milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Gavroche comes in, a certain braided leather bracelet safely on his wrist, and finds a place to sit.

He's subdued, but not really grieving.

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Mercutio is bouncing a ball at the wall fairly nearby

Gavroche watches him with interest, when he notices.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

His face is bored and his movements languid and elegant.

He's staring at empty space.

Gavroche stares at the empty space too.

What? It's distracting.

Mercutio misses a catch, and the ball drops and rolls towards Gavroche. He cranes to fetch it, and smiles at Gavroche when he sees him.

He smiles back, mostly convincingly.

"Good day, small one." He grabs the ball.

"Mercutio of Verona."

"Gavroche. Of Paris. Hi."

"A Frenchman." Mercutio nods. "I will not hold it against you."

He grins crookedly. "Thanks."

"You are welcome."

He pauses.

"Unless you invade my country, of course."

"Not invading anywhere", he promises.

"Aye, the French promise that relatively often."

He eyes Gavroche with mock-suspicion.

He shrugs, smile fading.

"Well, I live here now."

Nearby, there is a rat-speaker, only a few years older than Gavroche, on the floor, nibbling at a piece of meat.

And quietly squeaking.

She knows that boy.

He doesn't know her by name, but he can guess who she is.

"...Hi."

She tilts her head a little.

"Hullo, Lady Door's son."

Ana is observant. She does not, however, catch names.

"Gavroche. You're a Rat-Speaker."

"Yeah. Anaesthesia. Y'know Richard?"

"Met him. He makes good milkshake."

This is what matters, when you're ten.

It's what matters period, when you're Ana.

"S'my best friend," she says, proudly. "With the rats."

"Is he a Ratspeaker too?"

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