The Teleportors Are Occupied Today [ACTION]

[chose_death]

[Anyone who requires use of one of the city's many teleportors today will happen across a peculiar sight. For today, there is one man who is hogging the teleporting machines, and rather persistently at that

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[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel grins, inclining his head slightly, not so far as to make the very tall hat slide from his head, but enough to make a little sort of bow] Can't let a hat of this quality just sit on the ground, can we? Might get dusty, or worse yet, stolen, and unfortunately there doesn't seem to be a codified set of laws and ordinances in this place yet. Getting it back may be tricky, and we certainly don't have any hatters here, sane or otherwise.

[He pauses then, wondering exactly if he could run off and take the hat (Alice might be suitably impressed by it) or if he could nip into the transporter without the tall man getting a hand on him. He doubts it, and frankly, he's probably recognisable enough to get into trouble for it anyway. Best hand it back.

But then he's called lad, just as he's taking the hat from his head ready to pass over, and that makes him laugh, laugh so hard that he almost wants to cry. No one has ever called him that before. How old does he look? His vessel is... well, he looks like he's late 30s if he's anything.]

Okay, okay, you get your hat back. I give in. Even I can't counter that.

[chose_death]

[Gabriel knows how to strike exactly where it itches. There is a perceptible twitch, a calm and calculated deepening of the man's grimace when this jester insists that a set of codified laws and ordinances does not exist.

Remarkably, the grimace settles and wanes when he watches Gabriel burst into a fit of laughter. A chuckle at his own expense, he can handle quite patiently; he is rather assured that he doesn't look like a fool yet. But think of it this way, Gabriel: a small bit of patronizing often comes with men accustomed to belonging in a station of authority. It didn't matter if Gabriel were 15 or 45; this strange man probably would have used the word lad either way.]

Don't be silly. The trouble is not a lack of laws but of enforcement, [he says abruptly, a play of a pinch at the corner of his mouth. He plucks his hat back and inverts it, examining the inside rim with a faint spark of disgust. No lice, I hope, Gabriel.] A place with no laws, really? There is not enough anarchy that I can see. But I have seen plenty of cities with horrific policing. [He pinches a foreign light-colored hair or two out of the hat and fits it back on his own head. Where it belongs. He raises his head and fixes a stare on Gabriel.]

Did you investigate city hall? Or a library? Then tell me there are no laws!

[trickster_mk2]

Pretty sure that isn't the trouble in this case, good sir. [Gabriel is feeling the absence of the hat most keenly. Maybe he needs to get himself one. There's something about men in hats, he suspects; one thing is that they most certainly feel taller. He could do with feeling a little taller. And having a big Victorian fancy dress costume. With a pocket watch. Oh Dad yes, a pocket watch. On a chain.] See, trouble with this lovely town is that the Lady in charge is one of those pesky dictator people. They're all for rules, Dictators, but don't tend to write them down so much. So we've got plenty of stupid laws, most likely about not chewing on your left-side on Wednesdays, but the important bit is, you see, not codified. Can't prove the laws ever existed either way. There's no justice system here, just her.

[He pauses, looking over him again, a quick smirk appearing on his lips] You're a policeman, aren't you? A smart policeman. You should known anarchy just means without a leader. We've got one of those. It's just that no one picked her. She's got thugs. Not law-men, not men-of-the-polis. We're setting up our own police force. Trouble is, as everyone is from different places, I'm not sure what set of laws we'll be upholding. Personally, I like some of those crazy old Biblical laws about not wearing cotton and linen together or spitting in the direction of Jerusalem, but that one might be hard to set up.

[And with that he holds out his hand] The people here call me Gabriel.

[chose_death]

[The policeman's brow twitches, and his mouth pinches in a humorless brand of amusement.]

Was.

[He does not make any further movement or expression, his stare boring ever harder through Gabriel. There is maybe a spark of doubt or distrust shadowed in there. His eyes drop to Gabriel's proffered hand.]

