on my own.

  éponine ramelle   waitress

[theponine-blog]

spiritmaidcn:

“look! look!” she’s trying to find the page again, she’s really excited about the subject she’s been studying. something to do with physics. “did you know almost all of the universe is missing?” 

Eponine raised her eyebrows as she stood at the girls table before shaking her head. “What the hell does that mean?” She asked, her words affected by a french accent. “It seems like most of the important parts are here, no?”

[theponine-blog]

NAME: Eponine Ramelle ( formerly Éponine Thénardier in the novel Les Misérables ) Age & Birthday: 26; June 15th Hometown: Paris, France Occupation: Waitress at Pete’s Diner

ON MY OWN

Eponine was born June 15th in Paris, France to an upper middle class couple who owned a cafe in the busy, picturesque city. Growing up her parents spoiled her and her younger sister all they could, even taking in a foster child for some extra cash to lavish their two natural daughters with. She was dressed in the finest of clothes, fed with a silver spoon and treated as though she were a princess. She and her younger sister got all they wanted growing up, every toy, every doll, every candy bar, whilst her foster sister stayed at home and took care of the chores. Eponine was young and didn’t know any better but to follow her parents lead, whether it was by ignoring or picking on her foster sister, her and her natural younger sister could both act equally as cruel to the girl. It wasn’t until she was adopted that she started to live with some form of normalcy . . . That is, until her parents business went bankrupt. 

Her parents had gone broke and all the lovely things Eponine had become accustomed to having went away. They sold most of her nice clothes and toys, leaving her only with hand-me-downs when they moved to a more impoverished area of France. Her parents made their money off of begging and soon extorted their daughters into doing the same. Eponine was merely eleven years old the first time she panhandled, she’d even been pulled out of school to help her family get the money to survive. When she was thirteen, her father taught her a new way to find money, an easier, less humiliating method. Stealing. She started with stealing food from stores, then it was pick-pocketing, and before she knew it she’d stolen enough and her family had a passport to travel to America. All the passports were of course fake but Eponine could tell by the fear in her parents eyes that they had no choice. The police were onto them for their cons and thievery and they needed to leave France before it all caught up to them.

Which brought them to Boston. Eponine went back to school but often wound up ditching rather than staying in class when she was already years behind and spoke terrible English. Her parents continued to make money wherever they could, exploiting Eponine and her sister just the same to gain them charity here and there. It wasn’t until Eponine was sixteen that the cycle was broken. She dropped out of school after a heated fight between herself and her father, trying to stand up for a friend whom her parents planned to con the parents of her father slapped her across the face. It took her years to see it but then she did; her parents were awful people, leeches and criminals and she’d be damned if she had to become the same brand of filth they had. So she left. She dropped out, packed a modest bag of what little she could call her own and ran away. Her parents looked for a little while though gave up after a few weeks, rather they refocused their “love” towards her younger sister.

Eponine traveled a few years, her English improved while she was on the streets and she picked up a bad crowd of friends and a few bad habits as well. She forged a fake ID thanks to one of those friends and got work at a fried chicken establishment. Those were the years that she began to spiral. Drugs, booze, sex and everything in between became her reality. She was circling a drain in this life she made for herself, separate from her families, until finally she was forced to come back to reality. Flash forward and she was twenty two years old getting fired from her job at that same chicken joint. When she had no money she had no drugs or booze, and when her friends picked up on the lack of party favors she could afford, she stopped having them as well. 

Once again she called the streets her home and traveled about, hitching rides with strangers and sneaking on the bus every so often, until she found herself in Sparkwood, Virginia. It was a nice town and she decided she could see herself settling down there, so she found a job waitressing at a diner. After a few months, locked down an apartment with a roommate. She’s still not sure where she’s going with her life and she still finds herself at the bottom of a bottle, alone in the middle of the day every now and again but at least she can say she isn’t her parents, right?

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: Resourceful, brave, passionate NEGATIVE: Cynical, manipulative, selfish

[theponine-blog]

bloodboundfate:

“I must insist you have a meal with me,” Hannibal said, uncaring whether or not he knew the other personally. “It may seem strange, but I promise I do not bite – I’ve been really itching to cook for someone since I’ve moved here,” he explained, his demeanor measurably gentle and friendly. “Back in the city, I would often hold dinners with my colleagues and, selfishly, I love to hear their thoughts on what I’ve cooked for them. They’re rather positive across the board.” He smiled and let out an easy chuckle.

