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@songandflame-archived
a study in how poverty, gender roles, hierarchy and organised religion impact and inform society and its expectations; the unwritten rules one is meant to follow and the punishments faced should one step out of line. -> carrd.
indie, book & musical inspired fantine from victor hugo's les misérables. loved by lychee (she/they) | 25+ | minors and personals dni.
( PSA )
I've moved over here. It's now a dual muse blog with both F.antine and another muse I've been writing since entering the rpc!
No pressure to follow me over, but it would be great to see some familiar faces!
- Lychee 💛
Sorry!
I've basically been missing in action for a HOT minute. I haven't abandoned Fantine or any of you, my wonderful moots, just struggling to find inspiration at the moment!
In saying that, I'm thinking of moving blogs and archiving this one. I've been here for 6 years and I think I would just like to start afresh, maybe create a combined blog with another muse of mine, but I'm not 100% yet!
Again, sorry for dipping without a word. I promise it's not any of you wonderful people, I just get overwhelmed sometimes and life is currently throwing itself full force @ me!
Hoping you're doing well and remaining fabulous!
— Lychee 💛💛💛
Fantine's tongue-lashing wasn't a surprise, per se, and yet Benjamin still found himself folding beneath the sharp slice of her admonishment. Curling his hands at his sides, he rolled his lips inward and glanced between mother and daughter.
"I suppose I deserve that," he replied. "Your concerns are not my own, and I didn't mean to suggest that they should be...but we do need to be on the same page, if you want my protection. I can only succeed if we work together."
Fantine grew more acquiescent, but her tone wasn't any less stiff as she agreed to his terms.
"I'm paying, yes," Benjamin was quick to reassure. "We can buy whatever you'd like...and something for Cosette too, should she fancy it." Smiling over at the young girl, who gawped back at him with sparkly-eyed intrigue, he only looked up again at Fantine's query.
Startled, he straightened his stance. He knew this was Cosette's best option -- of course it was -- and yet he hadn't anticipated a disbandment so quickly.
"I can take her to the inn I'm staying at, yes," he affirmed, "but only if you think it's what's best for her." Any loving mother would know this, but Benjamin didn't want to come off as preachy nor judgmental when he had the means to afford a better life.
Placing a hand upon Cosette's head, he added, "What would you both say to a bath? And I mean, a proper one with submersion?"
Fantine told Cosette to play in the room over. She had survived the Thénardiers, Fantine would not subject her to the games this man had her mother playing. Cosette was content to play with her doll as they spoke, Fantine's eyes glancing over to the doorway every now and then to ensure Cosette was alright.
"And if "we" succeed?" she asked, her eyes unable to stop the way they narrowed. "What then? You'll return us to the streets?" Her voice trembled, her anger giving way to concern— not for herself, but for Cosette.
Of course Esme wandered back in with mention of purchasing her something. She could hardly blame the girl for being enamoured by the man. Part of him reminded her of Tholomyes, and Fantine could not define whether she hated him or not. Still, with hands tied, Fantine released a sigh and nodded her head.
"Yes, I know it is best for her." Fantine may be illiterate, but she wasn't stupid. "But I have little to change into, Monsieur, especially should my wardrobe displease you so. It will seem you will have to lend me a shirt and some breeches in the time being."
"I'm not interested in the brothels," he said firmly, lips tight. He'd done enough of that in his youth, and hadn't so much as touched a woman since-- well. Men were another story, of course; they always had been. But he couldn't reach for the fairer sex without thinking of her. To stem the tide of memories, he raised a hand for drinks to be brought, then turned back to Fantine. "It's just as you said. I want information. Anything interesting you've noticed by the docks. Gossip you might have heard. Strange visitors."
Fantine scanned the man's face as closely as the flickering of flames would allow. She saw the way his jaw tensed and lips pursed. It was a mistake on Fantine's part to feel safe inside. Witnesses had done nothing to help her before, who would do anything to help her here?
"There is your usual," she answered, hands tucking underneath her legs as she spoke, awkwardly shifting in her chair, "goods, pirates waiting to make men merry and then smuggle them on to ships. There is discontent and those who preach about a better future. Why do you care?"
There were few sights that could stir him as much as a family being reunited. Having lost the majority of his own many years ago, Benjamin knew how overwhelmingly joyous it could be to suddenly have them back. Briefly, for a time, he'd felt the very same when he thought his brother was still alive.
