Once a thief, always a thief.
It hadn't taken Eponine long to wend her ways into the slums of the city, skulking through backstreets and alleys until she had found the beating heart of the place, the taverns and pubs. At first, all too aware of her prison garb, she'd stood in the shadows, watching, waiting. But clothes are easy to come by, and Eponine was soon garbed like a local. Her dress was deliberate - bare sleeves to invoke trust, folded material and layers to conceal her spoils - and no shawl so she might look genuinely cold to garner sympathy.

Now, she watches Abigail from her seat by the bar, next to some local who is too enthralled with her hand on his leg to complain about her drinking his gin as she approaches.
She catches Abigail's eye and at once draws a coin from one of the many hiding place in her skirts.

"Hey, will you have a bet for me as well?