I'm supposed to be writing a play script for a class, so I'm writing a script fanfic instead.

This is my first attempt at a "closet drama," a play intended to be read rather than performed. That said, it's still written as if on-stage. It is based loosely on my own experiences as a female-to-male trans person, the kind of communities I frequent or have previously frequented, and research into various FtM experiences. Also, I've always wanted to write a fic where all of Les Amis are FtM.

There may be pairings, but I haven't planned that far ahead.

Warnings for the fic overall: transphobia, lesbophobia, homophobia. Occasional slurs related to such. Intra-community issues. Internalized prejudice due to religion. Drug and alcohol usage. Vivid descriptions of gender dysphoria. Various trans men in various (often unfortunate) situations trying to cope however they can. Any future warnings not listed here will be forewarned in front of the chapters where they occur.

This is a re-upload. I deleted the last version because I had put it under the Plays/Musicals category without even thinking there might be a separate LM section under Books. Despite its format, this fic is more based on the collective essence of Les Mis than any particular adaptation, so I'd rather have it under this category.

SCENE 1

[ Lights up. Modern day. Pontmercy stands alone, placed in front of a small trash bin. He wears his father's old military uniform, which is at least two sizes too big, but it does well to distract him from the shape of his body. Chairs and tables in the background vaguely suggest their later usage, but the light does not yet cast itself over them. Pontmercy's hair is long and shiny, below waist-level. He makes a show of trying to put it in a ponytail. He struggles and fumbles, at one point getting it in but deciding it still isn't right and doing it all over again.

Finally, he gathers it all into a proper ponytail, very pleased with the result. He pulls a pair of scissors from his pocket, and his pleased look vanishes. He holds the scissors in both hands as he takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, his brows painfully furrowed. ]

PONTMERCY
Forgive me, father.

[ He opens his eyes and sets them upward. His heart pounds, but he is resolute. ]

PONTMERCY
Forgive me, Father.

[ He takes the ponytail in one hand, the scissors in the other. With the deafening crunch of thick hair being split, he removes the ponytail in one simple, quick motion. He steels himself as he dangles the ponytail over the bin, his heartbeat picking up in pace and volume. There is a pause filled only by his shaking breath and his beating heart. When he drops the ponytail, all releases. He breathes a sigh of relief that comes out as a giddy chuckle. Setting the scissors aside, he runs both hands along the back of his head. He tries to find the words to express himself, but comes up short. He continues to chuckle to himself as his fingers run through short, uneven waves of hair.

Hear an offstage scream from Pontmercy's aunt. He whips around as if to face her. ]

AUNT GILLENORMAND [ offstage: ]
My Lord, Ève, your hair! What have you done to it? Wait until your Grandfather sees what you've…

[ The voice of Gillenormand joins hers offstage. Both voices scold Pontmercy, but all he hears from them is angry gibberish. He turns back around, putting his focus on the ponytail curled up in the trash bin. He pulls a flip-phone out of his other pocket and lifts his head as he dials. The voices of his relatives continue, but they grow fainter as he listens to the waiting tone. His call is answered. ]

PONTMERCY
Hey, Courf? [ Pause. ] Could I come over to your place? [ Pause. ] Thank you. I'm on my way now.

END SCENE

SCENE 2

[ Courfeyrac's apartment. One of the tables and a couple of chairs come forward. As the lights come up, Pontmercy is seated in one of the chairs. He is still in military pants, though he has taken off the top to reveal a loose t-shirt underneath. Courfeyrac, a well-dressed young man, stands behind him, critically combing through Pontmercy's impromptu haircut with his fingers. ]

COURFEYRAC
It's a mess.

PONTMERCY
I'm a mess.

COURFEYRAC
You made a bold move.

PONTMERCY
I'm going to Hell.

COURFEYRAC
Hey, no. You look at me. [ Pontmercy doesn't look up. ] Alright. Do you think Bossuet is going to Hell?

PONTMERCY
Well, no. I don't know. I don't want to say yes.

COURFEYRAC
Then don't be so quick to say it about yourself. Okay? Did you read the article I sent you?

