Abandoned Warehouse District, Monday Evening

It was hard to tell at which point Éponine's plan of sleeping in the empty warehouse until she found a place to live evolved into just living in the warehouse. She most likely wouldn't be able to tell you, anyway, if you asked, but the longer she kept coming back to that one particular warehouse to sleep, the more of her things she started keeping there, and the more things she started accumulating.

This was why she now had, besides the fairly comfortable sleeping-alcove she'd put together from a bunch of crates and a mattress (in fairly good condition, by some stroke of luck), a table and a couple of chairs she'd convinced one of the other post office employees to give her instead of throwing them away, a dilapidated beanbag chair, and a floor lamp without a lampshade. Besides all of that, the warehouse's small office still had a couple of bookshelves, a mini-fridge, and a desk in it, and she'd taken over the office's closet to store her clothes (because she had more than one set of clothing now, and that was still exciting) and other valuables (read: her liquor stash) a couple of weeks ago.

What had been lacking up until now were power and running water -- things she'd somehow gotten accustomed to since she'd been in Fandom, and candles were a mess she wouldn't mind avoiding, and really, what was the point of living somewhere that had a bathroom -- albeit a tiny one -- if she couldn't use it?

Late last week she'd found out completely by accident that the man who'd abandoned the giant rubber duck in the post office just happened to work for the power company. A little further inquiry revealed that Sam was right and his motives in trying to ship the duck had been less than innocent. Éponine, not being the kind of girl to let information like that go wasted, made sure to mention it when she turned up at his doorstep with a package for his wife and, well . . .

She was freshly showered and curled up in bed, reading a coverless paperback mystery novel by the light of her shadeless lamp. "Well," she'd occasionally exclaim out loud, "that's stupid of you to completely ignore a perfectly obvious clue! Call yourself a detective, honestly."

[OOC: So yeah, she officially lives here now. Open, if you know how to find her/just happen to wander in -- door's closed but unlocked.]