Smiling thinly at the memory, Benjamin laughed in spite of himself. "You sound surprised," he said. "I may be an arsehole, but I'm an arsehole who keeps his word. And it wasn't easy either...her caretakers were exceptionally odious."
Cosette wrinkled her nose, amused. "Does that mean they stink?"
"Among other things," Benjamin agreed, grinning. "Maybe one day soon, I can teach you many words and their definitions."
Much quieter, Cosette whispered to her mother, "Arsehole is a bad word," to which he offered a sheepish chuckle.
Reaching for the girl's hand (though she offered him her doll's hand instead), he clasped onto the porcelain and spared Fantine a cautious glance. "You seem well," he said. A lie. "I don't mean to rush things along, but...I received word of a soiree coming up within the week -- a gathering with very important people who're attending. I would very much like you to come as my guest." He spared her a wary once-over. "At present, I'm afraid your garments and hair will not do for this particular event. I have a friend, if...if you do not mind them cleaning you up to be more suitable?"
"It is," Fantine agreed, gently tapping Cosette on the end of her nose with her index finger. "So we must do our best not to copy him, yes?"
Fantine chose not to comment on the Thénardiers. Fantine could see Cosette's physical state, she did not need it pointed out, least in front of Cosette; it was a conversation they could have privately at a later point.
Instead of being able to soak up the joy of their reunification, Fantine was wrapping her head around Benjamin's requests. As cruel as the Thénardiers had been, how cruel could Benjamin be? She was hardly naïve, and she had known enough men to understand how fickle they were. If she refused, would he part her and her child again? Would he take Cosette as his ward and leave Fantine with nothing but the bittersweet memory of this brief moment?
"Do forgive me if my appearance displeases you," she retorted, the sharpness in her voice even surprising her, "I can't say I've had the means nor time to worry about it."
Fantine concentrated on Cosette's face, every blink causing her to worry that this was just another feverish hallucination.
"But if you are paying, then fine. I will go." Fantine could taste the bitterness on her tongue. Her pimp and clients may be unpleasant, cruel and uncaring, but at least they could not leverage her daughter against her. "You will care for Cosette in the mean time?" Seeing them holding hands—the doll he had purchased for her—had established the way in which Cosette already trusted this man.
how much sad did you think I had in me?
how much tragedy?
Benjamin flinched as though struck. As if he were a marionette whose strings had been tugged, he rose up to his feet on wobbly limbs, taking a moment to right himself as he fiddled with his cravat. Fantine wasn't wrong. He often was the one directing others as opposed to partaking directly, and with a scowl, he snatched the flask from her hand.
"When I return here, you won't be needing that anymore," he said. "You'll have your daughter again, and I expect you to be sober when you entertain your guests. It's the easiest way to keep you alive." Expression softening, he set the flask back onto her nightstand. "I am not a father, but I know what it means to care for children. Cosette needs you to have your wits, madam. Don't let her see you like this."
Growing a bit more guarded, he added, "In the future, if you receive a message simply reading '721,' that will mean I'm coming to visit. I know it's too late to teach you my encryption method, but given your profession, our meeting one another shouldn't draw up any overt suspicion." He exhaled and bowed his head. "I believe enough time has passed to be a believable respite, so I'll leave you to your business. You won't see me again until I have your daughter."
--
Ever true to his word, Benjamin didn't return to Fantine until he'd acquired Cosette. To his fury, the Thenardiers had been cruel, selfish, and completely greedy, demanding more and more coin to sate their so-called "broken hearts" over parting with the poor waif. The girl was clearly not cared for -- compared to the Thenardiers' child, she was skin and bones -- and it had taken everything in Benjamin not to throttle the husband, in particular, for being such a poor excuse of a human being.
What could she do? He hung her daughter over her head like a steak for a dog.
It was her turn to flinch. Fantine naturally came to block her face, angry she had not stilled her tongue, but angrier yet that he had take the one thing that belonged to her other than the clothes on her back.
And he was gone as quickly as he came.
The money he had left found itself tucked underneath a floorboard, hidden from greedy eyes and hands. It took a week, perhaps more... she had begun to believe he wasn't returning— that he had lied.
Fantine felt a fool once more for believing anything he said, anything he had promised.
Like most people here, Fantine did well to keep her head down. She wouldn't have even seen the man again if she had not heard the shrill cry of an excited child. Years had been spent desensitising herself to the sights and sounds of children, but the unbridled joy was enough to make Fantine lift her head.
