Paris-Nicole Jenkins (Eponine Thenardier)

♕ Eponine Thenardier

♕ ABOUT

♕ OTHER

PERSONALITY

The Cursed World

Paris is Queen Bee and don’t you forget it. Arrogant to the extreme, Paris is well aware of the beauty that her high cheekbones and wide eyes afford her. She uses her good looks to manipulate lads her age to do as she wants, using them to do everything from her homework to shoplifting designer sunglasses for her. Paris has a thing for designer clothes – everything she owns has a label, thanks to her mother’s over-indulgence in her daughter. Just as with her peers, Paris uses her looks to get her own way at home, especially with her mum. Paris’s mum is extremely proud of Paris, going so far as to enter her daughter into child beauty and modeling competitions. Paris won, of course. Idiot losers say it’s because the Jenkins’ paid off the judges. But they’re just fat, ugly losers, right?



Paris is a selfish girl: she puts her own wants and needs above all else. She’s a fickle friend, quick to drop those who cross or disagree with her. She enjoys spreading malicious gossip about the more unpopular people in school, and indeed, about former friends. Secrets are safe with Paris – so long as you don’t mind the occasional blackmail with them. Paris is a bully: she enjoys causing others pain, though she is careful enough not to be caught as the direct cause of any trouble. Paris has enough lackeys to cover her tracks, and more willing to replace the fallen. After all, it’s better to be with Paris’ clique than one of their victims.



Paris obviously comes across as completely confident. She’s bubbly – and if she likes someone, or considers them useful in some way, she is very, very nice to them. She absolutely loves fashion and can usually be found with the latest copies of Vogue, Marie-Clair and other magazines. She can’t resist trashy celebrity gossip either and is an avid reader of ‘Hello’ and the ‘Daily Mail’. Paris can chatter endlessly about makeup and clothes, restaurants, celebrities and trashy television – think “Ibiza Weekender’ and ‘Love Island’. She doesn’t care about school in the slightest – she keeps her grades around a C level by manipulating or ‘persuading’ the ‘geeks’ into completing her homework and classwork.


Paris has a string of boyfriends; she is never without for long. Her current interest is captain of the football team at school, and Paris is not afraid to indulge in very PDAs. Paris though, is a tease, refusing to go beyond kissing, something which her boyfriends are often surprised by. But Paris is clever: she has seen other Queen Bees brought down by promiscuity and is determined not to suffer the same fate.



Paris is quick – she always has a plot and a plan and a ready answer. She tends to act before she thinks, which has got her into trouble more than once. She acts impulsively, not really thinking about consequences as she gets caught up, and she relies on her good looks and quick tongue to get her out of trouble. Paris hates being bored: one of her favourite games to play to spice up a run of the mill shopping trip is dares – which usually ends up with one of her lackeys being dared to steal something small but relatively expensive from a high end shop without being caught.



Although Paris comes across quite negatively, she has good qualities too. She is loyal to those she considers friends, and will stick up for them when the going gets rough. She’s also generous to a fault with these chosen few; she allows them to indulge in her lax home-life, showering them with bottles of champagne, Grey Goose and other luxury goods. She’s also good to her younger siblings, making sure they’re okay. She’s fun and bubbly to be around (if she likes you). Paris doesn’t mind trouble. In fact, she thrives on it. She preferably enjoys being at the root of the trouble – someone else’s trouble, but when she ends up caught up in it, she is brave to a fault. She will sacrifice herself to save her closest friends or her family members.



Beneath Paris’ confident persona, she can be incredibly insecure. She worries constantly about her looks, constantly checking that she is perfect, that nobody else is prettier than her. She needs the reassurances from her friends and family too. She worries about her weight: aware that her mum isn’t ‘fit’, Paris has developed an unhealthy relationship with food. She eats little in public, binges in private and then rebukes herself in the bathroom. Paris constantly lusts after the next thing, be it a phone, a boy or a the latest Fendi bag, never quite satisfied with what she has. Deep down, she fears that her dad will end up in prison for the crooked way in which he has made his money – not that she cares about her dad. But if he goes to prison, her world will crumble, and that cannot happen. She is also afraid of the dark, and sleeps beneath a bower of fairy lights disguised in pink roses.



