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 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.

Teja slowly shakes his head. "It is not, Javert," he says.

Pause.

"Tell me the seven most important rules of correct behaviour, then. I would know what the cornerstones of your ethics are."

'Seven? Why seven?'

He is not sure there are that many left. Or maybe far more, depending on how far one wishes to break down what he believes.

Still, he thinks on the answer.

'To be honest at all times. To speak aloud and plain; no embellishments are necessary. To not accept more than is due, and to always work for what is given. If one stays to this, one will not overstep the bounds of propriety.'

As he says this, he is aware that propriety is not always his strong point.

"That is not what would be considered correct customs among my people, for one thing," Teja says. "And the Romans would have another code of honour, no less clear. And those from the future, yet another. For us, honour lay in untarnished reputation, honest speech, facing death bravely, swift mercilessness towards one's enemies, faith to those above oneself, and generosity to those in one's care. Those from the future put great store by not offending others, or injuring their feelings, in respecting differences and expressing oneself within the bounds of politeness. Your straight speech and self-reliance, my honour that lies in vengeance well taken -- they are strange and barbarous to them."

'Ah, I see.'

He was making a point, rather than seeking information.

'I did not say I was speaking for the entire French culture, monsieur. That would be false, as I am not truly a part of it.'

"What culture is it that you are part of?" Teja asks.

He was seeking information, also: - a plain guide to what Javert considers right and wrong will come in useful. Apart from the point that people find different things correct, so it cannot be assumed that Teja knows what Javert means by that word.

'I am of nothing. I was not born into France exactly, nor into the bohemian race of my mother. I am neither, and lower than nothing, as they were criminals which makes me little better in the eyes of society.'

Even now, he feels, after all those years of work. Especially now, considering what has happened.

"Then who or what has taught you what is correct?" Teja asks. "Your faith? Your experience? The law?"

He looks at him steadily. Is the answer not obvious?

'Myself. Only that.'

And now everyone would have it that he is wrong.

'I saw the world I lived in, and it was clear what my options were. I chose the law.'