les Grognards (The Grumblers) (Tag:Javert)

[gustave]

Gustave ordered coffee, strong the way he preferred it of a morning, his attentive sea-grey eyes brushed the area of the square carefully. The street-children that often flocked around wealthy-looking gentlemen eager to slash their pockets or even their throats stayed well away from the large police Sargent. They avoided the man's steely gaze just as much as they avoided his physical presence. For Gustave Desjardins was well known in Paris as a man of great integrity and a man who took great care to discipline anyone who he caught stealing his personal possessions, of course he was bound by his job to discipline anyone he thought to be carrying out some illegal activity so the man was vigilant. Awaiting some outcry of, "Thief!" or maybe breaking up a brawl with his bare hands.

He ordered his coffee and began to read a newspaper, breathing through his nose as he did, his grey eyes occasionally lifting off the paper to give the square a cursory glance. There was no chance of any revolutionaries attending the square on some sort of recruiting drive for more innocent, gullible men and women to die for them. Of course the revolutionaries were shrewd enough to at least try and hide their activities from the public. Gustave imagined that as soon as he left, no doubt the liberal scumbags would crawl out from the cracks in the walls and the cobble and set about crying out for change in a France they considered there own.

It almost made Gustave wanted to scoff as he began to read through the paper a little more closely, of course he had one eye on the paper itself and another on the square and on his surroundings, his hearing was straining for any sound at all out of miss. He called across his waiter with a flourish of his heavy hand. "Fetch me, a chess-board and pieces Mousier." he said with a smile the waiter nodded, it was a usual ritual for Gustave to play chess with a fellow police officer almost every morning, it was odd indeed to not find Javert and Desjardins testing one another at the tactical game. Gustave scratched his trimmed beard and went back to observing his paper.

A board was produced as was the coffee. Gustave paid for the coffee and took a single sip letting the fluid warm him slightly. Though it was rare that Gustave ever truly felt the cold, being rather desensitized to the mild French winters after spending a month in Russia during the winter months, he was comfortable where other men would shiver. Another article about the so called 'Scarlet Pimpernel' Gustave would have to simply push Javert for information on this so called Pimpernel and find the man for himself. No doubt the silly inspector was busy stalking his famed 24601.

Gustave could only care so much for Javert's many obsessions. Though Javert was certainly a friend in Gustave's eyes he often detected a hint of annoyance in Javert's face particularly when Gustave made untoward remarks about the progression of his colleague's career. Javert often took such remarks very much to heart and would most often dismiss the word with a raised eyebrow. Gustave feared Javert as much as he feared the street children. He sipped at his coffee and set about arranging the pieces. Awaiting Javert's perfectly timed entrance.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Just as the street brats stayed away from Gustave’s imposing frame and figure they also quickly scattered as Javert strode into the square. His tense frame however may have spoken volumes. He’d had a less than pleasant experience with Gavroche, who always seemed to get his back up more. His nostrils were still flared and his stride was truly terrifying. Indeed the people who had crowded into the square had scattered like the red sea parting, and maybe that was for their own good. Who knows what Javert would do to someone who dared disturb his move to get coffee? It was a beverage he desperately needed right now to try and maintain his calm and gain some relief from feeling like a bear with a sore head.

He spotted Gustave easily, the sergeants as easily recognisable in his uniform as he was, though for two different reasons. Where Javert was well built without being stocky, Gustave was built like a brick house, stocky and strong. Javert was more built for moving quickly, and using his height as a way of intimidation. Quietly he took the seat opposite quiet for now as he tried to calm his thoughts down. His eyes were still rather narrowed as he took a slow breath in, letting it out slowly.

“Bonjour,” he finally stated his voice still very clipped. He was still coming down from having the displeasure of dealing with Gavroche. Slowly he moved his position, enabling him to watch the square like a hawk. He was more than ready to take any excuse to swoop down; it might even improve his mood more than coffee. His hair was close cropped, darker skin absorbing the light easily. His uniform was as ever immaculate, clean of mud, the crease of his trousers pressed sharp as if they’d never been worn. He looked around the square again almost as if he was itching for an excuse to do anything.

