This totally cracked me up.
I was looking through my old stuff on the computer, hoping to find some old music that I could take the themes from and use as music loops for my friends' video game. I seem to have mined that whole lode, but I also came across an old document full of Les Mis fanfiction. It was written in the good old days when that was my main obsession; the document was created in April 2004 (which would make me a freshman at the time… awwwwwww! ^^). It's from the LMFFI card game, where two cards (with characters on them) are randomly generated from the deck and you have to write about one from the perspective of the other. The "Marie-Suzanne" card meant that you could use a made-up character. I invented Claire Prouvaire after realising that I was too much like Jean Prouvaire for him to be my ami… er… well, that's a long story. Me and some other people had this running joke thing about going out with the Friends of the ABC. Anyway, I decided that if I were in any way connected to the Friends of the ABC, I'd be Jean Prouvaire's sister instead. Anyway, it's a bit of a dumb story (I was a freshman, after all, and I'm relieved to find that my writing actually has improved since then), but there are parts that I find hilarious. Maybe that's just because I wrote it. Anyway, I guess that explains this whole thing:
Viewpoint Character: Les Amis (specifically, Feuilly)
Secondary Character: Marie-Suzanne (aka Claire Prouvaire)
What If . . .?
None of us had ever met the poet's little sister before. Why he wanted to introduce us to her, and her to us, I for one had no idea. Jehan's sister Claire was . . . not unattractive . . . but I didn't know what interest little sixteen-year-old Claire Prouvaire would have in a meeting of revolutionaries.
After we all spent a few hours with Claire among us, I could safely and honestly say that she was even shyer than her brother. Yes, such a thing is possible. I witnessed it.
“This is Enjolras,” Jean Prouvaire told his sister. “The one who organizes everything. He's very organized.” Enjolras smiled slightly and waved.
I looked at Claire. From the expression on her face, I could tell that she was completely smitten with Enjolras. Unfortunately for Mlle. Prouvaire, Enjolras would probably never notice her. Enjolras was the exact opposite of a ladies' man.
“This is Combeferre, and this is Courfeyrac, and this is Feuilly,” he continued. We all said hello to Claire as Jean Prouvaire introduced us to her. L'Aigle even tipped his toupée.
I doubt Claire even noticed what was happening for most of the meeting. She was writing poetry.
Yes, poetry. Whenever I glanced at her, she reminded me so much of her brother it was funny. I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Apparently this made my face look sort of funny, because at one point Joly jumped up, his eyes wide, and cried, “Keep away from Feuilly! He's got the Black Death!”
At this point, I stood up myself and would have slapped him had Claire not suddenly burst out laughing, then stopped as she realized that nobody else was laughing. We were all so used to it that it didn't make us laugh anymore. Not even Courfeyrac.
I looked over at her. Her face (what I could see of it, for she was positioned in such a way that most of her face was hidden by her long, light brown hair) was bright red and she was busily writing again.
“I can't believe it!” Courfeyrac said to me in disbelief as we were leaving.
I, of course, thought he was talking about how very much alike Jehan and Claire were. So I replied, “Me neither. Isn't it amazing?”
“I know!” squealed Courfeyrac, obviously excited. “You didn't mention Poland all meeting!”
Enjolras and I both happened to come early to the next meeting. He was looking down at a piece of paper in his hands and frowning.
“What's that?” I asked him.
“I don't understand it,” said Enjolras, and handed it to me. “But I think it's a compliment.”
I looked it over. “Why don't you understand it?” I said. “It looks like it's in French.”
“I know,” said Enjolras, “but it's all Greek to me!”
Then I actually read it. It was written in a neat, feminine hand, and I suspected even before I read it who it was from.
It was a love letter, signed “Claire”.
“Jean Prouvaire's sister is in love with you,” I said matter-of-factly as I handed the letter back to Enjolras.
“In love with me?”
