Inspector Javert

CW: The following app contains references to suicide by drowning and the associated mental state it requires to carry out such an act. Please proceed with caution.


OOC INFORMATION
Name: Larissa
Contact: Plurk at chickenfriend, Discord at chiknfriend, journal PM. Most reachable at discord or plurk!
Permissions: Here
Age: 37
Other characters?: N/A
Who Invited you?: Mod Invite Here

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Inspector Javert
Assigned Nickname The Hound
Age: 52
Canon: Les Misérables (Novel)
Canon point: After his death
Character Information: His extensive wikipedia entry
CRAU: N/A
CRAU Changes/powers: N/A

Personality: Javert is a walking paradox. There exists in him several facets: the man on the surface, described by Victor Hugo in prose; the man shown to us, described by his actions and speech; and finally, the man he becomes the night he takes his own life.

Prior to his suicide, Javert was devoted to the Law. His only joy was to uphold and enforce law and order. He hated crime – each criminal was just as bad as any other criminal in his eyes, and the severity of the crime committed or its extenuating circumstances mattered little. He had extreme respect for authority and a blind faith in his superiors. He was hardworking and brutally honest to the point of rudeness. He possessed an eagle eye and always took care to tie his cases in a neat little bow; he left not a single question unanswered, not a single detail unexplained. He was just as harsh to himself as he was to everyone else; his integrity and perseverance pulled him out of the streets, and he knew that one slip in his behavior, one blight in his record would throw him off his pedestal. That made him a fair man, at least, if not a kind one.

Javert didn't have close friends, and he had no family. He did not indulge in vices and outright denied himself human intimacy. He read in his rare free time strictly to educate himself. Every now and then, when he felt particularly proud of himself, he would take a pinch of snuff, thereby proving his humanity.

This was the man described to us. The man shown to us hinted at something more… feisty.

For enjoying the work of a lowly police inspector did not mean he was simply another mindless robot to the government. In fact, he had a rather dark and wry sense of humor that extended its claws in the most dire of situations. He was flamboyant in how he executed his arrests, exhibiting artistry that he strove to perfect. He gleefully bantered with his quarry and the worst of his enemies, his tongue just as sharp as his unyielding nature. He behaved as if he was orchestrating his own personal theatre of criminal captures.

Yet one night, a convict named Jean Valjean -- a man whom he doggedly hunted across decades -- spared Javert's life from certain death, and something inside of him snapped.

All his life, Javert was unyielding and above reproach. He did not doubt. But his black and white, very simple world crumbled in an instant, and he no longer understood the universe in which he lived. A part of him realized that Valjean, a criminal, a man who he always believed deserved a prison cell, was a man worthy of veneration and respect for his mercy and the genuine good he had given the world. He was a criminal who was also a saint; a thief who was also a good man. A new shade of gray colored every single interaction he ever had with a criminal, and opened up to him the possibility that criminals may have —dare he say—just and kind motivations.

This horrified Javert, who could not integrate this new information with his world view. He could not arrest Valjean and deliver him to the law, his conscience would not allow it. He could not return to work without arresting Valjean, that made him unworthy of his badge. So what order should he bow to? The supreme being, God's authority, whom he never before considered very deeply?

Javert's two paths were irreconcilable. He rejected his options and selected a third out: resignation from work, resignation from the world, resignation to God. He killed himself.

Thus will begin Javert's journey as a prisoner in Lab of Nature with a single narrowed eye open to the gray 'middle ground' between good and bad, right and wrong. He no longer knows where he fits in this world. Once his exhaustion wanes, his first big struggle will be to work through his cognitive dissonance over his shattered world view, discover a new purpose, and channel his actions productively.

Moving past his initial shock and post-traumatic stress, Javert will become a deeply emotional and highly disturbed individual encased in iron-clad self control. On the outside, he will be cold, calm, disarmingly self-assured, and always ready with a sassy quip. Yet inside he is doubt incarnate, constantly second-guessing himself, constantly displeased, constantly confused. Whether he will be able to cope with moral uncertainty and intimate relationships depends on his time served as an experimental subject; there is potential for character improvement or fatalistic acceptance of his 'punishment' as he learns to live through and adapt to the horrors in store.

Roommates?: One roommate max to make him suffer.

