See something, say something [Gavroche]

[Javert]

dites-moi ce qui se passe
qui est mort, qui a tué
- - - - -

The city of Paris is not one city; it is made up of a multitude of small worlds, each possessing distinctive qualities that make up its character. As different as they are from each other, still they fall into categories instantly recognizable to anyone who has lived in a city of any size. There are the good worlds and the bad. In Paris the former are called faubourgs. The latter are given many names, none of them official. One such is the Latin Quarter, haunted by disreputable individuals of all types, from violent scoundrels to rebellious students.

In the era with which we are concerned, police attentions had been focused especially on this quartier. The reason for this overbearing surveillance was not so much due to the simpler crimes, theft, murder, blackmail; but had politics as its source. Not yet two years out from the heady days in July that had put an end to Bourbon rule, there were already a return to rumblings of a seditious nature. The change of 1830 was not sufficient to put out the embers and it seemed to the authorities that all it would take to reignite them was a spark. It might come at any time and in any form. Therefore, they resolved to be prepared for it.

To this end they turned the great eye of the state towards the areas of the population most likely to provide the spark. Students were among these groups, and so the political police were dispatched to the Latin Quarter. They went both in disguise and out; if the latter, they utilized agents, that is to say, spies. They tried to recruit canny individuals, since their task was a delicate one that required discretion and possibly dissembling if they were questioned by those around them. The cleverest among the police knew how to choose their spies well and so could obtain information as readily as if they were gathering it themselves.

One such clever man was Inspector Javert. Even without a uniform, this formidable man carried with him an air of authority that he could not shed. So for now his considerable skill was best spent on the affairs that were usual for him, crimes that endangered society but not the state. As a veteran of the Paris police going on ten years, with five years experience in a small town before that, he knew well the ins and outs of his craft. He could just as easily serve society in this capacity as the other. Wherever he was ordered, he would go, for that was another facet of his character. He worshiped at the altar of the Law; authority was the bulwark of the Law and therefore he held it as if sacred also.

Today he had been ordered to the students’ quarter but not for anything to do with them. It was all the same to Javert. The pedestrian cases as well as the more exciting ones, they all had to be dealt with. Of course he was only human and enjoyed a good chase now and then, for it gave him a chance to put to use his strategic prowess; but he had been set on this case, so he would see it through. There did not appear to be anything special about it at first glance. A man had been knocked over the head and robbed, left in an alleyway to sleep it off. He was well off but not excessively so. Javert had a sense there was something more to it. More than a few francs had been left in the victim’s pockets, as well as his watch, which would have fetched a handful despite its used condition.

This was further confirmed in his mind when he saw the scene for himself. They arrived in a fiacre, the inspector and his men. They did not discuss the case, or anything at all, along the way, and they disembarked in similar silence. Even then it was an adjunct who spoke first, an agent who adroitly noted that someone had moved the victim, either the perpetrator or some well-meaning interloper, because there was a wound to the back of his head but he was lying on the cobbles belly-up. Javert nodded to his men and they fanned out, pushing back the crowds.

Space thus created, he moved closer to see what could be gleaned. There were signs of more than one assailant, which spoke of cowardly thieves or a victim who was known to be dangerous. If the latter, then it was not a random robbery. Javert frowned down at the still-unconscious man, then turned his attention to the surrounding area. His dark brows drew together, the great plateau of his forehead wrinkled. The street in which all this had taken place was neither broad nor narrow. Someone ought to have seen the crime in progress.

A few likely candidates lingered in the vicinity. Most of the crowd was composed of useless gawkers, but there might be some less dim light among them. In a curt voice, with arms folded and cane tucked into one elbow, Javert attempted to summon them. “Well! Did anyone among you see what happened?” Silence reigned as surely as King Louis-Philippe. The inspector scowled at the gathered throng, searching the ranks for the weak link in the chain, for one who might possibly break if some pressure was applied. “Come, come, do you mean to tell me none of you wish to do your duty as citizens? Are you all accomplices?”

Still no one spoke up. Javert’s glance halted suddenly, drawn to a face that was below the shoulders of most and that he recognized. It was a young gamin called Gavroche. The gamins of Paris were as plentiful as fleas, but this one was a very clever flea. He would have made an excellent police spy, except that he would never have agreed to it in a thousand years. This, however, was not politics. With haughty certainty of success Javert plowed through the onlookers, keeping his eyes fixed on that small blond head. “Hey, you! Boy! What did you see?” he demanded as he went.

