OOM: Javert Day Three

[vojvode]

[ Cont'd from here. ]

He returns from the hunt, his hunger sated, but his mind restless.

The man haunts him, with his stern mouth and his searching gaze.  He lets himself imagine all the impossible moments, trying to let them fall away into darkness, to let them die like the flames when all the fuel is spent.  

He paces when he's restless, and he finds himself back in the sanctuary.  Alexandreina frets in her sleep, and he kisses her icy lips.  Mirella is still, and cold, and beautiful.  He remembers how easily he could make her laugh, before the hunger stole her mind.  Tsura reaches for him, her dark eyes opening and her voice a hungry moan.  A wave of desire hits him, and he pushes it away, willing her back down into sleep.

That is what he did to Javert.  He had good intentions, but the man refused all his advances.  And he pushed, and pushed, until all the armor was stripped away, and he made the man wail with ecstasy.

It was easier to live with dispensing pain, he thinks, eyeing the earth-filled coffin.   

In his head, he tries to imagine what the world would look like, if she had never been taken from him.  How many lives would have been spared?  How many souls?

He cannot sleep, not while this last day remains, and so he paces.  Listening for the man to stir above, and sending Abel to tend to him.

He releases all veils from Javert's mind, but the connection in the blood, that will only fade with time.

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[never_shall_yield]

He freezes at the first sound of the voice. And then his mouth twists into a hard line, and he rolls - first to his back, and then to sitting.

'Even you would not have time.'

It was a notion, but he will not risk it.

'And if you come near me again, I will slit your throat.'

[vojvode]

'It would be,' what was the word he had used? 'Fruitless.'

[never_shall_yield]

'Oh? There is nothing that will kill you?'

He sneers, but cannot deny there is a desperation he is not proud of. He has always refused to act violently, because he had the law as a righteous shield. But here, now, there is little he would like more than to take up that broken sword, and use it on this creature.

[vojvode]

He does not fear Javert. He is but a mortal man, weak and slow.  His brides would make quick work of him.

But this rage... He does not turn away from it, as much as he might want to.

'When the time comes, I will tell you such secrets.'

As if the man hadn't already struck a blow to his heart.

'Have you ever killed a man?'

[never_shall_yield]

He raises his chin defiantly.

'I have never struck a man with more force than necessary.'

And he will not be made to feel weak for not being a murderer.

[vojvode]

'That is no answer.'

[never_shall_yield]

'You would try and belittle me for not killing people?'

He snorts, beyond fear of this creature now, and unable to care how stupid that is.

[vojvode]

The Prince's voice is level and calm.

'I would do no such thing. In fact, if it were true, I would be envious.'

If it were true. He can't imagine a world where a man could reach the age Javert is and not have taken a life.

'May I come in?'

[never_shall_yield]

He stares.

'...you do realise, monsieur, that the mockery of your asking is almost worse than simply doing as you please?'

He cannot be unaware of it.

[vojvode]

He tires of this game.

'If you will allow me, I will not abandon courtesy again. If you would have me go, I will.'

A pause.

'But you gave your word, to spend three days with me.'

His head tips back and rests against the cool stone, remembering.

'I have one more day.'

[never_shall_yield]

'I have not forgotten.'

He does not move his gaze from him.

'Fine then, let us not abandon courtesy. Please, do, come in to your own room, in your own castle, to do whatever you will to your prisoner.'

His left hand, clear to be seen from the door, twists into the sheet as he says this, but his face betrays no other emotion than contempt.

[vojvode]

There is a low chuckle at that.

He had half decided that there would be no torments visited upon his guest this day. But his belligerence is almost an invitation. It's as if the man is trying to goad him into...

No, he won't even give that thought the air it needs to breathe.

He draws himself up to his full height, and enters the room, the long red silks trailing the floor behind him. He focuses on keeping his gait human, bonded to the stone and the air and the rage coming off Javert in waves.

For a long moment, he simply looks upon the man. Remembering.

[never_shall_yield]

He is still without a shirt. And uncomfortably aware of what he needs to wash off his skin. But he bears the scrutiny, because he is finished with trying to understand what is wanted. The man does as he pleases no matter what, so it is better to fight while he can. It will stop him dwelling on their last encounter, at least until he is free of this.

