Javert (
never_shall_yield) wrote in
milliways_bar2013-09-09 06:59 pm
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(no subject)
He has slept most of the day. He wakes up as numb as he was before. It is well. It will allow some necessary things to be done - to dress in normal clothes, with a cravat to cover the marks at his neck; to write a letter to Queen Amy, apologising for his absence and returning a week's wage; to eat a meal and think nothing of it.
He can do none of these things. His hand is too swollen to tie a knot, to hold a pen or a knife. He settles for a simple white shirt, fastened awkwardly with a pin at the throat, and does not look at himself in the mirror. And then wanders downstairs, and chooses a chair directly in front of the Observation Window.
This is not Purgatory, and the exploding stars are not there to mock him. He still hates them. But he can feel nothing, so why not look upon the view? They seem a rather suitable backdrop for his lack of thoughts.
[OOC: Open until the weekend!
ETA: Hokay, exhaustion is winning the battle. I'm calling slows because ugh, work tomorrow. And I can't type straight. THANK YOU TO ALL WHO TAGGED. I have love for you. *flings it* I'll be around tomorrow to continue <3 <3 ]
He can do none of these things. His hand is too swollen to tie a knot, to hold a pen or a knife. He settles for a simple white shirt, fastened awkwardly with a pin at the throat, and does not look at himself in the mirror. And then wanders downstairs, and chooses a chair directly in front of the Observation Window.
This is not Purgatory, and the exploding stars are not there to mock him. He still hates them. But he can feel nothing, so why not look upon the view? They seem a rather suitable backdrop for his lack of thoughts.
[OOC: Open until the weekend!
ETA: Hokay, exhaustion is winning the battle. I'm calling slows because ugh, work tomorrow. And I can't type straight. THANK YOU TO ALL WHO TAGGED. I have love for you. *flings it* I'll be around tomorrow to continue <3 <3 ]
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He wears black, head to toe, saving only his white shirt and the bright splash of the cockade pinned with care to his lapel. Bar gave him a wardrobe composed more than half of mourning dress. It seems fitting to him: for his friends who were his brothers, and for his country.
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He is in mourning. In mourning, and he would laugh if he could raise the emotion.
As it is, he simply cocks an eyebrow, and says the first thing that comes to mind.
'Do you have Le Moniteur?'
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He gives Javert a cool, assessing look.
(The man looks awful. Enjolras notes this; wonders at it; does not comment.)
What he does say is, "I do."
It's a tool of the monarchy, a mere mouthpiece for the ministers' propaganda, and reading it rarely gives Enjolras anything but irritation at best. Reading Le Moniteur's assessment of the uprising will be infuriating. Still, valuable. It's important to know what's being said, not merely by those whom one agrees with.
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'May I borrow it? You have reading matter enough.'
There is another chair at his table, if Enjolras would like to sit and make sure it is not stolen.
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He passes it over, with a short nod, and looks around for another free table.
There are none nearby. The only empty chairs are at tables already occupied by groups: a cluster of chattering girls, two men in intense discussion, a couple gazing fondly at each other, a strange inhuman creature hammering at a peculiar device.
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After a moment, and without looking up;
'You will not turn monarchist if you sit down. And I would not have you idle there indefintely. You will worsen my headache.'
He is reading words that are not registering as having a meaning. A scowl at the page does not help; he does not like reading, does not like newspapers, but is desperate for any distraction from his own apathy.
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He inclines his head with an ironic lift of his brows, and sits.
The topmost newspaper is Le National. Liberal, but legal, and thus too mouse-colored in its opinions for Enjolras as a rule. Very well.
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'Do you get a favourable review in that one?'
He finds he does not care about either newspaper's reporting, but it is a link to something normal, and so he will grasp it with both hands.
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Le National may not be as radical as Enjolras would like -- its editors favored the sop, as he sees it, of constitutional monarchy in '30, and have only been spurred towards republicanism now that Louis-Philippe's ministers restrict the press's freedoms more and more tightly -- but it will still be far too leftist for this policeman's taste.
"The editors stand with the people."
So that's a yes.
The mun is pretty sure, from her hasty research. If it wasn't true in the real world, it is in the world of Les Mis!no subject
He raises Le Moniteur back up again. Thankfully, he finds it is far more in accordance with his own view.
'I wish to congratulate you.'
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He cannot think what the man's about. Such a greeting as he gave when Enjolras arrived, and now this strange, grudging civility -- and that makeshift splint on his hand, and the weary ground-down pallor of him, here in this place where Enjolras has thus far seen no events but café chatter.
He does not deign to reply to the first comment.
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He turns a page.
'You have been here some time, and have so far refrained from building anything with the furniture. Well done.'
