A/N: As you may have guessed, loosely based on 'My Fair Lady'. This idea started as an attempt to write an E/E – which I admit I don't ship at all. That was the challenge of it. I wanted to do it as a writing exercise to see if it was possible to do it well. Or passably well. Or at least not horribly badly. Early on I realized I needed a much bigger mental effort to even attempt to make an E/E work for me than I am capable of during exam time. No offense meant to anyone – if it's your favourite ship it's your favourite ship and I am willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. I am only pointing out the fact that I don't particularly ship Eponine with anyone or even write her much or read her (until now) in order to emphasize that this is an experiment. It may work or not, I am interested in the process of trying to make it work.

I might still try E/E at some point for the same reason but the level of difficulty is much too great for me with everything else I need to do. I couldn't do it now so instead this came along. I have to say I have never actually seen an E/Ferre fic. It shows how curious fandoms are sometimes, doesn't it? Because E/E is abundant and yet it seems to me that Eponine is slightly more plausible in a couple with pretty much anyone else. Ah, it's probably just the musical's fault. It works well enough if you ignore the book.

Other warnings – we may or may not get a dose of E/R. We probably will because it just feels like it should be there. Also, this fic is campy, just get into the spirit of it. I am well aware it will not be voted one of the top ten best works of fiction in this fandom.

1.

"Stupidity, thievery, profanity, prostitution – they are all inherited, Combeferre. Just like a man whose father went bald knows that the same fate will undoubtedly befall him. Being simple is a familial disease and it cannot be cured. Some things you can bleed out of people and others you cannot. You speak of raising all of humanity from the gutter but some of humanity was clearly meant to be there. It is their native environment! Education for all is a naïve idea. You can teach them to read and write but their minds will never comprehend the philosophies and ideas you want to put there."

Combeferre slowed his pace with a mental effort when he noticed his contained anger was translating into longer, faster strides, hitting the paving stones like he would not allow himself to hit his classmate. Lambert was a medical student, as advanced as Combeferre in his studies but, in Combeferre's personal opinion, much behind in the development of his soul. They often shared classes and Combeferre respected his skills. He was forced to admit there was often a lot to learn from him. This only made listening to such opinions more painful.

"I wish to put nothing in anyone's mind, Lambert," he said. "I would merely be happy to present some less fortunate souls with the many wonderful things a mind can do. To show them the things that can be stored in there if one would only seek that knowledge and have the means to access it."

Lambert snorted in a rather condescending manner.

"They do not want your knowledge, my friend, only your money. And once they have them, they will drink them away, those common workers of yours. You do not truly know them."

"Vices are not the prerogative of the poor, nor those born in the lower classes" Combeferre answered tightly. "And, indeed, poverty can affect a man of any social class. As for truly knowing the common workers, a dear friend of mine is a worker and an orphan at that. He has taught himself to read and write and he knows how to seek and absorb knowledge better than most students I know. I have never once seen any evidence that he may be drinking his money away. I have more than once seen it in my classmates and other associates. I find your claims insulting to him."

Lambert glanced at him with raised eyebrows. His eyes betrayed a subtle hint of mockery which Combeferre found completely infuriating.

"A worker. How impressive. Are you sure you did not dream him up?"

Combeferre felt a wave of indignation on account of both himself and Feuilly and he wanted to raise his voice but he fought it down. He realized that, considering his chosen path, arguments like this would only become more frequent in the future and he could not allow himself to be ruled by his emotions.

"Quite."

Despite his effort at control, his tone must have been truly icy because Lambert backed down a notch.

"Ah, very well. But then perhaps that erudite worker of yours is simply a curiosity. A one in a million exception to the rule. Or perhaps he has not yet had a chance to disappoint you."

Combeferre turned sharply to look at his companion.

"Have you no pity? These people have been brought down by their circumstances! By their lack of freedom and opportunities! Who is to say that if they had what we have they would not do better with it than we? And you mention things like prostitution and say they are diseases. You are right, I say, by they are not inherited and it is not only those who offer such services that are infected. They are diseases of our society. Prostitution, picking people's pockets or begging. All of it. It is only a result of taking away a human's basic rights to freedom and survival. If we gave those rights back, then…"

"You mistake my sentiments completely. I am not disgusted by poor people the same way I am not disgusted by potatoes. I simply acknowledge that they are not flowers. I do have pity and I have helped out at hospitals and workhouses without charge as often as you. I do not say the poor should not have enough to eat. I simply say you cannot take a random beggar off the streets and turn them into a lady or gentleman even if you give them all the education and freedom you can find. What was that fellow who came to pick you up yesterday? Thin, very young, horribly dressed? He was telling you some ridiculous nonsense about some prostitute he'd talked to on the street and how she was no less deserving than the ladies you both had danced with at the last ball. By God, if one of the girls at that dance had only heard him! To be compared to a prostitute! Incidentally, does he even know what prostitutes are for and that you do not simply stop them to talk to them?" He stops for a moment to laugh. "She must have been disappointed."

"He paid for her time so he could talk to her," Combeferre clarified quietly.

"He paid to talk with a whore? When he could easily talk to a decent girl for free? Well, perhaps the clothes might make most girls turn away but I still believe he would be able to charm one or two with those big eyes of his. What strange people do you associate with, Combeferre? A talk! And then you both started a conversation, right there on the steps, on the education of women and how to take women off the streets and how every woman would be a lady if she had someone to teach her. By God, Combeferre, you looked serious! I don't mind telling you a few of us found the whole thing rather amusing at the tavern last night while we watched one such precious lady spit on the floor and another gulp down a bottle of wine faster than the whole table of old drunks in the corner. And then they got into some disagreement and screeched like pigs being slaughtered the next fifteen minutes. Quite off-putting, I tell you. And a few younger ones there, dirty as canal rats, they tried to pick our pockets! Can't turn one of those things into a lady if you bang all of your theories about the triumph of human nature into her head with a hammer."

Combeferre frowned. Perhaps yesterday afternoon they should have gone somewhere more private before discussing social matters. But it was not exactly a revolutionary topic and Jehan had been so affected by his encounter that Combeferre had gotten immediately pulled into the conversation.

"Every man was brought to this world by a woman. Perhaps we should have more respect for them and they would not be reduced to what you describe," he said.

"What brought me to this world was an honourable woman from an honourable family. Not the same species as your street rats. Even if you dress a thieving drinking girl from the streets in fine clothes, she will still be a thieving drinking girl from the streets. One can always tell. You see if I'm not right. Find some poor thing off the streets and drown her in your education, see if she ever changes enough to fool me. I would be quite entertained too but, alas, you will not do it. Because it is all fine and well to talk and theorize but you know as well as I that your ideas cannot be put to practice. You, with your refined nature, will be even less able to bear coarseness for long than the rest of us. Rest your mind, my friend, and perhaps try to enjoy a prostitute without attempting to deliver her."

Having had the final word on the matter, Lambert waved him a farewell and departed in a different direction. Combeferre considered calling after him and offering an argument but he thought better of it. Feeling wounded and troubled by this attack on his ideals and his ability to implement them, he continued on his way towards Courfeyrac's home where he was due to deliver instructions for the printing of a new pamphlet.