Ryslig IC Inbox

[inseine]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, PasUnPolicier. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 246.01.094.30 *** PasUnPolicier has joined 246.01.094.30 <PasUnPolicier> This mail centre belongs to Javert. <PasUnPolicier> Be accurate and brief. <PasUnPolicier> I suggest you not test my patience with practical jokes and clowning around. <PasUnPolicier> I will return your notice shortly.

Comments

[inseine]

[Javert isn't kidding himself, judging by the careful, tight, blank expression on his face. What he wants is confirmation of his anxieties: That someone interfered, that perhaps one of his enemies discovered Valjean before he could pick up his scent again... or something worse. He waits just outside the threshold when Majima makes his way in.

Inside, the basement apartment is a wreck. Furniture is overturned, a chair lies on its side, leg broken. Shelves are in disarray. There are obvious signs of quite a struggle by the 'harmless old man.' And amongst the wreckage, Majima will be able to find the one solid clue the culprits left behind:

A syringe cap, just like the syringes the poachers used against monsters during their coordinated kidnappings and attacks in mid-November.]

[justbeingknife]

[ Impressive, really. A fight without the savaging of every piece of liftable furniture in the room could not truly be said to be a fight at all. The smell of fear and sweat, the splintering of wood. What he saw that was outside of Javert's field of vision, he called out.

And then, carefully, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and picked up the syringe cap, returning to the door. ]

Here.

[ SORRY ABOUT YOUR OLD MAN, OLD MAN ]

[inseine]

[Javert regards Majima without a speck of emotion in his eyes. He takes the handkerchief and carefully unwraps it. There is a moment of silence; he raises the cap beneath his nose and gives it a quick sniff, like a bloodhound.

The expression on his face drops indescribably. In truth, it is a subtle thing: a faint slackening of his lips here, a hollowing of the cheeks there, the emergence of deep dark rings beneath his eyes and the smoothing of all but the deepest of lines in his brow. His eyes are dull enough to swallow, rather than reflect the light.

All at once, he springs out of stillness, hurriedly wrapping the cap back up and burying it in his deepest pocket. His lower lip curls into a bulldoggish pout, fangs glinting hungrily. He readjusts his hat, drawing the brim low over his face. Apparently he is making ready to go.]

Thank you, Majima. That is all.

[justbeingknife]

[ That was weird? But pretty much par for the course for Javert, so Majima simply shut and locked the door, giving the key an absentminded toss before catching it. ]

Uh huh. I'll give the key back.

END

[inseine]

[Javert glances to Majima absently, not a flicker of emotion on his face.]

See that you do. [Toneless. Dull. Dead.] There is work to be done. I'll send word if I discover more. Good night to you.

[He heads for the exit. Then heads past the exit toward the nearest hall-window, where he instead melts into his batty shape and flaps off into the night.]