Eponine looked up at the man who spoke and a small smirk came upon her features. The last time she had a home cooked meal she almost couldn’t remember, it was probably back when she was an adolescent, before she made the decision to cut her parents out of her life. “You’re really offering to cook for me just so you can hear my compliments?” She asked before chortling quietly and nodded. “Sure, I’ve lived off microwave food and ramen for years, a home cooked meal would be a nice change.” She agreed, although still a little taken aback by his kindness, something she wasn’t used to finding in others.

[gotqueensdaily]

Natalie Dormer photographed by Mariano Vivanco for Vanity Fair (November 2013)

[elpoeplufituaebeht]

Natalie Dormer

[teenager-stuff]

[theponine-blog]

kdonaghue:

         “Right, and would you judge a veteran on the street, who couldn’t get a job because they’ve got ptsd practically stamped on their forehead for all to see,” he’s on edge, teetering to the point where his hands shake. how long has he been lying with smiles, ignoring the reality of all his choices. And to have this woman, who has managed to make something of her life, say that who he was, who he’d become was wrong. it shattered him. Kieran wanted more than he got. He wanted a job which wasn’t intermittent and unreliable. he wanted to be able to take custody of his nephew from a mother who didn’t know what to do with him. but his life wasn’t good for a child, especially not one who was sick and needed support he could barely scrape together by sticking his hand in another’s pockets. “Fuck, I don’t even know why I’m arguing with you, you’re just going to see me as some scum on your shoe because clearly you’ve never done anything morally wrong in your life. If you really didn’t care, you’d have let me take that wallet and get on with my life instead of trying to guilt trip me into feeling something for these people.”

Nadia could tell from his next words that she must have really gotten under her skin, though she remained calm, poised as she normally was. She wasn’t sure if this veteran was himself that he was talking about but as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter. Everyone was given a hand, some worse and some better than others but that didn’t mean he had to cheat to make it with whatever his hand happened to be. “I never called you scum.” She shook her head, growing annoyed, especially if words were put in her mouth. She didn’t know him and she was fully aware of that, but he seemed to think he had her pegged. She knew she wasn’t perfect but at the very least she wasn’t a thief. “I don’t care what you do but when you took his wallet I happened to be able to do something about it without it becoming a big deal. I think it’s wrong, you don’t which is entertaining to see you attempt to defend, but it really doesn’t matter. I didn’t tell anyone you were going around stealing,” She pursed her lips together and took a deep breath, remembering when Addy had introduced her to Elliot, the same kid she remembered seeing this hooligan with. “You don’t know me or where I come from or what I’ve gone through and I don’t know any of that about you. Doesn’t change that stealing is wrong and that everyone gets caught eventually. And you know these people are just like us, so I don’t feel bad if I made you feel guilty. They’re human, they work for their money, some of them . . . If what I’m saying upsets you so much I think that just goes to show that there’s truth to it, right?” She asked, raising her eyebrows before shaking her head. “Besides, nobody is forcing you to stay and listen.”

[theponine-blog]

kdonaghue:

     his laugh is a harsh sound. “You think so easily in black and white.” the lilt of his accent turns sharp and thick, brows furrowed. there’s a tether in his mind, pulled taunt and ready to snap. His thoughts were hardly there, turned more towards Elliot, about the bad turn he’s taken; how he needed more meds, and wasn’t that just typical. But here he was, having to deal with some woman’s self-righteous ranting because she believed she knew him. “Have you ever even worried about getting food on the table? about paying your rent, or keeping the water running. Because that’s my reality, darlin’. So no, I’m not entitled to that guys money, but I need it, and so I take it. Simple as that. This is my work. There’s nothing fucking lucky about it.”

