Post by ÉMILE JAVERT on Dec 29, 2012 6:11:35 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #7a9aa9, bTable][tr][cs=2] Thomas Javert. 52. Police Inspector. Norm Lewis. | |
[rs=2] | My name you ask M’sieur? It is Thomas Javert, though admittedly few call me that any more – most using just Javert or Inspector Javert. A cry that will strike fear in the hearts of the lowlife of any city that knows of my name. No viper is safe from the talons of the law, and criminals and lawbreakers alike should beware. Some would say that I am driven, that I am heartless and cruel. I would disagree with them; I would prefer to say that I am a man of strong morals, who looks unto the law for guidance, as should all men should they wish to live a good life. Again you may believe that I must have had it easy. That I must have always have had such an easy upstanding life. Again I would have to disagree. My mother was a gypsy, my father a convict, forced to be a galley slave. I was born inside the very jails I prefer to keep the people who would bring chaos and disorder to the streets. I just chose to turn away from that, I had a choice of following my father and my mother’s choices of life, as do all men. I made the right choice, choosing to give my life to serving the law. I am currently 52 years of age, and my first position among the police force was as a guard at the galley in Bagne Prison where a certain Jean Valjean was serving his sentence for stealing a loaf of bread. I was, at that point, 23 years of age. Ah he gave me all the excuses in the book, they all do when you offer them parole, but I saw him for what he was. A thief, a snake and someone who could never change himself. They all think they can but it is always a failure. I was to be his parole officer, and he certainly seemed joyful enough to receive his yellow ticket of leave. He was a curious one, believing that the yellow ticket was freedom, he would soon learn. Someone who seems to believe that starvation and a niece being close to death is a suitable excuse for stealing a loaf of bread. No. It is never acceptable, and this is why he shall never be anything other than an untrustworthy thief. A lowlife. Suffice to say he broke his parole, I wasn’t surprised particularly. This meant that he was to be arrested, if you could find him. Amazingly he ended up in my turf, though under a different name. He had me fooled. Monsieur Madeleine, mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer, and a rather wealthy factory owner. I had my suspicions though, the way he walked with a slight drag of his right foot is a gait one would only see in an ex-convict. It develops through dragging the weight of their chains – a symbol of their sins. I couldn’t confront him however on such circumstantial evidence though – he could have taken an injury somehow. No, instead I waited. He soon gave me the proof I needed. I remembered Jean Valjean had remarkable strength. Such a surprise when the mayor had the strength to easily lift a runaway cart off a businessman who had been trapped beneath it. I voiced my concerns to the proper authorities, of course, only to find out that they had already arrested Jean Valjean, and I was summoned to testify that this was the case. Having made such an error I dismissed myself from the police force –I am not such a monster I would not be as harsh on myself as I am on others. For whatever reason Jean Valjean finding this out took it upon himself to testify that he was Jean Valjean. I had already left the town however, believing myself disgraced. I soon received news that I had been correct, and the Parisian police force requested me to become an inspector among their ranks. My sharp eye and good memory seemed to have impressed them. This was, an honour, meaning that I had to put my personal quest to recapture Jean Valjean aside. I had one last chance to try and catch him before I departed Montreuil-sur-Mer. It would seem he had violently robbed an innkeeper, and kidnapped their adopted daughter – or at least that’s what I was told. I offered to track this thief down, however they refused. For whatever reason they had no desire to get the police involved and I had no choice but to accept this. I made the journey to Paris, but I have never yet forgotten Jean Valjean, and it is a rather personal quest to see him arrested and behind bars. Talking of my journey to Paris, let me recount a story of one of my first cases when I first arrived *** Javert had been relaxing in the carriage. He’d been sent for by the Parisian police force. Not that he’d been expecting this. He’d believed himself to have been a failure. That he’d made a major error in judging the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer as he had. At least until he’d seen the papers. Then he’d seen that the mayor, the very person he’d suspected, but told he was wrong. Only a few days after this he had received an urgent message from the police force of Paris. It had come in a carriage. The carriage had waited for him. It was an official summons to become an inspector for the Paris police force. They had been impressed by his strong memory, his eagle eye and neatness. It had taken three days for them to arrive to the gates of Paris. The country roads hadn’t always played nicely with the carriage wheels, and there had been some times when there had been pauses for wheels to be checked. Then there had been rest sessions, and times forced into walk. One of the roads had been clogged by farmer’s traffic to a market. So it had indeed taken some time to get through all the cart horses. Still they were here now. He leaned forward in his carriage at a disturbance, looking out the window. “Stop the carriage,” he ordered adjusting his coat. While he hadn’t been officially reinstated to the police force, a hideous act of vandalism, of criminal damage was being caused, never mind the offence it could cause should a lady see this. Easily he stepped out of the carriage once more adjusting the lapels of his coat striding forward intimidatingly. “M’sieur. Do you mind coming with me?” he asked his voice low, dangerously so. His hand snaked out as the male tried to run. He walked with him gesturing the carriage to go on without him. He was determined to bring this male to justice for such an indecent display, never mind the possible damage to a public monument. It would never do. It was against the law for starters. It was only once the carriage had left, he suddenly realised that he was in a strange city. He had no idea where he was. Still, he kept a confident walk bringing his captured criminal with him until he found a police officer. “Excuse me M’sieur, I found this... person.... urinating on a public statue,” he stated calmly. The police officer glanced at him then at the criminal. “Not the first time, he frequently gets drunk and then urinates wherever ladies may see him, despite that it may upset their delicate sensibilities,” the officer shook his head. “Thank you Monsi—“ “Javert, Thomas Javert. I was requested by the Parisian Police Force,” Javert added on calmly. “Thank you then Monsieur Javert, we have been looking for this individual for some time,” the officer explained. “May I escort you to the Palais de Justice?” the officer added on. Javert nodded, almost gratefully. Slowly he followed after the officer, who had also taken charge of the criminal he’d arrested. Javert had been out of the city for some time, so the architecture amazed him. He was trying not to show that though, his eyes roving over the architecture. |
Robin. 23. Poking about on RPG-D. |