Triggers/sensitive topics you'd like to avoid?: Nothing is beyond the realm of possibility. I'm a flexible person and can work with almost anything, provided the context is ripe.

RP SAMPLES: TDM Thread with Éponine

PLAYER INFORMATION

NAME: Larissa
AGE: 32
CONTACT: Plurk kriskristofferson
CHARACTERS PLAYED: N/A
RESERVED? No

CHARACTER INFORMATION

NAME: Javert
CANON: Victor Hugo’s novel-verse of Les Misérables
CANON POINT: Post-suicide. Or mid-suicide; perhaps he’s failed and was spirited away by the Fae before the act was complete. He won’t know the difference, and the memories of burning lungs and sewage-tinged, muddy rapids will forever haunt his nightmares.
AGE: 52

HISTORY: Javert's Shiny Wiki Link but I’m happy to provide supplemental, detailed history (including some headcanon) if necessary.

PAST GAME MEMORIES: N/A

PERSONALITY: Javert is a walking paradox, his complete character far more complex than the sum of his parts. There exists in him several facets: the man on the surface, described by Victor Hugo in prose; the man shown to us, described by his actions and speech; and finally, the man he becomes the night he takes his own life.

Prior to his suicide, Javert was utterly devoted to the Law. His only joy was to uphold and enforce law and order. He hated crime with a passion – each criminal was just as bad as any other criminal in his eyes, and the severity of the crime committed or its extenuating circumstances mattered little. Javert was the type of man that would turn in his own child if he slit a throat or jail his own wife for theft without a moment's hesitation. He had extreme respect for authority and a blind faith in his superiors. He was hardworking and brutally honest to the point of abruptness. He was just as harsh to himself as he was on everyone else; his admirable integrity and perseverance pulled him out of the streets, and he knew that one slip in his behavior, one blight in his record would throw him off his pedestal. That made him a fair man, at least, if not a kind one.

Javert's life was his work. He was not known to have much in the way of friends, and he had no family. He peered in on society from the outside with the full cognizance that he would never become a part of it. Yet rather than choose to destroy it out of some misguided revenge, he was strong enough to protect it as a police officer. He did not indulge in any vices and outright denied himself human intimacy. He read in his rare free time, but strictly to educate himself. Every now and then, when he felt particularly proud of himself, he would take a pinch of snuff, thereby proving his humanity.

This was the man described to us. The man shown to us hinted at something more… feisty.

For enjoying the oft-begrudged work of a lowly police inspector did not mean he was simply another mindless robot to the government. In fact, unlike many of his bureaucratic colleagues, he had a rather dark, wry, and outright sassy sense of humor that extended its claws in the most dire of situations. He was flamboyant in how he executed his arrests, exhibiting a certain artistry that he strove to perfect. Most of his work was done with a spectacular flair for the dramatic. He behaved as if he was orchestrating his own personal circus of criminal captures. He positively delighted in his work, and his unique passion showed in his dedication and verve. But keep in mind that despite his eccentricities, Javert was a relentless perfectionist, always thorough, always fastidious, never delivering a criminal until he was absolutely certain he could pull off a grand dénouement and a solid case.

In terms of interpersonal relationships, Javert is a difficult shell to crack. It takes a hell of a lot to get close enough, but once he swears fealty, he will abide by his promise for life with strict honor.

Yet on the night of his suicide, a convict named Jean Valjean spared Javert's life, and something inside of him changed irrevocably.

All his life, Javert was unyielding and above reproach. He did not doubt. He was proud, he held his head high, completely assured and ashamed of nothing. But his black and white, very simple world fell out from beneath him in one fell swoop, and he no longer understood the universe in which he lived. His entire understanding of law, order, and the universe flipped inside out. A part of him realized that Valjean, a criminal, a man who he always believed deserved nothing better than perpetual hard labor, was a man worthy of veneration and respect for his mercy and the genuine good he had given the world. It was a criminal who was also a saint; a thief who was also a good man. It was a new shade of gray that colored every single interaction he ever had with a criminal, and opened up to him the possibility that criminals may have —dare he say—just and kind motivations. This horrified Javert, who could not integrate this new information with his world view. He could not arrest Valjean and deliver him to the law, his conscience would not allow it. He could not return to work without arresting Valjean, that made him unworthy of his badge. So what order should he have bowed to? The supreme being, God's authority, whom he never before considered very deeply?