Of course Nadia did know what it was like to struggle but even so, she’d never resorted to thievery to get by. When Addison was first born, Nadia was still in school, and as if having a newborn with cystic fibrosis wasn’t hard enough, going through a divorce and taking the financial burden onto herself while finishing her graduate degree - It was hell. She was constantly working either on school, at the restaurant she waitressed at, or looking after Addy. She’d be lying if back then she claimed not to sometimes wonder how much easier life would be had she never been pregnant, postpartum had been something she delt with for a while but even during those rough years, she loved her daughter and wouldn’t trade her for all the riches in the world. “Yeah, actually. I got a job and worked my ass off for years until I started making enough to properly support my family. I don’t feel bad for you. There are ways, stealing is the easy short cut that people with no morals and lazy habits take.” She said before taking a deep breath and shaking her head, wondering why she’d even gotten caught up in an argument she already knew wasn’t going to go her way. She wasn’t in the business of trying to save people from themselves or otherwise fix them, and quite frankly, she was tired and that was hard to come by when she suffered from insomnia half the time. “Really though, I don’t care. I think it’s selfish and wrong but you’re going to do what you want regardless of what I have to say, so I’d really much rather stop wasting both our time here.”

[theponine-blog]

kdonaghue:

       “Never said I wasn’t,” he knows what he is, and he has no intention of making some bland excuse to see himself shine in her eyes. Life was harsh, he’d seen the worst of it in his thirty years, and he wasn’t about to soften his words to spare someone’s feelings. “Truth would be, I don’t. But if you looked a little further than your nose, you notice all kinds of things. That guy who’s wallet you gave back for example. He drove here in a brand new Jaguar, his wallet was Michael Kors, as was his jacket and shoes. Losing four hundred dollars would have done nothing for him, but a lot for me. It’s all about observing.” 

Nadia rolled her eyes and shook her head, her lips pursed together into a taut line as she listened to him. When he was done she slowly nodded her head, eyebrows raised, a very unamused expression on her face. “Just because someone has money to burn doesn’t entitle you to it.” She quipped before shaking her head and looking away briefly before back at him. “I know I’m not going to change your mind and make you decide to be a respectable person all of a sudden but word to the wise, watch your back for people that pay attention. You’re just lucky I don’t care enough to say anything.”

[theponine-blog]

kdonaghue:

       he’d disappeared pretty quick once someone knew his face, taking in the chill night air with his hood pulled up; head tilted back against the brick wall to take in the few stars not blocked out by the glow of the Boston skyline. The hoodie was new, replacing the jacket which was hidden beneath the lift-able seat of his motorbike.A precaution, if anything, in case the woman had decided to rat him out regardless. And, as if summoned from his thought, he catches the sound of heels against concrete, cursing his luck when the blonde practically hits into him. “You should watch yourself,” Kieran warns, frowning, and irritation spiking at the nerve of her. “N’anyway, I don’t take shit from people with kids, m’not that much of an asshole.”

“You’re an asshole for stealing to begin with.” The blonde quipped as she crossed her arms and tilted her head up a fraction. She recognized him from the hospital although the two hadn’t really spoken much. In fact she knew nothing about him, just that now she knew he was apparently a thief with some odd self-righteous morals that just kept her in the clear from being his next victim.  “How could you possibly know which of the people do and don’t have children? Or maybe they don't and they still fucking need it, you don't know. It's disgusting no matter how you choose to justify it to yourself.” 

[theponine-blog]

Nadia Crane’s Back Bay townhouse

[theponine-blog]

kdonaghue:

       a muscle in his jaw ticks, a flicker of acute agitation darkening his relaxed features. he’d been scoping out the same man all night, from his flashy car to the predatory gaze towards the younger women in the bar. in a momentary glance as the other ordered his drink, Kieran had spotted close to four hundred dollars in his wallet; enough to half fill his quota for the night. to have that spoilt, and being unable to make a scene for fear of consequences, makes him curse lowly in Gaelic and roll his eyes at the woman’s smug remark. ignoring her for favour of moving on, Kieran turns, ducking under a man taking a group photo and towards the darker, more secluded, corners of the club. 

The blonde scoffed as she watched him move on and continue his previous acts. Was he a moron, she wondered? Did he really think that continuing to steal from random people at the bar after she had spotted him was a wise move? Whatever, she decided. It was none of her business and for all she knew the guy could be dangerous, she wasn’t about to try to play the hero twice that night. She only did the first time because she knew she could get away with it and had hoped that it would make a point, but alas it hadn’t. At least if an arrest happened there would be something interesting to report about at the globe . . . It almost wasn’t a bad column idea, the editor thought, a story about a pickpocket in a Bostonian bar. Nadia didn’t stay much longer, she was there meeting with some colleagues and now that they had began to spread out and have their own evenings, Nadia was ready to call it a night as well and get home. Walking out of the establishment, she would chalk it up to bad luck that she bumped right into the same man before, she frowned and pushed back from him. “You keep your sticky fingers away from my things.” She said firmly, not so sure he hadn’t snagged something just then when she’d knocked in to him, to be safe she opened her purse and checked for her wallet.