You are a sharp one, not completely mistaken. I was an officer. I am not with the police anymore. But don't flatter me. I don't like bootlickers. You haven't any clue how I operated in my occupation.

[Slowly he accepts the hand. His grip is very firm, more of a grab-and-hold than a cordial shake or a greeting.]

I am Javert. [He lapses into a brief silence, thinking, his strong square jaw tucked into his tall collar. He can't seem to resist adding steadily and coldly,]

Recommend to your new police service to read, as dull as that is. The library is a start. The courthouse or town hall as well. So you say there is some dictator-wench or a queen. Fine! But she can't have been the only ruler, and the people here are functioning under an organized society. I don't believe a code doesn't exist. Find one, make it available to the public, herald it for the illiterate. Get the word out, I-don't-care-how. Then all there's to do is enforce.

[The corner of his mouth curls.]

With any rotten luck, they will have sense enough to leave out those 'crazy old Biblical laws.' Who knows which direction we'll find Jerusalem! It would be annoying to have to fine every spitter here.

[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel snorts, not amused in the slightest and maybe there's a dangerous flash in his eyes.] And don't assume anything about who, or what I am, sir. Boot-licking is the very last on the very long list of things I don't do, although it's no where near ass-kissing, and you clearly need to learn how to take a compliment.

Still, Javert, in my long and illustrious career I've noticed one thing, policemen are always policemen, whether they are currently on a payroll or not. It's not a job. It's a personality type. Which is why you care so much about our laws. Most people don't give a damn. I don't. Humans need rules, not laws. Law-men need laws.

[With his power, Gabriel would have delighted in cracking the man's bones during that handshake, just to give him a bit of a surprise. Alas, no powers, so he just clenches his teeth and bears it. But there's no reason he can't fold his hands over his chest in an effort to get the blood flowing again, unseen.]

Why don't you pass on the message yourself? Clearly you're the one so impassioned about it. But... don't count your chickens on our good Doctor. She's quite possibly not human, and quite possibly the creator of the city. Thus, one and only ruler.

[His expression flickers then, becoming something... unpleasant.] Oh, I hope not. What would every Westerner here base their laws on then?

[chose_death]

[Who - or what - the Devil is Javert dealing with, here?

Ever since he took his own life on the seventh of June, 1832, he has dealt with considerably more uncertainties than he has had to face in life. From his birth, from the days that he perceived he would never have the ability to enter normal well-to-do society as a small gypsy brat, he only ever understood two shades: black and white. He could not bear to comprehend that elusive shade of gray in all its disconcerting splendor until the day he died.

But he has learned, hasn't he? With all his damnable experiences, for all his lack of control over his city and circumstance, he has learned to humor the possibility of gray.

He senses with that remarkable intuition inherent in all wild beasts that this Gabriel, this sharp-tongued jester, is colored in varying shades of pewter and slate. The expression on his face is virtually erased, and his eyes bore through the other man, turning his pockets inside out with the sort of mental power of a jackhammer.

What the Devil is he dealing with? Javert isn't certain, but it bothers him. A lot. There is something distinctly unsettling about being told that the police is within him, and not something that can be ignored, or willingly set aside. It strikes him as more true than he cared to admit.

He releases Gabriel's hand.]

I apologize, [says Javert at last, firm, cautious and resolute. He stares intently, unblinkingly. This is a man who does not apologize often - but when he does, he is sincere. He grimaces to himself.] I awoke here this morning, and I have been very sour today. I crossed a line. It was wrong of me to say. I'm not going to argue philosophies with you. And I don't presume to have any authority here. The police is no longer my area. Not in this city.