“Yes,” I said. “She's avoided actually saying it outright, but you can tell.”
“I still don't understand. Why is she in love with me?”
I scanned the letter again. “She says, in a nutshell, that you're amazingly good-looking, eloquent, and noble.”
“I don't get this whole 'love' thing. I don't love any women I meet. Why is one in love with me?”
“I'm sorry, mon ami,” I said, “but I can't explain it any further. Claire Prouvaire is in love with you. She admires you and wants to be in your company.”
Enjolras went very pale.
“What is it?” I asked.
“What if Grantaire's in love with me too?”
Viewpoint Character: Les Amis (specifically, Feuilly)
Secondary Character: Marie-Suzanne (aka Claire Prouvaire)
What If . . .?
None of us had ever met the poet's little sister before. Why he wanted to introduce us to her, and her to us, I for one had no idea. Jehan's sister Claire was . . . not unattractive . . . but I didn't know what interest little sixteen-year-old Claire Prouvaire would have in a meeting of revolutionaries.
After we all spent a few hours with Claire among us, I could safely and honestly say that she was even shyer than her brother. Yes, such a thing is possible. I witnessed it.
“This is Enjolras,” Jean Prouvaire told his sister. “The one who organizes everything. He's very organized.” Enjolras smiled slightly and waved.
I looked at Claire. From the expression on her face, I could tell that she was completely smitten with Enjolras. Unfortunately for Mlle. Prouvaire, Enjolras would probably never notice her. Enjolras was the exact opposite of a ladies' man.
“This is Combeferre, and this is Courfeyrac, and this is Feuilly,” he continued. We all said hello to Claire as Jean Prouvaire introduced us to her. L'Aigle even tipped his toupée.
I doubt Claire even noticed what was happening for most of the meeting. She was writing poetry.
Yes, poetry. Whenever I glanced at her, she reminded me so much of her brother it was funny. I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Apparently this made my face look sort of funny, because at one point Joly jumped up, his eyes wide, and cried, “Keep away from Feuilly! He's got the Black Death!”
At this point, I stood up myself and would have slapped him had Claire not suddenly burst out laughing, then stopped as she realized that nobody else was laughing. We were all so used to it that it didn't make us laugh anymore. Not even Courfeyrac.
I looked over at her. Her face (what I could see of it, for she was positioned in such a way that most of her face was hidden by her long, light brown hair) was bright red and she was busily writing again.
“I can't believe it!” Courfeyrac said to me in disbelief as we were leaving.
I, of course, thought he was talking about how very much alike Jehan and Claire were. So I replied, “Me neither. Isn't it amazing?”
“I know!” squealed Courfeyrac, obviously excited. “You didn't mention Poland all meeting!”
Enjolras and I both happened to come early to the next meeting. He was looking down at a piece of paper in his hands and frowning.
“What's that?” I asked him.
“I don't understand it,” said Enjolras, and handed it to me. “But I think it's a compliment.”
I looked it over. “Why don't you understand it?” I said. “It looks like it's in French.”
“I know,” said Enjolras, “but it's all Greek to me!”
Then I actually read it. It was written in a neat, feminine hand, and I suspected even before I read it who it was from.
It was a love letter, signed “Claire”.
“Jean Prouvaire's sister is in love with you,” I said matter-of-factly as I handed the letter back to Enjolras.
“In love with me?”
“Yes,” I said. “She's avoided actually saying it outright, but you can tell.”
“I still don't understand. Why is she in love with me?”
I scanned the letter again. “She says, in a nutshell, that you're amazingly good-looking, eloquent, and noble.”
“I don't get this whole 'love' thing. I don't love any women I meet. Why is one in love with me?”
“I'm sorry, mon ami,” I said, “but I can't explain it any further. Claire Prouvaire is in love with you. She admires you and wants to be in your company.”
Enjolras went very pale.
“What is it?” I asked.
“What if Grantaire's in love with me too?”