This however was likely the reason for his lack of conversastion, something unusual even for him, at least around someone he knew and was generally more relaxed about. He looked at Gustave quietly many things troubling the inspectors mind. His recent run in with Gavroche and one of his many niggles was but one of them.

[gustave]

Gustave barely even looked up from the chess board as he arranged the pieces, black and white. Simple and easy to figure out. Gustave often wondered if the human mind was as easily figured through examining it's arrangement, whether certain parts of the brain controlled certain parts of the human condition and whether one day it would all be explained as a simple matter of this part was the part in which war was made and this part was the part in which love was created. Gustave felt a pang of loneliness at that thought, he had fallen in love a few times over his rather long life and each time only to find that he was worth nothing to the woman he had loved. A figment, a night of hot passion and nothing more, part of Gustave's inner romantic simply wished to be visited by some loving angel that would help him vanquish whatever hatred he held for himself, even moreso help him vanquish the ever closer aspect of death. Gustave was under no impression that he would enter hell before he even had a glimpse of heaven.

That fact bothered him more than he would ever care to tell anyone, let alone the cold Javert. Petit Thomas as he was known to Gustave was a man that though he respected, he often found himself butting head with, not physically of course for though Javert had an intimidating presence, he was shorter and much less muscular than the former Grenadier who had height on most if not all men he had come across during his life. In a mental battle of wit or questioning, Javert often had the upper-hand of course Gustave did not possess a limited intellect, in fact he was an intelligent, well-read and genuinely capable of writing rather good poetry. Javert's mind however worked on a different scale, it was processing all the time, constantly calculating risk against damage, figuring and running through various scenarios on how situations would play out. If Javert had any sort of charisma he would have made an excellent General, however it was obvious that men who came into contact with Javert aside from a few examples disliked him.

Gustave on the other hand was a kind man, gregarious, academic, physically robust and an experienced veteran of war. Within the Parisian police force he was treated with the utmost respect, even by his superiors who would occasionally ask him for his own thoughts on strategy in regards to dealing with the tenacious revolutionaries that had began to appear on the streets, there was no outright warfare but it was brewing and Gustave knew he would no doubt be the man at the head of any force drawn from the police force.

He had seen this all before, the discontent brewing the hatred for a monarch that nobody particularly liked or wanted. Gustave cared not for Monarchs and politicians and their various fears of the unwashed. He had observed it all and seen it all before and much to his dismay he found himself caring little whether or not the incumbent monarch succumbed to the revolution. He had been asked by his superiors to figure out the best way to defend the city should people try to force a different Government.

Gustave sipped at his coffee and breathed casting those sea-grey eyes around the square once more, narrowing at anyone who met his gaze. "Salut Petit Thomas." his voice was tinged with just a hint of sarcasm. "I see your face is as, as ever full of kindness." he grinned, he was always happy to see his friend. Particularly when he was in a bad mood. Gustave ordered more coffee for his friend and spoke again, his voice was rough, gruff but held intelligence. "Is it that boy again? He makes a fool out of you Thomas." [/b[ he said with a laugh. "Now do you wish to play as black or white?" he indicated the chessboard.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Javert kept quiet trying to keep his calm still. He closed his eyes briefly waiting until his coffee had arrived before he let them tiredly drift open again. He hadn’t been on shift long but he was tired, not so much physically as mentally. His sleep had been heavily disturbed with a variety of problems keeping him awake. Not even stargazing had been able to calm his mind for once. There was a number of thoughts flying through his mind, not in the least that he was expected to join the revolution to spy on their plans. While it didn’t worry him that order, he was worried about how close the lie was to some of his own feelings that he was sure he kept well hidden.

