He had felt such pomp and confidence in removing the potted plant from Naomi Hunter's lab and transplanting it into Adachi's office space. It was the very plant that Javert was so sure was the weapon used to knock a concussive lump on the sly woman's head. The very plant that should have elicited a reaction from her ravisher. And yet even in his clear line of sight, even when forced to glance at it for 7 and a half of his 8 hour day, Adachi hadn't so much as batted a guilty eyelash.
Adachi was his top suspect. The man was overcompensating, acting the part of the clumsy fool day by day. He was competent in his paperwork but little else, and he made a half-decent mug of coffee with a strange contraption Javert never would have understood to work as such. He smudged his paperwork, he occasionally spilled a well-placed drink, he mumbled the haphazard comment and he attempted to hint (poorly) at requesting vacation days. But he was so completely natural and composed that he was unnatural. It was
( ... )
Alice stepped away quickly from the tall gentleman when he nearly ran over her. She hugged Basil to her chest - the rabbit had returned to his normal shape since she hadn't been using him. Alice felt bad for nearly making the gentleman trip though she also felt a bit annoyed he nearly tripped over her. She supposed she would just have to settle they were both at fault for the near tripping
( ... )
Javert might have balked absurdly at being called a gentleman if he had heard her thoughts. Often a 'Monsieur,' always a member of that unpleasant class of men charged with guarding society, forever labeled l'Inspecteur, but never a gentleman. He had sprung from far too degenerate a lineage to become a genteel. Gypsy/convict offspring ingrates were the bottom of the barrel; it was a wonder he was able to transcend respectable poverty and live in modest comfort at all. Though it was rare that he indulged himself in those comforts. The Inspector was one of restraint, of chastity.
He lowered his journal with a frown. Alice may be able to glimpse scrawlings - in French - scattered across the page. La Liste de la Mort, Disparitions and other such words. He shut the small book and thrust it deep into his overcoat pocket.
"Apparently a city," was his equally flat reply. A brief pause.
"I have heard it called Somarium.Javert's scouring gaze eyed Alice like a stern headmaster would cast upon a new student. Her dress was clean, her hair was
( ... )
She glanced at his notes and even stood on the tips of her toes to try and get a better look. It was terribly difficult to to read English upside down. So reading French upside down in such a quick flash was going to be impossible for her. Although she wondered idly if there was a backwards world like there was a Looking Glass world. Alice didn't want to go to such a place like that at all! She would have to walk backwards if she wanted to go forward, and walk forward to go back! And what if she had to speak backwards! Oh she wouldn't be good at that at all!
At being told she was in a city she had to bite her tongue to stop from retorting. Well she knew that. Even if it was a city for giants she knew perfectly well that it was a city... or at least a very nice town. Still... She wasn't about to be rude to someone who could help her. And he hadn't been rude to her... he was obviously just... on his way to somewhere. Alice was a bit curious as to where he might be going. But not enough to ask
( ... )
Indeed the gentleman was French, and his voice carried with it a stiff, calculated but rather nondescript accent. He gave the impression of a man trying too hard to keep his own voice well-measured and regulated.
"People do not often find nonexistent countries on maps."
Javert regarded the girl silently, his expression souring. What a bother, to discover a lost child. He didn't want to have that sort of responsibility over a wayward little girl, but he also knew that it wasn't an option to let her be. She appeared to be no older than eight or nine. When one was of such a high-class family as her, disappearances were noticed. But Javert was a busy man who worked more often than not, and he never carried a particular fondness in his heart for children. He would have to make a report to Edgeworth about the situation and arrange for accommodations for her from there.
The Inspector gave a low titter, a close-mouthed click of his tongue at the back of his throat. He pressed his lips into a thin, contemplative line.
She eepe'd and then followed after him as quick as she could. She was at a vast disadvantage that her legs were shorter than his. She was reminded of her math tutor with the way he spoke to her. He was French as well. Perhaps the French were just dour sort of people. But she didn't understand the sayings then. Weren't they supposed to be flighty and constantly seeking love? Although Alice didn't know what was so bad about trying to find love. She didn't love anyone except her family (and Dinah but one loved a cat differently than you loved a person). But if she did love someone she didn't know why she wouldn't seek it out. But this man wasn't anything like that. He was about as much fun as scarlet fever
( ... )
He had felt such pomp and confidence in removing the potted plant from Naomi Hunter's lab and transplanting it into Adachi's office space. It was the very plant that Javert was so sure was the weapon used to knock a concussive lump on the sly woman's head. The very plant that should have elicited a reaction from her ravisher. And yet even in his clear line of sight, even when forced to glance at it for 7 and a half of his 8 hour day, Adachi hadn't so much as batted a guilty eyelash.
Adachi was his top suspect. The man was overcompensating, acting the part of the clumsy fool day by day. He was competent in his paperwork but little else, and he made a half-decent mug of coffee with a strange contraption Javert never would have understood to work as such. He smudged his paperwork, he occasionally spilled a well-placed drink, he mumbled the haphazard comment and he attempted to hint (poorly) at requesting vacation days. But he was so completely natural and composed that he was unnatural. It was ( ... )
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He lowered his journal with a frown. Alice may be able to glimpse scrawlings - in French - scattered across the page. La Liste de la Mort, Disparitions and other such words. He shut the small book and thrust it deep into his overcoat pocket.
"Apparently a city," was his equally flat reply. A brief pause.
"I have heard it called Somarium.Javert's scouring gaze eyed Alice like a stern headmaster would cast upon a new student. Her dress was clean, her hair was ( ... )
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At being told she was in a city she had to bite her tongue to stop from retorting. Well she knew that. Even if it was a city for giants she knew perfectly well that it was a city... or at least a very nice town. Still... She wasn't about to be rude to someone who could help her. And he hadn't been rude to her... he was obviously just... on his way to somewhere. Alice was a bit curious as to where he might be going. But not enough to ask ( ... )
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"People do not often find nonexistent countries on maps."
Javert regarded the girl silently, his expression souring. What a bother, to discover a lost child. He didn't want to have that sort of responsibility over a wayward little girl, but he also knew that it wasn't an option to let her be. She appeared to be no older than eight or nine. When one was of such a high-class family as her, disappearances were noticed. But Javert was a busy man who worked more often than not, and he never carried a particular fondness in his heart for children. He would have to make a report to Edgeworth about the situation and arrange for accommodations for her from there.
The Inspector gave a low titter, a close-mouthed click of his tongue at the back of his throat. He pressed his lips into a thin, contemplative line.
"Come, mademoiselle" ( ... )
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