Javert's two paths were impossible, irreconcilable. He rejected his options and selected a third out: resignation from work, resignation from the world, resignation to God. He killed himself.

Thus will begin Javert's experiences in Ainmhian, with a single narrowed eye begrudgingly open to the gray 'middle ground' between good and bad, right and wrong. He will still exhibit mostly the same (unpleasant) personality traits of the man he was in life, but now, he simply does not understand where he fits in this world. His first big struggle will be to work through his cognitive dissonance over his shattered world view, discover what it is he is meant to do and channel it productively. Presumably seeking out simple, menial work to occupy his body and mind in the meanwhile will be his first priority, after settling in and realizing the futility of longing for the grave. But until he is able to reconcile his new and frightening realizations with his life's calling in police work and investigations, he will remain uncertain and doubtful.

Moving past his initial shock and post-traumatic stress, then, Javert will begin his ‘afterlife’ as a deeply emotional and highly disturbed individual encased in iron-clad self control. On the outside, he is cold, calm, disarmingly self-assured, and always ready with a sassy quip. Yet inside he is a veritable mess, constantly second-guessing himself, constantly displeased, constantly confused... and fatalistically learning to accept his outcomes as a form of punishment for his oversights in the past.

POWERS/ABILITIES: Just a sharp wit, excellent deductive capabilities, and hawkish eye, mostly garnered from his years of experience as a police officer. Nothing superhuman, though his quarry would sometimes argue he bore the mystique and magic of the devil himself with some of his more theatrical arrests. There were always rumors that perhaps he did have a thread of sorcery in him, considering his half-gypsy blood.

SAMPLES: Entries in the Test Drive Meme

ANYTHING ELSE? Nothing comes to mind!

Player Information:
Name: Lari
Age: 25
Contact: kriskristofferson
Game Cast: N/A

Character Information:
Name: (ex-Inspector) Javert
Canon: Les Misérables, book canon
Canon Point: Post-Suicide
Age: 52
Reference: Wiki link located here.

Setting: Javert was the son of a Romani mother and convict father, born in a prison of southern France in 1780. To speak of the turbulence in France during the extent of his fifty-two years would take several novels, but to put it bluntly, the cards were against him from the time of his birth. He would spend his lifetime working to prevent himself from slipping into society's dismal little cracks.

He was a still only a child when French Revolution struck in 1789 and Louis XVI was executed. The First French Republic arose from the ashes of the revolution and lasted until 1794, after the Reign of Terror led directly to the fall of Robespierre. Five years of absolute chaos followed until Napoleon Bonaparte took power in 1799.

Most of these turbulent politics were, quite frankly, not all that important to a young Javert, who likely spent most of his time proving himself in a world full of adversity. His past is rather hazy; we know he was born in a prison, we know he grew up perceiving that he existed as an outsider to society, and we knew he always felt himself to be an honest, honorable person, and swore to work his way to a respectable living and rise out of his base beginnings. Eventually he came to work under the wing of a mysterious M. Thierry**, who showed Javert how to convoy prisoners from the courts to the prisons, and he was recommended as an Adjutant-Guard to the very prison to which he was born. Politics were irrelevant; what mattered was his own integrity and his own hard work.

He did, however, carry with him a reverence and respect for authority. To that extent, he was a mostly monarchical man, though the nature of his work decreed that he follow whichever regime blew into power. And he did, for a time. A long time.

The brunt of Napoleon's reign took place during his twenties, when Javert presumably worked as a prison guard. During the Napoleonic wars, however, the Emperor instituted a mandatory draft, and some policemen and prison guards were known to enter the service for a time. Javert himself is likely to have served in the Napoleonic Wars, possibly as a grenadier due to his height and build. Regardless, by 1815, Napoleon's wars wreaked their havoc, monarchies rose and fell, battles were lost, Waterloo utterly crushed whatever power he had left, and the Bourbon monarchy once again took the seat of power in France. By this time, Javert was stationed again as a prison guard in Toulon - just in time to see to Jean Valjean's parole.