- - - - -
où je passe le crime trépasse
l’ordre est en sécurité

TAG;; Gavroche
WORDS;; 1028
NOTES;; I've missed writing this jerkface...
CREDIT;; à moi

[Gavroche]

Gavroche was one of those gamins who were always up early with the rise of the sun. Unlike other street children, who slept in as long as they could, Gav got up and got to work being…. Well a street rat. Which had its perks, being up at the first sign of light.

Paris was a beautiful lady as she awoke slowly in the morning. Light gently touched her shadowed face, and spread the more she woke. Gavroche always woke before she could, cause then he could barely accomplish everything he wanted to do. And so on this morning he scrambled down the sides of his elephant, careful not to jostle the ropes else he wake the other children sleeping inside. Then made his way into the darkened streets like a shot out of a gun. He was an early morning bird, and he would get his worm.

Merchants sleepily set up stands, too tired to notice one or too apples missing as they turned their back for a mere moment. They’d notice later, far too late, with their goods in Gavroche’s belly or in the hands of one of his kids.

Gav crunched on an apple, enjoying the taste of the fruit as he leaned over one of Paris’s many bridges. The water of the Seine gurgled underneath, and smelled especially rank today. Everyone must have thrown their waste in it at the same time again….

BANG! AH!

Gavroche looked up curiously, looking down toward the Latin Quarter. Strange, usually it was quiet this time of morning. Instinct told him to leave it be, wasn’t worth getting into trouble over it. But the curiousity of a nine year old boy told him to go for it.

So he went for it, foolishly too. The sounds of arguing resounded around the once-quiet streets of the student quarter. Managing to track it to a small street, he peeked round the corner and saw….

Two members of the Patron-Minette gang: Gueulemer the giant and Montparnasse. The giant was holding the man up by the shirt, shouting at him about money while Montparnasse stood by, watching almost as if bored.

Damn it all, but the gang was a wicked bunch. His own father was apart of the bastards, so you knew it was nasty. Gavroche usually kept away, all of them were known to bully gamins if they thought the kids had money. Wasn’t worth crossing them…..

Montparnasse turned, catching sight of Gav peeking in on them and holding a thin finger to his smirking lips. It was enough for Gavroche to turn tail and leave before he could see any more of the shady business. Taking it as the warning it was supposed to be: keep his mouth shut.

---

He came back round the place a couple hours later, almost having forgotten about it until he had seen the crowds. Gavroche sighed as he pushed his way through, peeking at the body laying off to the side. So the gang had killed him… or at least gave him a bump on the head he’d never forget. Well, better him then old Gavroche, poor sod…..

“Hey, you! Boy! What did you see?”

Ah for the love of…. Why did Javert always have to pick on him? Its not like he clubbed the idiot. True he knew who did, but so did that bloke over there with the eyepatch and the gimp leg. Gavroche was sure the bum had been there this morning, though perhaps asleep at the time. But was Javert picking on him? Nooooo, he was picking on the child like the crazy cuckoo-brained cop he was.

Gavroche’s lips curled back into a sneer, “Yer mum, cuckooface!” He barked back with all the conviction of a boy who didn’t understand the use of the insult but used it anyway, squeezing backward through the crowd of adults, dodging around the knobby knees of some surprised merchant boy.

“Oof!” The wind was knocked out of him as a cop came out of nowhere and grabbed the back of his jacket. Turning right around, he grabbed ahold of the boy’s arm and bit down as hard as he could.

The cop cried out and shoved Gavroche away so that he fell hard on the cobblestone below. Scrambling up and turning around to see an advancing cuckoobird in all his stupid cuckoo glory.

Gav put his hands on his hips, “Why you go ‘bout blamin’ me for? I didn’ do anythin’…..”

Meanwhile, exits were scoped. Cops to the left, angry bitten cop to the right, but there was a nice space under a cart behind Javert. He’d just have to wait for the right moment….

[Javert]

dites-moi ce qui se passe
qui est mort, qui a tué
- - - - -

Javert was used to receiving answers when he gave out questions. Or rather, he expected them when past experience should probably indicate otherwise. Attitude and confidence could get you only so far with certain people. However, Javert only reluctantly accepted limitations when necessary and so a little reticence on the part of the crowd was not going to deter him. No, not even the personal avoidance he was sure would be Gavroche's reaction. That was simply how it was with them. The boy ran, he ran after him. And if his legs tired more easily these days, well, it couldn't be helped. Just the wages of living long enough for the parts to wear out.

