to touch. "Perhaps whatever we have been brought here for will add to that."

"Perhaps if you do well at your job. And prevent terrible people from coming to reign." Everyone hated The Sun King. Napoleon, however... "Or perhaps keep a man named Bonaparte in office. Keep in mind the little people. The beggars, and poor." She has no idea about this little thing called the Prime Directive. Not that either of them are involved in Star Trek or anything near it. So, ergo, spoilers from the future.

"I should hope! Though when this is done I do not know what I wish for." She'll be getting hell, when she dies again.

Here's to Athos hoping that Aramis' spawn doesn't actually become so loathed, should he ever learn about him. Although, that would raise somewhat negative indications otherwise, so it ultimately looks like a bit of a lose-lose situation there.

"I like to think I do well, although it is difficult to work from here." Truth be told, he still needed to figure out what to actually do with himself here as a whole. Holidays were nice and all, but they only ever seemed to make him appreciate what he had with his work all the more. "I have little influence beyond what I can reach with the end of my sword, but I will do my best."

He glances around the room for a moment, because it is difficult to tell what will happen after he leaves here, although that hadn't quite been what he was talking about. It was close enough, and ultimately he supposed it equated anyway. "Nor do I."

"I have no doubt, m'sieur." She had his name, yes, but it was still a formality, to call him monsieur. "You shall have to find something to your calling, here. I have no known skills, nothing to use in polite company." A thief, sure, a prostitute, yes, but nothing suitable for here. Nothing she wanted to admit to her new-found friends.

"What do you hope for?"

The title doesn't bother him so much as it apparently did her, so he elects not to repeat himself or his name to her again. She may call him whatever she's comfortable with, and he will call her whatever she likes. It's easy enough to infer between their conversation thus far, and her comment about 'polite company' that they derived from quite different echelons within the French people. While it's nothing he has any issue with, he doesn't feel the need to perhaps make her uncomfortable.

He glances down to his new tattoo, over the communication device he was presented with upon arrival, and then back to her as he replies to that. "I feel that perhaps any skills I might have claimed to possess before will be somewhat obsolete here."

As for her question, he pauses. He is not typically a man so inclined to hope for things, merely to observe and predict and, if necessary, alter an already commenced course of events. He didn't lend his thoughts too often towards hope, because he learned far too well the danger in such fancies. Hope was perhaps one of the most dangerous of human emotions, and while he occasionally seemed to have it despite himself, it wasn't something he actively sought out. And yes, I did just realize that I wrote all of this and my previous tag literally started with 'Here's to Athos hoping', shh.

So, yeah, there's an obvious pause as he looks down to consider how best to answer that. "A good reason to have it."

"Then we shall have to find new skills, I am terribly sure," she said fondly. "Already I have been learning to make pretty letters." This was important to her. She could write and she could read, but her handwriting was miserable. Now, under Jehan's tutelage, she was learning cursive.

At his admittance, Eponine moves back slightly in her chair, a twinkle in her eye. "A good reason to have it! Oh, you are a clever man, Athos, and I am growing quite fond of you. That is as good a thing to hope for as ever."

"I'm not sure I have anything that can be built upon as such. More time will tell." He supposes, anyway. He sips at his drink again. "Pretty letters - I see few people writing as such. You might have something with that."

He is starting to suspect that she is simply easily pleased, with how many compliments she's been paying him. Not that he doesn't appreciate the attempt, but even still. "It is what the man who currently possesses little of it desires on his good days." Maybe he can deflate that mistaken impression of himself a little.

"Perhaps! My friend Michel Combeferre and I have thought of creating a sort of school. So that we can educate each other. I should very much like to teach my brother to read. And I am good with my numbers. Michel is a doctor, you see, and a very smart one." Not to mention kind. And, on top of that, he had introduced her to pop-tarts, which were her new favorite snack. She'd already had a few boxes tucked away in her quarters.

Easily pleased, yes, that would, without a doubt, be Eponine. She was always the sort to form easy attachments to people, and to see everything good about them all at once. Paying them such complements was second nature.

She nods, considering this. "I never desired hope. I knew it was a waste. I would have it, and it would be destroyed shortly thereafter."

"A high goal indeed." And one that he can respect for more reasons than simply the theoretical. He was himself educated well, and he found respect for another woman who attempted her best in education others of her gender. In some ways, Athos is not entirely politically correct, but he is far from assuming that women are in any way less capable than their counterparts. Milady has at least taught him enough from experience to think otherwise.

And that was not quite the reaction he was looking for, but far be it from him to have a monopoly on pessimism or reality. He inclines his head somewhat in agreement. "I'm sorry to see one so young so well-versed in the turn of the world, but perhaps it is better to learn such things with resiliency still a vital part of one's repertoire."

touch me i'm cold

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i am so sorry his tags all seem to turn out like this idk why

it's okay! I adore him

oh good, then hopefully that works out

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sorry i didn't mean to reply with tony and not athos

don't worry! Sometimes people get muse for one thread and not the other.

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