He took a slow sip of the warm beverage, trying to compose himself, trying to draw the poker face that he normally kept present in place. “Please give me some time, my mind is away planning, thinking, questioning monsieur,” he stated his voice betraying his tiredness far more than his eyes were. The revolution was adding more years to him then Valjean ever had, and he was sure he was getting... well far too old. It was an idea he disliked. He disliked that potential thought immensely. “Would you say there was an age limit before one loses their effectiveness?” he asked softly as he let his focus fall onto Gustave.

He had yet to answer his question as to if his agitation had been caused by the boy. He adjusted how he was sat, his seat proud, back straight, no hint of a slump in his shoulders, but his frame was still tense, as if energy was being bundled up inside of him, as if he was a spring. It was his tenseness and tightness of frame that caused such a sudden explosion of motion that sent the chair he’d sat on flying. It had almost sent the table flying as well. What had caused this sudden explosion of movement from Javert was a call of thief.

Javert hadn’t even looked before he moved charging through the small crowd in pursuit, eyes narrowed, raking the crowd for any sign of the person who had caused the disturbance, seeing a small figure darting through the crowd in panic.

[gustave]

Gustave was sipping coffee as his grey eyes came to rest on his friend, he could already see that Javert was thinking, perhaps too hard for this early in the day. Of course his friend rarely allowed any emotion at all to slip into his voice or even into his expression so Gustave's assumption that Javert was in a poor mood was merely drawn from experience. Something Gustave had more than most men. Thomas and he were close friends, comrades in the police force and sharing similar views on the current monarchy and Government. They both understood that the country needed strong leadership if it was to ever survive and defeat the moniker of the 'Sick Man in Europe' a title long held by decrepit Ottoman Empire. France had now supplanted the Turks and suddenly Gustave felt a familiar sentiment growing inside him once. He wanted to take the power back from the Kings, he wanted to march in an army once more and proclaim France Lord and Master of all she surveyed.

France had been under the heel of other European countries for too long, too long indeed. Gustave was about to start into a tirade on how his country should be stronger, better and generally more aggressive in it's foreign policy. In fact he'd opened his mouth when the call of "POLICE. POLICE!" rang up and Javert was up and running off at a fast pace towards the cries. Gustave finished his coffee with a long mouthful, before drinking Javert's coffee in another longer mouthful he reached for his saber. As a Sargent in these dangerous times he was permitted to carry the saber as both a method of intimidation and indeed of protection.

He sped off after Javert. He was much taller than his colleague and much more physically fit. He sped off through the crowd saber drawn, The crowd having already parted to let Javert through found itself at the mercy of the huge Sargent Desjardins who simply barreled through anyone who got through his way, those lucky enough to move narrowly avoided the sharp saber that cut through the air as it's owner moved towards the source of the shouting,

Javert had already set off in pursuit and Gustave was hot on the inspector's trail, he only need follow the parted crowd of common peasants, some who shouted abuse at him. Others simply remained silent fearing a reprisal from the huge Sargent. Of course Javert was not such a short man himself and easily followed within the crowded square. Javert came to an abrupt halt and Gustave soon discovered why.

Barely out of breath he pulled upto a stop saber glinting in the sunlight, eyebrows furrowed over eyes the color of crashing waves and he frowned and looked to the inspector. "Well petit Thomas it seems we 'ave reached an obstacle." The obstacle was a gang, not a gang of thuggish young men or even of street-children, it was a group of normal civilians. All appeared to be stood there blocking the path of the two police officers. There must've been eighteen or nineteen civilians that ran maybe four or five ranks back. All of whom were deathly silent and blocked the street.

"Civilians! Gustave called and sheathed his saber. "Please vacate the area as the Inspector and I are on the trail of a criminal, whom we wish to place safely behind bars." The Sargent could see already that the people were not going to move and he cursed every damned revolutionary from Voltaire to Maurice of Nassau for speaking a single word of rebellion. One of the civilians spoke. A man, tallish, not too broad shouldered but wearing spectacles. "We do not wish to move for you Pigs. We will not bow to a Government that leaves us to starve. The criminal is in our ranks and we will deal with him as we see fit."