At least he didn't run immediately. Of course Javert didn't think there was a chance the gamin had done the deed himself, but considering the omnipresent feud between their species, it still would not have been an unreasonable reaction. At the attempted insult, his lips curled in a corresponding smirk. The boy had no idea what he was saying, that was obvious. And if he had, it would have made no difference. Javert's hatred of the lower classes in the aggregate was surpassed only by his loathing of the two individuals responsible for his own existence. "At least you can see, then!" he pointed out with some satisfaction. The cour des miracles was no longer what it once had been, and beggars had moved on to different tactics than pretending to be blind.

That split second of distraction was all Gavroche needed before he used it to melt backwards into the crowd. Javert swore through clenched teeth, but his frustration was premature—one of his men caught up with the little devil. Though he was forced to let go again soon after, it gave Javert the time needed to corner him. He loomed over most men; to a young gamin he must have seemed as Ozymandias and equally as obsolete.

"Pay attention! I am not blaming you. For that to be true, I would have to believe that you somehow reached the back of that poor turtle's head with enough force to make him sleep. Impossible, therefore you are not guilty of it yourself. But come, you have eyes. Did they see anything or were they too busy sizing up pockets to pick?" With solid stance he remained planted in Gavroche's way, preventing (he thought) any flight. His expression was never particularly friendly, but now he was trying to draw out an answer with his glance.

He wouldn't be surprised if the boy was looking for an avenue of escape. He wouldn't find one within the reach of Javert, who was determined to get a straightforward response from him before he would release him back into the wild streets of Paris. If that answer was 'no,' then so be it, but he would have his answer. Besides, the odds were good that he had been a witness. Gavroche, like any other pest, seemed to turn up everywhere. Sometimes seemingly at the same time. If Javert didn't know better, he might have blamed magic.

- - - - -
où je passe le crime trépasse
l’ordre est en sécurité

TAG;; Gavroche
WORDS;; 517
NOTES;; all I said was more than one perpetrator and BAM Patron-Minette. ilu.
CREDIT;; à moi

[Gavroche]

Little David stared up at Goliath, a man who towered over the tiny gamin, and stuck his tongue out at him. Just because he was little didn't mean he lacked in courage. Little people were always underestimated because they were little. But what Gavroche lacked in height he made up for in wit and courage. And he could outwit Javert and his boys any day of the week. He'd prove it by doing it now.

The boy glared hard at Javert's responding smirk. He wasn't supposed to find the insult funny, and the fact that he did was bloody disappointing. True, he didn't understand why adults found 'your mom' jokes funny. He assumed it was just the fact that he insinuated that Javert's mum had done the crime. That was laughable because Javert had never been a kid, he just popped out one day from the ground somewhere and started chasing gamins around. That was a far more satisfying explanation for where the Cuckoo-head came from.

"At least you can see, then!"

"Enough to see yer ugly mug every day!" He shot right back without skipping a beat, turning and running.

See, he could have told the cops all about the Gang and their activities, but where would that get him? Monte' knew he had seen it, if the cops starting asking questions he'd know who told them. Now, the Patron-Minette could never catch Gavroche but they'd make him suffer in other ways. They'd attack his kids, the other gamins he took care of. They'd take what little they had, or worse they would kill or hurt them. Plenty of gamins learned from black eyes and broken fingers why you don't cross the Patron-Minette. Bloody bullys, the lot of them, and that included his own arse of a father that went sulking after them. Blood didn't protect Gavroche though, especially if Gav pretended his family didn't exist and they kindly extended the courtesy.

Cops didn't get that, once they had their information they went on their merry way. They didn't stop and ask themselves what happened to those that gave them the info. Just acted oh so confused when they turned up face-down in the Seine.

He'd remember that bastard that had grabbed him. He had a couple of toads he had caught the other day, and one was going down that bloke's shirt who he'd bit. The other was going in Javert's hat so that the second the Inspector put it on he'd have Toad in his hair (or what was left of it). Hell hath no fury like a cornered gamin, like mules they kicked even if it was later in the day.

"Pay attention! I am not blaming you. For that to be true, I would have to believe that you somehow reached the back of that poor turtle's head with enough force to make him sleep. Impossible, therefore you are not guilty of it yourself. But come, you have eyes. Did they see anything or were they too busy sizing up pockets to pick?"