Canon

Paris is what Eponine would probably have become had her teenage years been as privileged as her early childhood. As a child she was spoiled and allowed to become an odious bully. She was doted on and indulged by everyone and was used to getting her own way. She enjoyed making Cosette jealous and getting her into trouble. 

Unlike Paris though, Eponine's life didn't go well. She had to adapt to her environment and become tough. She knows how to stand up for herself and refuses to back down in an argument. She ignores derogative names aimed at her and just shouts back. She's rubbish at a physical fight, but she relies on her tongue to get out of a situation. She reacts to danger by facing it head on. She will accept violence against her. She's difficult to scare: her life has desensitised her to a lot of horror. Fear is a weakness and Eponine learned to hide it a long time ago. 

She likes talking - and will talk to anyone who will listen. . Her chatter comes across as awkward at times, or even inappropriate. She flirts with Marius as best she can– but again, it comes across as awkward. Uncomfortable amongst wealth now, she tries to fit in, but ultimately cannot. She is nervy. She speaks more than she should to people she doesn’t know, and is very open about herself and her life. Her words come without a great deal of thought, in a tangle of argot slang and French when she’s nervous. The more in control she tries to seem, the more ladylike she tries to act, the more it comes off as an act, a sham– sheer desperation. . Eponine longs to be a lady, but by the end of her story, she realises it’s something she’ll never be able to attain.

Some would describe Eponine as cold– but she’s not, not really. It’s a show, an act she puts on, so people don’t try to mess her about. She seems to react with indifference to a lot of things– she’s world-weary and brow beaten so much that she finds it difficult to be enthusiastic enough to show her emotions in her actions. She can barely smile, barely cry. But deep down, Eponine is an emotional little creature. She’s in lust with Marius, a student, who doesn’t return, or even acknowledge her feelings. Eponine craves love. It’s what drives her. Show her any hint of kindness, and she becomes a lapdog, eager to please and willing to do anything, even if it causes her physical or emotional pain. Like Paris, Eponine wants attention. She laughs inappropriately and says the wrong thing a lot of the time. She’s outspoken and will say what she thinks, regardless of the consequences.

Eponine is defiant. She hates what her father makes her do, but she has to participate. Still, she does it all with a glare in her eyes and her mouth pressed into a hard line. She often shouts back before giving in. She does what she has to do to survive. She can be incredibly manipulative, if she thinks she will gain from it. Eponine says that most people believe what she says; I’m guessing that the exceptions tend to be those in authoritative positions in Paris. She is incredibly brave and doesn’t seem to have a great sense of personal danger. Eponine will face any adversity that comes to her head on; it is not really in her nature to hide. And she will face her fate with a straight back and a defiant glare. Nobody will feel pity for Eponine. She is brave till the very end. She is not stupid, though. She’s practical. If there is a way to avoid a beating, either through lies or staying away for a night, Eponine will take that option. She is pretty much fearless though – the only thing that seems to truly scare her are the monsters in her head.

Eponine is loyal. If she feels obliged to someone, she will bow to their will, whether she agrees with their actions or not. She is more loyal to those who show affection towards her than those who intimidate her, though. A lot of the time, she’s wary, and she has the same cautious expression as a hunted animal.

She doesn’t consider herself to be at all beautiful; she thinks she’s disgusting, and that she doesn’t deserve a happy life. Eponine loathes herself. She hates everything about herself, from the dirt she is encrusted in, to the criminal that her Papa has turned her into. She cannot see anything positive about herself at all; but she forces herself to continue with life. She desperately wants a better life, but knows she will never have one. Eponine is not much of a fighter, though. As much as she hates her station in life, she has accepted it, and is willing now to ‘go with the flow’, to go where life takes her. She loves mirrors, and will stand and stare at her reflection, pinking and preening, remnants of her childish vanity. She is somewhat bitter, especially towards those better off than her. Jealousy is one of Eponine’s biggest failures.

Eponine has some psychological problems, although Hugo says that she is not mad. She has been known to suffer from hallucinations when she is very, very hungry. She tends to laugh as well, in very inappropriate places, a nervous reaction perhaps. She is also known to be quite suicidal; the winter of 1931, Eponine considered wading into the Seine to drown herself– she didn’t because she was scared that it wouldn’t work and it would be too cold. This is perhaps an indication that Eponine cannot cope with her life as well as she seems to on the surface.

