Introduction of an Anarchist

[likeclearwater]

Here is a girl of eleven or so, tall for her age and thin, with a cloud of dark hair and a bearing that, even in the gangling uncertainty of pre-adolescence, is self assured, steady, supple with the freedom of someone who has never known a locked door

Comments

[she_is_france]

Enjolras looks at her, thoughtful. She makes him think of things he worked for.

"I don't know either," he says, "Citizen," (he could not call her mademoiselle) "Citizen, come up and out of the cold. Your coat is thin."

[likeclearwater]

"Oh," she says, and trots up the steps to him, "It is cold."

She smiles. "You're lost too?" she asks, ruefully amused, sharing the joke equal to equal.

[she_is_france]

His eyes are laughing, though his mouth doesn't smile. "Yes," he says, and pushes the door open, holding it for her to go first, a gesture more to do with the relative lightness of her jacket then anything else.

[likeclearwater]

She accepts it, easily, it never occurring to her to read it any other way.

"That is warmer," she says, once inside. "I'm sorry you're lost, brother."

[she_is_france]

"Thank you," he says, and shrugs just a small bit. "I'm not so very lost."

[likeclearwater]

"That's good," she says, "I'm glad, then." She smiles at him, and falls into thoughtful quiet.