She's Got Friends on the Other Side (tag: Javert)

[Sophia Strange]

Ahhh….. Saturdays.

There was a reason Jewish people considered it a sacred day. Perfectly placed between Friday and Sunday, it was the climax of weekends. The ultimate day of doing whatever you wanted without your boss, priest, or parent knowing or caring. What happened on Saturdays stayed with Saturday.

In the Big Easy, Saturdays were just as holy as Sundays. People crammed into Jazz Clubs at night, only to stand in line for a cup of coffee at Café du Monde the next morning to get rid of a hangover and maybe eat those deep fried delights they were so known for. Every day for New Orleans was a party, but Saturdays were the best. As long as you had good food, drinks, and music you had all the makings of what New Orleans was.

This Saturday morning was a cool one. The sun had yet to reach the Mississippi, so the air had yet to turn into that humid mixture that Louisianans knew so well. In the French Quarter, citizens were taking advantage of the morning before the tourists could arrive. Shop keepers took their time opening up, people were out on their second story porches, drinking sweet tea and listening to the sounds of New Orleans coming to life: Seagulls chirping, horns honking from the city proper, foghorns from incoming ferries on the river, the nickering of an occasional horse as a cop passes by underneath to check for any straggling drunk people in the gutter that need to be prodded on home.

Just another Saturday morning in New Orleans.

Not to say it was quiet….

“Yesterday was Friday,
I went out to party
Because I like to party on the day after Thursday,
So I drove to Hollywood and found myself a hooker,
Paid her fifty dollars and I took her to a motel,”

Walking down the street, a young girl danced and sang aloud. Long brown hair with a streak of white swayed in the wind, a tank top with the emblem of some punk band showing off her strange looking tattoos. Ear buds in her ears and ipod in her hand. She gestured with her hands brief parts of the song, which was generally about a failed Friday and the aftermath of that Saturday….

“Snorted cocaine off her breast,
I won’t go into all the rest,
But it’s safe to say that the evening ended poorly,
Fifty bucks was just a scam cause she turned out to be a ma-.”

”What the hell you listening to, girl? Hey Sophia!”

Sophia stopped, taking out one ear bud with a ‘hmmm?’ sound and a confused look, which quickly turned into a smile as she paused her ipod. “Hey Mac! What you doin’ up so early?”

The man whose name was Mac was a bear of a man, six foot tall with limbs the width of trees. The top of Sophia’s head came mid-way up his torso. Under one arm he had a trumpet case, and the other hand held a cigarette that was still smoking. He spoke with a raspy voice, the perfect kind for singing Jazz but not so good if you were worried about cancer.

”I should be asking you, sugar.” Mac boomed out a laugh, one from the gut, ”Ain’t you young folk supposed to sleep in on the weekend?”

Sophia waved a hand, “Oh please, I have been craving beignets all week!” The girl took out the other ear bud, wrapping the cord around her ipod, “Besides, I’m meeting with Sydney afterwards to go shopping for nice, business clothes. I have an interview with New Orleans branch of Oscorp…”

”Oooh look at you, all grown up and a proper Lady getting with a proper job.” Mac reached out and ruffled Sophia’s hair with one meaty palm, ”I still remember when you were this wee little crawdaddy sneakin’ into Jazz clubs…”

“Mac my hair!” She hissed, managing to duck away and pat down her locks as Mac boomed out another laugh and she pouted. “I gotta go before the line gets too big…and before you ruin my hair again.”

Sophia turns and walks away, waving over her shoulder at Mac’s: ”You better call and tell me how that interview goes, girl.”

Ah good old Mac, he always managed to brighten Sophia’s week, especially when Sophia’s week had been so terrible. Don’t get her wrong, it was nice to get a call from Oscorp asking her to come in an interview for the summer internship position, especially with her only a Senior in High School. But school itself had been awful, just terrible.

Ten times she had been called into the principal of Saint Mary’s, Father Stewart’s office. Each time, under the oppressive heat radiating off of the limestone walls, Stewart had glared from behind his pointed glasses. The only times he talked were accusatory tones where he blamed Sophia for things: like a girl being caught behind the gym with her sweetheart, or the jello he had slipped on that morning in the cafeteria. It was starting to grate on Sophia’s last nerve.

But graduation was just around the corner. If she could just survive the last couple of months, she would have a job and a future out from under Stewart’s nose.

Sophia turned down a mostly deserted street, a shortcut to the café that few tourists knew about that was mostly filled with Voodoo and knick-nack shops. The girl had stuffed her ipod and earbuds down her back pocket. But as she did so, she turned her head and something…. Caught the corner of her eye.

A shadow, the sunrise hitting the narrow buildings just right to catch it. It was of a man, hiding behind an alleyway.

Immediately, Sophia was on alert. A quick mental spell Vesper had taught her at a young age to search for her Uncle Dormammu’s forces (you know, the forces that tried to kill/kidnap her on and off ever since she was born). But there were no extra-terrestrial creatures, no Faltines or Mhuruuks from the Mother Planet of the Dark Dimension. Just…. Human.

Just human? Sophia could deal with a friend trying to sneak up on her or even some drunk/hung over asshole trying to jump her. She turned right around, facing the direction of where the shadow was, tapping her foot in dramatic emphasis that shadow-man was busted.

“Dude, you are not subtle.” Sophia stopped tapping and put her hands on her hips, “Either come out or leave me alone. Cause I swear, if you are still following me by the time I reach the end of this street I’ll muster up tears and find the nearest cop. Then you can explain to him…. Or her…. Why you are stalking an eighteen year old girl, through a darkened street.” She tilted her head slightly, “I’m pretty sure its illegal….” She gestured idly, “Stalking…. That is.”

(Song She was listening to is here)

[Javert]

well, everything's a-goin' down
nothing seem to feel the same
- - - - -

Javert was not a man who often laughed. If, however, he had been informed beforehand that he would soon find himself in New Orleans, and not only that, but two centuries hence, he certainly would have laughed. Safely ensconced in familiar streets, he would have tossed back his head and bared his teeth in the silent roar of a tiger. For once this terrible beast would have roared in vain, because that was precisely what had happened to him. Without any warning or even seemingly a cause, he had gone from a city ruled by the House of Orléans to a city named for that same family, but ironically enough, he arrived on Rue Bourbon.

He had stared at the street sign for some time, trying to puzzle out what legitimist corner of the city he’d mysteriously wound up in. But as he looked beyond the sign, he was forced to conclude that he was no longer in Paris at all. The signs above all the shops were an ugly, unpredictable mix of English and French, the architecture was distinctly not Parisian, and most irrefutable of all were what he later learned were hallmarks of the twenty-first century. Cars. Electric lights, electric everything. Telephones, which at first made everyone look as though they were mad, talking to themselves.

Adjusting hadn’t been easy despite his practical attitude. Just finding out where, and as it turned out, when, he was without ending up in an insane asylum was a feat with which he was particularly pleased. It had called for considerable cunning on his part; but luckily this was a quartier where French was a solid second language for many people. (He discovered later that somehow he understood and was understood by anyone he addressed, but like most everything else, he didn’t dwell on this fact for very long.)

Without papers or apparently the proper training, joining the police here wasn’t an option. Instead he set up an agency, which he thought was an innovation but was disappointed to find already existed, for engaging in police business but on a private basis. He hired a few of the cleverest people he could find, to make up for his deficiencies regarding technology and was just beginning to establish a good reputation when he was approached by the principal of a local high school. His request would have seemed strange, even laughable, to the Javert of the Ile de la Cité. The Javert who now prowled the streets of the Vieux-Carré, however, probably transported there by magic, found it perfectly reasonable and accepted the case without reservation.

