Life's Great Happiness (A Les Miserables FanFiction)

Paris' beautiful Scoundrel

'Where 'ave 'oo been?' The drunken voice of Marguerite's boss sent shivers down her spine, she wasn't fearless; she had been beaten too many times to be that.

'Out with a customer, I'll show you the money if you'd like.' Marguerite said and it was no lie, well the money wasn't at least. She had run through the crowded streets of Paris and stole a good 11 francs from a man's pocket.

But the boss was too drunk to care much; he was too drunk to understand Marguerite at all so he hit her across the face. The punch was sloppy, not aimed right in his drunken haze but it had hurt, not hurt enough for Marguerite to collapse in pain but she wouldn't let the boss know that or he'd hit her again. Marguerite fell to the ground and scrambled backwards from the intoxicated man, she leaped up when he had closed his eyes and dragged his hand over his eyes; she ran until she hit a wall, her breathing was ragged but she felt a weight off her shoulders knowing her boss would not remember what had just transpired the next morning.

'Well isn't this a mournful sight indeed, tell me Mademoiselle what is a flower like you doing here? Oh and with such a bruised cheek and bloody lip.' The voice which met Marguerite was sweet and smooth, it was equal parts mocking and genuine, it made the young prostitute frown and her eyes hardened with mistrust.

Marguerite squinted into the darkness of the alley, wanting to see a face matched with that voice but she found none.

'Show yourself!'

'Women shouldn't yell like that.'

'I'll show you what women shouldn't do if you don't show yourself!'

Laughter echoed in Marguerite's head as a figure stepped forwards, her eyes widened a fraction as she know knew the face which stood before her.

A young man her age grinned down at her with frightening charm, he was pretty and Marguerite might have thought him beautiful had she not seen Enjolras earlier that day, since glimpsing the blonde's face the word 'beautiful' seemed only made for him. His dark locks atop his head caused his eyes to glow with like spring; slender with hips like a woman he wore a flower in his button-hole and an elaborately tied cravat around his neck.

Montparnasse stared down at Marguerite with a raised eyebrow.

'You're Montparnasse.' She said simply.

'Ah,' Laughed he. 'you know me!'

'I'd think the whole of Paris would know you.' Marguerite pushed herself off the ground and with fake confidence she stared into Montparnasse's eyes with an intensity that made him grin wider. 'You're the feminine looking boy who kills for clothes, ah what a legacy.'

'I'd watch your tongue.' The bandit hissed. 'I really don't want to kill you but I don't take back-chat from anyone, not even a little girl.'

'What do you want? Come to steal from me? I'm a prostitute and I haven't a customer all day so I'll love to see what you think you can steal from me.'

'You've got something of mine, money you stole. You know at first I thought you were a little street urchin but I followed you to that alley, I saw you and…..your boss? What a nasty punch that was but I'm assuming you've had worst, most whores have I imagine but enough babble.' Montparnasse straightened his back and held his hand out in front of him, his eyes narrowed but his lips turned upwards in a charming way that would make most woman fall to their knees but Marguerite wouldn't have it, no doubt the money she had stolen from the murderer was stolen from someone else so keeping it for herself would be better than giving It to him.

'But monsieur I am poor and weak, shall I keep the money and give you something else in return?'

Montparnasse placed his hands on the young girl's waist, his fingers danced over the fabric of her tight dress as Marguerite plastered on a fake smile for his pleasure. The bandit's hands moved lower, towards the small pocket on the back of dress and Marguerite narrowed her eyes and pushed herself out of his hold.