Gavroche glared up at the Inspector, pressing his lips firmly shut as other officers circled around behind him like a group of wolves. Of course, they would probably take a snap at him if he tried to run around the looming Cuckoo, but Gavroche could probably still evade them easily. What kind of gamin could he be if he couldn't evade these half-paid idiots?

Still, Gav had to deal with Javert first. Inspector was a tad smarter than the idiots circling behind him, but he could be tricked. And so it was time to trick him so that Gavroche could go on to better things in his life.... like catching more toads to slip down Javert's shirt.

Gavroche's blue eyes twinkled mischievously as the glare turned into a smirk. He titled his head slightly to the side, "Question is, 'ow much is this info worth ta yah?" He held out a hand, palm up, the intention clear. If Javert wanted information he would have to pay. Of course, what information he gave Javert in return was still open for debate.

(ooc: Trust nothing, trust no gamins Javert! This sly creature be up to something >D)

[Javert]

dites-moi ce qui se passe
qui est mort, qui a tué
- - - - -

It wasn’t the first time he and Gavroche had crossed wits, and grudgingly Javert accepted that barring extremely unlikely circumstances, it wouldn’t be the last. But that hardly meant he would go easy on the gamin. He’d seen what had happened. It had gone from mere suspicion to full-blown fact in the inspector’s mind, this flightiness confirmed it. No one completely innocent would run. Javert was no idiot, he hadn’t conked the fellow himself; but he was no dupe either. Youth nor size was about to sway him, nor even knowledge of the punishments in store for an informant. Oh, how well he knew it, and if the culprits here were who he thought, then it was a certainty. However, the gamin’s safety was of secondary importance. He would not deliberately throw him in harm’s way for its own sake, but it might happen incidentally. Javert’s duty stood above all things. If it also trod on a few heads as it went, well, that was just collateral damage and no concern of his. Today it looked like one of those heads would be blond and particularly small.

Small it might be, but it contained a mind already devious for its age. “I’d just as soon you didn’t!” he snapped back, continuing his advance, the collision as inevitable as a tidal wave. “But you, I’ll have you in my sight or no one’s purse is safe.” There was a hint of the respect that could be dragged from him occasionally, that of a big game hunter for a particularly clever monkey. One that delighted in dropping toads into his hat. He was too young to be considered a wolf yet, just a pup, but canny enough that he would probably survive to meet that designation. For now he was just glaring defiantly up at his would-be pursuer (should it come to that). He had so much nerve, Javert almost had to admire him for it. Almost. Maybe he could have if they were both not who they were, if the little gamin wasn’t such a sharp thorn in his side… sometimes backside, it felt like when especially acute. Javert would not be deterred on this day any more than another.

Gavroche’s mouth was shut for now, but he had no doubt that would last the lifespan of the mayfly. Ah yes, there it was, beggar’s palm outstretched, only it wasn’t alms he was looking for. The cheek! Javert’s eyes flashed for an instant then submerged again to their usual harsh stare. His arms remained folded. “Don’t be ridiculous. You take me for a fool, do you? I hand over thirty pieces of silver and you give me the culprit quiet as a lamb? Not likely. He may yet hang himself on a Judas-tree, but you won’t play your part in it for a few coins.” Eyes narrowing, he waved one of his large hands as if to sweep away cobwebs, or lies. This pointed up the heavy cane he carried under an elbow. Unfortunately this bluff didn’t work as well with Gavroche as it might with less savvy urchins, because he knew the inspector would never use it for what its bald presence implied now. Still, it might alert him, if he had not already read the many signs, that Javert meant business.

- - - - -
où je passe le crime trépasse
l’ordre est en sécurité

TAG;; Gavroche
WORDS;; 552
NOTES;; pretty sure that is engrained in his DNA, ironically enough.
CREDIT;; à moi

[Gavroche]

Javert wouldn't getting his information, not from Gavroche anyway. This was more than just him, he'd manage himself against the Patron. He'd had to do it before, he'd do it again. But the lives of the gamins who he looked after were at stake, and Gav was the over-protected sort. He wouldn't let Javert doom some twenty or so youngins over one idiot that had decided to cross the Patron-Minette. At least the idiot was still breathing, even if he was without his purse. The gamins of Paris could only pray to be so lucky if any of the gang went after them.

