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['Of acquaintance', he had thought to be a kindness. He should never pretend not to know her name or her face, and he should offer her help, where he was capable of it. But friend? Friends with a woman? Was such a thing even possible? His only attachment to the gender in general was through Cosette; the rest, he felt in a way, laughed at him and thought him very dull or stupid. He in return found them strange and dim by comparison to his Cosette. There were the women of family, who he had no opinion on, but was good to. The older ladies, who were not so much women in his mind, but matrons. The young ones, who were but girls and to whom he felt the protective fondness of an adult, perhaps. But 'women' as they were, young and unmarried and fancily-dressed... such apparitions almost frightened him, at times. He should not wish to talk to them on their own, for fear of being found wanting, or for the worse fear of wounding Cosette.

Eponine, as it were, was not so much one such woman. She looked older beyond her years and she had marks of poverty so severe that she had the full attention of Marius' pity, without awakening the sensations that speaking with her might be out of line with modesty, owing to her age and her lack of male attachment.

However, trips to her home, when she had new dresses and bonnets, for tea... these were markings of ladies, the ladies that Marius dutifully avoided. Even he knew that such a thing was impossible, even with such a girl as this. It would be improper.

...Still.

Still, her words hit him as truly and deeply as she had meant for them too, as truly and deeply as his own lack of words had unintentionally hit her. That he is wounded shows plainly. He paled mildly, eyes going a bit wider and lips parting, his brow showing a sort of confusion over so cruel a comment.

The hurt remains on his face, but not in his eyes, whose gaze slowly hardened with anger.

His voice, when he found the will to speak, carried the marks of both.]

You had made a promise to me not to bring such a matter up, against my Cosette. You had given me your word.

[He reminded, a little appalled.]

This meanness is unwarranted. I will not have another word of it, do you hear me? Not another sound of it. [Snapped, raising his voice just barely by the end, exceedingly ruffled by the jab.]

I promised I would tell nobody else.

[His tone, rather than his words hit her, and it hit hard. He was cross, furious - and he was ordering her - just as he had that time in the fields, when he had taken her shoulders and had shaken her so hard she had laughed.

She did not feel like laughing just then.

This was serious - serious enough that he had almost shouted at her.]

You're cross with me, Sir.

[Her voice, on the contrary, is soft. She attempts to make it soothing, but her guttural tones do not allow for much softness to her tone.]

Well... Sir. We are not so different... we are not so different, her and me.

Cosette-- Cosette would never say a mean word against you. You were unkind to her, and your unkindness now extends to us both.

But she should never have insulted you, it is so.

There is your difference.

[He scolded, gaze strong.

Through insulting Cosette, she insulted him too, and his every happiness. Over what? An item lost?

It was an excessive cruelty!]

Edited 2013-06-01 00:54 (UTC)

No! That's not -

[ That wasn't what she'd meant. She'd meant their origins, their backgrounds. and now he was scolding again. She takes a deep breath, trying to control herself, to prevent the tears, to stop herself from saying something else she'd regret.]

Cosette is perfect, Sir.

[Her tone dripped with bitterness, sarcasm. God, Cosette. It should be HER!]

[He stared a moment, lips pursed just lightly, before he shook his head.]

...Good day.

[And then hung up. What else ought he to do? He felt enraged on the behalf of his beloved and if Eponine would only sling arrows at them both, fiery insults, then what point was there in communication?

Thenardier or not, he would not stand for it.]

[And for a long, long time, she stares at her blank dreamberry. Her mind is a whirlwind, but the predominant anchor of it all, the knowledge in the eye of the storm - Marius hates her. Marius hates her and it is her fault.

A long, long time after he has put down the video call on her, he'll get a text through. Just one word, out of all those she wishes she could say to him.]

SORRY

[He read the message as it came, but could fathom no reply.

He would see to his duty that the girl remained well, but otherwise, a soul so uncouth who would seek to torment an angel was not a welcome phantom. His and Cosette's life would be without shadows, he was determined. All lights.

He did not return her message.]

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