Gustave was well aware that the criminal would be freed and congratulated and left alone and that made him all the more upset. "Citizens, you 'ave one more chance before I will forcefully disperse, Sil vous plait my friends, We only wish to make our fair country safe for the likes of you. " The crowd remained unmoved and they began to chant some slogan or another and Gustave looked to his friend. "There is no way round Inspector... do you wish for me to disperse these people?Forcefully if necessary?" there was no sign of happiness at such an action being forced on the Sargent, but he could not argue it would be rather fun to smash someones head in.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Javert nodded at Gustave’s words, prowling slightly his eyes searching for any sign of weakness. Though there was a second reason for his constant movements, knowing it would cause first of all the gang blocking to have to follow him at least part of the time, it was also giving him the best vantage point to monitor the criminals progress. It was also meaning he could move at the slightest sign of weakness. His steady stalking movements very much like a wolf harrying at a herd of deer, testing the group for weaknesses. His frustration was barely contained, showing through in the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathed solely through his nose, the slight tension in his jawline.

If you knew how to read the signs in his eyes however you would see the gears ticking as he formulated, went through scenarios and formulated some more, devising the best strategy, the best way of handling this. He was also listening to Gustaves words and observing just how the crowd reacted. He could see a few unsettled by his constant prowling, maybe not in the front but in the rows behind, there were some looking far more unsure. Far more prone to... panic. An almost cruel smirk showed as he devised the best course that would preferably cause the panic to spread, to break up the ordered ranks.

A slight gesture to Gustave, would give the silent command to wait in his desires to forcibly disperse the crowd as he kept up his prowling, already devising the best words to use. When he spoke his tone was calm, but there was a distinct undertone of threat to his words. “Monsieurs, if you will listen to reason, the government makes you suffer, leaves you to starve as if you are nothing but dirt, however remember the rich do come here on occasion to distribute food,” Not enough! a voice cried from the crowd. “Oui, not enough indeed but think of it this way. Should there be continued robberies do you think those who can afford to give so much will wish to come and give at all? If the criminals run riot it doesn’t just spoil the rich who do try and offer to help, it makes life harder for all of you,” a pause to observe the effects his words were having on the crowd.

He could see the shifting had grown more pronounced, listening, hearing the mutters as some started to doubt their intelligence with trying to block them both. Perfect. Slowly he paused in his prowling tilting his head as if he had heard something in the distance faintly. “Besides, I give you this choice one final time. Disperse now and let us about our job, or else I shall have to ensure you are forcibly dispersed. Should this be the case I can assure you there will be arrests of more than just the one you seek to shelter. Can you really afford to allow your wife, your children, to lose the only person standing any chance of earning coin to feed the family? Imagine what it’d be like to suddenly lose the bread winner, knowing that they face a prospect of starvation,” his bluff was in the open and he could see some trying to break rank, trying to get out of the situation.

It was then he nodded to Gustave, he was more than willing to allow him to assist in encouraging the break up even as he strode forwards as if they crowd were not even there, seeing how some of the front row were being jostled by those looking for some way to move away. His eyes were cold, his jaw set in a cold determination.

[gustave]

Gustave did not appreciate Javert's cold-hearted words, of course they were useful for breaking the crowd up and indeed disheartening them and causing them to question themselves in further action against the authority. It also made Javert sound rather like a disgusting human being. Gustave felt his body tense up as his friend began to talk of jail, of people disappearing. Of harsh arrests and reprisals, of families starving, he could see the look on the people's faces and Gustave almost regretted just not barging through, rather than subject them to a minute of Thomas Javert at his most cruel and unusual. Gustave sheathed his saber, he would not need it for what was to come. He could see now that the people were scared, that their hearts were in their mouths that they were awaiting the inevitable attack from the huge police officer and his frustrated Inspector. Gustave breathed out heavily and then looked at the group in front of him.