[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel looks at him, long and hard. He can match the stare of ages, if he had to. He can hear the planets turn and he knows what the real meaning of 42 is. He might be without his powers, but he is no lesser without them. He can sense the man thinking, can feel the whirling and Gabriel is content to let it happen, in this instance. This man is like a rock, slow to change perhaps, but solid. He doesn't interrupt. He's tempted to, but normally he likes to through people off, to de-rail their trains of thought, to make them make mistakes. Not right now.

And then Javert seems finished, and Gabriel gives one nod, a business-like nod. Everything is settled, that nod seems to say.]

Sorry for what? All is forgiven and forgotten. Ending up here throws all of us, even me. I'd suggest coffee and cakes, but I don't think you're the sort of man to enjoy cake.

[Gabriel glances back to the teleporter] ... Or maybe you want to explore some more. I can't blame you. There's a lot here, well, when you first arrive. But after you've been here a while, Aliunde is pitifully small. And a little dull.

[chose_death]

Cities are cities, [says Javert blandly.] You see one, you see them all: they are all noisy and blanketed in a rosy rotting stench. And full of vile nooks and crannies.

[A man who could match his own powers of intense scrutiny is very rare, indeed. He resolves to keep a wary, suspicious eye on this Gabriel fellow, and see what becomes of it. Whether Gabriel proves to be a valuable ally, a pressing enemy, or nothing more than a tricky baboon remains to be seen.

At least in these matters, Javert is known to exercise an admirable amount of patience.

Javert follows Gabriel's glance back to the teleporter and frowns.]

I have had enough of instant travel today. I will take the coffee, rather. [He looks at Gabriel.] Do you recommend a café?

[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel grins, a bright little grin] That's the nature of society, I'm afraid, and it's the habitats it creates for itself. It's the same everywhere, throughout time and space, trust me on that. And where would society hide it's poorest, it's downtrodden, it's forgotten, if it didn't have cities with nooks and crannies, my dear Javert?

[Another smirk pulls at his features, as he follows the tall man's glance to the transporter, and wriggles his eyebrows] Least some horrible little man steal your hat? A wise choice, mon inspecteur.

[He bows low, gesturing towards the business side of the city, and the little café he frequents, the one with the cakes that he likes to take home for Alice.] This way, good sir. And of course, I will gladly pay for our refreshments.

[chose_death]

[Javert musters up an aghast and affronted expression. Gabriel may as well have grown an extra set of limbs. As much self-control as the Inspector has, his face never could completely hide his violent moods. Who said he intended to go to the cafe with you, Gabriel?]

Money for coffee is not an issue, [he says quickly. It is the mark of a self-made man after a lifetime of struggling for status: no such thing as freebies.] I will pay my share.

[He considers this man, this stranger he has barely met, for a few moments longer. He does not look altogether pleased about the prospect of company on what he intended to be his own solitary time to think. Yet he concedes with a sharp, abrupt nod.]

Show me the way. I will follow.

[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel should not enjoy taunting this man as much as he does, because it's borderline cruel. But Javert reacts so perfectly to Gabriel's hair-pulling that the short creature can hardly resist. The man's distaste at sharing a pot of coffee was hilarious. If he'd simply said he wanted to be alone... well, even then Gabriel might not have left him off so easily, but this was too delicious, too good to pass up. And he was terrible at self control.]

What's wrong? No one's going to think we're on a date, Javert. Unless you want them to?

[He's even keeping his features perfectly serious, which frankly, is amazing. He wants to double up with laughter, maybe roll around on the floor. He certainly wants to record the other man's expression for the boring days when nothing is funny.]

I insist that I at least pay for my share. I'm no scrounger, although I have to admit, it's very kind of you to offer. But I'm a modern man, you don't need to treat me like a kept boy.

[chose_death]

It's not public opinion that concerns me about you, [bites Javert smoothly, his expression completely unchanging. The implicit something else concerns me about you is left dangling in the air. Perhaps it's the fact that he can trust Gabriel as far as he can stride and no further. Yet he cannot turn down a clear opportunity for information about his new city, no matter how dubious the source.]