'Well?'

[vojvode]

Vlad tears his gaze away, and makes a feeble attempt to remember his manners. He takes a turn around the table, half fills a glass with wine, and the rest, water.

'Why did you never take a wife?'

[never_shall_yield]

His mind is halted in its anger, and he blinks at the man's back.


'...because I had a purpose, and it was not marriage, or procreation.'

He does not know how to make friends, let alone court a woman.

'I am not suitable material for it.'

[vojvode]

There is a quiet laugh.

'You have two eyes, two hands, two legs. Your back is strong, and your breath is not foul. You make a decent wage.'

As anyone with a titled position should.

'Many a man has married for the convenience of a wife, not the purpose of children.  Someone to keep your household and share your meals with.'

A man without a wife, even those who prefer the company of men, is a strange thing to him.

[never_shall_yield]

'But it would not be a convenience. It would be the opposite. I do not enjoy mindless conversation that serves no purpose.'

This is true, though not the whole truth. He scratches his shoulder idly, and averts his eyes from the perfect circles of the puncture wounds. They look larger on his wrist than those on the neck.

'I am not part of society. Marrying would be a pretence at something that is not for men like me.'

[vojvode]

Vlad scoffs, and carries the watered wine to him, setting it on the floor beside the bed and turning away, keeping his gaze carefully averted.

'Men like you? If men like you didn't marry, there wouldn't be men like you. You are the very footings upon which society is built.'

[never_shall_yield]

He scowls at it, but picks it up nonetheless. He is weak again, and wine is good for the blood.

'You do not understand. And I do not have to explain, or justify anything to you.'

[vojvode]

'No, you do not. I just find it curious.'

He retreats to the other side of the room, pacing slowly along the stone.

'A man such as you would make a good husband.'

[never_shall_yield]

'No. You are wrong.'

Of that, he is sure.

'Further, you insult me by saying men like me, as if the only purpose of non-titled beings is to marry, and produce offspring. Well, maybe it is true of others. But not me. I have controlled myself, as most others do not. I will not produce children to live outside of society as I do; it would not be just to condemn someone that way. And men like me are the very creatures who should refrain from indulging baser instincts. The last thing society needs is more mouths that cannot be filled.'

Besides, women irritate him.

[vojvode]

The last sentiment is as clear as if it had been spoken aloud, and it is close thing that keeps him from laughing. Instead, his lips thin and he makes a concerted effort to frown.

'Men like you are the salt of the earth. Without you and men like you, this society you speak of, the one you are outside of, looking in, this society -- would crumble to dust. For want of a nail, a kingdom was lost.'

His hand turns the cup back and forth, and there is something distant in his expression.

'It would be a great loss, if you had no sons.'

[never_shall_yield]

'I am not a peasant,' he mutters.

'I am not one of the masses. And what use have I of sons? I have no land that needs working, no business to leave behind for them to run. I was a policeman, I am finished with it, it is the end. I consider it very lucky I have no sons to leave in hunger.'

[vojvode]

Vlad hums quietly, one finger laid across his lips.

'Stolen from your clan. Burdened with no heirs. Married to the law.'

He'd had men in his service of similar inclination, but they had their reasons. And the Janissaries. Radu. Just the memory makes his hand clench on the back of the chair. He exhales, dispelling the shadows of memory, bringing his focus back to the man before him.

He turns the chair, still across the room, so that he can sit and face the fire, but still watch Javert from the corner of his eye. He needs to let the man dress, eat, regain his dignity, but he only has one day left to him. And the sense of urgency is pressing. Time is not something he is used to being at odds with. This whole situation is rife with constraints he is not used to bearing, but he will bear them.

'How did you come to serve?'

[never_shall_yield]

'The police?'

He rubs a hand over his face. The only time he has spoken to someone while still in bed is when he has been in hospital. It is wildly inappropriate. But he cannot get up, in case there is...evidence.

'Why are you asking? Why are you interested? Is this some attempt to right what you have done?'