"A few months! Cherie, you have done so well for yourself, haven't you?" Thénardier barely held back a sneer as he continued to stroke Eponine's cheek. Visibly, she cringed, refusing to look at either man as they stood discussing her.
She'd loved this man once. Deep down, she still did. He'd comforted her and played with her as a child, making her feel like a princess. He'd coddled her, let her help him and paraded her around proudly in front of patrons of their inn. But warm touches had turned cold as their bank account closed. But even then, she'd been so young, she loved her father all the same. She remembered him carrying her up the stairs to their first new apartment in Paris, her legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck as he introduced her to the one-room apartment. He'd set her down, beamed, and promised her the best in the world.
"And I promised you the best in the world, didn't I, my girl?" He asked, as though reading her mind. Placing his hand down on her shoulder, he focused his attention on Combeferre.
"Well then, dear Doctor I suppose this does make you quite the match for my dear." But. "But I simply can't my pride and joy waltz off with a man. I'm sure you understand. She is so sweet to me, and it would disappoint her many other suitors. A few have already asked for her hand. And I only wish to see the best for my girl. Tell me, m'sieur doctor, have you fucked her?" His tone became less jovial and took on a more sinister edge.
"Father- do not," Eponine breathed, reaching out for him, but he slapped her hand away. "He loves me and I love him. Do not do this. Not to him."
Thenardier turned back to his daughter, leaning in close to her ear. "Shut up, girl. You'll make me a wealthy man yet, for all the good your cunt has done." He moved away just barely, smiling as though he hadn't said anything awful to her at all. "I'm afraid you would not be the first. She's a whore, this one. Not worth a penny, she's so worn out."
Whatever his plan was, Eponine seemed to know. Tear her down yet build her up in the eyes of Michel. Make him believe he was playing hero to her, and by doing so, paying her father for the privilege of keeping her. Keeping the true nature of his intended away from those who would care. Pay for the silence. And pay for him to keep his hands away from her. That was all Bernard Thenardier cared about: money.
"Perhaps you would be interested in my other daughter. She's fairer than this one by far."
no subject
She'd loved this man once. Deep down, she still did. He'd comforted her and played with her as a child, making her feel like a princess. He'd coddled her, let her help him and paraded her around proudly in front of patrons of their inn. But warm touches had turned cold as their bank account closed. But even then, she'd been so young, she loved her father all the same. She remembered him carrying her up the stairs to their first new apartment in Paris, her legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck as he introduced her to the one-room apartment. He'd set her down, beamed, and promised her the best in the world.
"And I promised you the best in the world, didn't I, my girl?" He asked, as though reading her mind. Placing his hand down on her shoulder, he focused his attention on Combeferre.
"Well then, dear Doctor I suppose this does make you quite the match for my dear." But. "But I simply can't my pride and joy waltz off with a man. I'm sure you understand. She is so sweet to me, and it would disappoint her many other suitors. A few have already asked for her hand. And I only wish to see the best for my girl. Tell me, m'sieur doctor, have you fucked her?" His tone became less jovial and took on a more sinister edge.
"Father- do not," Eponine breathed, reaching out for him, but he slapped her hand away. "He loves me and I love him. Do not do this. Not to him."
Thenardier turned back to his daughter, leaning in close to her ear. "Shut up, girl. You'll make me a wealthy man yet, for all the good your cunt has done." He moved away just barely, smiling as though he hadn't said anything awful to her at all. "I'm afraid you would not be the first. She's a whore, this one. Not worth a penny, she's so worn out."
Whatever his plan was, Eponine seemed to know. Tear her down yet build her up in the eyes of Michel. Make him believe he was playing hero to her, and by doing so, paying her father for the privilege of keeping her. Keeping the true nature of his intended away from those who would care. Pay for the silence. And pay for him to keep his hands away from her. That was all Bernard Thenardier cared about: money.
"Perhaps you would be interested in my other daughter. She's fairer than this one by far."