Javert ✍ 009
Who: Javert, Naomi, Tohru Adachi, any police that are phoned in
Where: District Five Courthouse
Style: Third
Status: Open to Police, Naomi, and Courthouse Folk. Ask if you would like to come in!
The week was finally looking up.
Javert's eyes were lowered to a slip of paper on a plain plank, his chin drawn into his collar and a dampened handkerchief pressed lightly against his forehead. He chose a bare room that resembled a cell more than an office for the place of testimony, and though the windows were jammed open from vine overgrowth, the oven-hot breeze was no relief. The only pieces of furniture inside were two metal chairs and a plain, scratched table. He had calmly instructed Naomi to sit and relate her 'adventure' with him, while he drew a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed himself like a mid-summer dandy. His coat and hat were conspicuously absent, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up nearly to his elbows, revealing a very pale flesh tone in sharp contrast to his swarthy face. Though he held a pen in his free hand, it appeared to be more for show than any sort of documentary purposes; he hadn't written a word throughout Naomi's entire gruesome tale.
The inspector's demeanor, as well, was different than Naomi may have become accustomed to. Like the first time they met, when he discovered her torn and disoriented self in her lab months ago, he was the calm and abrupt police officer, his expression firm, cold, and oddly reassuring. She received no nods of understanding, no pitying glances, no words of comfort - and, in fact, there were moments during her story where it looked like he had nodded off in the heat. But with a tap of his pen or a curl of his finger, there was proof that he was still 'with her' for the moment.
When she reached the end of her testimony, he placed the plank and pen on the table and stretched luxuriously, his back arched like a cat. It was as if he had awoken from a good night's rest. His face awoke, his posture straightened, and above all, he had a frightening, calm luminosity about him, both cold and confident at once.
Javert turned the plank and paper around and presented it to Naomi. Clearly it hadn't been written that day. It was a little worn, a little bent at the corners. But the text, if she were to read it, read of a concise report of Tohru Adachi's guilt in her assault case. There were two blanks at the bottom: one for Naomi's signature, and one for his own.
The inspector smiled.
"Finish it."
Where: District Five Courthouse
Style: Third
Status: Open to Police, Naomi, and Courthouse Folk. Ask if you would like to come in!
The week was finally looking up.
Javert's eyes were lowered to a slip of paper on a plain plank, his chin drawn into his collar and a dampened handkerchief pressed lightly against his forehead. He chose a bare room that resembled a cell more than an office for the place of testimony, and though the windows were jammed open from vine overgrowth, the oven-hot breeze was no relief. The only pieces of furniture inside were two metal chairs and a plain, scratched table. He had calmly instructed Naomi to sit and relate her 'adventure' with him, while he drew a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed himself like a mid-summer dandy. His coat and hat were conspicuously absent, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up nearly to his elbows, revealing a very pale flesh tone in sharp contrast to his swarthy face. Though he held a pen in his free hand, it appeared to be more for show than any sort of documentary purposes; he hadn't written a word throughout Naomi's entire gruesome tale.
The inspector's demeanor, as well, was different than Naomi may have become accustomed to. Like the first time they met, when he discovered her torn and disoriented self in her lab months ago, he was the calm and abrupt police officer, his expression firm, cold, and oddly reassuring. She received no nods of understanding, no pitying glances, no words of comfort - and, in fact, there were moments during her story where it looked like he had nodded off in the heat. But with a tap of his pen or a curl of his finger, there was proof that he was still 'with her' for the moment.
When she reached the end of her testimony, he placed the plank and pen on the table and stretched luxuriously, his back arched like a cat. It was as if he had awoken from a good night's rest. His face awoke, his posture straightened, and above all, he had a frightening, calm luminosity about him, both cold and confident at once.
Javert turned the plank and paper around and presented it to Naomi. Clearly it hadn't been written that day. It was a little worn, a little bent at the corners. But the text, if she were to read it, read of a concise report of Tohru Adachi's guilt in her assault case. There were two blanks at the bottom: one for Naomi's signature, and one for his own.
The inspector smiled.
"Finish it."