milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Javert is in his normal back corner of the bar. It was pouring rain when he finished in the forge for the day, so he came here instead of going out into the woods. He is surrounded by paper, and the odd ruler, and he is drawing something with precision on one sheet - only to finish it, shake his head and toss it away, before taking a new piece and starting again.

This looks like it has been going on for some time, and may continue the rest of the day. And possibly night. A distraction before his hand falls off would perhaps be welcome.

[OOC: Open UNTIL THE END OF TIME. Or next Wednesday. Whichever comes first. <3

ETA: YOU FABULOUS PEOPLE. *flings love at* I must crash, but it's been a blast. Am around all day tomorrow to continue. <3]

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'No.'

Unless it counts as a favour to oneself, but he does not think so.

'It is because there is no church here, and I cannot live in a heathen place where there is nowhere to find peace.'

Even with a church, he has little hope of finding it, probably. But he will try.

'Do you not go to church, child?'

She never really considered milliways as 'heathen', but then religion was never a big thing with her family. The far opposite actually.

The gesture she gives is something between a shrug and a shake of her head. "We have prayers in the large chapel every morning before classes, does that count?"

He eyes her with suspicion. Then sniffs.

'It is better than nothing, I suppose. But do you mean to tell me you have no religious instruction in your school?'

"Just bible studies." Her manner is reserved even at his responses to her. She's far to used to grown ups talking to her in this manner and able to brush it off. "And then we have a minister that comes in to say prayers once a day before the mid morning break."

She's not entirely sure on the manner herself. Her reading has told her to all sorts of religious types, and of course her father usually said that the religious sort were his 'best' sort of customers-which said a lot.

'Mid morning break?'

She is modern. He should not be surprised.

'Then what do you spend the rest of your time doing?'

"First half hour of the day is spent going over the lessons and assignments of the day, the prayers, then break." She said, hands behind her back. There may've actually been a hint of a smile on her face: she's never actually discussed what she did in school, given her parents couldn't have cared less-there was something novel in it.

"It's about fifteen minutes. I spend it talking with my friend, Lavender."

Edited 2014-01-24 20:47 (UTC)

'You misunderstand. If the religious instruction is confined to what you are calling 'bible studies' and prayers before this break, what are the other lessons you must have?'

Because this sounds like it will be something awful.

She gives him a curious look: was he from one of those times when school wasn't required.

"Well, Ms. Honey is teaching the class the two times tables and basic maths. She's also teaching spelling and reading simple sentences, but she gives me books for other subjects too, because she said I'm far more advanced than the other children." She never really considered anything wrong with it really, but it had left her feeling that she was 'different'.

'Ah.'

That is even more suspicious. Javert does not like things that are different. His eyes narrow in response to her curious look.

'Advanced in what way?'

The curious look earns him a careful look back. The last time someone looked at her that way-she got a torn library book for her troubles.

"Well, I can already do the twelve times tables, and I enjoy reading books like Dickens and Hemingway. Ms. Honey gave me some books on geometry, history and a textbook to learn French. She wanted me to be moved up a few forms, but the headmistress was against it."

For what reason, she doesn't know as she wasn't given one, but the books were nice to read and learn from. It was just nice to be around a grown up that didn't call her lazy for enjoying to read.

'I have not heard of these writers.'

But then, he hates to read.

'What year are you from? I suppose it must be in the future, as this school does not sound like anything I recognise.'

The fact that it exists, for a start. It certainly does not sound like any school he recognises.

"Dickens is my favorite. The way he writes people is like you already know them and can see the places he writes about. Even his sad scenes are good because there are bits of humor and his endings are always happy."

Her manner is, while not entirely on guard, a bit more wary.

"It's 1988 where I'm from. So, maybe it is the future for you, but this bar is set in the future for me."

He waves off her review.

'I do not read except an hour at night. And not stories. I have better things to do. Happy endings? What use are they?'

He turns back to his drawing, and starts shading some bricks.

'I am from 1832. 1988 is in the future, yes. What is your name, girl?'

Edited 2014-01-24 21:18 (UTC)

She looked at him, almost sorry. "I'm five years old-almost six-it's either that or watch telly."

