may catch all

[policier]

characters: javert & ota
location: the invincible
date/time: may 22
content: javert drinks and is a miserable bastard
warnings: self-loathing

name day

( He hadn't paid much thought to the day, occupied as he is with reparations to the armory, and the patrol he keeps so faithfully. It wouldn't have mattered much. Javert has never had a reason to celebrate, nor would he care to. Many would consider the day of their birth to be a joyous event, but for him, it is only another reminder of how ignoble and wretched he is.

The son of a galley slave and a gypsy, born in a jail and raised behind bars, does not belong in proper society, and so Javert continues to keep to himself to the outskirts. He doesn't attend the daily meals, preferring instead to eat his meager supper by himself. He lingers on the edge of gatherings, keeping an eye out for troublemakers, but never socializing. It's almost as if he's a phantom, appearing only when he is needed, teaching others combat and keeping the town safe.

Being useful is the only purpose he's ever had in his life. He's never allowed himself any indulgence, save for today, when he pours himself a second glass of wine at supper. It doesn't seem like much, given how terrible the taste is, but Javert cares little for that. Right now, all he desires is a respite from his thoughts, and the maelstrom of emotions that have not given him peace in nearly a year. He's seated at the far corner of the tavern, donned in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his hat and coat draped over the chair beside him. It doesn't seem as if he desires company, with his back turned to the rest of the room, but that's never stopped anyone before. )

Comments

[mindofathief]

[For the past month, Duster has been avoiding traveling too far from Beacon, and with that, he now feels how empty the town has become. It's a ghost town, not like Tazmily at night, but Tazmily when everyone moved away for the city. The invincible remains the same on the inside, and the tavern still exists as if nothing had ever happened.

He does find it concerning that Javert is sitting hunching over and quiet. They have lost so many in the flood, and he could be thinking about all of those lost lives. Duster's uneven gait can be heard from Javert's table as he approaches.]

Is everything okay?

[policier]

( A noise escapes his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He can only imagine what he must look like, hatless, coatless, tucked away in isolation, and drinking more than his usual share. It's a far cry from his usual forbidding appearance. It almost makes him look a little more human. He turns his head a little, and knowing how impossible it is for him to lie, he growls, )

No.

( He gives the other man a once-over, though, turning the conversation around on him before Duster can show any more undeserved concern, )

You should be resting.

[mindofathief]

I am.

[He needs exercise. There's so much rest Duster can take before he has to stretch his legs. He won't tell Javert of his walks outside of the Invincible, but that's beside the point.]

Did something happen? [He swings the conversation back.]

[policier]

( He turns his head, looking a bit petulant in the face of the other man's concern. He doesn't know what it is that would cause him to feel such a way, but he suspects it has something to do with him tending to his arm after the flood. Javert frowns and barks, )

You are standing there and asking pointless questions. Sit.

( He kicks one of the chairs out from under the table with his boot. It skids across the floor noisily, over the sound of the tavern's jukebox. )

I was reminded of something I wish to forget. That's all.

[mindofathief]

[If someone rescues him, Duster is obligated to ensure that they're safe. Javert has done too much to be ignored when he looks sad.

Duster slides into the chair, hooks an ankle around its leg, and pulls himself towards the table with some equally noisy scoots.]

I get how that feels. Things happen unexpectantly, and you end up having a bad day. [Or Green Eyed Spirits force you to relive one of the worst moments of your life in the middle of a torture session, but that is all-around a bad time.] What do you usually do to get over it? I mostly go on walks, but it really depends on the weather.

[policier]

I don't do anything.

( He broods, and doesn't talk to anyone until his mood lessens. The fact that he's talking at all to Duster seems to be an improvement, albeit a small one. He takes another drink from his wine and frowns, tugging at his cravat, feeling warm. )

It's not something I can so readily forget. If you are so insistent on making confessions, tell me then, are there things about yourself you are unhappy with?

[mindofathief]

Well... [He shifts his weight to lie against the back of the chair entirely.] Yeah. Reminders of things that happened when I was small. Mistakes I made, voices that tell me that I'm not good enough.

[Less frequent that before until he was captured.]

I'm happier now than I was a few years ago...except for, you know, all of this. But I still go on walks when I can out of habit.

[policier]

( His frown darkens, seemingly displeased with Duster's answer. He doesn't wish to find happiness for himself, so that matters little to him. If he were to wish for anything, it would be that the world make sense to him again. As he sets his cup down, he barks, )

You are a thief. Of course you should be ashamed of that.