He did wonder briefly what sort of man this principal thought he was to take up such a patently absurd case, but only briefly. There was no point in indulging complicated thoughts. It was a simple business transaction and so long as both parties got what they wanted, that was enough. Javert would watch this girl; he would gather proof if there was any to find; he would be paid for his services. Besides, though he had no experience with magic other than what had presumably brought him here, Javert would not think to question a priest. If this girl was a witch, he would sniff it out.

She certainly looked like she could be one, he thought as he trailed her, careful to keep a safe distance between them. Bare arms, bare throat, tattoos, all things he still associated with a certain class of bohemian, if not worse. And the people she fraternized with were no better. Javert passed her and ducked quickly into an alleyway while she stopped to talk with a giant of a man. Unfortunately at that distance he was unable to hear the conversation, but it wasn’t talk that would give him the proof he needed. A stray word or phrase might of course tell him whether his time was being wasted, but anyone could talk about magic. He needed to see her use it.

“A talisman for your wife?” The reedy voice to his right caused him to momentarily abandon his task. Glancing in that direction, Javert saw a woman so black and wrinkled that she might have been a raisin personified. When she became aware she had attracted an audience, her efforts redoubled and she waved an object in front of his face. “Or a lucky rabbit’s foot for you!”

A distasteful scowl twisting his features, he batted away the offending article and reprimanded her in a low tone. “I am not interested in your trinkets, I am busy. Be gone with you, at once!” Her reaction was somewhat surprising; she was neither frightened nor upset at his rudeness, and shrugged before waddling off with her curious old-woman’s gait. However, this slight distraction had been enough for his prey to realize she was being watched. When Javert turned smartly on his heel to resume this surveillance, he heard himself addressed. In this deserted side-street there was no one else she could be referring to.

Never one to retreat or to dissemble, Javert lost no time in striding forward out of the alley. To blend in he had abandoned his top hat (with great reluctance) but not his black coat or his whiskers, which combined still gave him a rather old-fashioned air. “Well, here I am,” he announced in a curiously challenging voice, considering he was the one who’d been caught out. His arms were folded across his chest, like the puffed-out breast of a rooster, except that he was no bantam. “As for stalking, I am given to understand these streets are free for anyone to walk at any hour of the day or night. So, I am walking them. If our paths are the same, what is that to you?”

- - - - -
no one seem to know my name
no one seem to go my way

TAG;; Sophia Strange
WORDS;; 961
NOTES;; You and your sassy characters <3
CREDIT;; à moi

[Sophia Strange]

The man who emerged from the alleyway wasn’t what Sophia expected. And she had once been attacked by a raccoon in an orange jump suit (don’t ask). She was expecting a 20 something college student, drunk and ballsy enough to jump a girl as she walked alone in broad daylight. That was more of what you saw down alleys: thirsty thirsty white boys.

It isn’t as bad as it sounds. If they were drunk enough, they usually just fell over and knocked themselves out. Or Sophia nudged them with a little knock out spell to help them along. They woke up in the gutter, and swore to themselves never to drink another hurricane again.

But this guy: he was fifty-something (maybe older). He was perhaps an inch or so shorter than Mac, but far leaner and hardly gave off the same giant teddy-bear feel Mac gave off in waves. He was more like an angry ‘pet me and I’ll eat you’ pitbull with a glare to match. He stared down at Sophia like she was the one in the wrong here.

“Well, here I am,”

Sophia gestured slightly, mouth turning down in an arguably sassy look, “And there you are…. Good for you. You’ve chosen to reveal yourself to the person you are following, so that if I see you again I can you know…. describe your tall skinny ass to a sketch artist at the police station.”

Unlike most teenagers (because she was such an embodiment of normal) she liked the cops of New Orleans, or at least the ones that mounted. She had grown up here, after all, it as impossible in such a community not to get to know the people who protected you from rampaging, drunk tourists. Officer Frank Burns, for example, had an ill-tempered mare named Buttercup who was never happy unless eating something, and that Sophia used to sneak carrots to when she was younger (and Burns would act like his back was turned and didn’t see his horse eating on duty). Officer Susan Macy rode a dressage-trained rescue horse named Blue, who she let dance down the street to Jazz music on slower nights. Whenever she stayed out late watching Mac play or hanging out with Mike or Sydney, she could always count on one of them to give her a ride home rather than trying to wade through a sea of drunken people near the bars and possibly get hurt herself.

Yah, but it was nice having friends on the side of the law. It said something about a community when you could say cops where friends.

She watched him cross his arms, puffing out his chest slightly in the act. Ahhh there it was, the bruised pride of a man’s ego. How dare you assume I’m trying to hurt you because I’m a six foot tall grown man sulking around back roads and you are a five foot tall teenaged girl! Sure, Sophia as a half-alien could lift five hundred pounds without breaking a sweat, and she knew spells that could kill a man, but he didn’t have to know that….

“As for stalking, I am given to understand these streets are free for anyone to walk at any hour of the day or night. So, I am walking them. If our paths are the same, what is that to you?”


“Oh I’m sorry! So you are just happening to be going to Café du Monde, where you’ll just happen to be watching me from another table. And you’ll just happen to be shopping at the mall later today, maybe even go inside Forever 21 and try on that dress that you know you shouldn’t buy but it looks so good on you.” Sophia shook her head sadly at him, “I feel yah on that, by the way….. oh then maybe afterwards you’ll just so happen to be at the same Jazz Club I go to!” Sophia snapped her fingers a sarcastic grin spreading across her face, “While your at it, you might as well come to my place later and stare through the window of my living room while my friend and I stay up all night playing video games and watching reruns of South Park.” You know what they say: no sleepover is complete without someone staring creepily through your window.

Vesper would have a fit and probably try to throw a spear into his eye. It would be so much fun.

Sophia raised an eyebrow, “As for stalking…. Louisiana and other states criminalize stalking, and define it as a type of harassment that causes the victim emotional or mental distress.” She raised two hands, pressing them to her chest right below her collar bone and the runic-like tattoo engraved there, “I feel emotionally distressed right now….” She moved a hand to cover her eye, closing both eyes as she did so, voice going all tight and emotional: “Every second I spend worrying about you following me around like a weird creeper-pervert…. Is a second I could be spending eating beignets and I just… ah…..” She let out a sigh removing her hands to fan her face as if fanning away tears.

She took a deep breath, stopping at fanning herself as she pointed at Javert raising her eyebrows again. “It has been a week….. an awful awful awful week. All I want is a basket of deep fried pieces of dough, dumped on with powdered sugar… SO much powdered sugar its not even necessary but they do it anyway and bless their hearts for doing it…. And you sir are keeping me from getting what I need, which is never a good idea…..”

“See? Super emotional distress you are causing me here.” Sophia crossed her arms, emotional façade melting away to one of clear annoyance. “Look…. Its not so much that you are following me. That’s weird, but it’s a weird I can handle.” She’s had weirder: see raccoon in an orange jumpsuit. “But I’d rather know why, so I can go on with my day: Which is basically all about deep fried doughnuts right now….”

