Combeferre (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wings_of_a_swan) wrote2015-07-14 11:33 am
wings_of_a_swan) wrote2015-07-14 11:33 am
Entry tags:
Horsing around
Combeferre pokes his head into Duncan's stable. He has a small tablet attached to a small speaker. He carries all this equipment without difficulty--everything is small and not heavy--but with a certain tentativeness, like he's scared he might break something.
He's still not clear on who named the horse Duncan. He doesn't think it was Feuilly. But...Feuilly's been spending some time here, and Combeferre became curious about one or two horsey questions.
The place does look rather lived in. By a human. There's a cot-like thing. Feuilly must have been here more often than Combeferre thought.
Combeferre walks up to Duncan and starts petting his nose.
He's still not clear on who named the horse Duncan. He doesn't think it was Feuilly. But...Feuilly's been spending some time here, and Combeferre became curious about one or two horsey questions.
The place does look rather lived in. By a human. There's a cot-like thing. Feuilly must have been here more often than Combeferre thought.
Combeferre walks up to Duncan and starts petting his nose.
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Someone with-- things. Wiry things. He can't help but think of all the sparky, whirring, wiry things in the garage, none of which a poor horse should be subjected to.
"What have you there?" he says. There is a chance it comes out a bit-- sharp. And loud.
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He frowns. "Who're you?" The fellow's posture seems to say he wants a fight. With him, Combeferre, or...with Feuilly? Combeferre could well imagine Feuilly, in his warm and uncensored enthusiasm, offending some vain and prickly fool.
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...fine, this is childish. "But I will give you mine regardless. I'm Combeferre. And now, who are you?"
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"I am Harry Percy, and dare venture I've as much right to this place as any, and surely more than you, that has, to my knowledge, ne'er set foot in it ere now."
--it's a completely random guess, of course, though he has indeed never seen the man before.
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Feuilly didn't mention he was this obnoxious.
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"--he may have spoke of you," Hotspur replies flippantly, because he's in full brat mode now. "In truth, I cannot recall. There are a great many of you French."
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What is he doing? Trading insults with an English knight? This is futile.
"And now, if you've no more pleasantries to offer me, I'll return to my work."
He turns back to his tablet and turns it on, frowning at the screen and trying to open the music-playing program...thing.
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"What make you here?" he asks. "I like not the look of that-- thing."
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He adds, with a certain malicious gentleness, "You needn't be afraid of it."
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"I'm not," says Combeferre. "I'm just playing some soft music to observe how the horse reacts. It's an experiment I've read of in a book, and it will do no harm."
He almost adds a sarcastic aside about how Percy's concern for his fellow dumb beast is admirable, but he bites his tongue.
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"I'm bringing him out of the stall," he says, when his patience is restored. Somewhat restored, anyway.
Combeferre finishes opening up the program he wants on the tablet. He turns back to Duncan, who seems by far the more pleasant and intelligent of Combeferre's two companions. Opening the stall door, Combeferre stands quietly for a few moments, letting Duncan sniff and nuzzle him and get used to his presence. He fishes the carrot he brought out of his pocket and gives it to Duncan, who eats it eagerly.
Then Combeferre finds a lead rope, fits it round Duncan, and leads him out of the stall, all the while ignoring Percy.
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But Hotspur is annoyed, and therefore certainly cannot let this go so easily. Which is to say, he follows Combeferre and Duncan out to the paddock.
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He leads Duncan in slow, ambling circles, in total silence, for a few minutes.
Then he points the remote at the tablet in the stable, and--after some increasingly frantic and exasperated button-pressing--it works! The tablet begins to play music. Specifically, Pachelbel's Canon.
Combeferre continues to lead Duncan in circles, keeping an eye on how the horse walks, and then--Combeferre grins. As the music speeds up, Duncan begins to trot gently in time to it.
Combeferre presses the remote button again, whereupon some loud rock music starts playing. Duncan stops short, puts his ears back, and refuses to budge. Taking the hint, Combeferre switches back to Pachelbel.
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Combeferre turns to Percy. He doesn't say "I told you so," but his face might just say it for him.
"I would not harm him," Combeferre says instead.
He's annoyed, but he's also amused. This may be Shakespeare's Hotspur--Combeferre makes a note to talk to Prouvaire and find out for sure--who Combeferre gathers is a very heroic sort of character. Hotspur, defender of innocent horses against cruel Frenchmen. It sounds like a tale an English poet might tell.
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"I am, and if he mislikes anything I'll stop. You're free, of course, to stay and watch--only I pray you, don't stand there glowering like a gargoyle. Come, Percy--I was discourteous when you first arrived, for which I ask your pardon. But if you're friends with Feuilly and Enjolras, I know of no reason why we should quarrel."
...he doesn't fully believe this. Feuilly is a deeply kind and generous man, and so is Enjolras in his own single-minded way. Both men possess a remarkable tolerance for annoying foibles. But Combeferre believes in civilization, which relies on some polite half-truths.
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"No, nor I," he agrees grudgingly. "You had no better welcome from me, and I crave your pardon also."
He offers a hand. See! He can be good!
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"I will leave you, then, to Duncan's company," he says. He did consider staying, of course, just to prove that he could, but the attendant boredom doesn't seem worth the minor victory.
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