There was little time to process what was happening; Cosette was hanging around her neck and Fantine couldn't believe her eyes. Was she drunk? Was this a dream?
Cosette babbled on as Fantine sat trying to find the breath that had been knocked from her when Cosette threw herself at her. When Benjamin spoke, Fantine finally found the ability to move once more, wrapping her arms around her daughter. She propped her child against her hip, the considerable size and weight of her child not going unnoticed by Fantine. They had lost years. Yet, Fantine knew Cosette should be heavier, fuller.
"You... you got her..." Fantine's voice faltered, tears forming now the shock had begun to wear off. "It's been so long, you... thank you."
Benjamin flinched, mortified by her conjecture. The personal business of a man was his own, and yet it unsettled him to hear such sacred professions being turned into a mockery.
"I...have no words of comfort for that," he fumbled. "The only actions I have control of are my own, and I have never lied to the innocent -- or at least, not in a way that would bring them harm."
Trouble... His mouth quirked faintly at such a revelation. He hadn't known peace since well before the start of the war, and he couldn't find it in himself to lie to her.
"It's not a safe job," he admitted. "Capture and death are always a possibility...one of my best and dearest friends was hanged as a spy." Throat tight, as it often was whenever he thought of Nathan Hale, Benjamin lowered his eyes and clenched his fists. "After his death, I created a ring of espionage to ensure that no one ever died in such a heinous way again -- not on our watch. And then after the war ended, there was no need for such tactics...not until now." His gaze grew earnest. "What I'm trying to say is, I am used to keeping people alive in undercover channels, because I did so for seven years. I can do it again...I promise."
The woman revealed her name to be Fantine, but her admittance came with the stinging whip-crack of an accusation -- she knew he was lying -- and pale, Benjamin offered a stiff nod. "All right," he agreed. "I told you my name was John, because I needed to protect myself. But seeing how you are looking for an extension of good faith, I'll allow you to know that I am Major Benjamin Tallmadge, General Washington's staff." He smiled thinly. "Or rather, I was during the war. Clearly, I wear many hats at this point -- one of which requires recruitment here in Paris." He squeezed her wrist. "Give me the name of that inn, and I'll go fetch your daughter. This land's freedom might as well start with the two of you."
"No, it's never the fault of gentlemen like you. You just watch your friends cause harm instead." Fantine was speaking entirely out of line, but the drink accompanied by this man's sheer audacity had invited a boldness she had long since lost sight of.
Fantine fished for a shawl, lazily wrapping it around her arms now she was assured she would not be cold with sweat by the time this particular meeting was over with. "Telling me that you wish for me to act as some sort of spy and admit your dearest friend was executed for such crimes does little to comfort me." Then again, perhaps if she could transfer the care of Cosette over to this man, to have her daughter's ward be a man of influence and... well, security if not money... would Fantine's death truly matter at all?
"I do not care for titles or medals, Monsieur," Fantine stated plainly, her eyes meeting his. "I care only for my child." Fantine had long since cared about little else. She had neglected her health for Cosette's own well-being, but it was never enough.
She merely hoped he wouldn't take from her the same way in which the Thenardiers had. Yet, she would continue to give— what other option did she have?
"I cannot recall the name, Monsieur. It's the Montfermeil only inn." She winced a little, reaching for her flask to blur out the memory of her daughter's cries as Fantine left her behind. "Her name is Cosette."
The weight behind her stare jabbed through Benjamin like sharp, accusing needles. He anxiously wet his lips and shifted from side-to-side, curling his hands while he awaited her verdict. Unsurprisingly, he was met with contempt.
"I suppose I don't have much to offer beyond my word as a gentleman," he fumbled, his mouth dry. "I am a preacher's son...a schoolteacher. Whenever I give my word, I don't do so lightly, madam, and least especially when lives are at stake. Are you familiar with the Marquis de Lafayette?"
His friend was well-known and beloved in both America and France alike, but due to the present political tensions, the marquis was making plans to flee for Belgium.
"He is a friend of mine," Benjamin continued. "He is the one who instructed me to reach out, and just as he has ensured my safety, he will ensure your own. Besides..." He drew a breath. "For some of these excursions, I will need a woman to accompany me to social gatherings. If you are amenable to this, I promise to lend my personal protection."
A child? Oh...