Eponine can be sweet. She likes flowers; she finds them soothing after the horrors of Paris. She is somewhat of a dreamer, and likes to imagine herself as a proper lady, dancing with Marius. She can’t let the people she loves end up hurt. She likes to sing and often hums away to herself, singing old French ditties and raunchy ballads, and songs that she makes up herself. She can just about read and write her name, but is actually quite intelligent. She learns new skills quickly. She's naturally proud and hates that people pity her. She's playful and a total tease with people she's comfortable with. 

APPEARANCE

HISTORY

Paris was born Paris Nicole Jenkins to Mr and Mrs Jenkins on the 17th December, 2000. Her mum named her after two famous socialites, Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Her father owned a pub, the Duke of Wellington, when she was born, and her mum worked as a bar maid. During her early life, Paris was aware that her mum and dad worked hard to provide for herself and her siblings. Paris, easily the prettiest sister, was spoiled perhaps more than the rest, getting new clothes and toys whenever she asked for them. Paris liked to dress up when she was little – the fancier the princess dress, the better. She refused to share her toys with her siblings or – and Paris only has dim memories – but of the other little girl that used to live with them – the daughter of her mum’s old colleague or something. It still makes Paris giggle when she dimly remembers making the girl tidy Paris’s mess and that time when Paris had deliberately smushed every single one of her mum’s lipsticks into the brand new cream carpet and then blamed the kid. Mama had beaten her then, and Paris had loved watching.

Paris’s life was unremarkable really. She got older and went to school, and older still and went to high school. Her current boyfriend is the bad boy type; she loves the danger and excitement of going out with a drug dealer. Her parents don’t care either: her dad thoroughly encouraged Paris to find a rich boyfriend, and is actually interested in getting in on the drug business anyway. She also worked out her father’s real business: he stole from his customers and engaged in money laundering. Paris’s life is built on criminal proceeds and she is terrified that somebody, somehow, will find out. Paris, thanks to her boyfriend, has dabbled in smoking cannabis; she likes it, though the paranoia and the ‘monsters’ it creates in her imagination are so not worth the highs of it in her opinion. Still, she’ll do it to look cool.

Paris is a junior in high school. She doesn’t want to go to university: she has no interest in school, though a natural talent for French has given her at least one guaranteed A. She is a bully in school, picking on those less fortunate or ‘ugly losers’ through name calling and spreading malicious rumours. She is rude to teachers, consistently answering back, and can usually be found looking at her phone or a mirror, or touching up her makeup. Despite this, she is incredibly popular within her clique; her close friends find her hilarious and admire her fearlessness with the teachers, and the boys think she is easy enough to be won over. People want to be Paris’ friends to avoid having rumours spread about them and so that they will be on the invite list to her killer parties with all the free alcohol and DJs and other ridiculous extravagances that she can throw at them.

In private, Paris is a fretter. She frets that her dad will be caught out, and that she will be exposed as a total fraud. She worries that her boyfriend will dump her for someone ‘fitter’. She has an unhealthy relationship with food – her sweet tooth makes her indulge in cakes and sweets but her obsession with her looks will quite often send her to the bathroom after a binge session.

For now though, Paris is a regular, run of the mill high school student with expensive taste in clothes and a wild taste in boyfriends.  She flies for her high school cheer team and loves the status this brings with it. 

