[ he lets out a short laugh at how seriously the response comes. really, can he fault the guy's confusion? also there's some illogical part of eliot's mind that's utterly amused at the actual image of a very real javert frowning at him in judgement. it's hard to keep from smiling as he clears his throat and gestures gracefully with his hand, a ball of lightless but still otherwise real flame burning from the center of his palm. he let's it sit for a moment, knowing the lack of light makes it less obvious to the bare eye, before wisping it away with the curl of his fingers back against his palm. ]
no subject
I assure you, I'm hardly joking, inspecteur.