OPEN POST

[serenesuccessor]

1) Call out one of my muses!
2) Post a prompt, song lyric, picture, or anything really and I'll come up with a starter~ All AUs welcome!
3) Hard mode! No Enjolras

Comments

Re: I reject rule 3. No regrets.

[heroespride]

[OOC: Pfffft everyone tends to ignore that one. Question is modern or canon?]

Re: I reject rule 3. No regrets.

[jondrette]

[your call]

I hope this works... Went with modern because it worked better.

[weneedasign]

[It had been Combeferre's idea to see the moth exhibit at the museum. Enjolras hadn't been very interested, but had agreed regardless because, well, it was Combeferre.

Of course he's spent half the trip outside the exhibit room, not truly in the mood for moths to fly all over him. After wandering around the museum twice he slipped out of the building, avoiding a puddle from the early morning rainstorm. How long could Combeferre wander around studying mo-

Wait. It was Combeferre. Enjolras sighed, leaning against the wall.

[neverminetolose]

[Eponine's hands were jammed deep in her pockets, her converse soaking wet through the rain. Her hair and jeans were wet, and she, on the whole, looked relatively disheveled. But what else was new? This was Eponine. What was new, however, were the way her messy, dirty hair fell over her eyes, how she seemed to be glancing over her shoulder every few minutes, a large backpack over the other shoulder.

She walked without really realizing where she was going or even caring, her eyes wild and unfocused. She only looked up when a car whizzed by her just as she was about to step off the sidewalk, blarring it's horn at her.] Yeah? Fuck you too. Shouldda let them hit me, [Eponine muttered darkly before realizing that someone was watching her. Turning, she saw a relatively familiar face.]

What are you doing here?

[weneedasign]

[The horn blaring was what made him turn his attention.

He stares at Eponine, eyebrow raised and a bit concerned. In response to her question he jabs his thumb over his shoulder at the museum.]

Combeferre was interested in an exhibit. What are you doing?

[neverminetolose]

[It takes her a moment to recognize his question, and even then, to respond to it. Reaching both hands up, she tucks her hair behind her ears.]

Walking. Getting hit by cars. The usual. [She adjusts her beanie, also still wet from the rain, before reaching up to scratch at the back of her neck, her fingers dirty, her sweater worn.]