(no subject)
Javert sat outside the mansion in the rose garden on a wooden bench. His top hat rested beside him, his gloves in his lap. He still wore that heavy greatcoat that seemed to never be seen without the Inspector. His eyes were fixed on a crimson red rose bush in front of him, lost in thought. Long grey hair framed his face, an unusual sight; Javert usually kept his hair back in a tight ponytail. The black ribbon that he had withdrawn from his hair was curled around his fingers loosely. Should anyone come along his path and wish to talk, he thought, he would enjoy the company.