The guilt in his stomach festered, and seeming to forget his earlier revulsion, Benjamin stepped toward the woman and lowered down to one knee. "Where is she?" he pressed. "I can send for her at once... If she's in town, I can personally see to it that she's properly cared for." Frowning, he prodded, "And what's your name? I may be adept at combing the streets, but having this information will make it much easier to find your daughter and ensure your safety." Here, he snatched up his coin purse, then hesitantly took her hand before placing it inside her palm. "Take it," he pleaded. "If not for the job, then for your little girl."
"A gentleman," she sneered, her repetition bordering a laugh but falling short. "Do you know how many schoolteachers and preachers have graced in between my legs?" she asked, her smirk becoming an exasperated smile. "Only for them to tell me I'm going to hell on Sunday morning." The hatred pierced her words, almost spat at the feet of the stranger in front of her.
And then he asked of Lafayette. Who in France hadn't heard of Lafayette? She was a whore, but she was no fool. "He has ensured your safety?" she asked, eyebrows raising as she spoke, "forgive me, but how is that a comforting thought for me? It sounds as if you're expecting trouble."
He moved and she pushed herself back, her back hitting the wall. She did well not to show fear mostly, but she could barely contain her knee-jerk reaction. Why did he care where her daughter was? Actually, why did he care about her at all? The sudden compassion in his eyes stoked her anger further; her child had caused her to lose her job, and yet it still evoked empathy when it was useful to those who otherwise would punish her for such a revelation.
The coin purse felt heavy in her hand, but the way her fingers curled around the purse instinctually. It was more coin than she had ever been given— more coin than she would ever see again (unless she took up his offer for work).
"She is a ward of an inkeeper and his wife, Monsieur." Her eyes focussed past him, the talk of Cosette tensing her jaw with grief she couldn't name. The safety of her child was used as a bargaining technique, one Fantine could hardly refuse. Her jaw tensed again, her anger mingling with the hollowness of grief.
"My name is Fantine, but what good is knowing mine when you have lied to me?" His hesitancy combined with the way he tripped over 'John' confirmed at least that much for her. "I don't want your self-serving pity, Monsieur." Fantine exhaled, a hand coming to wipe across her face. "But if, and only if it should help my daughter and you ensure her protection, then I will work with you. Do not cross me, Monsieur, I've faced too much already."
What he asked for...? God, this poor wretch surely couldn't be enjoying herself? What was it like, Benjamin wondered, to have no choice but to lie down and sacrifice oneself to the lustful gods of debauchery? Briefly, his throat stung, but not just from the foul stench lingering in the air.
While he struggled with how to best broach his offer -- or rather, request -- he froze once the woman moved over and hoisted herself upon the well-used mattress by their side, her hands drawing her tattered skirts up, up, and...oh.
Flustered at the sight of so much skin, Benjamin quickly rushed over and halted her hands, his breath tight as he shook his head. "No, no, madam, please," he begged her. "You don't have to do that..." Not here. Not with me. Wincing, he amended, "What would you say if I only wanted to talk? And nothing more?"
Realizing he was still holding onto her hands, Benjamin shrank back and smoothed his palms over his weskit, almost as if trying to wipe her from his skin -- or rather, the men she'd likely already entertained that morning. "I've been told that the women here meet with many types of men: politicians, soldiers, revolutionaries." Hesitant, he lifted his eyes to hers. "Would you say that's accurate? And if so, would you be willing to speak to these men, and then inform me of everything they've said in this room, no matter how mundane or seemingly irrelevant?"
Here, he tossed the coin purse onto her bed. "Take it," he implored. "If you choose to deny my request, I'd at the very least like to buy your silence."
No, she wasn't enjoying herself; she never did. Yet, despite her hatred for such work, she could at least pretend otherwise. It made the days go faster that way... or was it the alcohol? Fantine wasn't entirely sure and she didn't intend to answer that question right now, either.
If Fantine cared, she would have been somewhat offended at the man's clear disgust, yet she could hardly blame his reaction. She most likely reeked of brandy and she could hardly remember the last time she had bathed— that was disregarding her missing teeth. Still, with his insistence, Fantine sat upright. She did not want fuss, worst still, she didn't want to attract negative attention from her pimp. Like a confused dog, her head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing to make him out through the dark and dinginess of the room.
The sight and sound of his coin purse caused the slightest of flinches. She wasn't used to money being thrown at her, or if it was, not with the concern that seemed to line his face.
She made no attempt to take it, her hackles raised in suspicion. What he was asking might be nothing to him, but Fantine had seen the streets run red. As long as her daughter was still living, Fantine simply did enough to survive and keep her child alive. She doubted a man of his ilk would understand, or when considering Cosette's father, wouldn't even care.