( That may not be what he's referring to, but Javert's not going to readily forget it. )

[mindofathief]

Huh?

[That comments catches him off guard. Right, the "thief" status is not an honorable one in general, but the stigma itself wasn't that must of an issue, unless he counted that as the root of the life that made him unhappy.]

I'm proud of using the Thief Arts to protect my world. Sure, I could have stopped so much if I was better at stealing, but I'm as much a thief as I am a musician.

[policier]

Stealing is against the law.

( He implores, his displeasure not seeming to abate. How could this man be proud of such a thing? It seems almost incomprehensible to Javert. He crosses his arms, but looks at the other man as if being offered puzzle. )

What could be more disgraceful than that?

[worthallthis]

[Soldat keeps track of the people important to them. That list has gotten significantly smaller since the flood. Javert is right at the top of that list, beside Misty and Sora. So when he seems more withdrawn than usual while they work on setting up the armory, they notice. Don't comment, but notice.

When he hides in the corner of the inn, without his coat, while they put together dinner for themselves and Misty, they notice. And linger after delivering Misty hers, to eat their small portion at another back table, though their back is to the wall so they can watch everyone coming and going.

When he stays there with his second glass of wine, they notice, too, and keep themselves occupied with Solitaire on their table-top to keep watching. This would be the time for maintenance and handler tasks, but Misty has nothing, and it seems like Javert might need his soldier eventually.

So they wait. Keeping their concerned frown off their face until Javert heads upstairs. Then they follow a moment later, half to make sure he makes it there steadily, and half so they can knock gently on the door.]

Sir. We never played our game today.

[policier]

( He finishes most of the bottle by the time he leaves to return to his room, his coat draped across his arm and his hat in hand. He stumbles a bit when he takes the first step up the stairs, unused to the imbalance that comes from drink. His senses seemed to have dulled quite a bit as well, for he does not even notice Soldat following him until he reaches the door to his apartment, stepping in.

His gaze is not quite so piercing when he turns, regarding the other man for a moment in confusion before his words finally catch up to him. Lost in thought as he had been, he had nearly forgotten. )

I'm not much in the mood for games. ( He answers, sounding tired, which is unusual for him. ) Perhaps tomorrow.

[worthallthis]

[Okay, definitely following, if the guy is drinking a whole bottle of wine. Javert is not a supersoldier. That's going to affect him. Soldat looks vaguely concerned at the length of time it takes him to come up with an answer, too.

It's absolutely his right, as the handler (and as a person), to not want to play chess one day.

But. It's unusual. And he looks... sad.]

Are you all right.

[policier]

( He looks away, ashamed at himself for having been caught drinking. If Rosalind were here, perhaps he would have done so in their apartment, away from prying eyes, but their home is stark and lonely, and Javert could not bear to do so. )

I am drunk.

( He answers simply, as if that fact wasn't evident enough already. It's an attempt at deflection, albeit a poor one. )

I should think that would make me as unwell.

[worthallthis]

I can see that, sir.

[Soldat only barely manages to keep that from sounding dry. They hesitate, then asks,]

May I come in?

[If he's getting drunk, it's for a reason. And probably shouldn't be alone.]

[policier]

You may do as you wish.

( He grunts, turning back into his apartment. There's a hook nearby where he hangs his coat, his movements sluggish and uncertain, and sets his hat on top of it. He doesn't say anything the entire time he does so, choosing instead to go to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. )

[worthallthis]

[Water is good, for people who've had too much alcohol. Smart choice, Inspector. Soldat does step inside, since that's practically an invitation in Javert-speech, looking around. Frowning a little. No Rosalind. No... smell of Rosalind, actually. She's often at her lab, but it's different in here now.]

Where is Madame Lutece?

[They picked up Javert's preferred title for her, and are intentionally using it, now.]

[policier]

( He doesn't answer. Instead, there's a pregnant pause, long and drawn out, as Javert takes the cup in his hand and grips it. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking, with his backed turned and his face hidden from view, but the slight and sudden hitch in his voice is unmistakable. )

She is dead.

( He says it simply, logically. If Rosalind were here to witness it, she would have most surely approved. There's no reason for him to cling to false hope, and she would not wish him to. )

I have not found her lantern, nor her body, but I know that it is true. She is not where she should be, and were she here, she would be with me.