The difference was that if a cop found one of them dead in the gutter they usually just kept walking. What's one dead street kid to them?

“I’d just as soon you didn’t!..... But you, I’ll have you in my sight or no one’s purse is safe.”

Gavroche barked out a laugh, "Please, ya've never been able to catch me in the act, princess. Keep on dreamin' though, if it gets yah through yer day." Gav had been doing this for a while, he could keep out of sight and out of mind from most cops. Keeping out of Javert's way while he was making (or rather, stealing) his bread and butter was an art that Gavroche had finely perfected. Right up there with balancing an aquatic animal on a top hat. He could make it so that most cops didn't realize it was there until they were halfway into the station. He was quite proud of that, in fact. The toad thing, that was. Stealing was how you survived on the streets. Keeping away from Javert meant you didn't have to go into a cell.

It was a long call, asking for money in exchange for information. Gamins had done it before though, so had especially desperate homeless grown-folk. Cops weren't paid a ton, but if they shared what little they had they could always gain more. And besides, what Gavroche had planned wasn't to get a payout. But Javert didn't know that....

“Don’t be ridiculous. You take me for a fool, do you? I hand over thirty pieces of silver and you give me the culprit quiet as a lamb? Not likely. He may yet hang himself on a Judas-tree, but you won’t play your part in it for a few coins.”

Gavroche eyed the cane as it moved, but didn't flinch away like the other gamins usually did. He'd bit hit by those canes before, they'd been responsible for his fair share of bruises and even broken bones. But usually by younger cops, or cops with fiery tempers, or cops who got a kick out of 'whack a gamin'. Certainly not by cops who wanted something out of him (what if he ducked and they hit him over the head? Then you have a knocked out gamin, which would be useless if you wanted information).

Javert didn't hit gamins with his cane, he seemed to get far more satisfaction by grabbing them by the ears and dragging them about like puppies on a leash until he got what he wanted. No, Gavroche would sooner call Javert out on his bluff. Let the Inspector try to take a whack out of him, and see how fast Gav could really move.

But back to the business of the situation....

"Whut the heck is a Judas-tree?" Gavroche gave him an incredulous look, "Yer such a weirdo, cuckoo-face." He didn't understand the thirty pieces of silver either, the students had just started to teach the nine year old letters. And of course, the boy had never been inches near a church. He didn't really understand the function of churches, really. They were airy and too quiet, and everyone left them looking twice as miserable as when they entered.

Gav looked at his nails with an almost lofty air, "Oh please, it's a business transaction it is. Little somethin' fer you, little somethin' fer me, and 'ell if I'm gonna stick my neck out with empty pockets, if yah get my drift." The gamin waved his own hand, "Yah know 'ow this works... nuthin' out 'ere is fer free but everythin' 'as it's price. An' yah won' get anythin' out of me otherwise."

It was true, far as squealing without paying went, these lips were sealed. But maybe he could avoid the entire situation..... he saw a wee shadow on the rooftop out of the corner of his eye. One of his gamins obviously, come to his rescue should he need it. And he might need it if Javert started to get insistent.

[Javert]

dites-moi ce qui se passe
qui est mort, qui a tué
- - - - -

No, one gamin more or less did not make a difference to Javert's daily equilibrium. It didn't give him joy to see little bodies lying in the gutter, though alive they certainly meant unadulterated trouble. It barely even registered on his consciousness. If they died, they died. Would it have any impact on his own life, his work, even his day? Not likely, beyond perhaps alerting someone to the presence of the body. If it stayed there too long it could become a problem—but regardless, it would be someone else's problem. Not Javert's. All he cared about was that in the end, he got his man. Whatever it took, so long as it was squarely within the bounds of what was allowed.

Even with all his cunning, Gavroche was right. He'd always managed to evade the inspector. Not that he'd be arrested, as young as he was; but in five years, he hadn't even been caught. It was quite a feat and if it wasn't so irritating, Javert might have found the magnanimity to be impressed. But it was irritating, terribly so. And he didn't suffer much of anything gladly—fools, or rogues, or the general underbelly of society. Gavroche was no exception. "I will catch you one day. Balance of probability. Simple mathematics even you can grasp." Unfortunately he'd accepted by now it would take more than just strategy. Luck was bound to come his way eventually though.

