milliways_bar | (no subject)

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'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the...stable? There was...not much of anything going on, really. Javert has been sleeping out here for the last couple of weeks, and tonight will be no different. Cheval has been nosing around for his next bottle, so he fetches it from Bar, trying not to yawn too obviously where anyone can see. He also considers another blanket, but it seems indulgent, so does not.

Bar also produces a gift, which he stares at for a moment. This again? But then, he supposes it is the season. He asks the bar to keep them for now, and walks back through the snow to the foal. It may be Christmas night, but it the same as any other to him and he is sure it will stay that way.

Valjean, watching this exchange, follows him out.

[OOC: Merry Christmas, everyone! This post open through New Year. If you want to chuck random animals etc in, go ahead. The more cracktastic the better, say I. If not, no worries - he's taggable at the bar too. Also, I will be tagging up everything I owe as soon as I've wrapped the last few presents over here. <3333 you all!

ETA: I completely forgot to set this up the way I planned. Ah well. Valjean, when I tag him in, is also entirely taggable by anyone. And will probably be in a far more festive mood, lets be honest. Also, feel free to tag each other if you want to be all 'wtf I'm in a stable' to someone else! I'm allgood with that. <3]

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He quirks his eyebrows at the assumption of no virgins being present - why should he not? He is not ashamed of it - and merely tilts his head at this comment.

'And so?'

"So I would give you a gift, and convince you to accept, keep, and use it," Teja says.

He is feeling adventurous today, apparently.

'There is no need,' he says, immediately.

'I have not procured gifts for anyone, nor do I intend to. Please, offer me nothing.'

Teja briefly touches his forehead to the door jamb with an indescribable expression.

"Any man that works for me must have a blade of my making," he says. "So, I would give you one. And something to put on Cheval's halter, as is the custom of my people for our horses."

Javert regards him silently.

Eventually;

'Why? Why must I have a blade of your making?'

He will not object to the horse having a gift. It is not his horse.

"If you work for me, you must have something to show for it, it is only honourable," Teja says.

From underneath his cloak, he brings out a sword in a scabbard, from the size and balance much like any of the lighter swords used between the 16th and 19th century; but the blade is of folded steel, naturally. It is actually part of the re-forged billet that delaminated on the first day that Javert worked for Teja; but he's not mentioning that part, in case Javert takes it amiss. Also, as to be more useful, there is a utility knife of the kind anybody working with horses might need, to cut rope to length, adapt leather thongs, or free a panicking horse in an emergency. It is made from the same metal.

Javert stares at it, horror steeping through him. When he sees the knife as well, he shuts his eyes.

'I cannot take that. Do not make me.'

"Too dangerous, or too valuable?" Teja asks, quietly.

He snorts a dry laugh; shakes his head and turns it away, without opening his eyes.

'You think I would hurt myself with it?'

He cannot promise he would not.

'Too valuable by far. I could never repay that. And I have no need of bladed weapons any more.'

They both look beautiful. But no, he cannot take them.

"You will miss a good blade if you need to cut a length of leather to suit for Cheval's halter," Teja says. "Hence, the knife."

Pause.

"And which part of any man working for me being due a good blade did you not hear? I wish you to take them -- the knife to use in everyday life, as that what it is meant for, and the sword to train with, fight with, to carry whenever a man would carry his sword, if you ever have need of it again. Otherwise, you may as well hang it upon your wall."

He shakes his head again.

'No.'

No. He cannot. He cannot explain why, but no. It is too much, and he does not know what to do with it.

"Javert," Teja says, quietly, "look at me."

Pause.

"I wish you to have it. You need not do anything with the sword, but the knife will come in handy. And to have one that works for me use a mediocre blade is a great shame to any blade-smith."

He looks at him, because he is told to. But he does not have to take anything. He does not, even though this man is his employer, and he should obey at once. But he is not that man now, is he? He has broken from that, and everyone tells him he does not have to act the way he once did. They are always telling him to be different, but he is not allowed to be different in this. He must accept it, because he is told to? No. No, he will not.

'I cannot. My apologies, monsieur.'

He does bow, deeply and with respect.

"Why not?"

It is not a challenge, or cajoling; Teja asks this in the tone of voice of one that truly wishes to know.

'You are my employer. I should do as you say, I know. But I do not have to, here. I am not what I was, and I no longer have anything to live by, and I am one step away from eternal damnation. Taking gifts will not help me with that, monsieur. Taking kindness only weakens a man. And I have no need for blades; I will fight no one, I will die before unsheathing a sword to put to someone's throat. I do not have decorations or ornaments in my room, as they are pointless. I cannot take this gift; it will serve no purpose, and may yet be dangerous, and I will never have means of repaying it. And I cannot leave such a debt unpaid.'

This is all said with a minimum of pauses for breath.

Teja nods.

"And the knife?"

It is useful, after all.

'May I see it?'

There is confidence in this question. Or resolution, to be more accurate.

Teja hands it over.

It is sturdy, sensible, something to cut rope or branches, leather or meat with; it will slice bread, or even serve to pry a stone that is jammed into a horse-shoe. It is made of Teja's folded steel as well, but that was to be exptected.

He turns it over; he examines the blade; he tests the weight. Then hands it back.

'I will accept it if you do not pay me wages for three months.'

Teja touches his head to the door-post yet again. How can any one be so insistently stubborn and yet so confused, so at sea, so defensive on all sides.

"It is not worth nearly that much," he says aloud.

He almost jokes about never letting Javert setting prices for customers, for they would run, never to return -- but he refrains, as Javert is not likely at all to take any of Teja's straight-faced humour as such.

He shrugs a shoulder - it is possible he set such a time on purpose - and puts his hands behind his back.

'If you wish me to carry one of your blades, that is the price.'

Teja leans his head against the door-post, groans, and says nothing for a long while.

"I yield," he says. "You win. No blades, then. You are by far the most stubborn person that I have ever met, in life or death. You do not hesitate to bargain against your own interests, in the name of pushing your hard skull through any available wall. But I may give Cheval his snake amulet?"

'You may.'

He does not feel smug at having won. Or satisfaction.

At least, not outwardly.

'My own interests are secondary to what is correct. If you understand that, I am not so difficult, I think.'

"But I have no way of knowing what it is that you deem correct," Teja says. "It is of a value unique to yourself. Correct seems to encompass that one may not give you things, and that one should punish you in the manner you specify, and speak to you plainly."

He should carry a sheet of paper with explanations, like Fry does. But comparing him to Fry would be tantamount to telling Javert, yet again, that he is this or that thing, and when he discussed the man with Pyrrha, Teja had heartily agreed never to do that.

This is confusing, and he looks confused.

'What is correct, is what is correct, monsieur. It is not different to every person. It is simply what is.'

He would say what is right, but he is has been proved a poor judge of that through his life. But he can still be correct.