The car ride is excitement enough for Eponine not to think about hunger. It's rare she's been in a car, and she can't help running her hands over the seats and fiddling with the window roller-down gadget.
Once back at the flat, she lets out a sigh. "How do you have a place? Do the authorities not come looking?" The amount of social service officials she has had to run from over the years is ridiculous. She's on the brink of adult-hood: how is a child managing to evade the nosy old crows?
She can't help the quick glances, noting things of value - or what she thinks is value - as she makes her way to the bathroom. She doesn't think she's particularly dirty - she has definitely been dirtier - but she does as she's told anyway. The shower's nice, warm, and she spends her time just sat under it, letting it was away the grime as she tries to untangle her hair with the shampoo and a brush she swiped on her way in.
It's around half an hour or more before she emerges, wet hair dripping blackly in her face, and her stinking clothes clutched in her hands. She's dressed though - sort of. Rather than the ripped jeans, she wears a tatty black skirt, fish nets, her old boots and a leather jacket zipped up.
"It's a nice place, here. That shower was the best I ever had. It never runs out of water, does it? Always, hot, and getting warmer. I could live under such a stream. We had a shower too, when we had a proper room, but it doesn't run as fast, or if someone uses the toilet. I think perhaps it's broke, but a shower is a shower, and it makes me clean."
If Joss looks into the bathroom, he might find his brush, minus quite a lot of bristles, and with a lot of black hair stuck in it, dumped in the bin under a lot of toilet roll. Nothing else is missing, just a bar of soap. But everyone takes the hotel amenities, right?
She goes across to the bedroom door, opens it, and pokes her head in, before going in completely.
"Now this is a nice room." She sits on the edge of the bed. "So comfortable."
no subject
Once back at the flat, she lets out a sigh. "How do you have a place? Do the authorities not come looking?" The amount of social service officials she has had to run from over the years is ridiculous. She's on the brink of adult-hood: how is a child managing to evade the nosy old crows?
She can't help the quick glances, noting things of value - or what she thinks is value - as she makes her way to the bathroom. She doesn't think she's particularly dirty - she has definitely been dirtier - but she does as she's told anyway. The shower's nice, warm, and she spends her time just sat under it, letting it was away the grime as she tries to untangle her hair with the shampoo and a brush she swiped on her way in.
It's around half an hour or more before she emerges, wet hair dripping blackly in her face, and her stinking clothes clutched in her hands. She's dressed though - sort of. Rather than the ripped jeans, she wears a tatty black skirt, fish nets, her old boots and a leather jacket zipped up.
"It's a nice place, here. That shower was the best I ever had. It never runs out of water, does it? Always, hot, and getting warmer. I could live under such a stream. We had a shower too, when we had a proper room, but it doesn't run as fast, or if someone uses the toilet. I think perhaps it's broke, but a shower is a shower, and it makes me clean."
If Joss looks into the bathroom, he might find his brush, minus quite a lot of bristles, and with a lot of black hair stuck in it, dumped in the bin under a lot of toilet roll. Nothing else is missing, just a bar of soap. But everyone takes the hotel amenities, right?
She goes across to the bedroom door, opens it, and pokes her head in, before going in completely.
"Now this is a nice room." She sits on the edge of the bed. "So comfortable."