[Javert]

well, everything's a-goin' down
nothing seem to feel the same
- - - - -

Invariably, youth and Javert did not get along well. He didn't suffer fools and one way or another, that was what they were. Either they were stupid in their inexperience, or they were rebellious. Sometimes both. Javert would have been hard-pressed to say which was his least favorite iteration of the theme. The one standing in front of him was clearly the latter, however. He could have guessed that from the short time he'd observed her so far. This though was the first time that rebelliousness was thrown in his direction. As with all such attitudes, he met it with a fierce glare, not quite indignant but with no indication that he acknowledged he was in the wrong here.

His eyes narrowed, his brow grew more deeply furrowed. His first instinct, which was naturally to bark back that he was police, even he had to admit he was wrong in that. And it was true his friends in the police here were just a handful, none high up enough to smooth the way if he were accused of stalking. With that he began to get some inkling of the kind of trouble this could cause for him. As if on cue, his head began to ache. He ignored it, but it did nothing to improve his mood.

"And tell them what? I've done nothing to you, girl." This was indignance personified. He was being accused by a young girl who was possibly a witch, and if technically he was guilty, it was not for the reasons he knew must be flitting through that harebrained head of hers. He was the opposite of that kind of person, had fought his entire life to remain irreproachable precisely because his origins had set him first on the path to that ignominy. Leaning back slightly, he tapped a foot against the pavement. "Go to them if you like. We shall see who they believe." Of course he would have to twist himself in knots to keep from revealing the reason he'd been hired, but private detectives were unquestionably legal.

Or so thought the man whose experience of the matter came from the nineteenth century. Though the state's surveillance of its citizens was surprisingly comparable, it was no longer carried out by semi-official police agents. There was an official bureau for it, and Javert was not part of that agency, so perhaps he did not have such a firm foundation to stand on. Still, that didn't stop him replying in an even, unperturbed tone. "Coincidence is a strange creature... but I'll grant you the dress shop would be a step too far." Now that he was revealed, he knew he would eventually have to explain himself, but he wasn't looking forward to it so she would have to dig for it.

Javert raised an eyebrow at the suggestion that it could amount to harassment. "It only causes you distress because you happened to notice. You could have gone along blithely enough if you remained oblivious." Still, he should know the dangers of relying too heavily on the law being applied as it should be. As infallible as he thought magistrates to be, he could not deny that they could be led astray by a soulful gaze. "Go, eat your pastries! I am not stopping you," he snapped finally. "Would you deny me the right to a breakfast just because of these worries of yours?" It was said out of pique but also happened to be true. She had started her day so early that he hadn't had time to eat anything. He didn't need much. Functioning without coffee, however, was more difficult than he would have expected.

He glared serenely back at her as she mirrored his stance. Well, so here was the crux of it. Whenever confronted directly, Javert never lied. Drawing his head back slightly with the fatalistic pride of a lion about to march into battle, he answered, "I am Javert, private detective. As to why I am following you, I was hired to." Which no doubt would bring up more questions, but he refused to break his employer's confidence unless it was strictly necessary.

- - - - -
no one seem to know my name
no one seem to go my way

TAG;; Sophia Strange
WORDS;; 693
NOTES;; I looked up beignets and now I'm hungry. >.>
CREDIT;; à moi

[Sophia Strange]

See perhaps Sophia would have let this all slide.... if she was a normal human girl going to eat normal human breakfast. She would have laughed it off as her being paranoid the moment she saw the shadow in the alley. Then she would have gone on about her day without another care in the world. But she was more than just another human girl. As Vesper loved to remind her, she was a Princess of another world that was in total war. She had an evil Uncle that send his evil minions to annoy her every other month or so. For all she knew, this guy could work for Dormammu. Not to capture her, no she could throw him through a wall if she set her mind to it. But rather to keep tabs on her, maybe send a signal to his boss when she was alone or in a place where his less-human minions of darkness.

Regardless, she needed to know, if only for the reason that if he was one of her Uncle's buddies she could let Vesper take care of him. If this guy thought she was annoying, wait until he met her Aunt Vesper in all her Mhuruukian warrior glory.

"And tell them what? I've done nothing to you, girl."

Sophia crossed her tattooed arms, incoming attitude causing her to raise her right arm and gesture with her hand "Well first of all, don't call me girl. I ain't your girl, just like you are not my brah." There was a fine distinction here, especially in the urban communities of the south. 'Girl' was a term of either endearment, or you were disrespecting someone, "You can call me ma'am or miss, but do not call me 'girl', sir. You want to know the fastest way to get a woman to slap you in the south? Follow them down an alley and assume you can call them girl." Perhaps a silly thing to get upset about, but it was disrespectful.

"Now, besides following me and making me feel uncomfortable? I can easily tell them I feel threatened." Sophia shrugged a little, "You're stepping up to me and arguing with me about following me around town. I'm starting to feel a bit threatened here."

"Go to them if you like. We shall see who they believe."

"Yaaaah I'm pretty sure they'd believe me. But if that's how you want to play it, that's fine." Sophia reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up as she pressed the home button, "Now, do you want me to call Sergeant Michaels? I got his personal cell phone, because I happen to watch his kids when him and his wife do date night Saturday. Or I could call Officer Burns, I have his work phone." Sophia paused, letting him answer, before continuing, "Do not assume, because I am eighteen or younger than you, that they will instantly believe any bullshit that comes out of your mouth. If you want to do this, know that there is a chance you could be sleeping in jail tonight. But no matter what happens, I still go free." Because even if the police let Javert go, they would still let the person charging him go free as well.

"Coincidence is a strange creature... but I'll grant you the dress shop would be a step too far."

"Oh, but standing outside my window isn't? I feel like I'd rather see you trying on dresses." Of course she would miss the look on Vesper's face and the look on his face when she came at him with her spear. But at least she could play Mario cart in peace and tranquility.

"It only causes you distress because you happened to notice. You could have gone along blithely enough if you remained oblivious."

Sophia threw back her head and barked out a laugh, throwing a piece of white hair over her shoulder as she straighten out again to give him a sarcastic look, "That is the best defense I've ever heard. 'Excuse me! Your honor!'" She raised her hand, eyes going round and innocent, "'Yes I did stab him. But to be fair, if he had just happened not to notice it wouldn't have caused him any distress! He would have been just fine oblivious to the gapping wound in his side.'" She let her hand down and gave him a look, "Really? Eventually I would have noticed, and even if I hadn't it wouldn't have made it any less wrong that you are following me around."

Really, it wasn't normal for people to follow around young women. What was with him and thinking that this was okay?

"Go, eat your pastries! I am not stopping you... Would you deny me the right to a breakfast just because of these worries of yours?"

"Well fine!" Sophia threw up her hands in the air, letting out a huff, "Eat breakfast as the same place as me. Just know that I'll be staring at you across the cafe breathing heavily to see how you like being watched and creeped out." To show him an example, she let her arms fall and stared at him unblinkingly with large eyes, every once in a while letting out a long, heavy breath.

Still staring at him with that eerie stare, she said, "Just to let you know, I can maintain this while eating..."

"I am Javert, private detective. As to why I am following you, I was hired to."

She dropped the heavily unblinking dead-eye stare to blink at him. "Okay, see was that so hard?" She asked cheerfully, only to narrow her eyes and stare at the private detective warily, "Who hired you?.... Better question: why?" If he said 'my employer wants to know when you are alone' or 'my employer is the master of all evil Dormammu and wants you for his mind-controlled army' well then, she'd know who hired him. "And if I guess who hired you will you buy me food?"

But who else but her evil Uncle wanted to follow her around? Vesper wouldn't hire some human if she wanted to keep tabs on Sophia, she would do it herself. But who else wanted to keep tabs on her?