REAL HISTORY

Eponine was born to M. and Mme. Thenardier in Montfermiel, France. Ostensibly innkeepers, the Thenardiers fleeced their customers, cooked the books and were generally petty criminals and taught Eponine how to do the same quickly. Eponine ruthlessly bullied the child servant, Cosette, who lived with them, until Cosette was removed by a stranger who would prove to be Valjean. After that, Eponine’s life grew worse. The family lost the inn and moved to Paris. Her parents, and particularly her father, grew violent towards her, often beating her black and blue. She quickly learned to toughen up, and quickly forgot about her privileged childhood. As her dad fell in with a notorious gang, so Eponine was sucked in too, and as soon as she was of an age, was sent out with begging letters, asking for money in exchange for her company. Some speculate that this was a form of prostitution Eponine was forced into and this is something Hugo has confirmed. The family were reduced to near starving, surviving on Eponine’s pennies, theft and begged coins.
When the family moved into the Gorbeu tenement, they ended up next door to Marius, a wealthy student, with whom Eponine would fall in love. He, unfortunately, didn’t see it and fell in love with Cosette. Eponine, having been caught and freed by Javert, reluctantly led Marius to Cosette, and felt her heart break as she realized that he would never love her. She began to stalk Marius, following him to ABC meetings and eventually to the barricades. Marius sent her with a message to Cosette, but she stole Cosette’s reply, leaving Marius heartbroken and determined to die. She ended up climbing the barricade and taking a bullet through the hand and heart. She died in Marius’s arms, having confessed her love and him holding her out of sheer pity, though he still refused her dying wish of a kiss, ultimately repulsed by the creature in his arms.

♕ OOC NOTES

WRITING SAMPLE

She has been hungry before, of course. Of course she has. She remembers when she first moved here from Montfermiel when she was a child. She had been well fed, pampered even, when she was little. She remembers the taste of the chestnuts she had roasted over the fire. She remembers cheating Azelma out of her fair share. She remembers eating more than what she wanted, just so that there wouldn’t be a single one left over for Cosette. She remembers crying bitterly the first day she had to go without food.

Now it ‘s frequent, going without food. It’s usual for her to go one day, two, three, even four days without eating. By the evening of the fourth, she’s quite dizzy with hunger. She hates that – it seems to be then that her imagination comes to life, that she sees men lurking in alleyways that are really clear, that the houses begin to waver before her eyes, that the shadows swell and breathe fiery smoke that threatens to consume her whole. It makes her hurry her steps, and she staggers through the streets until she’s safe away from it all.


She sits next to a puddle today. The rain splatters on her face, drenching her, slicking her dark hair to her head, her rags to her body. She should go home. She longs to go home and curl up on that horrible itchy pallet under the coat with Azelma. Oh God, if she dares to! She’ll never complain again about a smashed window and bits of rain splattering on her head.

But she hasn’t made money in days now. With the nonstop rain, there hasn’t been many people on the streets, not many people to steal off. So she sits, staring morosely into the gutter that runs along the street. She tries to think – but so long, so long without even a crust – and she’s going dizzy, so she closes her eyes again, forcing herself to concentrate. She needs a coin – just one coin. Five francs, and she can go home and get warm by the fire. But where can she get one from? Where can she find someone willing to give her five Francs all in one go? She’s sure she’ll just fall asleep if any gentleman wants her favours in return.

She rubs her fist roughly across her cheeks, merging tears and drops of rain. She shivers. It’s cold in the damp – not as cold as the snow, she thinks, but cold enough. Oh for a pair of shoes. Stockings. Anything. She looks down at her toes. Are they turning black yet? They feel like they should be – but no. Well – she stands up from where she has fallen – when did she fall? Did she fall? – and staggers on.

Not for the first time, her mind goes to the river. She remembers what it was to sit by the river when they lost their room the winter before last. She remembers that cold – now that was a freezing cold, where their faces would be so frozen that it hurt to open her eyes. Sometimes she had wished that she just never had to open them again.


They had been forced to live under the bridge; she and Azelma cuddled up together beneath their father’s old coat for a little warmth. She remembers watching the rushing water when she could not sleep. She remembered the rats nibbling at her toes. She remembers that numb, cold, numb feeling that had overtaken her. Azelma, always quiet, had fallen silent ages ago, but Eponine gradually did too. It took too much energy to even think about what to talk. So Eponine didn’t think. Not then. Her mind had become as numb as her fingers.

She remembers one night getting up, kissing Azelma gently. She remembers it almost as if it were a dream, or a nightmare. She remembers being convinced that she was already dead. She remembers realizing that she didn’t care.

It was freezing. Snow had fallen, was falling still, and stray flakes had found their way beneath the bridge. She had shivered, but even so, she had let her shawl fall from her bony shoulders. She had stepped closer to the river’s edge, feet squelching in the freezing mud as she had stared into the murky depths of the rushing river. From her viewpoint, it had looked quite still, but hadn’t she heard the stories about the vicious currents that could rip a man beneath the surface never to be seen again? She leaned in closer and closer. It was a mirror, and a peculiar creature, a goblin girl, stared back at her.