None of them were as tall as he or indeed as strong. Gustave took a step towards the crowd his face set with a determined air. His grey eyes resigned to the task at hand. "All those who do not disperse immediately will be taken into custody.... violently if necessary." He took another step forward and the people moved away. "Run." the huge Sargent spoke softly and the people began to break ranks and move away, running as fast as their feet could carry them, a few stayed strong staring defiantly at Gustave Desjardins. Others regarded the Sargent with a mixture of fear and awe, more captured by the softness of his big grey eyes. "One last chance."

A glob of spit spattered onto his uniform and he heard someone shout pig and the shout was taken up and Gustave had decided he no longer wished to parley with these protesters as to there right to antagonise the police. "Very well." he did not look to Javert because there was little the Inspector could have done to stop him now. He drew his saber and set about his work. Smacking the Civilians aside with the blunt of the blade throwing fists at those who attempted to bar his way. He left behind a small trail and grouping of broken and unconscious Frenchmen and women behind him. Gustave was in a particularly harmful mood when he came across the criminal who had spat at him.

The man had clearly been confident in the crowd's protection and now faced with the imposing figure of the Sargent he tried to get away as fast as possible. A single huge hand grabbed the man by the arm and threw him against a wall. Keeping the criminal pressed up against the wall with one strong arm he sheathed his slightly bloody saber. "Inspector Javert.... I believe I have caught your criminal. Kindly take him off of my hands." he threw a strong fist into the back of the criminal who groaned and slumped against the wall. "That is what you get for making me go through civilians you dog." it was Gustave's turn to spit on the man.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

If there was any regret from the inspector for his harsh words he didn’t show it. His eyes were dark in impatience. He himself had already been threading through the mob as it broke ranks and ran, a hand snaking to warningly grab a wrist that had come dangerously close to trying to... acquire money from his pocket. He hadn’t even looked down to see who or what it was, merely pushing them out of the way. He hadn’t gained his reputation of being cruel without living up to that more than a few times. Indeed the act of pushing them away rather than adjusting his grip to break fingers was almost merciful for him.

By the time he had arrived at the criminal however Gustave had got there first. He watched without making any comment as the criminal was pressed against the wall, making no move to stop Gustave punch him in the back. Instead he coldly watched as the criminal slumped down. He let Gustave finish with the man before he dragged him up by the scruff of his neck just in time to hail a passing jail cart. Javert had never been truly bluffing. He had memorized the times the jail cart would pass through, and that had been what he had been almost counting on.

A raised hand hailed the cart and silently he pointed to the ones that Gustave had been forced to beat up. “This one I wish to interrogate personally,” he stated a nod of his head to the criminal that he held still by the scruff. “The others are under charge of Obstruction of Justice,” he added on calmly. He watched on as the groaning fools who had thought it wise to try and take on Gustave were loaded in the cart, dragging his own criminal over finally and throwing him in last, making sure the door was secured before he nodded to the ones in charge of transport.

Finally Javert’s frame had relaxed somewhat as he turned on his heel striding to find the person who had first raised the call, going to speak with them. As he realised it was one of the poor who had been stolen from, not some middle or upper class person he shook his head as he found out that items for sale had been ruined and that coin had been stolen. After noting everything down he silently reached into his pocket, pressing a handful of francs into the persons hand. “For what you have lost in sales,” he stated quietly. “I shall ensure that he is brought to justice,” then he was talking to the few witnesses who had stayed to provide some comfort to the unfortunate female, jotting down notes.

With that done he turned to Gustave. “Shall we?” he asked with a nod back to where they had been planning to partake of coffee, and play the tactical game of chess.

