(no subject)

[never_shall_yield]

 
Javert enters the bar tonight with a thoroughly preoccupied air. His step falters when he realises where he is, but it does not matter. He can contemplate Jean Valjean's distressing behaviour here as well as anywhere else, and at least he will not have to endure the neighbours complaining about his pacing around all night.

He takes a bottle of brandy from the bar, and some cold meat and bread, and retires to his usual secluded booth. But he does not  look settled, nor easy in his thoughts; he frequently rises to walk in circles, muttering under his breath. The occasional damn you can be heard, and anyone listening might deduce that there is something more than anger in the curse.