Javert ✍ 025
Who: Inspector Javert and Naomi Javert (Hunter)
Where: Their condominium in the government district
Style: ... To be determined
Status: Closed closed closed.
What a week it had been.
Javert bent over the remote-controlled fireplace wearily, the crags in his face illuminated by the flicker and glow of the flames. His mind was full and heavy with his reflections and constant brow-beating. This week alone he received more reprimands from his superiors than he experienced in his entire life - and afterlife. He saw more foundation-quaking scares and felt the grip of death snake a bony arm around his wife's shoulders. He had thought, certainly, she would be a dead woman soon, and closed off his mind that day in the hospital, preparing himself for the inevitable.
But it did not come. In fact, from her lowest low, Naomi bounced back, regaining a healthful luminescence, an adequate appetite and a bounce in her step. The gloom in her posture was gone, and she no longer vomited blood along with her bile. It was a disarmingly quick 180, so swift that Javert now questioned whether her episode early in the month was as serious as it looked. Perhaps it was one of those cases that looked uglier, that presented as a worse business than it was in actuality.
Such was the nature of a cancer disease. Not even the sorcery of modern medicine could accurately predict its exact course. And he, Javert, felt horrifically close to agreeing with Franziska von Karma in having him dismissed from duty permanently, for all of recent negligence.
Tonight, however, a soft and comfortable silence settled indoors and out. There were hardly any vehicles on the road in the icy, sloshy snow, and the pristine new flakes blanketed and muted the city from any loud noises and raucous parties. Javert returned home, as he did every day this week, just past five pm to a coy wife complaining lightly of the cold. As infernal and ridiculous as he found the remote-controlled fireplace in their condominium, it had its uses in the dead of winter.
There was one irksome irritation, though. It felt artificial. It didn't give off nearly as much heat as a conventional stove.
Javert frowned down at the fireplace and, abruptly, amidst one of Naomi's playful complaints, he bent down and tore the front grating of the fireplace away, opening up the enclave to allow a warming flow of flickering heat.
"Damn these modern stoves!" he murmured in a cold, lightly-accented rumble. "Handsome to watch, impractical to use! This will work. For now. There is no explicit thing in the fire code that calls for a fire-cage like this."
Where: Their condominium in the government district
Style: ... To be determined
Status: Closed closed closed.
What a week it had been.
Javert bent over the remote-controlled fireplace wearily, the crags in his face illuminated by the flicker and glow of the flames. His mind was full and heavy with his reflections and constant brow-beating. This week alone he received more reprimands from his superiors than he experienced in his entire life - and afterlife. He saw more foundation-quaking scares and felt the grip of death snake a bony arm around his wife's shoulders. He had thought, certainly, she would be a dead woman soon, and closed off his mind that day in the hospital, preparing himself for the inevitable.
But it did not come. In fact, from her lowest low, Naomi bounced back, regaining a healthful luminescence, an adequate appetite and a bounce in her step. The gloom in her posture was gone, and she no longer vomited blood along with her bile. It was a disarmingly quick 180, so swift that Javert now questioned whether her episode early in the month was as serious as it looked. Perhaps it was one of those cases that looked uglier, that presented as a worse business than it was in actuality.
Such was the nature of a cancer disease. Not even the sorcery of modern medicine could accurately predict its exact course. And he, Javert, felt horrifically close to agreeing with Franziska von Karma in having him dismissed from duty permanently, for all of recent negligence.
Tonight, however, a soft and comfortable silence settled indoors and out. There were hardly any vehicles on the road in the icy, sloshy snow, and the pristine new flakes blanketed and muted the city from any loud noises and raucous parties. Javert returned home, as he did every day this week, just past five pm to a coy wife complaining lightly of the cold. As infernal and ridiculous as he found the remote-controlled fireplace in their condominium, it had its uses in the dead of winter.
There was one irksome irritation, though. It felt artificial. It didn't give off nearly as much heat as a conventional stove.
Javert frowned down at the fireplace and, abruptly, amidst one of Naomi's playful complaints, he bent down and tore the front grating of the fireplace away, opening up the enclave to allow a warming flow of flickering heat.
"Damn these modern stoves!" he murmured in a cold, lightly-accented rumble. "Handsome to watch, impractical to use! This will work. For now. There is no explicit thing in the fire code that calls for a fire-cage like this."