Is he seriously asking a French beggar to write letters? Eponine is proud of her literacy proficiency, but not too many other people will be impressed by her shaky hand or phonetic spellings.

Still.

Eponine nods. "I can write, Sir. I teach myself English. I can write in him."

She bites her lip. "Did it hurt? When you..." She swallows. "I mean, well... why don't you care? Why are you talking about a letter when you are murdered in a street? Most people would say I am evil and be done. 'Parnasse would laugh. He thinks it's fun when I kill. He says it's because I am pathetic, I have no control. I don't know though. I think he likes it." She grins. If those shady alley way rendez-vous are anything to go by, Montparnasse definitely likes it when she kills.

"Why do you care so much for a letter, Sir?"

She reaches a trembling hand into her pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Don't tell Joss, but the tobacco has been treated with fae blood. And she is so desperate for a hit. She lights up before offering one to Waldo.

"They cost me four telephones, these. Worth it though. They are good, you know?"