[gustave]

Gustave suffice to say was not in the best of moods himself, watching as the groaning mass of what had once been some form of protest against authority had collapsed inwards due to his almost unnatural strength and presence, he sighed through his nose and turned to look at the Inspector. Javert had taken on his rather traditional 'not in the mood to deal with anything right now' expression, one that Gustave had observed many times, if only in passing. He took another deep breath and looked at the unconscious or groaning men and women that he had fought, or routed, because they had put up little of a struggle. Letting Javert take over the suspect he reached down with a calloused, knotted hand that still held remnants of powder burns sustained during conflict. The woman he was reaching down to aid began to scrabble backwards fearing further retribution from the brutish looking police officer. "Do not fear mademoiselle. I simply wish to help now that you are no longer blocking my colleague's path." with a grunt he pulled the woman to her feet and sent her on her way, ignoring completely the prison cart that had rolled along in a timely fashion.

The rest that hadn't the sense to get up and run off were escorted by the tall Sargent, shackled and placed within the cart. Javert had made them aware of the crime they had committed and part of Gustave wished that such a thing had not happened. He wished that these people who had scarcely two coins to rub together let alone spend on luxury such as coffee as he was about to, would not be sent away to pull ships into Drydocks or even worse left to languish in a jail till they were freed by the state they had tried so hard to fight against and failed miserably at the first hurdle.

Gustave knew this was a symptom of something far greater though and as he watched the cart wheel away, with so many damned people who knew that they were damned. Had they known that they would be in prison for their foreseeable future would they have stood against the officers? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Gustave mused to himself as he followed Javert back towards the woman who had raised the call. Gustave's eyebrows raised in surprise as Javert gave the woman a rather substantial sum for someone of her lowly status. Gustave smiled, if even his friend perhaps one of the coldest, least emotional people he knew could be capable of such an act of kindness particularly considering Javert's lack of feeling for those he considered below him in social rank.

Perhaps there was hope for France indeed if men like Javert were willing to give to the poor, even if the sum was trifling it meant something. A gesture of kindness in a world that seemed to be crumbling under the weight of it's revolutionary ideals. Gustave Desjardins nodded at his friend's request to return to coffee and chess. He took a seat and ordered more coffee for himself and for Javert. "So my friend... which color do you wish to be? Black or White?"

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Javert had returned to the seat he’d originally been in, after righting it once again. If Gustave wished to make any comment about giving money he’d already worked out his reasoning already. After all they were at least trying to make an honest living. “No one picked your pockets?” he asked Gustave quietly, remembering the person who had tried to pick his own pockets. He doubted anyone would have tried to in the chaos as they had fled but there was still the chance, and if Gustave had coin stolen he would recompense him out of his own pocket. Even if it meant falling into what little he managed to save.

If wages were low for him then he didn’t dare think of what they might be for the sergeant that he counted as a friend. Maybe he was going soft, he couldn’t help but sometimes end up thinking of the conversastions he’d had with that male so afflicted with gout. The words he’d said. The idea that there was more that he could do, then just ensure the law was followed. His brow furrowed slightly in contemplation. Reminded of that good man of God his brow furrowed further, why did he feel like he should know him?

“I’ll take white,” he stated to Gustave’s question. He didn’t often chose to take black, unless he was in a particularly unforgiving mood. Few realised that he loathed himself almost as much as the criminals he hunted down. Talking of criminals he couldn’t hold back a frown, more to himself as he realised that there was some new bill, some new law to represent. The government cracking down harder on the poor. The people who could least afford it as they were the most numerous.

He gritted his teeth slightly as he realised that it had been something that had been in effect far longer than just newly introduced, just now was a crack down with the threat of revolution heavy in the air. It was something he didn’t agree with though, to him it was wrong and just a desperate attempt to keep everyone in power. By intimidating the poor was this not a far easier way of keeping control?

