Javert ✍ 003
Who: Inspector Javert, anyone who happens by
Where: A bridge somewhere in Somni
Style: Either
Status: Open like the Wind. The Inspector needs to be bothered today.
Javert was bent over the parapet of a bridge, his chin placed in the palm of his hand and his fingers buried in the depths of his impressive whiskers. There he stood, captivated by the movement of the waters below, his mouth pressed into a firm, thin line. And in his free hand he carried a half-eaten loaf of bread.
He had taken his lunch whilst he was on patrol and found that he had a very, very strange craving of sorts for a half-decent lump of baked yeast-dough. Though he was eating in a harried rush like a man half-starved for the better portion of his 52 years, every now and again he would pause and cast a blank, distant gaze at the food in his hand. It served as a brief distraction from his magnetic meditation over the river's currents. Once his reverie was broken, he would merely tear off a few measly crumbs and carelessly toss them off the side of the bridge.
The fish would get more long-term use out of it than he would, after all, as another urge, another memory bubbled up inside him the longer he stood at the crest of that bridge.
"Well, here it is. Back where this began," he muttered through his teeth. Javert's fingers curled more deeply into his sideburns. He bit off another chunk of bread at the strangled gurgle of his stomach. "And yet a second time is useless."
Where: A bridge somewhere in Somni
Style: Either
Status: Open like the Wind. The Inspector needs to be bothered today.
Javert was bent over the parapet of a bridge, his chin placed in the palm of his hand and his fingers buried in the depths of his impressive whiskers. There he stood, captivated by the movement of the waters below, his mouth pressed into a firm, thin line. And in his free hand he carried a half-eaten loaf of bread.
He had taken his lunch whilst he was on patrol and found that he had a very, very strange craving of sorts for a half-decent lump of baked yeast-dough. Though he was eating in a harried rush like a man half-starved for the better portion of his 52 years, every now and again he would pause and cast a blank, distant gaze at the food in his hand. It served as a brief distraction from his magnetic meditation over the river's currents. Once his reverie was broken, he would merely tear off a few measly crumbs and carelessly toss them off the side of the bridge.
The fish would get more long-term use out of it than he would, after all, as another urge, another memory bubbled up inside him the longer he stood at the crest of that bridge.
"Well, here it is. Back where this began," he muttered through his teeth. Javert's fingers curled more deeply into his sideburns. He bit off another chunk of bread at the strangled gurgle of his stomach. "And yet a second time is useless."