A constitutional Bourbon monarchy took Napoleon's place. Louis XVIII ruled until 1824, and Charles X ruled after him. The July Revolution of 1830 deposed Charles X and replaced him with yet another ruler, Louis-Philippe. Turbulence cannot seem to make up its mind over what it needs; political unrest persisted, and eventually it gave rise to the June Rebellion of 1832. Javert killed himself just barely after the end of this June student rebellion.

Despite the tumultuous political environment, Javert's continued service under the changing regimes indicates that he bore no especially strong political affiliation and, like any social outcast, led his life apart from politics. Instead, he was a man who served society by enforcing and protecting its laws. Despite his private monarchical leanings, whichever regime would take power, he would follow suit and do his job with as much exactitude as he could humanly manage. The June Rebellion of 1832 is only relevant to him to the extent that he was ordered as a mouchard, a police spy (though he never calls himself that, instead claiming that he as an 'agent of the authorities'), to infiltrate the treasonous student group when their cries for Republic came to a head. His assignment led directly to his encounter on the barricades with Jean Valjean and, ultimately, his suicide.

((**Note: This information was included in Victor Hugo's early draft of Les Misérables, however, it was cut from his final draft. That said, the background does not conflict at all with what we know about Javert, and here I am including it as his canon.))

Personality: Javert is a walking paradox, his complete character far more complex than the sum of his parts. There exists in him several facets: the man on the surface, described by Victor Hugo in prose; the man shown to us, described by his actions and speech; and finally, the man he becomes the night he takes his own life.

Prior to his suicide, Javert was utterly devoted to the Law. His only joy was to uphold and enforce law and order. He hated crime with a passion – each criminal was just as bad as any other criminal in his eyes, and the severity of the crime committed or its extenuating circumstances mattered little. Javert was the type of man that would turn in his own child if he slit a throat or jail his own wife for theft without a moment's hesitation. He had extreme respect for authority and a blind faith in his superiors. He was hardworking and brutally honest to the point of abruptness. He was just as harsh to himself as he was on everyone else; his admirable integrity and perseverance pulled him out of the streets, and he knew that one slip in his behavior, one blight in his record would throw him off his pedestal. That made him a fair man, at least, if not a kind one.

Javert's life was his work. He was not known to have any friends, and he had no family. He peered in on society from the outside with the full cognizance that he would never become a part of it. Yet rather than choose to destroy it out of some misguided revenge, he was strong enough to protect it as a police officer. He did not indulge in any vices and outright denied himself human intimacy. He read in his rare free time, but strictly to educate himself. Every now and then, when he felt particularly proud of himself, he would take a pinch of snuff, thereby proving his humanity.

This was the man described to us. The man shown to us hinted at something more… feisty.

For enjoying the oft-begrudged work of a lowly police inspector did not mean he was simply another mindless robot to the government. In fact, unlike many of his bureaucratic desk jockey colleagues, he had a rather dark, wry, and outright sassy sense of humor that extended its claws in the most dire of situations. He was flamboyant in how he executes his arrests, exhibiting a certain artistry that he strove to perfect. Most of his work was done with a spectacular flair for the dramatic. He was not the average, procedural police officer that prattled off the routine rights during an arrest, but rather he behaved as if he was orchestrating his own personal circus of criminal captures. He positively delighted in his work, and his unique passion showed in his dedication and verve. But keep in mind that despite his eccentricities, Javert was a relentless perfectionist, always thorough, always fastidious, never delivering a criminal until he was absolutely certain he could pull off a grand dénouement and a solid case.

In terms of interpersonal relationships, Javert is a difficult shell to crack. It takes a hell of a lot to get close enough, but once he swears fealty, he will abide by his promise for life with strict honor.

On the night of his suicide, Valjean spared Javert's life, and something inside of him changed irrevocably.

All his life, Javert was unyielding. He did not doubt. He was proud, he held his head high, completely assured and ashamed of nothing. But his black and white, very simple world fell out from beneath him in one fell swoop, and he no longer understood the universe in which he lived. His entire understanding of law, order, and the universe flipped inside out. A part of him realized that Valjean, a criminal, a man whom he always believed deserved nothing better than the perpetual hard labor, was a man worthy of veneration and respect for his mercy and the genuine good he has given the world. It was a criminal who was also a saint; a thief who was also a good man. This didn't jive for Javert, who could not integrate this new information with his world view. He could not arrest Valjean and deliver him to the law, his conscience would not allow it. He could not return to work without arresting Valjean, that made him unworthy of his badge. So what order should he have bowed to? The supreme being, God's authority, whom he never before considered very deeply?

