VOICE ✍ 005

[inseine]

[It is mid-morning, approaching the afternoon, when Javert makes this mysterious announcement. There is no context, no emotional inflection in his cold and indifferent voice, and no further explanation offered.

It is also interesting to note for his superiors that he has not come into police headquarters today. All he has done is sent a simple, succinct message to his administrative coordinater: Inspector Javert will not be in today.]

Doctor Naomi Hunter's [--and that he says with a strange emphasis--] laboratory and clinic are closed to the public. All of you patients must have received referrals from her recently. It is suggested that you use them indefinitely.

Comments

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

Who is asking? [comes the sharp, bone-dry response.] The Malfoy boy? It is you, isn't it?

I know she enjoyed your ... friendship. Even if you are just a boy.

[alphaophiuchi]

Draco, yes. [he'll ignore that 'boy' bit, especially if it gets him the answer he wants.]

I'm glad to hear it. Pray tell why she can't tell me that herself, sir?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[Javert doesn't seem to hear Draco. Rather, he is muttering in rapid-fire French under his breath, and to the boy it should sound like little more than a string of indistinct nasal syllables. One gets the impression he is speaking to something, but without any video, it is difficult to say whether the words are meant for Draco, for himself, or for something else entirely.

... Perhaps the good Inspector has finally taking a teetering dip off the cliff of his sanity. Strange how the translator isn't picking up on this at all. Judging by the impassive tone of voice, he doesn't seem completely conscious of what he is doing.]

Avez-vous un costume noir? Autre que ces robes.

[alphaophiuchi]

[it's a good thing his father taught him French at a young age; admittedly, he's not used to a native French-speaker's tones, nor has he spoken in a while. Even when conversing, most vocabulary comes with difficulty.

[He's about to reply, but the last phrase doesn't sound like it's directed at him.]

Sir?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[This time, he speaks more clearly and loudly, and the translator does its magic. What on earth was his last response all about?]

There is very little she is capable of saying anymore. She is dead.

[Just like that, in the same cold, professional voice that he has spoken all of his announcements. Does he have even an ounce of care in him?]

I assume you will attend her services. They will be in three days. Prepare for yourself a black ensemble.

[alphaophiuchi]

[...oh. For a long moment, Draco's unsure of what exactly he should say. There's quite a bit that he'd want to say to her, but if she's dead-

[His reply is quiet and somewhat numb:]

I'll be there.

[but he has to know-]

Of what cause?

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

[There is a pause, followed by a low, almost appreciative hm.]

You are a smart one. At least you are not one of those stupid fools to insist she will return within the week's end.

--It is cancer. Some ugly internal malady. I doubt you knew of it.

[alphaophiuchi]

You seem to know that she won't; I know better than to argue with you. [too like his father, really.]

I didn't. She did well to hide it.

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

Not recently, [Javert says roughly. Then silence, long and horrible and still. But just before Draco can assume the line has gone dead, Javert gives a forceful sigh.]

She did, once, [he elaborates blankly.] Not recently. You did not see her.

[alphaophiuchi]

[the silence only serves to let him dwell upon the matters at hand, upon one of the few legitimate deaths that will apparently last. He regrets that it's someone he cared about.]

I must not have. And no one said anything. I take it you were keeping it to yourselves? [not so much a question as it is a resigned sort of comment. Like he already knows the answer.]

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

Indeed, by her command.

It was a private matter. I see nothing wrong with that. There would be no use for hassling from the rest of you. [God knows, he did enough of it on his own.]

[alphaophiuchi]

[at the beginning of this conversation, he would have been far more demanding, as things went. But now, his outward level of caring is about equal to Javert's.]

Fair. I suppose there isn't much we could have done either way.

[chose-death.livejournal.com]

There wasn't.

[Absolutely no room for argument there. He stifles another sigh.]

... Well. You have gotten your answer. Now I want you to let me be.

[alphaophiuchi]

[no argument here.]

Consider it done, sir. My condolences.

[not another word: he ends the feed.]