Considering several games on my list???

[inseine]

Your antics annoy me.

Take the past week. [He counts off each point on his fingers, his tone calm, cold, and bored. There is no real anger behind his words.] The first day, I am bound to a post like a wrangled goat with no recent memories. The next? Confined to a metal vessel careening through the stars. On still other days, I chat with not one but two persistent and familiar gentlemen wearing my name. Let us not talk about the wet event.

Apparently, consistency and continuity became a scarce luxury. Consider planting me somewhere so I may experience traumas in a linear fashion. It is nicer that way. And more logical, despite the senselessness that follows. I can manage that.

Comments

[waywardswords]

It's always going to turn out senseless one way or the other. Might as well get used to it.

[inseine]

[Huff. Oh, he is accustomed to senselessness, no worries about that.]

Yet a dash of organization to the nonsense would do wonders. An imitation of sanity, at its barest.

[waywardswords]

Yeah well good luck with that. In my experience, muns don't like organization so much as pure mind-fuck.

[Like letting him get lost everywhere. What the hell is up with that?]

[inseine]

Counting on luck is certain to end in a sudden cliff at the end of the street. Your woman knows pre-cise-ly what she is doing. I am sure of it. Laughing for a time during this 'pure mind-fuck.' [Brow arch.] Twisted sadists. All of them.

[to_be_free]

Are we fated to follow each other about, then? I did not think our fates were to be entwined so closely, Monsieur Inspecteur. [Don't mind him, he's just way too amused.]

[inseine]

Evidently.

[You. Again. Of course. His lower lip spasms with a disbelieving little snort.]

I understand that you are to blame for that.

[to_be_free]

I? I had no idea I was a wanted criminal. What are my charges?

[inseine]

Your existence. Eliciting a desire for a 'cast' [his lips twist peculiarly at the word. Amused? It is impossible to judge,] from my woman.

[Aside from those other charges of insurgency and treason in France, rendered null and void upon Combeferre's early death.]

I have heard her call it a fantasy. Come true. [A beat.] I beg to differ.

[madcuriosity]

Surely it cannot be all bad, inspector? You have such a severe way of looking upon things!

[inseine]

[Ah. Dim recognition strikes from a past life. Javert makes a begrudging yet concerted effort to soften his grimace somewhat.

He almost succeeds. Almost.]

I will manage the senselessness, [he reiterates stubbornly.] It is the disorder that irritates me.

[madcuriosity]

Always so orderly.

[inseine]

There is nothing wrong with order.

[order_and_light]

[Don't mind the figure watching from a corner as one particular upstream thread proceeds, coat collar pulled up and hat pulled down as far as possible. Good God. Is there no end to what this place is capable of?]

[antinouswild]

[For once in his life, a rare moment...

Enjolras laughs.]

[inseine]

[Javert furrows his brow deep enough to dig a trench between his brows. Otherwise, his expression remains calm and cold, though his scrutinizing gaze sharpens just a notch.

He makes an indecipherable gesture, beckoning him to say something.]

Well?

[antinouswild]

No. It's just that I know what games can be. I can think of no one more deserving.

[to_be_free]

Are you well, mon ami, where you are?

[menticide]

Why settle for less?

Demand you're placed where luxury and power are an option. Why suffer any longer than you have to?

[inseine]

[Something strikes Javert as different about this one. The manner of speech, the sly phrases strung together summons an intuitive prick at the back of his neck.

Whatever it is about you, you have got his unwavering scrutiny, now.]

Really, [the word slips past his thin lips. A dearth of emotion, the cast of the bait.] I was unaware you were an expert in my personal suffering. A stranger, no less! I don't believe we have met.

And how will power and luxury remove it?

[menticide]

Personal suffering? Let's not jump to conclusions. Think of it this way, you could:

A. Be strung up to a post or trapped in a tin can. Or

B. Retire in a luxurious flat with a beautiful view of the ocean.

The power comes from being in control of your own destiny... That is what you want, isn't it?

We haven't met. Not yet. In good time.

[inseine]

[Javert stares at Jim intently. This is a trap, isn't it? He smells a rat. Yet he presses onward, nonetheless.]

Then how do you suggest I get control? You have your own woman behind her iron curtain. Do not bother to tell me otherwise.

[monsieur_marius]

Can traumas be so defined as 'nice', linear or no?

It is a regrettable habit of yours, Inspector, that you find yourself so often tied up. I wouldn't wish such a grievance to continue for you, wherever you eventually may find yourself.

[inseine]

[Well, here's a student Javert hasn't forgotten. His sweeps an intent gaze over Marius Pontmercy. A veritable parade of dead revolutionaries tonight, isn't there? He languidly rests his cheek into an upturned palm and thoughtfully scratches his chin.]

A habit I could do with breaking. Ropes are uncomfortable, and masochism only suits me so far.

[monsieur_marius]

[A strange thought to have, perhaps, when it was the living addressing the mournfully dead; the revolutionary being the luckier of the two, in the case of survival being met and peace being made with his own changing ideologies.

In fact, it is well to see Javert's face, stern and unshaken as it ever were and as it was in what Marius had assumed to be his final moments, on the barricade.]

Perhaps it is well to hope for peace, then. There is not nearly so much crime nor inequality to be policed here; you do not find yourself in France as you well know, Inspector. Why not chase the luxury of happiness?

[ghostboy]

So your bottom line is, 'if you're going to torment me at least do it predictably?'

I dunno. As far as I can tell, this whole lack of linearity's been the only thing between me and the mun's consistent attention span.

*Far from seeming concerned or driven to (dare one suggest it) commiserate with the older man, the boy is holding a striped paper box filled to the brim with popcorn. As soon as he's said his piece he pops a few pieces into his mouth, more intent on his snack than anything else.*