“Susan?” Eponine smiles. There hasn’t been much humour in her cell either - two brooding men, and the other man. He’s friendly at least, and Eponine’s noted him as an easy mark.
“‘Ponine then, if we ain’t standing on titles. I’ve been so used to bowing and scraping to all that it seems almost unnatural not to use a courtesy. Even with them what don’t deserve it.”

She pushes her knotted, dark hair out of her eyes impatiently. “I asked for a ribbon, you know. To keep my hair tied away. It is so bothersome when it falls in my face. But no - and I so do not want to rip my cloth for a ribbon.
Eponine looks slyly at Susan, before adopting a pitiful tone. It’s worked before. She’s conned several here already out of food with her carry on.
“I ain’t never had nothing so nice before as this.”