*screaming* GAVROCHE IS IMPORTANT

Messy sketches of a dirty child

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Gavroche raised an eyebrow, blowing a line of smoke towards the ceiling as his eyes landed on Montparnasse. "Are you admittin' ya might be wrong 'bout sumfin?" he asked, a little grin on his lips. He couldn't help it-- it was absolutely refreshing to see the other man act even the slightest bit like he might be incorrect about anything at all, but especially about his influence on someone.

"Look-- it don' matter what woulda happened 'cause it didn'." Gavroche took another long drag on his cigarette, flicking the ashes off. As he spoke, more smoke fell from his lips. "T'ain't like ya got a time machine ta go fixin' it."

Gavroche stared at the other man for a long time without a word leaving his lips. A million thoughts ran through his head, a million reasons for how the hell this was possible when he'd seen Montparnasse die that day, and yet nothing seemed to make sense. He opened his mouth for a moment, closed it, then reached out and whacked Montparnasse's arm as hard as he could. "How'n the fuck are ya here, huh?! D'you know what the hell we went through over you?!" -frozenandbrazengamin (adult Gav)

It had been a total of five years since his supposed death at the age of twenty-five. He had always thought it to be an ideal age to die—to be eternally remembered as young and beautiful, and to lose his features not to wrinkles but to decay.

It made him feel a little sick when he had to remind himself that he was now thirty.

Despite this, Gavroche’s anger with him only spurred a wide, cocky grin, unchanged over the years, and a snort. “As if you missed me,” he answered, tone non-commital. “I see you ditched the elephant. Shame.”

Gavroche watched Montparnasse with a raised eyebrow as a good chunk of his cigarette was burned out with one inhale, and he took it back in his fingers with the comment, "Yer actin' like y'ain't had a smoke in years." Hell, for all he knew, Montparnasse hadn't--

He placed the cigarette back between his lips and snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know-- yer a one of a kind." He knew it was true, of course. There was no one on this planet quite like Montparnasse.

As much as Gavroche knew that was true, he still didn't believe he could afford to think like that. He was allowed to be content after so many years of struggling-- of wanting. For once, he felt as if he didn't need to struggle, and that was what mattered to him. He didn't need the nice things that Montparnasse did-- only a place to sleep, clothes to wear, and food to eat. "I'm finkin' I'm gonna stick ta what I know on this'n."

Gavroche stared at the other man for a long time without a word leaving his lips. A million thoughts ran through his head, a million reasons for how the hell this was possible when he'd seen Montparnasse die that day, and yet nothing seemed to make sense. He opened his mouth for a moment, closed it, then reached out and whacked Montparnasse's arm as hard as he could. "How'n the fuck are ya here, huh?! D'you know what the hell we went through over you?!" -frozenandbrazengamin (adult Gav)

It had been a total of five years since his supposed death at the age of twenty-five. He had always thought it to be an ideal age to die—to be eternally remembered as young and beautiful, and to lose his features not to wrinkles but to decay.

It made him feel a little sick when he had to remind himself that he was now thirty.

Despite this, Gavroche’s anger with him only spurred a wide, cocky grin, unchanged over the years, and a snort. “As if you missed me,” he answered, tone non-commital. “I see you ditched the elephant. Shame.”

"Just 'cause ya ain't twenty don' mean nuffin'-- yer old ta me," he replied, smirk still on his lips. Gavroche watched her for a moment before turning over onto his side, closing his eyes. His feet remained in her lap. "And ya can't tell people whatever tha hell ya want-- there's cons'quences." He knew good and well that some things were better left unsaid.

"I'm gonna find that grey hair first, an' I'm gonna take a picture." He didn't mention the fact that he had not a camera to take the picture with. He wanted to freak her out, not allow her to think logically while she was drinking. "An' I'mma show it ta everyone. All the Patron-Minette an' even them damn college boys."

           ”I can tell anyone anythin’ I want ta,” she protested, glancing up at the boy with a light akin to defiance in her eye. “I ain’t yet twenty years of age-” Montparnasse didn’t honestly know that; her exact date of birth wasn’t something she knew. Regardless, she knew her approximate age, and she knew she would be approximately twenty within a few months.

           She brought the glass to her lips once more. “An’ bein’ ol’! Bein’ ol’ got consequences. I ain’t old ‘til I find a grey hair. Then when I find that fucker, I’mma pull it out and color my hair. I ain’ livin’ ta be ol’.” Montparnasse nodded sagely. 

Gavroche made a face when she ruffled his hair, but he straightened himself out and looked rather proud of himself. "What're ya talkin' about, not so bad? I got all the good genes," he replied with a playful grin, pressing his thumb against his chest.

"I'm finkin' ya got pa's hair an' 'Ponine an' I didn'. But at least yer better lookin' than he is," Gavroche says with a grin, crossing his arms over his chest as he glances up at his older sister. -frozenandbrazengamin

"Well aren’t you quite the little charmer, Gav."

"I am ecstatic that you find me more attractive than our crook father," Azelma mocked, briefly poking her tongue out at him playfully.

She bent down to ruffle his golden locks.

"And you’re not so bad yourself."

((OH WAIT THE LITTLE GROUP OF ASSHOLE KIDS I REMEMBER THEM))

I forgot that Gavroche and his friends were in Hostel

((omfg what))

I forgot that Gavroche and his friends were in Hostel

Gavroche couldn't help but grin at her reaction to his feet on her lap, but he didn't move them since it looked as if she had no intentions of moving them herself. In fact, he relaxed down into the couch, looking rather proud of himself for the time being. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her, noticing the pink that her cheeks only ever wore when she was drunk.