[theponine-blog]

owen--burke:

“So how are we feeling today?,” Owen asked, pulling back the curtain to the patient sitting on the bed in the middle of the emergency room. “Tell me what’s going on.” It was his duty as a nurse to get as much information as possible for the doctor and he found that this was the best place to start. 

Nadia was pacing around the small space while her twelve year old daughter laid on the bed with an oxygen mask, too busy on the kindle watching Star Wars to notice her worried to death mother. The editor had noticed Addy acting a bit more sick than usual, more out of it, and when she started wheezing and coughing so hard she could hardly breathe she called it time and took her to the emergency room. The single mother had been through this time and time again since her daughter had cystic fibrosis but it never became less stressful when she got an infection in her lungs.

Addy looked up when the nurse came in and looked rather calm for a child in the emergency room. She was used to it and it seemed Nadia was the more concerned of the two. “I still keep coughing.” The preteen answered with an annoyed look on her face. Nadia pursed her lips together before looking at the nurse and taking a seat beside the bed. “She has cystic fibrosis and she’s been a bit more under the weather lately. She was having trouble breathing when we first got here.” She answered while Addison’s attention wondered back toward her Kindle.

[theponine-blog]

The Daily Grind | Nadia & Garrett

[theponine-blog]

garrctts:

Pulpit, Pussy, Pulpit: A life history. 

In retrospect, the columnist ought to have known better than to keep up his comical writing style in what otherwise was a totally serious newspaper. The column title would barely make it out of SNL’s staff room, much less appear on the Boston Globe, editor though he was. Wasting his Ivy League education and his major in human rights to venture into the realm of comedy was low blow enough; wasting his employment at one of the premiere newspapers in the country to create a pun of sexual variety was all the more. By no means was Garrett Alcott bad at his job, far from it, but his battle with sheer boredom proved to be going downhill. Many people, especially his colleagues and part of his staff, had oft told him that he was unfit for the office life. He was far too active, far too vibrant for a desk job. But words were his weapon of choice, and he’d wielded it with such ferocity and expertise that their complaints were all for naught soon as he submitted his works and edited his staff’s own.

Approaching the managing editor’s office, his steps growing heavier with each passing step, he attempted to understand why he couldn’t find his name at the editorial section that day. Sure, his title needed a little revision, though what he lacked in his title he had made up for in his column’s sheer excellence, going so far as to have done overtime as a means to finish it. Rarely was it that Garrett Alcott faced rejection that when the occasion presented itself, the rage seething through his veins did not fall short. It was almost even excessive. If there was a word to perfectly encapsulate what the famed columnist was feeling that day, it was that of pettiness. After all, it was only a 760-word column—and his name still appeared in the editorial board. Not that his complaint would do anything—far from it, really, considering Nadia Crane hated his guts—but damned if he was going to let this slide. He wouldn’t go without a fight, that much was certain. 

He did not even bother to knock before entering her office which was admittedly more expansive than his own. “I need a reason,” he replied succinctly, scowling as he did so. Raking his fingers through his hair and not even attempting to hide the annoyance in his features, he added, “this—” he held out a bond paper containing the final draft of his column, of a Bostonian priest rejoining the clergy after his wife’s death, “—is one of the better pieces I’ve written this month. Heck, this year. I think I deserve an explanation why you replaced it with Mr. Murray’s work.” Ah, Murray, the bane of his existence. He’d skin and burn him if Garrett had the chance. “You ought to publish this at a later issue. Or at the online site. Either way, I’m not going to let this be scrapped.”  

“Well how about you close the door and take a seat.” She responded coolly before she took a deep, exaggerated breath and motioned her hand toward the chair in front of her desk for him to take a seat, anticipating that this conversation may last a minute. She wasn’t unreasonable, she may not have gone easy on Garrett at all but if anything she didn’t stack the odds against him either. She was professional and did her best to maintain that streak, despite how much Garrett could get on her nerves. She wasn’t quick to anger but she did have a hardness to her that still made people not want to see what her bad side was like. 