(ooc: They are so delicious and addicting. I understand Sophia's love for them)

[Javert]

well, everything's a-goin' down
nothing seem to feel the same
- - - - -

Javert, ever the diligent strategist, had tried to account for everything. As it turned out, he’d accounted for nothing of importance. His ‘plan’ had largely depended on not being caught out, and he’d thought it a solid one because of the manner of person he was dealing with. However, eclipses were rare but not unknown to him. Before coming here his biggest and most recent failure (he balked at the word, but if it fit, it fit) had been a robbery where the victim got away. This situation was equally as tricky, but he hadn’t realized until it was too late. An ordinary youth he would have had little trouble concealing himself from, at least to the point where the closest they’d come was deciding a shadow had shifted against the wall, accepting it for what their assumptions were and moving on. Perhaps it was because at heart he was convinced his employer was crazy, but he wasn’t expecting someone so young to be so alert. Often it happened in the lower classes, born of constantly looking out for their own kind as well as for Javert’s.

She didn’t seem to be one of them, though, so it was only after he recalled what the job was that he began to have some idea. Standing sentry outside of cafes and ducking into alleys might work for ordinary youths. At least, though the thought did not really do much to salve his wounded pride, at least this told him the job was legitimate. If not a witch, then she was hiding some secret. Why guard a void from scrutiny? There must be something. Of course there was no way for an inspector from the nineteenth century, not even an inspector, first class, to know anything of other dimensions. He’d been dragged forward in time, but had no agency of his own in it. He knew no more about it than he had when he’d arrived.

So how could he suspect that this assignment wasn’t the ravings of a man driven to mad extremes by religion? It would hardly have been the first he’d met, but he did prefer that lunatic honesty to pretended piety, especially among those whose souls would never rise above the surface of the Styx and were forever doomed to trudge the murks of its depths. She looked like one, with arms belonging more to some savage native person and hair that even Javert knew would have been the envy of exactly none of Paris’ most fashionable. ladies And it was immediately apparent she had an attitude perfectly matched. Two could certainly play the staring game, and he’d just settled in to a long bout when she spoke. His eyebrows, great caterpillars, did a strange up and down dance before settling into a frown. That was what she chose to get upset over? Of all the things! Respect was never high on his priorities when the plane was horizontal, and it irked him that anyone felt they were entitled to it. “True, I’m no one’s brah,” he offered, simultaneously an olive branch and a hint that he’d known exactly what he was saying. He picked up the lingo fast; didn’t mean he had anyone he wanted to use it with.

His shoulders sagged, just a little. He really, really needed to stop forgetting he wasn’t in nineteenth-century France. So much had changed. None of it for the good, as far as he was concerned. For example, this. He couldn’t threaten someone, especially a minor, and not risk ending up on the wrong side of prison bars himself. “And if I stand back?” Ordinarily his sheer bulk and height were used as advantages, but here they could be liabilities. So, another concession. The last, he thought, until she scattered grapeshot through his argument. His only indication was a brief sneer and even briefer eyes cast to the ground. If they were lies, then they were some of the smoothest he’d ever seen. And if they were not, Javert might end up, literally and figuratively, back where he started. “Fine, fine,” he muttered. “It doesn’t matter to me if you are free or not.”

That wasn’t the assingment, and he hadn’t seen her commit any offenses. If the police had some charge against her, well, that was their business, not his, so long as he knew nothing about it. More painful than he could have guessed beforehand, any official link with authority was severed. Now, they were probably about even. He a sober adult but without ties to the community, she a flighty youth but with a multitude of friends. “I’ll bet you would. I'm told blue is my color.” Despite the sarcasm he sounded almost sullen. Sour, certainly. This encounter, which he’d strived so hard to avoid in the first place, was not going nearly as well as he had hoped. And sooner or later he was going to have to explain more than he was now.

“You talk too much, g...” Javert coughed to hide what she would have deemed a mistake. And after last time he would have to agree, if only because he did not want to set off her ire again. A strange tightrope act, where he was so sure he was right but but willing to color outside his own lines if the hand guiding the pencil was true. As a private detective, his primary authority besides the usual officials was his client, until he was paid. Therefore he would get the proof one way or another. But unfortunately charm was foreign to him. “You could have done away with all the trimmings. The last few sentences said it all.”

Challenging him to a staring contest wasn’t a guaranteed win. It wasn’t so much that he never blinked, but that he was so practiced in watching. It left a predatory imprint on a person. So he met her, eerie gaze for imperturbable one, and in response to her boast for the meal, he drawled, “So can I.” But he might not have to. Her behavior proved the point, but while she knew she was being watched, she likely wouldn’t use magic. That was what he needed, proof.

He barely restrained himself from a full roll of the eyes, but it came close. “Not hard, no. I’d have rather avoided it.” Most of the clients he was hired by, their target knew what they were doing wrong or why they might be a target. But, he would admit, not eighteen-year-olds who had yet to learn how to wash behind the ears. Her question then put all his calculations back in jeopardy. Could she be innocent? “I won’t wager anything against you. Father Gregory Stewart hired me. To discover if you’re a witch.” He scowled at having the name dragged from him in ignominy. “But that’s all. I was not hired to harm you; I won’t harm you.” Two separate things but equally binding to Javert.

- - - - -
no one seem to know my name
no one seem to go my way

TAG;; Sophia Strange
WORDS;; 1151
NOTES;; How is this so long with so little substance?? 
CREDIT;; à moi

[Sophia Strange]

As far back as she could remember, Sophia had been hunted by her Uncle Dormammu's forces. Of course, the key here was that these forces were not that powerful once they hit earth. Dormammu had to play it smart, after all. Too many or too powerful, and his forces could be detected by the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, or even SHIELD/other menacing but nameless government agencies. Meddle too much with earth, and the people on earth meddled back. So her Uncle played the annoying card of 'one day my minions will capture you but until then you'll always be on your toes'. Sophia was pretty sure she inherited that vicious streak from him, which was unfortunate but true.

Regardless, Vesper assured her it would have been worse if she remained in the Dark Dimension while it remained at war. There was no guarantee her mother would win in the end, but at least this way if she did lose the war Sophia remained safe. That was the supposed plan at least.

She supposed it could have been worse: her human father made it sure that she could pass as human enough. Most people assumed the streak of white hair was dyed, but she could thank her mother for that trait. Apparently, white hair was a dominant trait amongst the denizens of her mother's realm, just as her father's brown hair was a dominant trait amongst earthlings. Her hybrid genetics compensated for the two dominant traits. Honestly? She was just lucky she didn't inherit her mother's purple iris's. At least no one stared after her if she walked down a street, unlike poor Vesper. With her bright-red streaked black hair it was bad enough, but her eyes were the color of gold, actual honest-to-god, gold colored eyes. She had to use a glamor or sunglasses if she wanted to leave the house.

She could have always ended up looking worse, after all. Her Uncle Dormammu was literally a floating skull engulfed in flames. Sooooo yah she could have ended up looking like a real nightmare.

But back to this guy: he didn't exactly scream 'minion of darkness' (though he was wearing a coat in 80 degree weather. Who wore a coat in 80 degree weather? Suspicious people, that's who). But looks could always be deceiving, Sophia knew first hand. She'd stay on her guard just to be sure.

