Verse 09 - Video

[poeticverses]

[Here's a seldom seen face on the network. Jehan's been sick and it shows--he's paler than normal and he sounds a little stuffy.

(The illness was actually convenient. He hasn't been feeling very sociable and this gave him a very good reason to not be sociable.)

But he is feeling better and he supposes he'd best let whoever may have been looking for him know, as well as see who all has shown up in his absence. In the background, you can hear his panpipes playing 19th century Christmas carols]

I had forgotten that simply because I am indisposed does not mean that the world at large is equally indisposed. I have been largely unavailable for the last month, for reasons I suspect are obvious [and here he turns to cough] and I am afraid I have no idea where we are or what has happened. Would anyone be so kind as to, ah, inform me?

For those who may have joined us in the last month, or for those who may have forgotten my face, I am Jean Prouvaire, formerly of Paris.

Comments

[poeticverses]

Something sweet, then.

[jondrette]

Something sweet you shall have!

I will be at your suite shortly.

[She disconnects, and half-an-hour later, she's knocking on his door, with a basket under one arm.] M'sieur Prouvaire!

[poeticverses]

[Ever polite, Jehan hurries to get his door. He's not as dressed as he probably should be, seeing how he's in his housecoat, but he's sick.]

Hello, Époinine.

[jondrette]

Hello, I have brought you food! [She pushes into his house, not minding that he's in his housecoat at all.]

[poeticverses]

And thank you. It isn't soup, yes?

[jondrette]

You said no soup, so I did not get you soup. Instead, I brought a multitude of things. [She opens her basket- there's a wedge of brie in there, some jam, a baguette, meats.]

[poeticverses]

--oh, you are a saint, mademoiselle. Where did you find the cheese? I haven't found a suitable replacement in this city once.

[jondrette]

I am not a saint, I am damned. The cheese I found in a small shop some time ago. It looked the closest to it, and tastes quite close to what you must be used to. [She's still not over being able to afford food regularly.]

Perhaps I just know where to look. But do not call me mademoiselle. My name is Eponine, you must call me that.

[poeticverses]

All saints are the damned. It is simply the Church who raises them above their damnation into sainthood. And your name may be Éponine but you are also a mademoiselle. I shall attempt to call you by your name more often, if you prefer.

[jondrette]

You speak prettily. I would prefer that, m'sieur. [He'll be m'sieur until he says otherwise, too.] I am not used to being called mademoiselle. It is always accompanied with a mocking tone.

[poeticverses]

I cannot imagine why. You are a young woman, yes? Why would they mock what you are?

[jondrette]

My father would call me 'madamoiselle' to be cruel. He knew I would never be a real lady, worthy of such a title.

[poeticverses]

[He frowns as he puts the food in his kitchen]

We call small children mademoiselle. I do not see how one's status in life has anything to do with what we call someone. That is absurd.

[jondrette]

He meant to mock me. That is all that matters m'sieur. He is an absurd man.

[poeticverses]

[Well, at least he doesn't have to say it.]

I am sorry that he felt the need to mock you.

[jondrette]

There is no need to feel sorry. It is how it is. I do not have to see him anymore.

I severed that tie even before the barricades rose.