"And if they did?" she asked, the weight of the purse on her shoulders despite not having even acknowledged it. "What, apart from your purse, do I have to guarantee my safety, Monsieur?" Fantine could feel the itch of frustration beginning to make itself known. "And as who's to say you won't stab me in the back?"
He may not be using her in the traditional sense, but he'd managed to find a way regardless.
"I have a child, Monsieur. I am responsible for her safety— her life. I cannot simply accept coin without you guaranteeing my safety and her livelihood."
@songandflame
Although accustomed to putting on an act, Benjamin was not used to the rampant filth, flirtatious jeers, and stench of ill repute found along these P.arisian docks. A leering woman with rotting, yellowed teeth all but fell into him and he jerked aside, tugging his coat in closer, lest he find himself robbed of his hard-earned coin.
This was a mistake, he thought. But no...L.afayette had insisted upon this area being prime for potential targets. Men became foolish in the arms of women -- sadly, Benjamin knew this from personal experience -- and attempting to breathe through his mouth to avoid the sour, suffocating stench of human waste, he quickened his step until he was in the heart of debauchery.
There were women all around him -- some young, some old, some robust, while others were barely standing. Benjamin pitied these poor waifs. Avoiding their eyes, if only to fight against his natural impulse to soothe, to aid, he faltered once he spotted a young woman with hair the color of bottled sunshine.
The sun... It hadn't been out in days, and helpless but to gravitate toward her equally crystalline eyes, Benjamin approached the woman with a nervous tremor to his step. He would never, ever debase a human being in such a way, and yet he forced himself to maintain the act as he lifted his coat, revealing a coin purse strapped to his hip. "I..." He cleared his throat, hating how damnably dry his mouth felt. "A moment of your time, Miss. Please?"
A wave of shame rushed over him -- most especially once the other women started catcalling how they were better or more suitable for his needs -- and grateful when she started leading him off toward what he presumed to be her chambers, he held his breath before offering, "My name is John... If you promise to do everything I say, I can guarantee a lot more than coin."
The name was a lie; he didn't yet know if this thin, ashen woman could be trusted -- and offering her what he hoped to be an appeasing smile, his heart knocked up into his throat once the door closed behind them with a loud and final click. "Ah..." Nervously, he reached inside his coat before presenting the coin purse. "Name your price, and I'll see if I can double it. What I've come calling for is unlike anything you're accustomed."
The all consuming stench of these areas was no longer noticeable to Fantine. Of course, with warmer weather came the increase of the unpleasant smell, but what else would one expect in such an area of Paris? If it wasn't the smell of alcohol, smoke and sex, it was the smell of decay.
The usual men who graced these parts were shipyard or deckhand workers. Those who had money were as obvious to the poor as the guillotine was to aristocrats' necks. Of course, all the girls tried their best to flatter and take from these men; pickpockets took their coin purses, some their coats. Where there wasn't money, their accessories paid well.
Despite the slight blur that drink encouraged around her peripheral, Fantine still spotted this gentleman coming towards her. It was a surprise— Fantine was most inclined to agree with the other girls' jeers. They were better and more suitable for his needs, much to Fantine's shame. Sometimes it felt as if she couldn't possibly love Cosette enough if she didn't try as hard as the others.
She could have asked this information, but she didn't particularly care. He seemed young and inexperienced. His friends either gave him a dare or he was timidly learning the ropes that was the world of sex. Fantine almost felt bad for him— she was hardly an enthusiastic participant, but no-one ever realised.
"Everything you say?" she repeated, her eyes scanning the man up and down. "Is that not my job, Monsieur?" she continued, a smirk resting on dry lips. "That's what you pay me for. Now, what you ask for decides my price."
Despite his obvious nerves, his words were poorly chosen. Fantine let her smirk widen as she made for the makeshift bed and hoisted her skirts up.
"That's what every man says, Monsieur," she slurred, coaxing him over with a finger. "I'm sure we can establish my pay once you've shown me what you've got."
He moved comfortably through the milieu of drunks and deckhands on their leave, shoving them aside as needed with practiced ease. He created a wake in which for her to follow, until they drew up alongside an empty table. Pausing, he gestured for her to sit, then waited before seating himself. The war had taken much from him, but he'd kept his manners, and etiquette was cheap for what it could earn.
"Well, yes." A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but that was all. He had no shame about it, clearly. "I'm guessing I'm not the first to ask."