She leaned back in her seat as he handed out the paper toward her and reached out to take it. She had anticipated that he’d come to complain about being left out of the last edition and it only annoyed her that he wouldn’t suck it up and move on. She was a rather respected woman in the field and a former columnist that had won rewards that recognized her talent and even she, the talented and hard working Nadia Crane, had been left out of the newspaper during her days as a columnist on several occasions. She didn’t complain about it, she just did better next time and tried not to let it happen again. “I chose Murray’s column over yours because it’s a better fit for the publication.” She answered. “Your column wasn’t bad but I liked Murray’s better. Did you read it?” She asked tilting her head to the side. “It was interesting and informative about the economy here in Boston. Yours was satirical and while I did enjoy it I thought Murray’s was more wells suited for the last edition we put out.” She explained, easily answering his question without a shred of guilt or sympathy. Their profession required the ability to accept criticism and it wasn’t even as though she was insulting him or his column, it was just as simple as Murray’s was the one she liked more.

“Look in this industry you aren’t always going to win and as long as I’m your managing editor I don’t give handouts to anyone. I include your columns when I like them and think their a good fit for that edition and you’ll need to learn to accept the times that I don’t.” She said before looking back down briefly at the paper, rolling her eyes at the title again as she had the first time she read it, then set it aside to read later. She would consider posting it to the website but not until after coming up with a new title.

[theponine-blog]

cassidyxmichealis:

“Hanh?” Cassidy asked when she looked up from Dracula. She was distracted by the novel anyway when she heard her as her question and shook her head. “Nope, not really, didn’t say anything at all,” she answered. “I was just, um…well, I was about to yell at Jonathan for a moment-in slience, of course-so ignore me.”

Nadia nodded and looked back down toward her newspaper, turning the pages without another word. She wasn’t one to strike up conversation with random neighbors, so if she was asked to ignore the woman then she had no quarrels.

[theponine-blog]

rowan-thomas:

Giving her daughter her juice, Rowan smiled, shaking her head. “I can only imagine what it will be like when my daughter is that age. I already cried when Florence started walking. I’m just going to cry again when she doesn’t need my help anymore.”

Nadia chuckled and nodded. “They certainly get moody but it’s rewarding seeing her grow up.” She smiled softly before her eyes traveled back down to the newspaper. It wasn’t that she meant to be rude, she just wasn’t the most extroverted and wasn’t often one to linger and make small talk for long.

[theponine-blog]

kdonaghue:

        drunken crowds make for easy marks. the dance floor alight with bodies moving in sync, unaware as he weaves his way through them, fingers deft as they slip a watch from a woman’s wrist and into his pocket. there’s a drink waiting for him at the bar, the tender giving him a long look and a smirk; they had a deal, she points out the marks, he takes the goods and he splits the profit 70/30. And so, with an inclination of her head, she motions to a few steps down, where a man’s eyeing a group of women along the way. Kieran, making as though he were checking them out too, leans back against the bar, one arm casually hooked back and fingers dangling near the other man’s hip. Enough so that when he takes the steps forward to make his move, the wallet slips away and into Kieran’s hand without disruption. 

Nadia was no police officer, in fact she was very far from it. She was a single mother to a daughter with cystic fibrosis and the managing editor at the Boston Globe - The most exciting thing she did was make sure her daughter had her breathing treatments. Still, seeing the man she hadn’t expected him to pickpocket the male beside him. She stepped past right behind the man at first and without any prior indication that she’d seen his little thievery, snatched the wallet back from his hand without a word before he could hide it, continued walking, stopping several paces ahead of him. “Sir, I think you dropped your wallet.” She said, holding it up as the man that Kieran had robbed. He laughed and approached her, incredulous at how on earth he could have dropped it out of his pocket, though attempted to make conversation. “I’m only here for work related reasons, you can do on. Watch your things.” She added before turning once the guy got the hint and continued on, and raised a brow at the darker haired male who she’d snatched the wallet from. “Not everyone's too drunk to notice.” She said simply, narrowing her eyes at him. The way she saw it, he was just lucky that she didn’t snitch on him, she only intervened because it seemed unfair. He couldn’t know the other’s financial situation, maybe he really needed that wallet.