give me les mersérables au right now
i did a critterperson meme on my main and like 5 diff people asked for merjolras so i thought i’d do you guys one better than a shitty pencil doodle
The words caused Sam to step back and remove his hand immediately, eyes widening with fright.
’Would they really do that?’ he asked, staring at the man. ‘They seemed nice and timid to me.’
”Were we at the Wall, I would say no. This far out, they might.” He thrust a finger into the cage, watching with mild interest as a long beak caught onto it and began tugging, flapping its wings in frustration at his thick glove. The ravens had no aversion to Javert — they would nip him, but they never hurt. When he had first arrived, they had always kept well away from him; the others said that it was because he reeked of wolf, but they accepted his presence, in time, and he was able to use them when the need arose. “If you have food, they would appreciate it, but you would be a fool to give it to them.”
—‘I heard the wall was seven hundred feet high, but somehow I didn’t quite imagine it would really be that big. But here it is — I certainly don’t doubt that it will protect us from what lies beyond.’
”You are not taking the black.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it a particularly accusatory statement; men toured the Wall every so often, for one reason or another, and Javert had no real problem with the leader’s visiting, though he had to wonder as to why. He could think of only one possible explanation, and even that was too flimsy for his tastes, but he gave voice to the idea anyways, hands braced upon the table. “—you are looking for the Snow boy?”
“Some other time, then. Although with you at my side, Javert, I do not doubt I would be the safest person in the universe wherever I go.
"—And please, call me Fantine, or Marguerite at least. There is no need to call me Lady."
He tried his best not to flush at the compliment; work was work, except work for her was different, no matter how he told himself that it could not be. There was no rule in the book which provided a guide for him to follow, in this situation. Javert had but one goal given to him by the Council: keep the Senator safe. Her faith in him was pleasing only because it meant that he was doing his job right, or that was what he told himself to keep calm.
”I believe that it would be best to remain where we are — Fantine.”
As with the rest of the woman’s wailing, Javert ignored the statement, continuing to fill out the forms necessary to send the prostitute to jail. He had heard her called “Fantine”, and that was enough to tell him that she was unregistered — that, alone, was enough to put her in a holding cell for a time, but he intended for her to be taken to prison, for breaking curfew, for public inebriation, and for striking that man. She could weep all she’d like, and Javert would not stop her: that was one right which she retained, still. If she desired to wet the corner of his coat with her tears, he would not kick her off, nor would he pay her any mind.
She was desperation itself. He had called it wailing, and wailing it was. Pure agony she portrayed, all but howled with remorse, and yet she found this man deaf to her. She wanted to clutch at him, to tug his sleeve like a frightened child, but she did not dare for fear that he would call this, too, an attack.
She hung her head, struggled with composure, anything she could that she might manage to reason with him.
She succeeded only in giving herself an extra few moments for panic to rise in her throat before spilling off a frantic tongue that begged only for mercy, and she could do no more than repeat to him the same things she had said to him once before.
"I know — I know I should not have done as I’ve done, monsieur, I know! But even you in your coat must feel the cold, and don’t you think it wrong of him to put snow down my back when I have said to him not a word?” she insisted, and though her words were sound, her tone was teasing the edge of pure hysterics. To make a deaf man listen was impossible, but so too was earning one hundred francs in prison, and for her daughter Fantine had to conquer one impossibility or the other.
She did reach for him now, though she grasped only the very hem of his coat in hands that trembled, though whether it was illness or dread which caused the tremor might never be known.
"Monsieur Javert, please understand me — ! If you do this, it is not me that is punished, but my child! If not for her I would not fight you, but what can she do on her own when she is so young? Monsieur Javert, ple — “
Her voice broke only to give way to further cries of anguish as she imagined her Cosette cast out into the cold. For this, she grieved.
She was free to touch him, to tug at his arm, to pull his sleeve; it had happened before and it would happen again. Javert was little more than the town’s property, after all, and, so long as she did not tear anything, he could be tossed around. Assault upon an officer was a dreadful thing, but her caterwauling was not assault, nor was her grasping at him. He understood, to some degree, the need to hold onto something in a moment of anguish — he understood and he did not care to do anything to alleviate her suffering, but he would not flinch from her hands.
Half-listening to the words coming out of her mouth, it seemed unlikely that she would harm him, now. A prostitute practically writhing on the floor and begging to be released? She would not dare to mark him; she who wanted so desperately to walk from this place without shackles could not afford to turn him from her now.
Not that Fantine wasn’t wasting her breath in relating her story to him. Javert could not be swayed, could not be persuaded. With his own two eyes, he had seen this woman leap like a wildcat upon a man of good standing and rake her nails down his face, screeching profanities all the while; he had smelled the brandy on her, seen her raining blows down upon the poor sobbing man, whose hat had fallen to the side. She had made an attempt upon a gentleman’s life and would be punished for it.
What right had she to complain, anyways? If anything, Javert was doing her a service. No more walking around in the cold, no more heavy drinking to forget the snow, no more whoring. A roof, something similar to a bed, meals, and pay. Who was this fiend, this criminal to spit upon that? The state was providing her with a means of living and she was doing her damnedest to get out of it!
He had no doubt in his mind that this “child” of hers was but a fabrication, a spur-of-the-moment creation brought up in order to gain his sympathies. Javert’s lip curled, revealing large, straight teeth and pink gums. So this Fantine thought that she could could melt a heart of wood? That Javert would simper and hold her hand and say sweet things to her, all for the sake of some girl whom he was absolutely certain did not even exist? It was an insult, and he would not stand for it. If the woman thought that he would crumble for this, she was so, so wrong.
Javert is forced to bite his lip, to nod and appear uninterested, because that is what is expected of him — cool, impassivity, always. He must turn back to his work, must keep his head bowed, his eyes lowered, and, above all, he must not mention that he sees dead people, too.
She knows the Jedi are not infallible. But better to fight against darkness and anger and hatred than to succumb to it.
Javert, her own sun and stars, has fallen to the darkness.
The coup was quick. The Senate had already been disbanded, and Palpatine (no, no, Sidious – he was always and only Sidious) was the new Emperor for only a month before Javert slew his master and stepped onto the throne. The smile on his face was nothing she had ever seen before; she did not recognize her husband in him.
He terrifies her.