That scared her, the misshapen creature in the water, whose lank hair hung in tangles and whose eyes were sunk, whose cheeks sagged and mouth puckered. Had she the energy, had her tears not been frozen by the storm, she should have cried for her lost beauty. It made up her mind though. One, quick, fleeting command in the snowstorm blanketing her thoughts.

Step forward.

It was to be a horrible death. She tried to imagine the taste of the water in her mouth. It was sure to be dirty. She didn’t think about how it would feel for water to flood her lungs and pool there. It didn’t occur to her that it might make her panic as she struggled to draw breath. She saw death and she embraced it. It’d be quick. Not endless like this.

She had inched a toe into the water. It was deathly cold. Perhaps the shock alone of submerging herself would be enough to kill her? Quick and easy.
She had inched another toe in. And another and another. Her whole foot. And now the next. One step forward. Another. She had wobbled as she moved again, the current already tugging at her ankles. Her breath had come out in icy clouds, her chest had heaved as her legs burned with the cold. Nearly over. One more st-
“EPONINE!” A whispered cry from the bank had reached her over the roar of the Seine. Azelma’s cry would reach Eponine wherever she was. She had turned, falling in the water so she had sat chest high in the current. The shock had made her gasp – squawk with shock, and Azelma had begun a dismal wail.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, you stupid. Do you wanna wake Papa? Do you want him to flay me?” Eponine had struggled to stand, and had ended up crawling back to the bank to sit with her sister. She had been soaked then, and shivering uncontrollably. She had sneezed. Azelma had put her arm about her sister, tried to hug her close, but Eponine had pushed her roughly away.

“What’s the use in the two of us being soaked?” She had muttered angrily. She hadn’t objected, though, when Azelma had placed first Eponine’s shawl, and then the coat, about Eponine’s shoulders. The sisters had sat in silence, both staring ahead, one with wonder, and one, regret.

“Why?” Azelma had broken the silence.

“I wanted a swim.” Eponine’s answer had been short; she had hacked a cough. “Oh God, I wanted a swim. A swim to hell and to stay there in the warmth.” She had coughed again, and sneezed. Azelma had been silent, and soon Eponine’s coughs had died away too.

“Don’t leave me alone, ‘Ponine.”

Azelma had leaned her head on her big sister’s shoulder, and Eponine had slowly extracted a hand from the tangle of coats and shawls she clutched at to stroke her sister’s hair. Almost in unison, tears had begun to roll down both children’s faces.

***

Eponine wakes, still on the street. The light is darker now, the clouds lower, much lower in the sky. Had she fallen asleep? No – no, her head pounds from where she had hit it as she slumped over in a dead faint. But what has woken her now? She looks around; surely not the rain? But then, she stops. Is that an apple?
She can see an apple. A bright red apple, dark and shiny skin glowing through the rain. But what is it doing on the street? How can it be there? “How can it be so?” she wonders aloud.

Hesitantly, she reaches out a hand, mentally preparing herself for it to be a hallucination, a vision, not real. But… she touches it and she smiles. Real. Oh, God, GOD! Real. Her hand curls about it and she pulls it to her, lifting it to her lips, sniffing the faint sweet smell. Oh God. Her stomach rumbles as she licks the skin, cautious. How can it be there? Is it a trick someone is playing on her – will they snatch it back? Well, she won’t give them a chance. Without further hesitation, she bites into the apple, crunching the juice, and almost as quickly, she swallows. Juice runs down her chin, and she wipes it with her fingers, sucking on them to get every bit of nourishment she possibly can from the fruit. Again and again she bites down, gnawing at the apple, sucking at it’s core, before crunching it, stem and all, until there is nothing left. She’s drenched – but she’s laughing.
“Oh God, oh, God, an angel gave that to me. An angel has given the devil strength. Perhaps today I shall not die. Oh God –“ She staggers to her feet, heaving her stiff bones from the pavement so she can shuffle home.

She doesn’t notice the bright eyed child peeping our from the alleyway behind her, watching his sister delight in his gift. Gavroche hums to himself as he pulls another apple from under his hat, throws it up and catches it deftly, taking a bite out of it as he goes.