Javert's two paths were impossible, irreconcilable. He rejected his options and selected a third out: resignation from work, resignation from the world, resignation to God. He killed himself.

Thus will begin Javert's experiences in Tu Shanshu, with a single narrowed eye begrudgingly open to the gray 'middle ground' between good and bad, right and wrong. He will still exhibit mostly the same (unpleasant) personality traits of the man he was in life, but now, he simply does not understand his place in this strange limbo. His first big struggle will be to work through his cognitive dissonance over his shattered world view, discover what it is he is meant to do and channel it productively. Presumably seeking out simple, menial work to occupy his body and mind in the meanwhile will be his first priority. But until he is able to reconcile his new and frightening realizations with his life's calling in police work and investigations, he will remain uncertain and doubtful.

With all this in mind, the news that he is an In-Betweener, a man stuck in limbo indefinitely, will come as no big surprise. He will accept it, but with a disbelieving, dry, and resigned bark of laughter, bitter that even his final resignation was rejected by God in his Heaven above. It is a sign for him, but not much of one: what on earth do the cosmos want him to do if they won't judge him properly for his death? Moving forward, then, Javert begins his afterlife as a deeply emotional and highly disturbed individual encased in iron-clad self control. On the outside, he is cold, calm, disarmingly self-assured, and always ready with a sassy quip. Yet inside he is a veritable mess, constantly second-guessing himself, constantly displeased, constantly confused... and fatalistically learning to accept his outcomes as a form of punishment for his oversights in the past.

Appearance: Javert is of half-Roma descent, with a square jaw framed by dark graying hair, a tannish complexion, large nostrils set within a broad snub nose and a wide, thin mouth. He has a pair of rather impressive muttonchops. His gaze is sharp and unapologetic. He's incredibly lofty and imposing at six-feet-two-inches tall, with a broad neck, a solid set of shoulders and massive hands. Despite his towering height and sheer formidable presence, he is gaunt and lanky underneath his thick layers of clothes, evidence that he often tends to forget such necessities as a good night's sleep and three square meals a day when he sinks far enough into his work. This is made clear on the rare occasions that he removes his greatcoat, which gives him the illusion of bulk around his middle and legs. He possesses an extremely firm grip, and though he relies on his presence and his ability to command a room more oft than not, he has some strength to back up his imposing appearance. PB is Anthony Perkins from the 1978 adaptation of Les Misérables.

Abilities: Javert is human with no special powers. However, he does have uncanny Holmesian powers of observation, more than enough to freak out his criminal quarry, but it is nothing superhuman. He is merely very, very, very... thorough. He is also halfway decent at disguising himself when it's called for, though I would not put much stock in that if I were his allies.

Inventory:

Somewhat worn and very wet trousers, shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and cravat
Well-loved triple-caped greatcoat with a burned spot near the bottom, buttoned from shin to chin
Boots, muddy, in need of a shine
Change purse; contents: a handful of sous, a few centimes
Parisian police identification card
Silver snuffbox full of sad sludge, smells vaguely of dirt and sewage
Sideburns big enough to grow vegetation
Hat was lost to the bridge parapet prior to his majestic dive

Suite: A modest flat in the Earth district. The Earth district suits his personality best, despite his existential confusion. He is fair, honest, forthright in an almost rude fashion, and incredibly hardworking. He is not rich and, frankly, he never will exist at a level much above subsistence. The dedication and hardiness exhibited by his fellow Earth district denizens will not only appeal to him, but it may bring him some small comfort in the form of familiarity.

As far as his suite, he doesn't need or want more than one room. Anything larger than that would feel excessive (though he would deal).

In-Character Samples:
Third Person:

Welcome to the In-Between…

Javert never made it to Hell. He never made it to Heaven, either. That was unsurprising.

Instead he made it to the back of a rickety cart, draped like a sack of potatoes at one corner, his every breath a struggle. This? Indubitably shocking. Oxygen was like acid to reinvigorated lungs. He felt rather than saw the stares on him, the strong and heavy hands carrying and pulling him onto the platform. Opening his eyes to the sun blinded him, so his head and eyes lolled uselessly and shamefully shut. His whole body, marred with blacks and blues and horrific marks, throbbed sharply. At every bump in the road, his skull bumped the rail. He found he could hardly lift his leaden head up on his shoulders.

