"Mr Cassidy then." She falters, trying to read his expression. "You... you remember me, don't you? Eponine. From the garden, yes? You showed me how to dig the weeds away."
She steps back a little, watching Tom warily. Her confidence is already fading: an unsettling feeling is stirring in her stomach. It's that same sort of feeling she used to get in the pit of her belly when she lied to her father or Montparnasse about how much money she'd got, so she could keep some for herself. It was definitely a feeling of trouble brewing.
"I..." She has no answer for Tom. How can she get food? "I can steal it for you. I am a good thief, Sir, clever with my fingers. I swear. Only, I wanted to be good. Wanted to ask so I could win. When I win, next time, I will keep you fed all arena. I swear. Please, Mr. Cassidy?" She's still edging backwards, closer and closer to the door. This is definitely a mistake: she needs to live, and to live, she needs to remain unhurt at all. And right now, she's not sure at all whether Tom is friend or foe.
no subject
She steps back a little, watching Tom warily. Her confidence is already fading: an unsettling feeling is stirring in her stomach. It's that same sort of feeling she used to get in the pit of her belly when she lied to her father or Montparnasse about how much money she'd got, so she could keep some for herself. It was definitely a feeling of trouble brewing.
"I..." She has no answer for Tom. How can she get food?
"I can steal it for you. I am a good thief, Sir, clever with my fingers. I swear. Only, I wanted to be good. Wanted to ask so I could win. When I win, next time, I will keep you fed all arena. I swear. Please, Mr. Cassidy?" She's still edging backwards, closer and closer to the door. This is definitely a mistake: she needs to live, and to live, she needs to remain unhurt at all. And right now, she's not sure at all whether Tom is friend or foe.