The last part was said with a sort of, not disgust, but a sort of eye roll.

"Why not? They're stories and meant to be enjoyed, that's all."

If her books weren't in her bag, she would've held them in more of a defensive position.

"My name is Matilda Wormwood, what's yours?"

'I am Javert.'

Because she is a small girl, and therefore unimportant, he does not bother to glare at her. Making children cry is an occupational hazard, and not one he does for enjoyment.

'And I am an adult, that is why not. Stories serve no purpose. Read something useful. I would suggest you start with the Bible.'

"Dickens and Hemingway are stories for adults." She reasoned. "So clearly they're meant for adults to enjoy."

She looked at him, almost a challenge. She knew crying wouldn't solve anything and she's been spoken to with worse language, so she doesn't even look like she's about to cry.

"Maybe I will, if you could try and read a novel. I don't think there's any harm in reading something for enjoyment. If that was the case, then we wouldn't have the ability to laugh."

He looks at her. He does appear a man who ever laughs. It has happened, but not often, and never since he came to this bar.

'I will not do this. I have more important things to do, as even a short thing like you must see.'

Certainly more important than laughing.

"You don't spend all your time working though, some time between resting and eating?" Even daddy spent some time..well, okay when he wasn't working he was rather lazy.

"And I'm a girl, not a thing." It would be noted that she didn't protest being called 'short': it was rather common knowledge for her.

Well, least he didn't call her anything worse.

'I work. That is all. I am in the forge, or I am tending a horse, or I am building this. Sometimes I sleep. That is all.'

He does not see the point in else. His leisure hours have always been few, and that is how he has liked it. Now it is just as much a case of too much free time making his mind misbehave in destructive ways. He would rather work.

'I advise you to follow my example.'

She's quiet a moment. "As much as I'd like to learn things, the places back home require a person to be atleast 16 years old, and the places that don't..I don't think I could trust them." She'd probably like to work at her father's shop, but then it'd be in the presence of a cheater and conman and she doesn't entirely trust the place to be safe.

"I'd like to learn horse back riding, but mum doesn't like being pulled from her bingo games and daddy works all the time-and neither like to be pulled from the telly when at home." There's actually no pity or sadness in her voice: just resignation that her parents are good for nothing except raising her.

Edited 2014-01-24 23:06 (UTC)

'There are horses here,' he says, dismissively.

'No doubt someone will teach you if you stand around long enough. That is what people are like, here.'

He has seen them.

"Tried that. You need money and I only get five quid for pocket money." Which isn't enough for proper lessons apparently. "I can take on happy hour with Bar's permission-on the condition that I don't serve alcohol, of course-but people get a little strange about seeing a little girl behind a bar."

Really, there's not much for her to do except read and go to school. Surely he'd see that by now.

'You should not be behind a bar,' he says at once, with a note of horror in his voice.

He has seen children do worse things - did worse things himself, when he had to - but in a place like this where charity is, lamentably, freely given...a child should not have to serve behind the bar.

'Do you not have toys? I thought most young ones do. You could play with them instead, and learn to ride when you are bigger.'

Matilda shrugs. "I know, but..." She looks down a bit: the story's still embarrassing. "I had to earn money and this was the fastest way to do so."

She looked around a moment, not wanting to be over heard, then moved closer to his table, setting her school back on the closest available chair: she didn't want to mess up his drawings after all. "Daddy came home from work one day and grabbed the book I was reading. He then proceeded to tear all the pages out from it, even when I tried to explain that it was a library book and I would have to return it. He said I had to buy another one and then he stormed out of the room."

It happened months ago, but the memory's still a harsh one. "I had to buy the damaged one so they could replace it, but I didn't want to spend my money on something he did. So, I asked Bar if I could take over happy hour. I got a note saying it was alright, so long as I make it clear that I can't serve alcohol-and I didn't."

The mention of toys though, that got an amused look. For a grown up insisting on being useful, hearing him talk of toys was almost funny. "I do, but then reading and playing with toys are both enjoyable pass times for me."

He frowns. There is an obvious question to be asked.

'Why did he tear up your book?'

There is a slight implication of what did you do to earn it? but it is only slight.