( She would have insisted they celebrate his birthday, just the same as when they had celebrated Christmas. He keeps his head bowed, and swallows hard, forcing himself to keep what little composure he can. )

[worthallthis]

[Oh. Jesus. Soldat looks around once more, eyes a little bigger, taking in the truly empty room. No fucking wonder Javert's drinking.

They don't try to counter the statement. If anyone would know, it'd be Javert; he surely knows all the places Madame Lutece should be. They don't even say they're sorry. Instead, they hesitate just a beat, then pad slowly over to put a hand on Javert's shoulder, gripping at the base of his nec. This clearly requires touching, and they're feeling steady enough to offer.]

[policier]

( There's nothing he could say that would bring him comfort. Perhaps it is best for him to not say anything. When Soldat rests a hand on his shoulder, though, Javert looks up, his blue eyes misty with unshed tears. It's been nearly a year since he's felt so distraught, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Drinking doesn't seem to have helped dull his sorrow, but at least now he's not suffering alone. )

Don't leave.

( It's difficult to tell whether he means now, or for far longer. He grasps the end of Soldat's shirt, gripping tight. )

[catholicisms]

( it might stop him, usually. Matt can respect wanting to be alone, and he especially respects Javert. if he wanted company, he'd have made that obvious. still, between patrols and just spending enough time around the guy to get a sense of how he is normally, Matt can tell something is off.

maybe he can use the excuse of being blind, that he didn't read the room and take a hint. but after Javert lingers just a little bit longer than usual at his seat and starts on his second glass of wine, Matt heads over, though his poison of choice is whiskey. )

You're here late. ( Matt has gotten a lot less evasive about what he can do without eyesight, though frankly, nobody has yet to really press him about it. he waves a hand towards the bottle as he takes a seat. ) Drinking to something? Or just the hell of it?

[policier]

( He should consider himself fortunate Javert likes him as much as he does. He would never had allowed the other man to approach him so casually otherwise, unhappy and somber as his mood is. For a lawyer, Matt has proven himself to be quite adept, and Javert appreciates his skills, even if he hasn't thought to press about them. )

It's my birthday.

( He answers simply, as if commenting on the weather. Had it not been for the drink, and Matt's constant presence in his life through patrols, he may not have said anything. He grunts, )

Is this not how I am meant to celebrate?

[catholicisms]

( nobody presses, and that's for the best. at this point, Matt isn't hiding too much... though actually admitting how he does what he does doesn't come easy. never has. most people don't really want the truth of it, anyway. it's one of those things that the more one dwells the worse it gets. just ask Foggy.

birthday, huh? Matt wouldn't have guessed, but that's a slightly more personal detail than he and Javert have ever delved into. everybody has a birthday. his came and went without much attention, though that's rather how he liked it anyway. what's a birthday in the world of the dead? )

That's how my dad always celebrated. He'd have been happy just to drink whiskey and listen to the fight on the radio. I was always the one that insisted it should involve cake. Granted, eight year olds do like cake. ( he'd still been fond of cake at nine, but that was after the accident, and by ten Jack had already been gone. ) I haven't tried to bake since I could see. So maybe we're better off celebrating with just the drinks.

( this is the most somber celebration Matt has ever seen and he's blind, but hey. company, more alcohol, maybe that will help a little. nobody deserves to drink through their birthday on their weary lonesome. )

[policier]

I don't much care for confections, so perhaps that is for the best.

( Drinking more than a single glass of wine is already more of an indulgence that Javert allows himself. It feels strange for them to be speaking so openly about personal matters, but they've known each other for a while now, and Javert knows that Matt won't tell. As if to make the conversation even more dreary than it is, he asks, )

What happened to your father?

[catholicisms]

That doesn't surprise me.

( Javert is a severe, serious guy. the idea he doesn't care for sweets only makes sense. Matt likes sweets well enough, though he doesn't indulge in them often. perhaps being dead should mean he can spare the calories, but for some reason he doesn't risk it all the same. it's more habit than anything.

as for his dad... Matt smiles, but it's a shift sadder. )

Died. When I was a kid. ( there's definitely more to the story than that, though Matt isn't usually upfront about the particulars. maybe it's the company, maybe it's the drink; something does coax him to elaborate a little more. ) He was supposed to throw a match, and he didn't. The winnings got me through law school, but he pissed off the wrong people, and they made sure he paid for it in the end.

( it's complicated, knowing his father died to secure him a future, died for his pride. to die for your principles was supposed to be noble. so why does it still sting to think his father chose a victory over him? )