The idea troubled him, not that he wanted to stay on that subject. He just rubbed a hand across his brow trying to compartmentalise his emotions - that he rarely showed – his worries – that he showed even less than his emotions – and finally his thoughts and strategies – that was the most dominant side of his personality. A mind constantly seemingly focusing on just the next plan, on the next case. The only other side that would seem to be present as much of his planning brain was his ability to investigate and decipher cases, and strategise in unfamiliar situations.

He met Gustaves gaze calmly, his dark brown eyes the only thing revealing that his thoughts were far from as calm as he seemed to be outwardly. That under it all he was troubled.

[gustave]

Gustave eyed Javert carefully, his friend's face betrayed all of the traditional signs of stress, from the creased brow to the worrying hands, to the rapidly moving eyes. Everything about Javert's posture and facial expression suggested he was far from the picture of comfort that he tried to picture himself being. Gustave's grey eyes held only kindness and a soft, slightly paternal air about them. "Come now Thomas, you know me better than to lie to me. I have been an officer of the law as long as you." he said with a slightly tired grin. "And to answer your question, non. The people are more intelligent than to pick my pockets." he said and ordered more coffee sipping at the warm beverage with a thoughtful look in those eyes.

Placing the cup back on it's saucer with a tinkle of porcelain. "Why did you have some trouble once you had got into the mob?" he eyed Javert cautiously, he hadn't imagined that his friend would have been pick-pocketed at least not by someone disorientated by a huge former Grenadier crashing into their ranks and smacking people aside with a saber. Of course if anyone had pushed their hand against Javert's purse in an attempt to swindle the Inspector, Gustave imagined the would be thief had been defeated by his friend's swift reflexes.

Gustave sipped at his coffee a little more thoughtfully and eyed Javert moreso. "How much longer do you honestly think we can keep battering the poor off the streets?" Gustave said with just a hint of cynicism. "They outnumber us so heavily that even if they had just a hint of malice with them, the two of us would now doubt have been overrun and murdered." the bulky Sargent was frowning once more, his face a grimace in a mixture of thought and soft reluctance. "How much longer can we deny the people their right to such basic things as food? Or clean water? or even the company of their fellow men? Mark my words Thomas... if we do not put this apparent revolution down with all of our might and force and destroy it so utterly so as it will never rise again. We will be facing a much stronger enemy the next time it rears it's ugly head."

Gustave finished the coffee and poured himself another cup paying for the drink with a few coins. He made the first move, as ever he was looking to focus all of the pieces into one area of the board, in which he would have the advantage before utterly defeating them in battle. As Napoelon would have done the Sargent sighed softly and waited for Javert's move.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Javert took a few deep breaths trying to calm himself, trying to pull his normal stone cold poker face back, forcing his hands to still, forcing himself to focus on one step at a time. “Oui. One, I didn’t break his fingers, just pushed them aside as if it was a total mistake that their hand came that close to where I keep my coin,” he stated calmly. “We can’t keep battering the poor off the streets, yet this is what the government demands,” he shook his head. “Every run in they get bolder, braver, they’re taunting us knowing that they outnumber us,” he sighed.

“And had they had a strong firm leader, you know as well as I my words would have had no effect other than to make them close rank tighter against us, this cannot go on,” a sip of his coffee, his hand betraying his slight frustration at how helpless he was to follow his full desires, stuck and bound as a lap dog – both to the government and to the upper class. He could not enforce the law exactly as it said, as he was bound to enforce the law with a bias towards allowing the aristocracy freedom, and his faith was already shaken oh so slightly in the letter of the law.

His move was hesitant, almost clumsy with how his mind wasn’t focused on the chess game in truth, it was still on that meeting. There was no strategic aim, it was just a mindless move, and one that Gustave would no doubt take advantage of, and probably before Javert was aware. Another sip of his coffee as he waited for Gustave’s own move in retaliation, his mind focusing on the words. When did he say that preacher was there? He might have to see if he could adjust his patrol route to listen. Maybe.