"--Ya can't tell a fourteen year old that yer young," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her. "T'ain't like I'm gonna fink anyone older'n me's young." It was just how teenagers thought. You have only two years on them in age, but they would think you were old.

            She shook her head again. A second lock of hair fell into her eyes; the woman stilled for a moment before bringing the glass to her lips once more. “The question-!” She protested momentarily. “Is why d’ I bother ta hire anyone at all. That’s the question.”

She wrapped her other hand around the glass in her consideration. The pause lasted a very short moment until the boy propped his feet into her lap. Her lips turned into a slight frown, eyes now fixed upon his feet. “I dun’t think I ever tol’ ya that was acceptable,” was the halfhearted protest. She might physically move his feet, but her hand was occupied by the class.

"I am as young as young can be." Montparnasse added after a second thought. 

Gavroche glanced over at him, cigarette held between his lips as he took a long drag on it and listened to Hyacinthe's story. He shifted a little, crossing his arms over his chest, and he glanced down at his lap. This was one area in which he had very little expertise. A man who had grown up struggling the way he had-- who had landed the kind of job he had-- certainly didn't have a lot of reason to believe in a purpose. He was just here to live out his life and die. And sure, maybe that was a bleak way to look at things, but that was how he saw it.

Maybe one day he would do something important, like save a future world leader from being hit by a car or get married and have a child that would grow into the greatest artist the world had ever seen, but for now Gavroche didn't believe in a purpose. He was content with that, but he knew not everyone was. Most people had to have... something to keep them going.

"A purpose, huh? M'sure yer gonna do sumfin' important one day." Gavroche chewed on his lip for a moment before sitting up straight, turning his face to the side and blowing the smoke from his lips, and reaching out to pat Hyacinthe's shoulder. "--Whadda ya say I teach ya how ta read'n write? Then yer gonna be able ta get a job. Tha's a start, ain't it?"

And That Child Is Called The Gamin || Closed

"It’s good to hear you’ve got something like that," Hyacinthe replied in a murmur. It truly was; Gavroche was such a kind person, and he deserved whatever he could get, which of course wasn’t a great deal, because of how society was to people like them, but still. 

Hyacinthe gazed down at his feet before sighing and shrugging his slender shoulders. “That’s most of it. But some things have happened to me that weren’t great, and now it’s harder to trust anyone, y’know? I’m sick of bein’ hurt.” He didn’t feel the need to add the part where he’d hurt himself so that he would always be the one in control of how he felt. It was a pathetic way to explain himself — he would never have control, would never be anyone at all. Gavroche didn’t need to know how badly he wanted to die sometimes, because he was probably only alive at all because of him, and Hyacinthe didn’t want to seem ungrateful to this rare type of person.

"I just wanna have a purpose."

Gavroche raised an eyebrow as he watched her, a little grin on his lips. He knew that she had a soft spot for him-- she had to. She wouldn't admit it sober, and now she was questioning it drunk. He was amused, really, at the way this question seemed to be bothering her. 

"Then why don't ya find some'n ta clean for ya, huh? T'ain't like it's hard ta do er nuffin', right?" he replied, smirking at her. He then kicked his feet-- clean from the shower he'd just taken-- up onto her lap.

"I ain't sure what's goin' on in that damn ol' head o' yers."

                 Her eyes flickered to him just briefly before turning away again, caught instead upon the way that the liquid reflected light.

           ”That ain’t why,” Montparnasse threw back her answer, shaking her head once; a lock of charcoal hair fell into her eyes. She didn’t bother to fix it.

             ”I could get someone ta clean for me-” Not truly; Gavroche was arguably the best choice for employee. “But if I ain’t payin’ for my heatin’, why am I payin’ for my cleanin’? That’s why I would like ta know.” 

"Ya know somethin'," the woman began, tone stoic as it always was. "I don't know why I pay ya, that's what." She sat, legs crossed, upon her couch- Just as she always did- Watching Gavroche with sharp eyes, with weary eyes. "Hell, I don' even pay my own heatin' bills- Why am I payin' you?" Montparnasse mused aloud, almost idly. Quite likely, she didn't realize she had spoken- She turned her gaze to the half-empty glass in her hand and swirled the liquid slightly. "Hell!"

Gavroche turned to face her, raising an eyebrow and eyeing the glass in her hand. She was a light-weight. He wouldn't tell her that-- not until she was more drunk than this. She could still chase him around the house if she chose. "I dunno why ya pay me-- maybe 'cause I ain't plannin' ta clean if ya don't," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. He was fourteen now-- and still it seemed he had no issues mouthing off to the most feared criminal in Paris. 

Where's your boundary? What makes something too far for you? Basically- Do you consider yourself to be a good person?

"--Do I consider m'self a good person? Ain't that a fun question? When yer a kid on the street, ain't a whole lotta obeyin' the law you can do if ya wanna live. Ya gotta steal. Ya gotta sleep wherever ya can. An' maybe it ain't what ya wanna do-- but ya gotta. Y'ain't got no other choice if'n ya wanna survive. Does it make me a bad person ta steal if it's th'only way I can eat? I don' fink so. I heard some people talkin' once-- said yer doin' sumfin' morally wrong if yer decreasin' the amount o' happiness in the world. I don' fink I ever did that-- if anythin' I made more people happy by feedin' th'other kids on the street than I ever done by stealin' a loaf o' bread. Sumfin' goin' too far fer me-- maybe it's jus' when ya do sumfin' bad jus' fer the hell of it, not 'cause ya gotta."