When Gavroche is settled, Eponine wraps an arm around his his shoulders, adjusting the way the lines were so that he wasn't in the way of any of them.
"Thank you," she says, accepting the soup. It's warm, and smells wonderful. "What sort is it?" Though it didn't matter, she'd eat it anyway. She'd long ago learned not to be a picky eater.
She knows, once the soup is done, he'll want to talk. Ask questions about why she was there. What was wrong with her, why she'd been missing so long. But they weren't questions she wanted to have to answer for her little brother. It was easier if Michel were to be the one to explain everything to him, and she could only hope that he had already.
Though what would he have said? Your sister is a mess and seems intent on dying no matter what?
no subject
"Thank you," she says, accepting the soup. It's warm, and smells wonderful. "What sort is it?" Though it didn't matter, she'd eat it anyway. She'd long ago learned not to be a picky eater.
She knows, once the soup is done, he'll want to talk. Ask questions about why she was there. What was wrong with her, why she'd been missing so long. But they weren't questions she wanted to have to answer for her little brother. It was easier if Michel were to be the one to explain everything to him, and she could only hope that he had already.
Though what would he have said? Your sister is a mess and seems intent on dying no matter what?