Javert's body was broken. His reeling mind fared little better.

They spoke things to him, bent over him while he expelled a putrid mess of mud and sewage from his thickened throat. He could barely comprehend them, the flashes filtering through here and there, something about tushans and severed souls and slipping through the cracks. His laugh burst from parched lips like a vicious cough. Oh, he slipped, all right. He plummeted straight to the bottom. He observed vaguely, through a fog, that he was raving and muttering aloud. All nonsense about resignations, a mad house, bloody vengeful angels and merciful men the size of oxen.

But clarity would come--was coming, even. His movements were weak and in no condition to cooperate with his command, but the delirium was receding, replaced by physical shock.

The realization occurred to him late.

"I've washed up!" A universe of pain in his whispered, gasping cry. Javert did not recognize his own voice. His throat was ravaged. He still tasted raw Seine waters on the tongue. "Denied to me! Again! That suits!"

Was this what survival felt like? Or was Death a pungent, eternal, gaping wound, this feeling that he slowly grows accustomed to?

It was his only lucid speech. He fell silent for hours, and the Kedan, perceiving that his mind was calming, delivered to this half-dead stranger all the requisite information like drones to a granite statue. He said nothing. He understood sluggishly. He wanted to leave his eyes shut, fall back into a slumber, and will himself to not awaken with a bitter sneer.

But alas, he could not, if these creatures-who-pulled-him-up spoke true. Not when his final act already reached its conclusion.

Javert never quite counted on experiencing an aftermath. The thought didn't occur to him in his final moments.

As the hours passed, Javert's strength built. He sat up after the first thirty minutes. He blearily peered at the faces of his captors, and even at his most wretched his stare was calculating. He memorized their alien look, their foreign six-fingered hands. His posture resumed a straightness resembling pride or determination, idle fingers brushed off the muck from the bottom of his coat with a self-consciousness bordering comedy and a fierce twist of his bruised lip. His chin still hung low atop his swollen and battered neck, but there was a resolute clenching of his jaw. He fought that pain and weariness. He accepted clean water when it was given to him.

"Well, you are the ferry-drivers. Where am I to go?" Javert asked harshly and curtly when he perceived the black walls looming in the distance. Spoken like a man accustomed to his own station of authority, beaming stubbornly from a creature weighed down by fatigue and mire and unwilling to succumb again. A nearly undetectable tinge of worry and uncertainty colored his rounded consonants and clipped vowels. How must I continue? remained the unspoken addendum.

His reward for his gumption were five pairs of unimpressed eyes.

The Earth district. The rest is on you.

Network:

[The man on the video screen has done his best to neaten himself up to mixed effect. His gaze is determined and provokes attention, and his stature is resolute. But from beneath his carefully buttoned coat and tamed hair creeps horrific blue-yellow bruises. His clothes, thick as they are, manage to do only so much to hide the swelling, and then there was the small matter of his pallid complexion, his battered chin and the sagging bags under his eyes.

Not even a good night's sleep is enough to fix these things. Yet he scrutinizes the screen intently and speaks in a clipped, abrupt voice, carefully void of any strong emotion and calm as a lake on a still day.]

I want information. The fellows from the welcome convoy were less than helpful. Evidently.

[He grimaces, a twitching spasm in his jaw. He means to inspire confidence, but the slight sway in his head hints ill.]

First, I am the latest model, a fresh one. It is expected I find work. I understand this. You must know I have no references, so I will start with odd jobs. I can prove myself. Simple things, whatever you have for me. [His brow lowers almost imperceptibly, yet he continues without missing a beat,] Hard labor is not out of the question. I am fit.

Second, I seek a clothier. Secondhand will do. For a decent ensemble change.

Third, a mapmaker.

[An awkward pause, in which he pierces the recorder with a guarded, hawkish stare. His bruised lip curls. He feels foolish, advertising to no one at all. There are no faces for him to study. What else is there to say? He hastily wraps it up,]

I am called Javert. Send me tips, people, places, instructions. I will come to you.