Dream ✍ 001

[inseine]

"Do you think I deserve a recompense? Well, I request one. That I may blow that man's brains out."

Javert was pinioned in three places. A thick rope collar was bound about his throat, and cord kept his wrists tied tight and his legs close. His march to the secluded Rue de Mondetour alleyway, where the insurgents stockpiled the dead, was slow and arduous; his balance was poor, and he could move little more than a few inches with each step. Yet on his face was the indefinable, smug smile of a confident man who had just been shown the secret to life itself.

The hooded visage of his captor bade him to stop and turned to face him. Javert obeyed, his gaze cast askance to the growing tower of bodies. The livid face and dirtied, streaming hair of a young girl, shot through the breast, caught his attention. Idly he noticed how familiar she looked. It might have been a girl he once arrested. It was never a good sign for a police agent to recognize a man or a woman. More often than not, it meant one was of the villainous variety.

Perhaps they would meet again shortly.

Javert turned to the stout, strong form of his opponent, his stare glancing only briefly to the thick barrel of the pistol thrust in his face. He was profoundly calm, almost serene and haughty in his wait. It occurred to him that the large man had spoken, but Javert cared not what he said.

"Take your revenge," Javert prompted, his head held high. He gave the impression of a man waiting for this moment all night. It was not so far from the truth. At every opportunity that the insurgents came in to the café where he was held prisoner, he would wonder at them why they had not taken the chance to kill him.

Well. At least that wait was over.

But rather than blow his head off right then and there, the other man tucked his pistol under his arm and withdrew a small object. There was a flash of silver, a sharp glint through the dimness. It was a knife.

"Ah! You are right, Valjean," said Javert with a grim note of approval. "That knife suits you better."

Knives were barbaric. Uncivilized. Personal. Criminal. Perfect for the ex-convict before him, who doubtless wished to savor the moment life left the Inspector's eyes. Javert anticipated the flash of the blade.

But it did not come. Instead, the ex-convict grasped Javert by the martingale and yanked him close, their noses nearly touching as the criminal's wild eyes stared eagerly into Javert's cold, impassive gaze. It was most uncomfortable, to be pulled around such, thought Javert. It placed a hideous strain on his breathing.

"Be quiet! You talk too much!" snarled Valjean terribly, the old man strung-out and weary from his many years of flight. His thick grip constricted, pulling the noose tight. "--Even as my prisoner."

And as the flick of the knife descended upon Javert's throat, crimson splashing the convict's face, the Inspector's lips pulled back in a fearsome, soundless, proud laugh. Valjean perceived the Inspector's broad grin, his face gaunt and body loose in the collapse of death.

It is only just. Duty was served well.

Comments

[thecoolestsoul.livejournal.com]

That was some nightmare.

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[It takes a long moment before Javert responds to the call. First there was the matter that he had just gotten out of bed and needed to properly dress himself. That he accomplished with a distracted air about him, pulling his hair into its characteristic knot at the nape of his neck, buttoning each button of his coat all the way up to his chin. And yet the loose strands and the off-center cravat buckle indicated profound distraction.

It was only at this point that he offered Soul a clearly disoriented response. In fact, it hardly even seems that he's addressing Soul at all.]

So it seems. Is that how you see it?

[thecoolestsoul.livejournal.com]

Considering the alternative is that you actually died and everything, I'd rather think it was just a dream. Was it?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[Unexpectedly, Javert's lips pull back in a frightening, mirthless grin - one that displayed all of his teeth and gums. There was something melancholic about that grin.]

Entirely enough of a dream.

[thecoolestsoul.livejournal.com]

That's good, I guess. Still means you have a pretty twisted imagination, though.

[roseofpurity.livejournal.com]

Oh dear...

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[Low 'hm']

This is hardly becoming for a woman's eyes.

[roseofpurity.livejournal.com]

No, I suppose not.

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[And Euphie is met with an extremely penetrating, but not kind gaze. Not the first time she's seen such things?]

It is not a pretty sight.

[undertakerlol.livejournal.com]

Hmm~ To dream of being tortured suggests that you are dreading something about to happen, that you feel tortured by events and emotions in your mind~ Have you been getting enough sleep, Monsieur~?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[He emits a soundless laugh peculiar only to Inspector Javert.]

Torture! You think it torture!

[An imperceptible shake of his head]

No, I am busy. I sleep the hours available to me.

[undertakerlol.livejournal.com]

Oh~? Then if it's not torture, is it a fantasy~? Many might think you for a masochist or suicidal, Monsieur~

On and do try to get some sleep~ Your mind and body will thank you for it later~

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

Let them think what they please. I am no stranger to those accusations. [And as a muttered, absent afterthought to himself] Yes, think me mad. It is not completely incorrect.

[glasscaseflower.livejournal.com]

Was that just a dream?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[He stares at Soma intently for a long moment. Slowly, he breaks out into a cold grin.]

You are not the first to wonder.

[glasscaseflower.livejournal.com]

[She stares back, unflinching]

This place has a way of bringing forth things better forgotten.

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

Very little is better left forgotten... [A thick, dramatic pause. He follows up sharply,] Unless you are afraid of your regrets.

Do you have many regrets?

[knightmare-hime.livejournal.com]

A friend of yours?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[Rather than answer the question directly, he stares at Cornelia with a searching gaze that could turn her pockets inside out.]

You spoke with M. Edgeworth, then. [Mirthless hint of a grin] Have I passed?

FFFFFF LMAO!!!

[knightmare-hime.livejournal.com]

Indeed. I trust his judgment.

:-)

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

That is very well.

He has kept dutiful watch. That should please you.

[honor-tactics.livejournal.com]

...Do you often dream of death?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[Hm. This man again. Javert couldn't seem to decide if he should grin coldly at Gale or frown, so he settled on a strange cross between a grimace and a smirk.]

Often I do not dream at all. Does it bother you?

[honor-tactics.livejournal.com]

Bother me? No. My comrade Heat's dreams are often more violent than this.

Who was that man in your dream?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

I do not doubt Heat is a violent sort, then.

[It was a long moment before Javert responded again, as he settled a searching gaze on Gale. Slowly, an eyebrow arched up his forehead.]

He is a convict.