Javert was hardly fonder than Gavroche of churches, but every Sunday he went to mass, because it was required. If he were the sort to fidget during the service, he would. The whole thing got to him. He didn't know if there was a God and he didn't care, either. But the sermons were the worst. He was able to tune most of it out, but every once in a while the occasional word would sneak in and he would scowl. The New Testament especially, full of love and forgiveness. At least the Old had sharply delineated laws even if they were Mosaic and no longer relevant.

Anyway, these few things crept past his defenses so that he knew about the Judas-tree. It wasn't too surprising the little heathen was ignorant. Motes of dust like him even when they did have parents were baptized only rarely and that was usually the extent of their education, religious or otherwise. From then on they were on their own. And most didn't see the benefit of churches. "A Judas-tree, you know, the tree the traitorous apostle hung himself from! Come now, I know you're not stupid." And coming from him it was almost a compliment. He ignored the insult; what was anybody supposed to say to being called 'cuckoo-face'? It didn't even make sense and he didn't care enough to inquire.

"What, do I look like, the national bank? The law isn't rich, boy." He didn't trust Gavroche as far as he could throw him. In point of fact, he didn't trust the gamin at all. Arms still folded, he gave the small creature a skeptical look. "Besides, you'd only take the coins and run." They might have their own code of conduct, a sort of ersatz honor, between themselves but it didn't extend to the police. Javert was not the type to strike gamins, true, but he was not the most patient of men either. His foot tapped ominously against the cobblestones as he shot Gavroche an expectant glare. "Are you itching to spend the night in a cell?" He'd never stay there, of course; if he didn't escape first, he'd be released once given a trial. But he didn't think anyone actually wanted to be the king's guest even for a night. Any advantages—warmth, a roof, free food—had their counterarguments too.

- - - - -
où je passe le crime trépasse
l’ordre est en sécurité

TAG;; Gavroche
WORDS;; 628
NOTES;; Someday I won't be horribly late with posts.
CREDIT;; à moi

[Gavroche]

"I will catch you one day. Balance of probability. Simple mathematics even you can grasp."

Gavroche barked out another peel of laughter, as if the very thought of Javert catching him was something to laugh about. “See, this is whut I love ‘bout yah, cuckoo-face…. Always makin’ yer jokes.” He told the Inspector with a smirk, obviously not taking him very seriously at all.

"A Judas-tree, you know, the tree the traitorous apostle hung himself from! Come now, I know you're not stupid."

His mother never cared enough to baptize him, she hadn’t even cared enough to give him a name. He was ‘it’ or ‘thing’, not even worthy of existence. So no, Gav didn’t know much of religion or church or why that bloke was hanging on a tree. He was about to ask if that was the same bloke hanging from the cross, but these Catholic types did get strangely offended over the littlest questions. So instead, Gavroche just rolled his eyes, “Yer such a weirdo.” He repeated.

"What, do I look like, the national bank? The law isn't rich, boy."

“Whut, can’t spare a penny for the poor?” Gavroche sighed dramatically, holding a hand to his chest, “Oh whut a world o’ greedy folk….can’ spare anythin’ fer yer fellow man.” The greedy world of pigs, feeding at the money troughs their king kept so readily filled. But ready to drive away any thin dogs that dared nip up the scraps.

Nah, the law wasn’t rich. The law was just another dog at the end of the King’s chain; they got just slightly nicer scraps than the rest of St. Michel. And they got away with biting all the other dogs. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t shell out if they wanted to. Cops bribed people all the time for information, it was just how it worked out here.

"Besides, you'd only take the coins and run."

“Would not!” Gav shot back almost childishly, face screwing up in that childish outrage that only a child could muster. He crossed his arms, and almost appeared to be pouting (except this was Gavroche, of course he wouldn’t full on pout in front of the entire bloody police force of Paris aka. Javert and his goonies).

“Sides, this is a trust exercise.” The gamin informed the Inspector with his most angelic smile (ah the joy of having puppy blue eyes and pretty blond locks, it was greater than any superpower). “You got all yer goons surroundin’ me, give me a little somethin’ fer my trouble, and we all leave happy….” One of the goons glared at Gavroche from behind Javert’s shoulder, Gav stuck his tongue out at him. See? Trust.

Trust that you’ll get a shirt-full of frogs from ole’ Gav later.

Javert tapped his foot against the cobblestone. Instead of being afraid, Gavroche merely sneered, “Oooooh, Princess Javert ah la Cuckoo-face is tappin’ his foot lads!” Gav crossed his eyes, “’E is the law and ze law ish not mocked.” He mocked in a high-pitched and high-class accent.