There was a sort of respect-policy when it came to the South. A sort of code when it came to conduct. It was why grown men like Mac would tip his hat when a woman walked by (or take that hat off in a building). Or why people called Miss. Carolyn Parker Miss Parker. Of course, not all people down here followed this unspoken code. But you caught more flies with honey, and if you wanted to have a nice conversation with someone the common curtesy was not to insult them.

“True, I’m no one’s brah,”

"So if you don't want me calling you brah, or son, don't call me girl please." There was still attitude there, the attitude every eighteen year old girl had programmed into their brain along with the hormones and the deep appreciation for cute shoes. But at least, even with the almost sarcastic way he said it, he seemed to get it. That's good enough, probably good he heard it from her and not from the fist of some angry lady who would give him a smack for such a mistake.

She watched as the much larger man seemed to sag a little when she called his bluff. Well, that was as good as any verification that he was following her. Still needed to figure out the why, but it was a start.

“And if I stand back?”

Sophia blinked, ".... I don't mean literally 'stepping up' I mean..." She gestured with her hands, "Like when someone behaves in a threatening manner they 'step up' to you...." She paused, eyeing him for a moment, "Though that works too. You are one tall dude. That's a bit threatening so.... yah you could stand back." At least give her personal space, the whole thing was a bit disconcerting even if she could punch the guy through a wall.

“Fine, fine.... It doesn’t matter to me if you are free or not.”

"Glad we at least understand each other." She stated as she put her phone away. She would have done it too. She was already tired of dealing with extra-dimensional creatures attacking her on a monthly bases, she didn't want to deal with humans doing it too.

“I’ll bet you would. I'm told blue is my color.”

Weird, what was with that sour note? Wait.... was he really a cross dresser? Did he really like wearing dresses and she just offended him? Well now she felt bad... "Look, I'm not about to judge shit. If you actually do like wearing dresses, you go for it, you do your thing." Oh crap this just turned really awkward. She liked it better when she was accusing him of stalking her. Lets go back to that.

“You talk too much, g......You could have done away with all the trimmings. The last few sentences said it all.”

Sophia shrugged, choosing to ignore the almost-slip since.... well he got an A for effort on that front. "It's all apart of my witty word-play," She smirked a little, "My sarcastic nature is all I got going for me, you know." After all, how else would she gain all these strange assortment of friends?

All these friends, but no boyfriend. Hm, she should reconsider this method perhaps.....

“So can I.”

She continued to stare him down, unmoving even at the comment, until he finally admitted who he was and what his occupation was. Well, that explain only the surface reason as to why he was following her.

“Not hard, no. I’d have rather avoided it.”

"There there, you failed." She smiled, faux-pleasantly, ".... You failed.... thats it thats my only point, that you suck at your job. Time to re-evaluate your life choices."

“I won’t wager anything against you. Father Gregory Stewart hired me. To discover if you’re a witch.”

Sophia blinked up at the Inspector for a moment, processing what he had just said. Then suddenly she let out a snort that turned into outright laughter. She threw back her head, long hair falling down her back, before doubling over, her arms going around her middle as if she was about to laugh out her insides. Tears started to enter her eyes as she leaned back against a brick wall nearby, using it for support as she laughed herself silly.

It wasn't so much funny that Stewart thought she was a witch, he was part-way there when it came to what Sophia was. And even then, he thought that if she was a pagan, she was a witch. Something he thought since she was nine years old and declared her 'religion' for the entire school to hear.

And yes, it was relieving to know this guy wasn't working for her Uncle, but she wasn't laughing out of relief.

She was laughing because her principal was such a wack-job, he had chosen to hire a private investigator to keep tabs on her and see if she could do magic or not. And he thought that a super-powered witch couldn't possibly be able to sense this investigator. The sheer hilarity caused her to cackle, oh man she couldn't wait to tell Sydney and Mike about this one.

“But that’s all. I was not hired to harm you; I won’t harm you.”

"No.... no hold on..." She gasped out, pressing a palm to her forehead as she suppressed her laughter into giggles. "Give me a minute.... oh Oshtur this is rich."

She giggled for a few more minutes, before finally even that started to die down enough that she could say: "I'm not laughing at you..." Hehehe, "I promise.... its just.... whew." Sophia wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes with careful fingers, least she smudge her carefully applied eyeshadow. Looking at her fingers, she already saw the black smudges from her mascara. There went the illusion of her eyelashes, ah well, it died for a good cause.

She managed to get upright again, shaking her head at Javert while smiling. "Come on, for that I'll buy you coffee." Sophia let out another giggle as she turned to walk down the street toward the cafe, rubbing her left side, "I think my left lung just collapsed in on itself, damn....."

Sophia turned to Javert as they walked, "So does he want to know when the blood orgy is? Cause that's tonight at midnight in the bayou off of Route 5. Tell him not to worry if we don't show up on time." She waved a sarcastic hand, "We witches are never on time for anything. Tell him..." She cracked out a smirk, "Tell him that the more mosquitos and gators he sees the more likely he's close to the spot."

Perhaps a little cruel, but she could just imagine the idiot sitting there in a bayou for hours, swatting at bugs and peering out into the darkness waiting for witches to appear. It almost made her keel over in laughter again.

(ooc: shhh it was amazing shhhhhh)

[Javert]

well, everything's a-goin' down
nothing seem to feel the same
- - - - -

The idea that he could be suspected of being an agent for some other-dimensional being would never have occurred to Javert. A shadowy governmental organization, that wasn't so improbable though here, in this case, it was untrue. He had no more authority than any other citizen. And don't think that didn't grate on his nerves just a little. But to outward appearances he had accepted this with a certain surprising sangfroid. It would have seemed surprising, that is, to anyone who knew him. To Javert it was the only possible course. Circumstances had changed, and no, he wasn't happy about it, but there was also nothing to be done about it. No point indulging in 'what ifs.'

This same attitude was what allowed him to maintain his composure now he'd been discovered. It still might be possible to salvage this and if there was, Javert would find it. As starting points went, though, this one was so far from his goal that it was difficult to make out in the distance. As for the coat, it might have been some kind of affectation but not for the purpose of seeming suspicious. She should be wary—if she was guilty. But one thing at a time.

Apparently the first item was going to be a lesson in courtesy. It wouldn't be the first time someone had commented on his abrasive manner, but it was one of the few times he paid attention. No matter how much of the signage was in French, he was acutely aware this wasn't Paris, and he didn't know the local customs. Who knew how long he might be stuck here, so he understood the necessity of learning them, from whatever teachers he could. If one of them happened to be someone he was supposed to be tailing, well, so be it. After a brief hesitation marked by narrowed eyes, he nodded. They had an understanding.

About that, at least. He'd taken her words literally. His brows drew together instinctively as if rallying in defense against this mistake. When she'd concluded that a literal interpretation would be just as good, he gave her a cool stare for several seconds and remained in place. With the knowledge that his physical presence was in fact intimidating, some of his confidence had returned. He pointed out, "Or you could stand back. I won't stop you. Run or stay, it's all the same to me." He knew where she lived, if it came to that. Father Stewart had given him the address.

Any traces of a smirk beginning faded quickly at her next comment. This time she'd been the one to take words at their face value. She'd chosen a fine time for it, too. Because it was so patently absurd, he wasn't offended. Instead he threw back his head in that peculiar silent laugh of his. He might have done it for a disguise, but it was too beyond the pale of society to even consider otherwise. Just as suddenly as it had struck, his amusement drained away and he gave her a searching stare, then raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like the sort of man who wears dresses?" he asked, his tone that of a rooster ruffling his feathers indignantly. If he did, he was definitely going to have to reevaluate something.