PONTMERCY
Grandpa monitors my computer usage. And when he found out what I was looking up on my phone, he replaced it with a flip phone.

COURFEYRAC
He monitors your computer? You're a whole adult. [ Pontmercy hunches his shoulders in embarrassment. Courfeyrac sighs. ] I'll print out a paper copy. And there're more where that came from. Wearing a uniform and getting a haircut are not grounds for condemnation, and neither is being yourself. Okay? [ Pontmercy nods but isn't convinced. ] Now, if you're going to do this, I'll have to call someone who can fix your hair.

PONTMERCY
I don't know that I want to do this.

COURFEYRAC
You cut your hair and ran away from home. You want to do something.

PONTMERCY
It was spur-of-the-moment. I might go back.

COURFEYRAC
They'll never accept you.

PONTMERCY
Neither do I, so it all works out. [ Pause. ] Alexandre?

COURFEYRAC
What is it?

PONTMERCY [ slowly: ]
Alexandre Jacques Courfeyrac. Why?

COURFEYRAC
Why did I pick that name? [ Pontmercy nods. ] Well, back before my transition, I was with this girl- very openly. Some deadbeat jock wanders over to us one night and starts making fun of me and my femme, calling us backward dykes, you know the drill. So me- in all my punk butch gear from back in the day- I go up to him, ask if he's jealous about my femme. Well, that just escalates the situation, because obviously, I'm right. Who wouldn't be jealous of my femme? [ More seriously: ] Cishet men must be approached very delicately by trans men and sapphics on the subject of women, Pontmercy, unless you're looking for a fight.

And that's exactly what happened. The guy hooks me in the left shoulder. [ Courfeyrac throws his shoulder back, for dramatic effect. ] So I go where it hurts. [ He puts his hand into a fist and mimes a jab at the imaginary man's crotch. ] Long story short, I was ready to kick ass and take names, and I did take his name, literally. Alexandre Jacques can suck it.

[ Pontmercy's eyes widen. ]

PONTMERCY
R-Really?

COURFEYRAC
Nope! I think it might be how Bahorel got his name, though. Look at this pretty face; do I look like I've ever been in a fight?

PONTMERCY
I don't know.

COURFEYRAC
Well. The punk gear was real, but I haven't dressed like that since lycée, and I never had the roughness to keep up with it. My style was a little sleeker. I caught up with proper men's fashion real quick.

PONTMERCY
Then where does your name come from?

COURFEYRAC
You know Alexandre le Grand?

PONTMERCY
Of course! I'm surprised you'd take interest in a king, but now it all- [ Courfeyrac smirks. ] You're teasing me.

COURFEYRAC
No, I'm only joking around. [ This doesn't make Pontmercy feel any better. ] Okay, okay. I'm sorry. It's just, I wish there was some cool story behind it. My birth name was Alexandra Jacqueline. It was easier for everyone involved to keep the change straightforward.

PONTMERCY
You could have chosen anything.

COURFEYRAC
Yeah, but I don't really use my first name that much.

PONTMERCY
Where did Bossuet get his names from?

COURFEYRAC
They were the names of some of his relatives, I think. Except for the nicknames; those are just little jokes.

PONTMERCY
...I want to find a new name.

COURFEYRAC
Oh yeah?

PONTMERCY
I'm sick of people calling me Ève. Like the first woman. I can't live up to that, and I'm not sure I want to. Every time I bite into an apple, I feel like God is watching.

COURFEYRAC
Then you're ready to take the plunge?

PONTMERCY
I'm ready to try something. To do something.

COURFEYRAC
Then the first thing we'll do is get your hair fixed. I'm going to text Feuilly.

[ Courfeyrac takes out his phone. Pontmercy pales and jumps out of his seat. ]

PONTMERCY
Wait!

COURFEYRAC
What?

PONTMERCY
I'm not ready- if someone sees me like this-

COURFEYRAC
Calm down, Pontmercy. Feuilly isn't going to judge you; he's gone through the same thing that you're going through. That all of us have gone through.

PONTMERCY
I suppose that's alright, then.

COURFEYRAC
Good, because he's on his way.