If he had the time. His fingers were subconsciously drumming on the table as he was caught up in his musings, his eyes focused on nothing, staring into the distance, caught up in his own thoughts. He was unconsciously chewing the inside of his cheek as he deliberated thoughts that he didn’t dare tell his friend, even if a part of him longed to.

[gustave]

Gustave was tired of all of this, he was tired of being the butt of the wretched poor's hatred and he was certainly tired of being made to feel as if they were attempting to antagonize and attack him at every turn. Of course throughout the ages the poor had made war on the rich and the wealthy, particularly in times of strife and pain and this era was no different. The poor had tasted the freedom of being able to pick and choose their leader at will, a freedom that had been taken from them by the hero Napoleon (who as Gustave was want to remind everyone who had a bad word to say against the deposed Emperor) was indeed voted in power by the people. "My friend if you wish to maintain authority, you must regrettably do so through force in these dark times.... I myself have been attacked and threatened by various men during my patrols. None who have stood upto a withering assault from myself. But I do agree... they're aware of their strength in numbers, but they sorely lack discipline, arms, powder and supplies. All of the things a good army would need, to function adequately.

“And had they had a strong firm leader, you know as well as I my words would have had no effect other than to make them close rank tighter against us, this cannot go on,” a sip of his coffee, his hand betraying his slight frustration at how helpless he was to follow his full desires, stuck and bound as a lap dog – both to the government and to the upper class. He could not enforce the law exactly as it said, as he was bound to enforce the law with a bias towards allowing the aristocracy freedom, and his faith was already shaken oh so slightly in the letter of the law.

"Had they a strong leader Petit Thomas, we would never have made it out of that street. The people's anger and feeling is a weapon that the shrewdest men can manipulate to their will and need." Gustave was as ever listening to his friend talk and ramble on about how hopeless the situation was that they were in and Gustave of course agreed. He had seen all of this before and it only ever ended in bloodshed. The principles and honorable intentions that the revolutionaries held were crushed under some evil man's iron fist. The Aristocrats became reclusive and hid from the mob and for all of their failings. Money could buy you anything, including guns and men who were veterans in turning them on people for the right money. Gustave had of course considered a career as a mercenary, following in his Paternal Grandfather's footsteps.

Papa Desjardins as Gustave had called him had been old even when Gustave was a boy. The man was in appearance much younger than his years. Strong bodied, strong willed and intensely stubborn and Swiss. So obsessed with freedom from the controlling power of Government was his grandfather that when Gustave had joined the Napoleonic Army, the man severed all ties with him. Gustave knew of course that his Grandfather was dead, the man had been into his seventies when Gustave had left. But that man's ideals had rubbed off on the impressionable young Gus and it had taken years for them to discarded and forgotten.

Gustave had been watching his friend intently as the first move was made, the battle had commenced. A battle that Gustave would join with relish and was more than willing to take advantage of his friend's lack of concentration. Making war of any kind be it on the ornate wooden chess-board or the very real battlefield that was all around him. All of Gustave's mind was switched on as he moved his pawn to capture the middle of the board as was his want. Gustave was an aggressive chess player and one that took risks with his pieces. He played on Javert's cautiousness, the man's unwillingness to commit his valuable pieces unless victory was assured if he did.

Gustave could not help but feel somewhat sorry for his friend, Javert's unshakable reliability, his cold, intelligent mind was the balance on Gustave's red-hot aggression and passion to his own cause and beliefs. The Revolutionaries did not seem to grasp what would happen should their revolution succeed, of course the king would die and what reason did they have for murdering a king? None. Simply because they were fed up and upset. The king would probably flee and the aristocrats would hide behind their own barricades and likely shoot anyone who looked remotely common.

Gustave was worried for his friend and that made him worry for himself. For without Javert's unquenchable thirst for the law, where would Gustave draw his own inspiration to attack criminals from?