"Are you itching to spend the night in a cell?"

“Arrest me fer whut? Standin’ round ‘ere? Mindin’ meh own business?” Gav let out a face of outrage, spreading out his arms and looking around, “Arrested fer just takin’ the mick out o’ yah like usual. Testy testy…. Someone’s on the rag.” Gavroche shook his head sadly at Javert. Not that he knew what ‘on the rag’ meant, but blokes seemed to get pissy when people implied that.

“Welp… this conversation ‘as been facinatin’ cuckoo-face. Real treat…. But I got places to go, people to see….” Gavroche winked at the Inspector, a subtle signal for the gamins on the rooftops to make their move. And boy did they make it….

For situated above Javert, the terrible gamins of Paris that Javert despised so much, had a fisher-net clutched in their tiny hands. And at Gav’s call, they threw the dirty, fishy thing, aiming for the Inspector’s tophat and striking true. The net fell over Inspector Cuckoo-face, in the midst of many childish giggles and cheers from the roof above him.

And while his goons rushed over to help Javert, Gav rushed around them and ran through the crowd of gawkers, calling out behind him, “Guess today ain’ yer day, fish-brain!” The gamins on the rooftop dispersed as well, they knew better than to wait around for Javert to recover.

[Javert]

dites-moi ce qui se passe
qui est mort, qui a tué
- - - - -

Javert stared back at Gavroche, coolly unimpressed by the gamin's antics. "You can have your laughter for now, if you like." What did it matter? He or some other representative of the state—he would rather claim the task for himself if he could, but no man could peer into the future to see what it held—would catch him. As a young scoundrel perhaps and if not that, then as a grown rogue. Javert knew where this type of person belonged and where they inevitably ended, in a cell or on a chain. And it was certain this one would never see the inside of a church with that blank look he was giving him. No patron saint of lost causes, Javert opted to drop the matter.

Not that he would have minded the conflating of betrayer and betrayed. One was right and one was in the wrong, but Javert wasn't personally invested in it. He'd leave theology to the theologians. The doctrine foremost in his philosophy, so far as it went, was the law as maintenance of order. Appeals for Christian charity, much like the more secular cousin Gavroche was now plying, therefore fell on very deaf ears. "Whatever you may be used to from the others, you know I don't open pockets except to stick troublemakers like you in them." This of course was an oblique reference to idioms whereby criminals were 'bagged' or 'pocketed' in preparation for prison—that is to say, arrested.

The gamin's protestations of innocence were hardly worth the round bright sous that he had for eyes, at least to Javert. Others could easily be fooled by those counterfeit coins, but not him. As for trust, he was no weakling, Gavroche no giant—but the inspector didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. The boy might be up to nothing more than what he seemed to be—that was devilry enough—but he might just as well be dissembling like mad. Javert found it safer to assume the latter. He breathed heavily between his teeth. "Don't pout, now. It's unbecoming for a pretty young fellow like you. Be fair—they won't harm you, but you may be late for your next appointment, M. honest businessman."

No he didn't trust him and he wouldn't indulge him for more longer. There was too much else that still called to him today, requiring his attention. He weathered Gavroche's taunts as if they were a typhoon. With most habitual lawbreakers he had a sort of understanding—they either feared or respected him. That was good. But with the gamins, and especially this one, the arrangement was somewhat different. They were uncontrollable storms for the most part and he knew better than to try and put them in harness. There were times like this though when it became a necessity. Of course he couldn't arrest Gavroche and it was a bluff the boy knew he could call, too—Javert never seized anyone without some legitimate cause. But for a second, it was tempting.

And a second later, it was even more a temptation. Gavroche declares his intent to be on his way and the inspector prepared to grab him when he felt something strike him. A rancid fishy smell, followed by the more tangible net that bore it. In a moment of pure instinct Javert threw up his hands defensively. Too little, too late. Great paws only became tangled up in the net and after a few seconds' struggle he gave up and waited for assistance. As this was going on he directed some of the officers to pursue Gavroche. "Spread out, don't all go in the same direction like lemmings. You want to make a net to catch him in—what's got you cackling like a pack of hyenas?" he demanded, glaring at some of the younger men who were hiding their giggles behind their hands. He knew very well what had gotten into them, but he didn't tolerate mockery from his subordinates any more than he did from gamins.