She was being flippant of course, and would be unlikely to come right out and admit to magic, but it was still a piece of probably false evidence to be considered. Javert tucked it away for later and answered, "I can see that." She was young and reckless, not rendered entirely stupid by those two facts, but he agreed with her assessment overall. "And your ability to shock with your outlandish appearance. What is it, a cry for attention?" Or a distraction? It wouldn't work on him, but that it even came close spoke volumes.

There was very little that struck genuine fear in Javert, that would turn his stomach at the thought; failure was among them. Bad enough he knew that he'd stumbled, but to be reminded of it by this—this harpy in training! He drew back his head, eyes flashing in defiant pride. If it had been Father Stewart before him, his demeanor would have been drastically different, but she had no authority over him, no right to say what she had. His nostrils flared, the better to emit his overheated breaths. But after a few of these he regained control of himself enough to speak. "I have not failed yet," he spat out in clipped tones.

It was true as far as he was concerned. He wasn't hired to follow her for its own sake, but to discover if she was a witch. Being face-to-face made success much less likely, but still not impossible. Before he could apply any kind of strategy, however, his answer provoked an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He stood there and watched, waiting (less than patiently, but waiting) for it to subside. There didn't seem to be anything else to do. But he still wore a prodigious frown, a mix of confusion and annoyance. Was she laughing at him? He didn't think so, but he couldn't see how being accused of witchcraft was anything to laugh at, either.

He blinked in surprise at the offer to buy him coffee. Was she serious? But that lasted only a few seconds before he nodded. Harmless enough and he wasn't quite ready to give up, anyway. It would be the perfect excuse to continue watching her. And there was no denying he needed it. Perhaps its lack had contributed to his mistake. So when she set off down the street, he followed her, consciously shortening his strides so that he didn't leave her behind. He even untangled his arms and let them drop to his sides. Now that the mistake had been made, he was resigned to it.

As they walked, he glanced down at her, the posture less imperious coming at an angle like this. "All right then?" he asked, one eyebrow raised; clearly sarcasm but he did wonder if she was a little crazy. "That much laughter can't be healthy." Or sane. Definitely not sane. But then, Javert rarely laughed himself, and almost never aloud. He listened attentively to her response, his frown gradually straightening itself out. She was being humorous, but he didn't disagree exactly. Father Stewart was his employer; it was not quite the same as having a superior, though he didn't waste much time trying to sort out the logic of that.

Snorting a little, he answered, "No, blood orgies went unmentioned, though I'm sure he would love to hear all about them. I'll pass along your regards and your invitation." Javert was still undecided whether or not she was a witch, but he was sure his employer was by and large full of guano. He had spent many years in the company of those who'd claimed to be magicians and fortune-tellers, and not a single one had so much as mentioned the kind of ceremonies the old curé must have in mind. "Religious fools, letting that nonsense rot their brains..." he muttered, staring down the street ahead with a disdainful grimace.

Then he turned back to his walking companion. "Hm. So you're not that kind of witch. Now what gives him the idea you are? He was a lot less specific on that point than I'd like." He hadn't wanted to question his employer because it wasn't necessary to do the job, but things were slightly different now.

- - - - -
no one seem to know my name
no one seem to go my way

TAG;; Sophia Strange
WORDS;; 1273
NOTES;; *still cackling* That's what you get for looking like Norman Bates, son.
CREDIT;; à moi

[Sophia Strange]

The vague but menacing government organizations might just seem like something out of Night Vale, but that was because the world didn’t know much about SHIELD or HYDRA. Her mother did, according to Vesper before her mom turned into a Queen she had helped SHIELD quiet a bit when it came to extra-terrestrial life and all that jazz. Remaining a consult was better than traversing into SHIELD’s bad side. Still, Vesper was to keep Sophia away from that particular vague yet menacing governmental agency. They tended to stick their fingers into a whole lot of pies, which made them untrustworthy long-term allies, (if this latest business with HYDRA had anything to show for it).

Still, this guy didn’t look like an agent of SHIELD. For one, he wasn’t wearing those classy suits they always wore. For another, he wasn’t wearing any kind of weird listening-device in his ear. He just didn’t have that ‘secret agent man’ vibe. But maybe that was intentional. Suffice to say, Sophia would be treading carefully around this dude.

The guy looked a bit too satisfied that his height was intimidating. What a jerk! Wasn’t Sophia’s fault that she was five foot six, and really why the heck was she short anyway? Both her parents were tall! (Her mother was apparently only two inches shorter than her six foot tall father) but really, why wasn’t she a Five foot eight Amazon goddess? Such crap, it was all such crap.

"Or you could stand back. I won't stop you. Run or stay, it's all the same to me."

Sophia raised an eyebrow, laughing slightly, “Hell no, I’m a Southern American! We don’t back to anyone stepping up to us. We are super confrontational like that.” She shrugged slightly, “I personally think its something in the water.” That creepy Mississippi tap-water would turn any respectful person into white trash.

The girl hesitated for a moment, eyeing the man as he stood his ground. “….. You wouldn’t seriously go to my house would you? Cause…. Don’t do that. My Aunt…” Sophia paused, how does one explain Vesper? “You know those people that keep a shotgun under their bed, and the slightest noise outside sends them stalking around their house looking for someone to shoot in the face for trying to break into their house?” She frowned, then gestured, “Yah that…. That’s my Aunt. She catches you lurking outside my house she’ll shoot you first and ask questions later.” Actually, she’ll throw a spear into your face and ask questions later. Or proclaim you an enemy to her kin and open a portal into a lava world to push you into. She was just…. Yah it was better that Javert just stayed as far away from the Strange household.

Her next comment had him getting all ruffled, almost offended looking. Oh….. oh no. There it was, that bruised pride of a male ego. She probably shouldn’t have asked if he actually liked to wear dresses. Curse her politically correct ways!

"Do I look like the sort of man who wears dresses?"

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Sophia shrugged almost meekly, “I don’t judge…. You might be in the closet, which is totally fine. Whatever you want to do with your life, man, you go for it.” Unlike the steadily straight-lined Catholic Church, she believed that everyone could do what they wanted when it came to their appearance or sexuality: societal norms be damned.

"I can see that…… And your ability to shock with your outlandish appearance. What is it, a cry for attention?"

“What?” Immediately, her meek demeanor disappeared in favor of outrage. “Excuse me if I want to wear a tank-top and shorts in seventy degree weather just so that you can feel comfortable. News-flash Medieval man, you are totally welcome to look away if my bare arms offend you so, so much.” Sophia looked down at her left arm, eyes turning faux-shocked, “Oh-my-lord is that an arm?! A natural limb that everyone is normally born with?! How scandalous!” She put a hand up to her forehead, looking away as if she couldn’t bear the sight. “Someone cover it with at least fifty unnecessary layers.”

Of course, she hadn’t taken into account the tattoos that littered her arms, or the perciings in her ears, or the streak of hair. But the message was still the same: she could look the way she wanted. He could kindly look away if he didn’t want to look.

His face went from normal to ‘I’m such an angry possum I’m going to eat your face’. The flare of his nostrils (ew) and the general rage-face did kind of make him look like an angry possum. It was a bit hard for Sophia to take him seriously.

"I have not failed yet,"

“Ooookay then. Yah sure you don’t want to re-evaluate, do something else with your life? What about knitting, that’s supposed to be calming.” Sophia gave a little shrug, totally unconcerned with his rage-face. He can get as upset as he wants; she still got him to admit she was being followed. There were spells to fix this, make her invisible so he couldn’t see her at all. He had essentially failed the big mission.

