When Tomorrow Comes {Les Misérables}

Chapter Two

At the end of practice, Andra decided she wanted to get out of the Opera House. She was tired of staying cooped up inside, as she had been for the last week. So she went to Madame Barrac and asked for leave, which was granted.

Madame Barrac never cared where her singers went as long as it wasn't during practice or a performance. She didn't care what happened to Andra as long as she was able to sing at the next performance.

Andra walked into the female dorms to grab her blue shawl, which was the closest thing she had to a coat. She wrapped it around her shoulders and tied it in the front of her chest.

Andra watched as her best friend, Eliza Bisset, walked into the dorms. Eliza was a dancer and therefore had no jealousy towards Andra. But even if Eliza was a singer, she is not the jealous type.

Eliza came to the Opera House when she was six. Her family was wealthy and wanted her to learn trades of a sophisticated class, so they put her into ballet. At least, that's what they told everyone. Eliza told Andra that they truly were just too busy drinking wine and partying to take care of a child. Eliza said she had no idea how she made it till six in their household.

Eliza was sent money every month, making her a much wealthier woman than anyone in the Opera House. She tried to give Andra some money, but Andra refused. She hated handouts.

"That song was beautiful, Andra," Eliza smiled as she hugged her friend. They were rarely ever able to see each other during practice as the dancers and singers often practiced separately.

"Thank you Eliza," she smiled at her friend, breaking out of the hug. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do without you."

Eliza was leaving the Opera House. She had finally reached an age where she was to return to her family and more than likely be married off to a wealthy man. Eliza would return to Savoy in a week, where her family lived. She was to leave after the next performance, which would be her last.

Andra would miss her friend more than anything. She had grown up with Eliza and she wasn't sure how she was going to survive once she left.

"I'm going to get some air. Would you like to join?" Andra asked.

"No, thank you," Eliza shook her head. "I have been in my feet all day and I need to ice them." Andra nodded, understanding. She began to walk out when Eliza stopped her.

"Be careful, Andra," Eliza told her. "It will be dark soon."

•••

Andra walked down the streets of Paris. It was once a beautiful and young city, just like Andra herself. It is now in more poverty than wealth with more and more citizens starving to death everyday.

Andra wasn't sure how the dancers survived. Eliza had money and therefore had food, but the rest of the dancers in the Opera weren't so lucky. They had to practice for hours everyday on empty stomachs and no energy. Eliza tried to give around as much money and food as she could to those who would take it, but most of them were much to prideful. Pride that causes their deaths.

Andra noticed the sun dipping below the horizon, which told her it was time to go back. She would never call the Opera House home, because it was not. She never had a home. She had no idea what it felt like.

She wanted to leave the Opera House more than anything. She wanted to help the poor people of this ruined country. She loved France and she wanted the future it deserved. She wanted it to be a country free of tyranny.

Andraste wished to join the revolution, but she was just a young orphan girl. What difference could she make?

Andra's thoughts were interrupted when she heard the sounds of distressed yells and grunting. Andra walked out of the ally way she was in to see French Soldiers beating an older man. He looked like a beggar by the ripped clothing he was dressed in and his shoeless feet.

The two soldiers took out their batons and began beating the old man who yelled out for help. Andraste refused to just stand by an watch, so she rushed up to the group and grabbed one of the French soldier's arms just before he brought down another strike on the man's side.

The French officer snapped his head to the side to look at Andraste. She stared back at him with a determined look, but in her mind she was panicking.

The officer pulled his arm away from Andra, roughly, causing her to stumble. But she regained her balance and stood talk in front of the two officers.

"What did this man do to deserve a beating?" Andra asked them.

"That is none of your business," the officer she had grabbed the arm hissed at her. She glared at him.

"I believe there needs to be a reason for a person to be punished," she continued. She had come to far. She had already stood up against them. She couldn't go back now.

"He is a beggar," the second guard told her. "The scum of the street. Go home before you are in his place."

Andra knew that was simply a threat without truth behind it. They wouldn't beat a woman, especially one as young and beautiful as Andra. Or would they?

The first guard shoved Andra to the side before bringing his baton back up into the air, about to inflict pain upon the man once more.

Without thinking, Andra rushed forward and threw her body over top of the old man, receiving multiple hits from the soldiers.

Andra gritted her teeth through the pain of the hits, knowing that they would leave bruises on her skin. But she did not care.

Andra watched as a battle cry echoed around them and the blur of a body crashed into the soldiers, pushing them both to the ground. Fists began to fly, both of the soldiers being punched in the faces.

The figure stood up quickly and grabbed Andra's hands, bringing her up to her feet. The man that helped her had brown hair and dark bags under his eyes. His breath stunk of alcohol, but he had kind eyes.

"My name is Grantaire," he mumbled quickly. "Follow me."