That's all!

[Javert cannot believe his eyes, Amon. Of course, that is not something one could easily glean from his unchanged expression.]

Yes, what a hideous face you were hiding, [Javert observes, a broad smirk parting his lips. He wraps his fingers around his fresh glass.] Here I was imagining some scar. One of those disfiguring ones I've seen in the rougher old highway bandits. I am slightly disappointed, seeing that you have a much handsomer nose than me.

Now, pardon me, but I don't care to speak about family talk. No experience.

[Javert raises his drink and kicks it back in one fell swoop. The sweet-hot burn down his throat brings a sharp grimace to his face, and he slams the glass back on the bartop. He freezes, palpably, and swipes the full honey whiskey bottle and turns it around. He peers ruefully at the labels on the bottle. They are all bobbledygook to him.]

Damn, [he mutters, and he tentatively ventures to give himself another pour.] How the hell did you barter for this stuff?

[And more significantly, how much does he owe for it? That didn't taste terribly cheap.]