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"And you have not attempted to make a café owner into a tyrant, that you might offer him your services to trample your liberty along with others. Very good. We have both avoided becoming a child's parody of our political views. I'm sure it's a great relief to you."
"Come, citizen, this is below you."
If he wishes to debate matters of substance, Enjolras will certainly do so. Otherwise, he has plenty of unpleasant news to read.
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There may have been a smile, hidden safely behind the newspaper. Because yes, he is being ridiculous, but there has been precious little levity for...most of his life, actually...and he is more than a little past his limits just now.
'Because I am not any kind of criminal, and I work for my living.'
The letters are dancing before his eyes. He turns another page.
'I told you not to call me that, boy.'
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He has no interest in being baited by a dead spy.
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'Have you found your friend?'
It comes civilly enough, if not exactly polite. His disdain for this youth has not lessened, merely been pushed behind other events for a moment or two. And he finds he wishes his animosity, because that is a stable thing in a world upside-down.
'I assume the mourning garb is not for him, so recently come. Perhaps it is for yourself, or your cause.'
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If he hadn't -- or if Javert does mean another -- this would be welcome news, whoever the messenger. This is why Enjolras's reply is equally civil.
(Gavroche is another who qualifies, broadly speaking, but Enjolras still thinks of him as a child, an impish shadow to certain of his friends. Grantaire, for all his many faults and shortcomings, comes more readily to mind.)
He rests his thumb against a column of text, marking his place for a moment on a paragraph worth rereading. He would rather any of his true friends share his table now; every sentence of every news item brings a tumult of thoughts and sentiments, and he has no one to share them with. Well, they are not here.
"I requested clothing, and Bar gave me these. It's fitting. For my brothers, and for my country which suffers."
The way he says brothers, it means not brothers of blood -- Enjolras has none of those -- but his friends and dearest comrades. In truth, it's more for them; if Enjolras adopted mourning purely for a nation oppressed, he would never have left it off in all his life.
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Nevertheless, he remains calm enough.
'The drunkard, yes. Was that his name? I forget.'
The time they talked, there was a niggling question about him. He never asked it, but it comes back to him now.
'Where was he? I do not recall seeing him. Did he come after I was freed?'
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Upstairs, dead drunk. Enjolras does not say that.
It's true. He won't deny it. He disdains it. But Grantaire died as one of them, for and with Enjolras, giving perhaps all his nature could give; Javert is a police spy, whose first words to Enjolras in this place were an attempt to throw fresh griefs in his face.
Enjolras is not so base as to provide him ammunition to direct at another.
He will not say Grantaire fought. He did not. But, for better or for worse, and until the end only by a technicality, he was present.
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'No,' he says, at last.
'I remember all the faces, and I am not remiss in my duty. He was not there.'
He saw all. He is sure of it.
'So, are you a liar?'
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Enjolras sits back slightly, regarding Javert with a level stare.
"But I wonder, inspector, that you think I will tell you more than you saw of my friends and our work. You are dead, you cannot inform on anyone, very well; whether or not the old citizen did as he said, you cannot expect me to grieve your death. Nonetheless, a spy has no right to those answers."
"If you wish to know more of my beliefs, I will tell you. Even of myself. But nothing of my friends, and nothing of the course and strategies of our fight. Do not expect it."
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Another snort, this one with a hint of genuine amusement.
'No, I would not expect that, and nor would I want it. Why should I? The sympathy of a traitor would be no comfort at all; indeed, it would the opposite. Even if one such as I had any need of it. No, I-'
He shakes his head, looking away, unsure himself of what he means by this. He is reaching, he knows, for anything that might have meaning - but is equally sure that none will be found with this boy. And that is something he is glad of.
'As it turns out, I am not dead. So keep your secrets; they are of no use to me in any case, I am no longer of the police, and will not respond to being called inspector.'
This is something he is glad to be reconciled with - not because it is easy, or because it does not torment him. But because it is an irrefutable truth; he can no longer serve, no matter what happens. It is done.
'Your beliefs, you know my opinion on. Tell me then, how you came to have them. At what age, or circumstance, does a rich young boy decide to turn against his country?'
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Come to think of it, he never said that he was; but he implied it, and spoke of this place as Purgatory, and he speaks now as if this is a recent discovery. Enjolras will come back to this matter.
But for now: "I have never turned against my country." He would sooner cut off his own arm, or his own head. "Only against a citizen who would call himself king."
"Have you read The Social Contract?"
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'Of course I have not.'
Why on earth would be want to do that?
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"You asked the circumstance."
"I read the works of great thinkers. I looked at the suffering around me. I thought about the causes of that suffering, and whether those root causes were inevitable or needless. I found other men who thought as well of these matters, and I tested my premises and my conclusions in discussions with them, so that what remained was certain. That is how."
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