It had been nearly thirty years. Thirty silent years, but Javert remembered, even if he did not.
It was by no mere chance that the game played straight into Javert's massive hands. No, he was familiar with the name of this game. He was well-practiced in the art of smoke and mirrors, of shadows and gambles, and he understood the maws of the beast in which he danced. He understood because he was taught by the best, between the things he had seen in the dank and sordid prisons, the community of wretched gypsies to which his mother belonged, and… this man.Javert remembered Greed. He remembered his scent, his snakelike slither, his saunter, his smirk. He had watched Greed's movements, the voluptuous sway of his muscular arms and tight hips; he recalled the curl of his strong fingers like they had met in the back-alleys of Marseille and Toulon just yesterday. If he closed his eyes, he could smell the salt air mingled with pastry, yeasty boulangeries, decaying vineyards in his mind. And he could smell the sweat, blood, and musky cigarillos
( ... )
Though Naomi had an inkling that there had been something very dark swirling around in her husband's head since their last evening out at the Nest together, the woman found herself shrugging off that crippling worry that Javert would suddenly pitch himself off a bridge in a fit of insanity and instead she threw herself into action. If he wasn't willing to burst through this bout of gloom on his own, then his dear wife would just have to do all she could to pull him out herself
( ... )
Oddly enough, the Nest was mostly cleared that night. The doors were open, but most of the lights had been shut off. Greed himself was outback by the time the two showed up. He perked up from the dark, cast his eyes down the narrow hall that lead outback. He picked himself up from a project, shoved it away with the toe of his boot. Sunk hands into his pockets and wandered out onto the main floor with a grin and a fire in his step.
"Welcome to the - ah." No need for introductions then. It was the Chief and his wife. Greed stopped dead in his tracks and moved to a switch. Flicked on the lights over the bar, casting it in the sickly-yellow hue he loved so much. "It's just you two," he said, with the politeness of well-known acquaintances. "Coming to check in on me, or is this simple an outing?" He raised a brow, thumbs out of his pockets. They tapped with the need to scratch an insufferable itch. The constant one
( ... )
"Didn't you hear the final bargain?" said Javert with an cool lilt and a tilt of his jaw. "You were off the table. I bet only myself."
Before Naomi had a chance to respond to that new revelation, Javert swept into the Nest, stepping aside to let his wife through ahead of him. His gait was slow, confident. He was astoundingly comfortable and sure of himself in such a smoke-laden pit that positively reeked the mantra, Sex, Drugs, Rock n' Roll. He met Greed's eye at the familiar greeting, and again the flood of remembered sensations came back to him in the form of a spark in font of his nose.
Good God, this creature was truly timeless. His smooth and handsome face had not aged a day, where Javert's, which had never been young even as a lad, sprouted deeper crevices with the ravages of time.
"You? Unfamiliar with la fée verte?" said Javert as he slid over the bar. He locked eyes - or rather, eyes with sunshades -- with the deadly Sin. His hand wrapped around the putrid grin drink, slipping it back and forth between thumb and
( ... )
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It was by no mere chance that the game played straight into Javert's massive hands. No, he was familiar with the name of this game. He was well-practiced in the art of smoke and mirrors, of shadows and gambles, and he understood the maws of the beast in which he danced. He understood because he was taught by the best, between the things he had seen in the dank and sordid prisons, the community of wretched gypsies to which his mother belonged, and… this man.Javert remembered Greed. He remembered his scent, his snakelike slither, his saunter, his smirk. He had watched Greed's movements, the voluptuous sway of his muscular arms and tight hips; he recalled the curl of his strong fingers like they had met in the back-alleys of Marseille and Toulon just yesterday. If he closed his eyes, he could smell the salt air mingled with pastry, yeasty boulangeries, decaying vineyards in his mind. And he could smell the sweat, blood, and musky cigarillos ( ... )
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"Welcome to the - ah." No need for introductions then. It was the Chief and his wife. Greed stopped dead in his tracks and moved to a switch. Flicked on the lights over the bar, casting it in the sickly-yellow hue he loved so much. "It's just you two," he said, with the politeness of well-known acquaintances. "Coming to check in on me, or is this simple an outing?" He raised a brow, thumbs out of his pockets. They tapped with the need to scratch an insufferable itch. The constant one ( ... )
Reply
Before Naomi had a chance to respond to that new revelation, Javert swept into the Nest, stepping aside to let his wife through ahead of him. His gait was slow, confident. He was astoundingly comfortable and sure of himself in such a smoke-laden pit that positively reeked the mantra, Sex, Drugs, Rock n' Roll. He met Greed's eye at the familiar greeting, and again the flood of remembered sensations came back to him in the form of a spark in font of his nose.
Good God, this creature was truly timeless. His smooth and handsome face had not aged a day, where Javert's, which had never been young even as a lad, sprouted deeper crevices with the ravages of time.
"You? Unfamiliar with la fée verte?" said Javert as he slid over the bar. He locked eyes - or rather, eyes with sunshades -- with the deadly Sin. His hand wrapped around the putrid grin drink, slipping it back and forth between thumb and ( ... )
Reply
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