"We are -" Eponine had started to say, just as Marius told Ian of Paris. It stopped her, though, from continuing her sentence, Marius' words. They WEREN'T friends, not at all. Never had been, never would be. She was just a mangy alley cat he fed occasionally. She had to look away. At Marius' words to her, though, she looked back, and that listless, half dead look she had worn in Paris was back - Capitol enhancements to make her eyes sparkle be damned. She looked back, met his eyes, and looked away.

"Is it a crime now to walk, Monsieur? Surely it is not?" She laughed, trying to keep her tone light, flirtatious.

"Surely you trust me a little more than to think I would murder you here - I am not a murderer, never mind what Montparnasse and my father are. Surely you know me more than that, Sir? Or do you think because I have been in prison I have learned that?"

She shrugged. "I cannot change your mind, Sir, if that is what you think of me."