Her laughter seemed to get him shocked, but at least it was all out in the open: the idiot priest had done something idiotic again. It had stopped being shocking the first couple of times he’d pulled stunts like these. So here they were, walking toward the café: a weirdly tall dude with a coat and a teen with tattoos. Weirder things happened in New Orleans.

"All right then?...... That much laughter can't be healthy."

“It was pretty funny, I mean come on.” Sophia snorted with a laugh, deciding to throw the guy a bone, “He’s been throwing this kind of crap at me since I was ten years old. It’s gotten a little sad.” She knew his claims: that she was a heathen, pagan, witch, vile degenerate, etc and etc. Sophia Strange was just finding it hilarious. She’d almost miss the crazy guy when she was all graduated…. Almost.

"No, blood orgies went unmentioned, though I'm sure he would love to hear all about them. I'll pass along your regards and your invitation."

“Oh please!” She smirked, “Please do that. I just really want him to come to school the next day covered in mosquito bites and swamp-goop. Nothing would make me happier, you would have made my day.” There was nothing more than picking on Greg Stewart: the crazy priest guy.

"Religious fools, letting that nonsense rot their brains..."

Basically, the guy had it all right on the money. She didn’t know where Stewart got the idea from that she had sold her soul to the devil anyway. It wasn’t as if she had told him all about her abilities. No, more like he assumed that pagan=witch, when being a witch was a totally Judeo-Christian thing. You had to believe in the devil to be a witch.

"Hm. So you're not that kind of witch. Now what gives him the idea you are? He was a lot less specific on that point than I'd like."

Sophia frowned slightly, “Well, its kind of a long story. I’ll cut it short for you if you’d like…. Basically I think his God is a figment of mankind’s imagination….. and one my gods can turn into giant tiger and eat wicked people.” She gave a bit of a sheepish smile at him, “I’m pagan, polytheist, gods plural not God…. Even though your trinity kinda sounds like three gods but… yah.” Sophia waved her hand, “It pisses him off.”

Story of her life, basically.

(ooc: oh my gosh I didn't know that he played Norman Bates and now I can't stop laughing!)

[Javert]

well, everything's a-goin' down
nothing seem to feel the same
- - - - -

She had temerity, this one. Javert would grant her that. It was the kind of attitude he associated with the younger gamins, but she had both the advantage of age and a home over those creatures. So what was her excuse? "Suit yourself," he responded with a hitch of his shoulders that might have been a shrug. "Something in the water, eh? Does it also cause tattoos to spring up like daisies? Anyway, whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as rats and corpses, vermin and filth." That was one thing even he'd taken notice of. The water here was remarkably clean. If she thought otherwise, it must be a relative point of view. The Paris sewers were a bottomless mire, perfect analogue to the types of 'citizen' that occasionally roamed its 'streets.'

Javert wasn't one to be easily frightened, a tendency that had only grown worse over the years. It was as though his certainty that he was right had metastasized to a reckless confidence, which he wielded as bluntly as any weapon. That he was in a new world essentially hadn’t changed him. Even the knowledge that this era’s guns didn’t fail half so often as the flintlock mechanisms he was used to, even that only gave him slight pause. “Guns and rocks don’t frighten me. Neither do mother-lions guarding their young. I am not saying that I will be there, only that I see no reason to hesitate if it becomes necessary.” It would be less trouble if it didn’t come to that, so he wouldn’t mind if it stayed simple and he didn’t need to set up a one-man ambuscade outside her house. He would not, however, let a little thing like a shotgun deter him.

This new era had other oddities too. She wasn’t the only woman he’d seen who dressed this way, and other things even less acceptable were tolerated if not quite accepted. They had of course been present throughout human history, but in society at least they were never flaunted so openly. Javert wasn’t prudish or naïve. With as much time as he’d spent in the prisons and dealing with the lower classes, he could hardly escape such knowledge. He just knew his place in society and it wasn’t nearly so bad as that. “I’m no one’s aunt,” he said calmly. “I take it ‘in the closet’ is argot? Slang?” He could guess at its meaning though it seemed strange. The construction implied there was such a thing as out of the closet. Which, he realized, there was. Hm.

For Javert it wasn’t so much her bare arms he objected to. They did put him in mind of a certain class of people, but because it was more common here, it was the tattoos and piercings that really gave him that impression. Those seemed to be a universal symbol of debasement, if the other similarly adorned people he’d seen were anything to go by. At her response, he just snorted. “It doesn’t bother me. But it won’t help if you want anyone to take you seriously, as fits your position. You attend a private school, one that’s not cheap; but no one would know it to look at you. They’re more likely to think pirate. Or fortune-teller.”

She clearly thought he’d failed. To him it was a major setback, but a strategic retreat and not defeat. He still might find out what he’d been trying to discover. “One misstep and I’m to be put out to pasture? I don’t think so. Are you this harsh a taskmaster with your friends?” And then because the reference to knitting was just too ridiculous, he couldn’t help addressing that too. “I’d sooner take up fighting or dancing.” Javert stared down at her with all the smugness of a well-turned phrase—but of course if she didn’t know 19th-century French slang, and there was no reason to think she should, then the fact that all three words were the same would fly straight over her head.

She recovered from her laughing fit eventually, so perhaps it was only temporary insanity. It wouldn’t really affect Javert one way or the other, though insanity would call for greater caution. But it didn’t seem to be necessary in this case. He did shoot her a skeptical look that said ‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ at which she relented and explained. Ah. An idée fixe and not a new one. He’d been accused of the same himself, unfairly, he thought. Yes, he’d spent a month searching an area for one man, but that man had been a particularly dangerous convict. All that, however, was years ago and back in Paris. Now it was his employer being accused. Though Javert was naturally suspicious of anything she told him, this seemed right, fit the facts and what he himself had observed of Father Stewart. He nodded. “I know the type.” Accusations notwithstanding, he didn’t count himself among them. If he caught wind of an old prey certainly he’d give pursuit, but day to day he didn’t think about it.

Anyway the man must have gotten the idea somewhere. Javert wasn’t done with his inquiries, but they could wait a little longer. The idea of deceiving his employer was an uncomfortable one. Tempting, though. If he was fool enough to believe that kind of thing, then he’d have no one to blame but himself, really. “Harsh punishment for being a fool,” he commented, eyebrows raised. This was not the same as saying it was unjust—a fine distinction perhaps, but one that Javert made. The only unusual feature was his verbal admission of it.

Finally they were getting to the real meat—why had the priest gotten it into his head in the first place that she was a witch? Javert frowned, staring straight ahead, not quite sure what to make of her answer. Back in more familiar territory those beliefs would have made her a witch. Despite unconventional additions to the religion, saints that hadn’t been canonized for example, even most gypsies were technically Christians. Here though it was societally acceptable, or more so anyway, to have all kinds of beliefs, or none at all. For a touchstone Javert was tempted to cling to the church—but why? In this republic, it held no official sway anyhow.

“It’s not my trinity,” he said in a low voice. “Not exactly. A priest hired me, and yes, I was baptized; but that’s as far as it goes. Anyway, ritual sacrifice aside, there are some who would say he’s right. What do you do as a… pagan?” Some distaste lingered on his tongue but only because this reminded him of his mother, a subject he never liked to revisit.

