Eponine, on the other hand, is at home in the shadows. Her attitude in this arena has changed as well. Before she had been quite quiet, as far as fighting went. She had refused. She'd tried to forge her own way. She'd tried to retain that little, tiny but of goodness that she had left. She'd tried so hard to be good.

But what is the point? She isn't good. She never will be good now. And she will never, ever be able to forge her own way in this strange, strange world. She has to give in and play the game.

Which is why she's crouched under a bench, concealed by the shadows, clutching a long shard of glass. As soon as R had left her after their Cornucopia dash, she'd smashed a display case in order to arm herself. And now... now it sort of feels like Paris, hiding in the dark, waiting for her man to find her. And, though she might hate it, it's oddly comforting as well. She knows how to operate in the darkness. She knows what to do.

She strains her eyes in the dark, looking for R to come to her. And, luckily for Eponine, he stops right near her bench. When he whispers and she ascertains that it is he, she shoots her hand out from under the bench to grab his ankle. Let him scream.