Don't insult me. A true kept boy would comb my whiskers and tie my cravat every morning. You don't have enough charm and gallantry for that.

--And your obeisance is lacking.

[... Dost Gabriel's ears deceive him? Was that a splash of poker-faced humor from the stony policeman?

Who can tell, when his face is unpleasant as their initial greeting, and his tone of voice just as indifferent?]

[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel wriggles his eyebrows again, grinning. He's terribly pleased with himself, that's clear enough. Poor Javert. Gabriel is enjoying all this far more than should be legal. Maybe it isn't legal. Pity no one can look it up to find out.] Oh, is that so? What private opinions about me are worrying you? Before you say anything, no one ever proved anything about me and the wood nymphs and the Black Forest Gateau. Never proved a thing.

Ah! I knew it. You're the sort of man that prefers Persian boys. Typical. But all you have is little old me, and my lack of harem manners. I shall try to be more accommodating to your needs, rajah. [He paused, glancing over the man and this time his smile is perhaps a little... suggestive.] If you want me tying cravats and grooming whiskers, I think you should buy me a step-ladder. Never mind harem pants.

[Maybe it was humour. Maybe Javert likes him really. Ha! Gabriel didn't exactly believe that. But still, it was an amusing thought. And more-over, it makes Gabriel even more confident, shifting closer to Javert as they walked, almost knocking elbows.]

[chose_death]

Your sexual exploits with a pack of wild nymphs in the woods are none of my business, [says Javert flippantly.] Your honesty and trustworthiness is.

[He stops short at Gabriel's jibe about Persian boys and rajas and fixes a glare so fiery and severe on him that it is a wonder the grass at his feet did not burst into flames. Could Gabriel have guessed at an issue that strikes so close to the breast for our good ex-Inspector? He gives Gabriel a long, probing look, as if intending to read what is written in his thoughts..

No. The corner of his lip crimps, the stiffness lifts slightly. This man is a clown. He had not meant any particular insult to his apparently race, his vile Gypsy blood by that off-color comment about Persians and harems. Well, no more than a jokester would normally inflict upon other men.]

My money is better spent on other useful things first. Like metal clamp. [He arches a brow.] To shut you off when I could use a moment.

[Javert resumes their meandering gate, his arms crossed forbiddingly over his chest. The better to keep from knocking elbows with Gabriel. He watches the man from beneath a heavy, shadowed brow. Eventually Javert pops out with another seemingly random question,]

What kind of man would you call yourself?

[trickster_mk2]

[Gabriel's head tilts slightly, considering the words] Hmmm, nope. That's none of your business either, actually. But it's the thing your most interested in. Which is a pity, because I have much more interesting traits. Sense of loyalty for instance.

[Then there's that pause, that very interesting pause that he can see no immediate cause for. The inspector's face seems to flicker slightly, expression steeled and Gabriel wants to probe the reason behind it. Humans were so strange with what they held to be important, but it wasn't important now. He'd bother the man about it later.]

So you are planning to make me your kept boy, Javert? How wonderful! The clamp won't be necessary of course. and probably wouldn't work. I can chatter around anything, I promise you that, and it might be considered cruel. You wouldn't want our make-shift force having to bring you in for torture, would you? Very embarrassing. No one likes a copper gone bad.

[Now isn't that an odd thing to ask? Gabriel frowns and then shrugs, head tipping to one side] I won't say I was any kind of man.

[chose_death]

Loyalty to who, I wonder. Or what, [Javert mutters rhetorically. He does not expect an answer, and he sounds more like he is speaking to his cravat than to Gabriel directly. He trails off with that thought, allowing the subject of Gabriel's subjective worth as a man to drop away. He bares his teeth in a disconcerting, humorless grin.]

A copper gone bad, ha! [Is there a touch of irony in that tone?] Apparently you missed the humor. But that is good, the public is right not to tolerate crooked cops. Hypocrites should not have a place on the police.