Little Cosette having bad dreams and Valjean doing a big show of checking under the bed and in all of the wardrobes so she knows she’s safe.
Valjean having nightmares about his time in prison and waking up in a cold sweat to find nine-year-old Cosette opening the wardrobes for him to show him that it’s okay.
Today I spent my study breaks writing actual drabbles (as in, actually 100 words each) to practice writing dialogue in English in fic for books I read in French, which is something that terrifies me and that I will be doing quite a lot of shortly.
1. Le Comte de Monte-Cristo (Eugénie and Hermine)
"I am no child. You have no responsibilities, whether due to me or answering for me. We may speak to each other plainly as two women of the world."
Under the impartial gaze of this imperious daughter, Hermine trembled. “You never needed my poor offices as a mother, after all. How else can I be of use to you?”
Eugénie’s smile was severe. “The artist does not exact use from all that surrounds her. Let us be friends.”
"So you excuse — ?"
"I do not presume to judge you. Your choices are between you and your conscience."
It felt like absolution.
2. Le Vicomte de Bragelonne (Montalais and Malicorne)
"I noticed you looking at me earlier, mademoiselle."
"You know who I am?"
"It is beneath my position to know."
"So you do."
"It is no business of yours one way or the other, monsieur Malicorne."
"None other, and entirely at your service."
"All the other portionless young ladies declined to be serviced?"
"I have offered to none but you, mademoiselle de Montalais."
"You have great pretensions to delicacy, monsieur. They do not suit your face."
"Ah, so you were looking."
"Take care not to make too much of it."
"I would not dream of it."
3. Quatrevingt-treize (Michelle and Houzarde and babies)
A storm had passed in the night, leaving murky puddles in the field below the battalion’s encampment. The elder two of Michelle Fléchard’s children were scouring these miniature oceans for animal life. The baby Georgette sat in her mother’s lap, following Michelle’s conversation with the vivandière with alert incomprehension.
"And, so, does the camp life suit you?" asked Houzarde. "Your great boys will want to go soldiering before long, and the little one, why," she said, giving the girl her finger to grip, "she will, too, I suppose."
Slowly, Michelle said, “I feel we are with friends. That suits me.”
Imagine the baby that would result from a night of passion between Ebenezer Scrooge (before the spirits changed his ways) and Mr. Krabs from Spongebob. Now imagine that baby grew up and married the baby that would result from a night of passion between Yzma from the Emperor’s New Groove and Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. Now imagine the newlyweds had a baby of their own, and that baby was raised aboard a Ferengi Starship, where she was tutored in empathy and compassion by Lord Voldemort. Now imagine that baby grew up and someone told her that any opinions she might have or conclusions she might reach are based on objective logic and reason, and that anyone who disagrees with her is simply being irrational. Now multiply that person’s greed and heartlessness by 100 and you’ll begin to see something that comes close to resembling Ayn Rand.
I have a tolerably coherent eight-chapter fic outline and I just killed a practice MBE. :)))))