She smirked, a flicker of pride glittering in her eyes with her ability to call his bluff. He didn't look like the other men in here, not the deckhands. If anything he looked like a captain or, curiously, someone with much more of a significant influence.
"And pray tell, what exactly does a man of your ilk expect to get from a woman like me?" Fantine almost laughed. Her eyes briefly met his before her gaze fell to the table, tracing grains in wood. "The classier brothels are further in town, Monsieur. Cost you a pretty penny, too."
Sidney's advice to him at the bus stop, that day when he had shamefully considered running away, that was sound advice even if he hadn't had a chance to implement it fully. They do deal in life, and for good or ill, that resulted in a tangled web. Among other things that meant they were all connected in the end, something Leonard tried to always keep top of mind.
Fantine was another strand in the web, one that was receiving his sole focus in this moment. Her tension was obvious, no, palpable. It nearly made him tense too, here in the one place that felt like sanctuary. At any rate Leonard was strongly aware of his sacred duty to counsel. The sudden appearance of tears came as a shock, but not one destined to chase him away. He was done running, at least from some things.
His gaze averted to give her privacy while he listened. A slight frown couldn't be helped. To draw attention to the horror would be too much, but it was a far cry even from the sort of crimes they saw (more often, he sometimes thought, than other village must). "Oh, I am so sorry," he whispered, no louder than her. "I don't think it's possible to fathom God's reasons." He paused, briefly shutting his eyes to gain perspective. "No, you're quite right, there's no beauty in that. But there is beauty elsewhere— you must cling to that. There's your little girl, and in time you'll make friends here, or- or wherever you end up. That's the way of it. 'No man is an island,' as they say. Well— actually I think it was Donne, but... you see my point, I hope."
It felt simultaneously cathartic and revealing; Fantine wasn't sure how to feel nor could she understand why she said it. Perhaps she just needed someone else to hear the truth. Maybe that way, it would be real; she would stop hearing familiar voices of her parents in her dreams, stop the way she would just reach the kitchen table before her alarm clock disturbed her sleep and extinguished the image of her parents' faces.
They hadn't thought Cosette was beautiful back home. They saw a monster in a traitor's arms. She often told the girl her father was killed in the war... A lie that wasn't necessarily untrue. Her father could have been anyone, after all. The Americans were hardly forgiving in their emancipation of France— Fantine would not have been surprised to learn her father had met his end at the expense of a Yank's bullet.
Fantine closed her eyes and clung to Leonard's words. She had felt nothing more than completely alone; not just here, but since the end of the war. A nomad who traveled everywhere and was accepted nowhere.
Eventually she opened her eyes again, turning her head to focus on Leonard's face. She inhaled, confidence getting stuck in her throat before she asked, very quietly, "will you be my first friend here?"
God knew she needed one.
She could technically spare Cosette, but only if she were some kind of automaton. Between his own nature and the girl's inquisitiveness (call it inquisition), Javert was surprised it had lasted as long as it had. Valjean's doing, no doubt, with a willing accomplice. Javert's presence had disturbed the delicate equilibrium, introduced grit onto the track. Sooner or later he would force the question, because obviously he was not some randomly acquired charity case. His presence here had meaning and Cosette had recognized it even without anyone saying anything. Infuriating really, why did young people have to have so much energy?
For now he concentrated on her reactions, her movements. Her. The way she fell into his arms was still novel enough to cause a moment's pause, not as to whether he wanted it but whether it was real. It most certainly was, which only left one other question. "Old dog, hmm?" He growled as if offended. "Well then, I'm surprised you're willing to be seen with such a decrepit codger. Shouldn't you have a shiny new fellow? Young, perky ears, tail set to wag... easier to train too, I'd wager."
She was beyond grateful he let her remain there, equally stunned that he did not wish to turn her away. She had thought that, after all he knew of her, he would not wish to handle someone so unclean. With Valjean, her past was easy to forget, but with Javert it is all he had ever known about her; she was never a worker in Madeleine's factory, just a woman who served the baser instincts of men.
Her hand came to gently tap his arm in admonishment. "Hush now, I couldn't be prouder. Besides, you forget I tried the shiny new fellow; turns out they aren't particularly functional." She leaned back to catch his gaze, her grin wide. "I've got quite the soft spot for greying muzzles. They are deserving of just as much, if not more, love."
Today is my first wedding anniversary and honestly??? That's absolutely wild! How insanely quickly a year goes by! 🤯