With several hands, he was soon freed of the net. The smell still lingered but it couldn't be helped. Just another factor to take into account—stay downwind if possible. Calculating the several possible escape routes from the areas, Javert chose the most likely and set off at a brisk pace, not quite a run. With his long strides he had at least a chance of catching up with the little hellion. And then he would not take any argument. He still needed a witness. The gamin had caused a commotion during which any others could have lost themselves, so he would have to serve instead.

- - - - -
où je passe le crime trépasse
l’ordre est en sécurité

TAG;; Gavroche
WORDS;; 771
NOTES;; He totally asked for it.
CREDIT;; à moi

[Gavroche]

"Whatever you may be used to from the others, you know I don't open pockets except to stick troublemakers like you in them."

Gavroche’s face morphed into a wicked little smirk, “Yah stick little boys in pockets? Better wotch it, Inspector. Pedophilia is frowned upon.” The boy shook his head almost sadly at the Inspector, “Yah nasty bas’tard.”

Not exactly what Javert probably meant, but he walked right into that joke to be fair. Making nasty comments about sticking little boys in pockets and someone was going to quip a joke. Since everyone was afraid of Javert except for Gavroche, it would have to be Gav. Was a right burden sometimes. Sometimes he didn’t know how he had it in him every day. But he found a way… if only the joy of seeing cuckooface squawk.

“But if that’s ‘ow yah want to play it, I guess I just don’ know anythin’.” Gavroche eyed his nails in an almost indifferent way. “Don’ remember whut I was doin’ this mornin’. Maybe I was sleepin’…. Maybe I was in Sain’ Michel…. A bit a coin might ‘elp meh memory.” Maybe he was pushing it a little bit with the ole Inspector, but if the cop wanted answers he ought to start giving more for people’s troubles.

"Don't pout, now. It's unbecoming for a pretty young fellow like you. Be fair—they won't harm you, but you may be late for your next appointment, M. honest businessman."

“Aw, yah think I’m pretty, Princess-Inspector?” Gav grinned, “Don’ really ‘elp with the pedofile argument, eh Cuckooface?” Gavroche knew there were sick perverts on the streets. He’d seen kids his age and even younger being sold from one sicko to the next under cops noses (some of those cops had their senses dulled with coin, if you get his drift). He didn’t think Javert was with their lot, but it was fun to pull his leg about it.

“Oh they won’ ‘arm me in front of you.” Gavroche jerked his chin toward the cop he had bitten earlier, the man was still giving Gav the evil eye, “This one at least is plottin’ to give me a smack the moment yer back is turned.” Police did more than they should when their superiors weren’t looking. No one dared to say anything differently, cause it was the gospel truth.

In the end though, he didn’t need to take any money from Javert for there to be an accurate distraction. His boys (and girls) all played their part perfectly. He’d be sure to know who helped with throwing the net over the Inspector before the day was out. Give them all a nice little reward, maybe nick some sweets for them from the shop round the corner.

But lets make sure they didn’t throw that net in vain. They were gone off the roof, and so was he. Running first through a back alley, onto the busy market street of the Latin District.

Gavroche moved around grownups like a fox moved around trees. Most of them didn’t even notice his presence he moved about them so fast. Some knew better than to stay in his path, cause they noticed one of Javert’s goons barreling down on him.

It was the same goon he had bitten before, and he went after Gavroche like a bat out of hell. He was almost ontop of the gamin, reaching his big grubby hands for the back of Gav’s shirt…

When the gamin reached over and knocked crates of chickens down on the officer’s head. He let out a yell and a loud curse as clucking chickens and their hard crates made him stop.

Gavroche let out a cackle, ducking around some shrieking girl’s skirts and running through an open-air café. He nabbed a pastry off of some oblivious man’s plate, ducking under a table and out the other side.

Child’s play, this was. He stopped right before going around the block, turning around to catch sight of cuckoo face. He stuck his tongue out at him mockingly, before resuming running…..

…. Right into Montparnasse.

Monte grinned as Gavroche’s eyes widened, grabbing the gamin by the lapels of his jacket and lifting him, holding him up against the alley wall. ”Ello Gavroche.” He cooed at him mockingly.

“Piss off!” Gavroche snarled, spitting at the dandy’s face, only to have Montparnasse wip it away idly with his pinky finger.

”That wasn’t very nice…. Here I just wanted to talk to you….”