Gavroche Thénardier

        Gavroche couldn’t help when his head tilted to the side, much like a dog when they’re confused. The way he spoke was strange, the thing that mostly confused him was the use of the word ‘human’; after all, were they all not human? “ Pardonne-moi, monsieur? Je ne comprends pas ce que vous voulez dire. Toutes les formes d'art ne sont-elles pas humaines?” Gavroche asked, unsure as to whether he truly wished to know the answer. Though, staying away from his memories was easier said than done, he was haunted by his memories. “I can’t do that  monsieur, my friends are the only thing I have.”

       “Merci beaucoup Mademoiselle.” Gavroche smiled at her, bundling up into his blankets. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle; but I have no other musing to sing, my song has ended.”

       Gavroche took the bottle in a hand far larger than his original size. He worried if he grasped it to hard it would smash in his newly over-sized hands. With shaking breaths, he took a small sip of the bottle, he wasn’t sure if it was working at first, but then suddenly, he began to shrink once more, returning to his usual size. “Oh mon Dieu! Thank you so much, Madame!”

       Gavroche’s attention was pulled to the other when he mentioned that he too had come face to face with death. Unknown that most, if not all of the men at the barricades also faced an untimely end, he couldn’t help but smile. The idea that someone else knew what he was going through, was... Comforting. “It’s nice to know that someone else understands... I’d never be able to talk to my friends about it...” Gavroche admitted, though he doubted he’d ever openly talk about the way he felt. “You were part of a revolution too, Monsieur Hamilton? Most attractive member of the French revolution, Les Amis de l'ABC: rebels upon the barricade, at your service.” Gavroche smiled.

        Gavroche was quite shocked with how passionate the stranger was with the idea of him becoming a singer. Though, he wasn’t able to think about himself right now; he needed to get back to the men at the barricade. “I wish I could, mon amie. I just have more important things going on at the moment.” Gavroche didn’t know what an open mic was, nor even what karaoke is; but he nodded his head along. “I’m Gavroche, it’s a pleasure to meet you,  Mademoiselle Usagi.”

        When he’d finished singing, Gavroche had begun to bundle himself up with various scraps of cloth and clothing he’d gathered. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but honestly; he’d called worse places home. His missed his friends more than he could imagine, he wasn’t sure how they would even react if they did see him now. He was almost startled when he heard the voice, but regardless of how he was feeling, a familiar smile found it’s place upon his lips. “Thank you, Mademoiselle.” Something about this woman screamed regal, or royalty, but it wasn’t a BAD thing. He liked her, even though he didn’t know her. He could already hear  Grantaire’s voice yelling at him for being so trusting to strangers. He nodded his head as an answer, shuffling up just slightly for her to sit down, but he removed the cloth from his legs, laying it across the floor so she didn’t have to sit on the cold pavement. “I’d be delighted if you would join me, Miss.”

        His accent wasn’t French, Gavroche didn’t know where his accent was from, but he wasn’t a native french speaker, so it must have been he was someone of an educational background. None of his relatives were allowed to attend a school, Gavroche certainly wouldn’t have been allowed, he wasn’t exactly well liked by his parents, not at all. “That’s an odd question, Monsieur.” Gavroche answered plainly, though it was a good question. “In honesty, sir. I don’t know how I got here. I must sound absolutely ridicule, but I was....” Gavroche closed his eyes tightly, trying to muster the strength to admit his deepest fear. “I believe I was killed,  Monsieur. During the revolution I was shot getting ammunition for the men of the barricade.” 

        Gavroche nodded his head. “Oui. I am from France, where are you from Mademoiselle?” Gavroche got a little closer just to see if he could get a better view of the car. He’d never seen such different parts like this before, it was very confusing; but they intrigued him. “It’s very interesting, Madame. Though, I still don’t understand you say you were... ONE of these?”

        Gavroche set his gaze upon the boy who spoke, he was half tempted to answer him sarcastically but the other was being kind to him right now, giving him compliments for his voice. “Uhm... Merci beaucoup.” He looked around the blankets he had gathered as if it were obvious. “Uh, well I was actually about to go to sleep, but now I’m talking to you, mon amie.”

        Gavroche smiled when the voice spoke, though it wasn’t sung the words still carried their powerful meanings; though Gavroche was still a singer at heart, as well as a revolutionary, he couldn’t remember who taught him the poem, it was most probably Grantaire. “Vous connaissez le poème? Mon ami me l'a appris, Il me manque beaucoup.” Gavroche spoke, a soft sigh falling from his lips, though he nodded his head. “Oui, I know it’s traditionally spoken, but my friends and I often sing, and it reminds me of them.”

        Gavroche was in the process of bundling himself up with a few blankets he’s stole from one of the local stores around. This world was so strange, everything was far too advanced for him, technology had far advanced what he was used to, the most technological thing they had was a sewing machine. His attention was drawn to the man whom spoke. “Oui. My friends used to do it all the time when they drank together, we sang about revolution and hardships mostly.” 

        Gavroche wasn’t a stranger to people listening to him sing, he often used to sing to the younger boys whom he let stay in his elephant statue with him to send them off to sleep. Singing helped him relax, since he’d awoken memories of his death constantly plagued his mind, being shot on the battlefield when collecting ammunition for the revolution was beginning to take it’s toll. “Merci beaucoup, mister.” Gavroche’s eyes widened as he saw the fruit; he was starving.  Though he worried his answer would take the offer of food away. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I made the song up then, monsieur. It doesn’t really have a name...”

        Gavroche turned around, opening his mouth the allow the cakes to fall out of his mouth and onto the floor. Panic struck in his voice when he spoke: “Cursed? Je ne comprends pas, how can a cake be cursed?” Though he’d spat most of the cake out, he had swallowed a little bit, and he could feel his body tingle, it began to grow a little larger in size, he was beginning to be a few feet taller than he actually was... “Qu'est-ce qui se passe? How do I stop this!?”