- - - - -
no one seem to know my name
no one seem to go my way

TAG;; Sophia Strange
WORDS;; 1130
NOTES;; I'm sorry, I found the link to an argot dictionary again. >.>
CREDIT;; à moi

[Sophia Strange]

Wasn’t that the interesting thing? Javert associated Sophia with all the traits that he’d seen on the streets of Paris. But Sophia had been given everything she could ever want. Her upkeep paid for and maintained by the Dark Dimensional Throne (how they converted currency went right over Sophia’s head, Vesper insisted she didn’t need to know so it was probably illegal). Regardless, she knew she was better off than most kids her age in a city like New Orleans. She had everything she could ever want…. Except two parents to provide it. Wasn’t that the way with royals? Give your kids all the material goods, plus a nanny so that you didn’t have to deal with them while you ran a kingdom?

"Suit yourself….. Something in the water, eh? Does it also cause tattoos to spring up like daisies? Anyway, whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as rats and corpses, vermin and filth."

“Yes it does actually. If you’ve been drinking our water for more than a month, expect a tattoo of a naked girl named Shelia to appear across your right bicep shortly.” Sophia drawled out with the most sarcasm she could muster. She tilted her head at the last line, frowning a little, “Actually…. Last year they found a rare, brain-eating amoeba in the water supply at St. Bernard Parish…..” She brightened slightly, “It’s actually kind of fascinating. Cause usually this type of Naegleria fowleria amoeba doesn’t infect you when you ingest it, but the kid who died was playing on a slip-and-slide and got water up his nose so it went straight to his brain. So the amoeba just started eating away at his brain cells and caused encephalitis….. So basically if you are in St. Bernard Parish, don’t let water get up your nose.” Sophia nodded slightly, “Or do, I mean the city did try to up their water treatment of the area. But who knows? Fifty-fifty chance, why take it?”

Was she really ranting about brain-eating bacteria with a guy who was stalking her through New Orleans? Yes…. Yes she was. To be fair, it was a relatively fascinating topic of conversation for her. Not so much for him, Sophia was sure most of the big words would go right over this guy’s head.

“Guns and rocks don’t frighten me. Neither do mother-lions guarding their young. I am not saying that I will be there, only that I see no reason to hesitate if it becomes necessary.”

How about a crazy alien warrior who considered herself royal protector of the Dark Dimensional heir and wielded an electrified spear with deadly precision? Sophia was sure this guy would find reason to hesitate if he knew the full story. “See, if you are not afraid of a mama lion, you aren’t brave….. you’re stupid. You know all those safari stories of some idiot that picks up a lion cub and gets eaten by a lioness? I bet they claimed they weren’t frightened of mother-lions either.” Mother-lion…. That was a good explanation of what Vesper was. A lioness with fangs to match who would eat this guy for breakfast and use his pinky bone as a toothpick. Vesper was the type to be flattered at the comparison.

Still, the things Vesper did were not typically socially acceptable among humans. Hence why she didn’t usually go to parent-teacher conferences. Perhaps if she had gone to more of them, all of this would have been avoided. Or it would have been worse.

“I’m no one’s aunt….. I take it ‘in the closet’ is argot? Slang?”

“It means that you haven’t…. ‘revealed’ to the world or to certain people what your sexuality or gender preferences are.” Sophia explained, looking a bit awkward at the fact that she had to explain. “For example, if you so happened to be a transvestite, which is totally fine by the way, you might not have openly admitted it yet so you are ‘in the closet’.” The last part she used air quotes, just to be distinctive.

She paused for a minute, “…. This is getting really awkward really quickly. Can we stop talking about this?” Really, really awkward.

“It doesn’t bother me. But it won’t help if you want anyone to take you seriously, as fits your position. You attend a private school, one that’s not cheap; but no one would know it to look at you. They’re more likely to think pirate. Or fortune-teller.”

Sophia frowned, looking deep in thought about something. Finally, she opened her mouth and asked: “Johnny Depp pirate, or Assassin’s Creed IV Edward Kenway pirate?” This was an important distinction: Edward Kenway was far more badass, and more historically accurate.

She put her hands on her hips, thoughtful look morphing into a smirk with an eyebrow quirked up, looking at the ex-Inspector expectantly, “And what do you mean, ‘fits your position’? What class are you shoving me into? And why should I conform to whatever dress style you expect out of me?” She straighten up slightly and crossed her arms, “If I wear say…. A full out Victorian style dress with puffy sleeves and whatever else you think is proper. Will that give you insight and let you know that I can recite the entire periodic table of elements, plus their known chemical reactions when combined with other elements? Will you suddenly realize that I have extensive knowledge of the different microscopic bacteria that exists in you, in the water, in the soil, in a yogurt cup?”

Sophia took a deep breath, and a long, extensive sigh outwards. “You shouldn’t have to rely on people’s clothing. Stop judging me based on what I look like, and judge me based on what I know…. which is a lot.” There was a reason she was asked to be interviewed by Oscorp Industries of all places. Sure, she probably wouldn’t be offered a position, based on the fact that she was just in high school. But she knew her stuff, and having tattoos didn’t stop that.

“One misstep and I’m to be put out to pasture? I don’t think so. Are you this harsh a taskmaster with your friends?”

“My friends don’t stalk me through New Orleans because someone hired them to.” She shot back, looking heavily amused that he would even try to compare himself to her friends.

“I’d sooner take up fighting or dancing.”

She blinked at his smugness, he was right in that it all went right over her head. Give her a lab and she could write poetry in test tube vials. Turns of phrases and other things like that was way out there in right brain territory. “O…. kay?” Not exactly knitting, but if he wanted to dance go ahead and dance, she supposed.

But now they had moved onto Father Stewart… her least favorite person. And her Uncle was the ultimate evil-Uncle trope.

“I know the type….. Harsh punishment for being a fool,”

Sophia’s gaze darkened slightly, “Trust me, the asshole deserves much more than that. He’s been pulling stunts like this since I was ten years old, and he’s done far worse.” Trying to force-baptize her, making her do ridiculous things at school to make her uncomfortable. The man was a right monster to her at times.

“It’s not my trinity…..Not exactly. A priest hired me, and yes, I was baptized; but that’s as far as it goes.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, walking around the corner onto another, far more abandoned street. But it was a straight-shot from here to the café so on they walked. “Don’t let my principal hear you say that. He won’t stop until you are praising Jesus and cursing blasphemers.” But still, it was often a subject she’d heard on the playground at school. Kids who claimed to be Catholic, but had no clue what it all meant. She didn’t ask what he did believe, if he was agnostic or something else, not really her business nor did she really care.

”Anyway, ritual sacrifice aside, there are some who would say he’s right. What do you do as a… pagan?”

Sophia frowned slightly, because she and Vesper invoked the names of the Vishanti and the Octopresence all the time for spells. There was power in a name, and your working was only as powerful as the god you named. But try explaining that to a guy who was following you around for proof that you are a witch….

“Same as any religion, I guess. You pray to the gods for mercy, and hope they are listening and decide to grant it to you.” She shrugged and decided to leave it at that. She wasn’t here to give this guy a lesson in the Vishanti and the other gods of their pantheon.

They continued to walk, when suddenly: shadows began to creep along the deserted street. Sounds of the city waking up in the distance began to fade away as they raced across the wall, darkening their destination. The change was subtle, and if Sophia was a normal human girl she might not have even noticed.

But she did, just as she noticed the sudden drop in temperature that made the hairs on her arms stand straight up. She stopped walking…..