PONTMERCY
How many do you know? That is, people like you- like us?

COURFEYRAC
There's a whole group of us. You should come to one of our meetings.

PONTMERCY
Meetings?

COURFEYRAC
Yeah. Have I never told you? [ Pontmercy shakes his head. ] Bossuet goes there. So does Feuilly. I'll bring you over sometime.

PONTMERCY
Really?

COURFEYRAC
Of course. Now, let's see what we can do with your hair until Feuilly comes.

PONTMERCY
Thanks.

[ Courfeyrac starts playing with Marius's hair again. ]

COURFEYRAC
Don't thank me. It's just that you'll never look good as any gender with a haircut like that.

PONTMERCY
I was proud of it.

COURFEYRAC
You should be! From the sound of it, you didn't have a mirror in front of you.

PONTMERCY
Well, no...

COURFEYRAC
You should have kept the ponytail. We could hang it up on the wall to celebrate your first steps. It'll be a postmodern art piece: Luscious Locks Unlocked.

PONTMERCY
What?

COURFEYRAC
Family Knots Untangled. Split from the Ends. The Tortoise Beats the Hair. Get it? You're the tortoise.

PONTMERCY [ looking at his shoes: ]
That's disgusting, hair on the wall…

COURFEYRAC
You know Italian, right? Are there any good Italian puns for this? The best art is always named in Italian.

PONTMERCY
Because it's from Italy.

COURFEYRAC
Hmm?

PONTMERCY
It's named that way because it's from-

[ There is a knock at the door. Courfeyrac walks over and opens it. There stands Feuilly, pre-transition and not too passing, simply dressed in neutral clothing. ]

FEUILLY
You called?

COURFEYRAC
Come on in.

[ Feuilly takes a step inside and notices Pontmercy. ]

FEUILLY
You must be Pontmercy.

PONTMERCY
Pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle, ah…

COURFEYRAC
Pontmercy, this is Feuilly.

[ The color drains from Pontmercy's face. His heart takes one massive, leaping beat before he manages to clear his throat. ]

PONTMERCY
O-Oh. I'm s-

FEUILLY [ almost automatically: ]
Don't worry about it. [ He walks over to Pontmercy and turns him around to look at the back of his head. He sits Pontmercy down. ] Hey, it's not nearly as bad as Courf made it out to be.

COURFEYRAC [ dramatically: ]
Can he be saved, Doctor?

FEUILLY
Yes, but we'll have to act quickly. Nurse, scalpel. [ He holds out his hand. He doesn't match Courfeyrac's energy or exaggeration, but he plays along as the calm and collected doctor. Courfeyrac hands him a pair of scissors. ] Tweezers. [ Courfeyrac hands him a comb. ]

PONTMERCY
What are you-

FEUILLY
You have nothing to worry about, Sir. It's a routine procedure.

[ Something in Pontmercy lights up at being called "Sir." ]

COURFEYRAC
You can hold my hand if you need to, Pontmercy.

PONTMERCY
Why would I-

[ Feuilly gets to work, creating the now-familiar sound of hair being cut very close to Pontmercy's ear. Pontmercy tenses up and grabs Courfeyrac's hand. ]

FEUILLY
This should smooth it out as a baseline. If you want any particular cut, now would be a good time to speak up.

PONTMERCY
I- uh- I don't- well, I've never really- it's just that- uh...

FEUILLY [flatly, casting a sideways glance at Courfeyrac: ]
Nurse, we're losing him.

COURFEYRAC
Leave it to me, Pontmercy. You'll be the prettiest boy at the ball in no time. All the other guys at the meeting will swoon and envy your stylish hair. [ Pause, considering. ] Well. You'll still lose out to one of them, I'm afraid.

FEUILLY
Oh, he's interested in coming to a meeting?

COURFEYRAC
I promised to bring him to one.

FEUILLY
That'll be nice. We haven't had any new blood in a while.

PONTMERCY [ faintly, with great terror: ]
Blood? What do you need my blood for?

COURFEYRAC [ softly: ]
It's a turn of phrase.

FEUILLY [ an aside: ]
...On the other hand, they might eat him alive.

END SCENE