Brujon grumbled as quietly as he could as he pried open the back window of the selected house. He didn't want to do another job today, no matter what that little yellow Thenardier said. "It'll be easy, Brujon. Just a one-man job, Brujon, and plentya scratch." A one-man job with Thenardier getting half, but Thenardier's explanation that he'd done the scouting had been enough to confuse the bigger man, although now he thought it sounded not quite right. Brujon shrugged and squeezed his huge frame through the window, then warily crouched in the darkened kitchen. He then worked his way as silently as he could towards the bedroom where Thenardier had claimed there were jewels and other pretties to be had.
Brujon peered into the bedroom. "It'll be easy, Brujon, just a one-man job, Brujon." Right. There was a woman in there, asleep in her bed. Brujon took a step backward to retreat, but managed to catch his sack on a vase on a small table, which of course fell and shattered on the floor. Very loudly. The woman sat up, her shining brown hair prettily haloed from sleep. She let out a muffled shriek. "Who's there?" Brujon tried to flee, but the sweet, warm tones of her voice halted him.
Then, suddenly, she stood before him, slender and fragile in her long white nightdress, the top of her head barely coming to the middle of his chest. Her large, liquid hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and fire, while her bewitchingly disheveled hair spilled down her back in luxurious tresses. Brujon scratched his head in confusion at these words coming into his brain to describe her, as he didn't know what half of them meant.
"I..." he said, extremely befuddled.
"You're a robber, aren't you?" she said, throwing back her head with a wild and restless gesture. Her lips were full and red, he noted. "But I'm not afraid of you. You won't harm me, will you?"
"N-No, ma'am," stuttered Brujon, stunned by the woman's boldness and by her unconventional beauty. Not that he was the swiftest to reply in the best of situations, but he'd never seen a proper lady in her nightgown before. He averted his eyes.
"Look at me. You may call me Blanchefleur. Now please tell me, what has led you on this misguided path?"
"Well..." Brujon said slowly. He did most everything slowly.
Meanwhile...
Javert contentedly took a bit of snuff, and stared about him at the orderly street. People going about their business, their proper, goodly business. If only he'd been able to round up that annoying Patron-Minette, all would be right with the world, at least for this night. Oh well, it was a quest for another day. He let out a sigh, the sigh of a wolf at wary rest.
His pale keen eyes, ever searching, still scanned the streets.
But what was this? A muffled shriek? Javert eyed the houses on the corner, his nostrils flaring and his sideburns bristling. With the uncanny precision of a hunting dog, he focused on one certain house. Loping around to the back, he noted the marks of a forced entry. Lithely he slipped through the window, and headed towards the muffled sound of voices.
"The police!" he cried. "Halt!"
This seemed rather unnecessary as what greeted his eyes in the feminine bedroom was one very unconventionally beautiful, small woman sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing a large, brutish but somewhat handsome-looking man. The man had a skimpy vest stretched across his ample chest and back, a rope carelessly looping his shoulders and torso.
"Oh, Inspector! I am so sorry you were troubled. Thank you for your diligence, but there's no crime here." Javert stood, bull-like, in the doorway. There had to be a crime here, there did, beyond the indecency of a higher-class lady consorting with the likes of... as he thought this, the slow-witted rogue turned to face him fully.
"92783!" he cried, in surprise, anger, and perhaps a hint of shame. Brujon's forehead creased.
"Wot? You!"
The two men stared at each other in horror. "What is this?" asked the bewitching little figure on the bed. "Are you two acquainted?"
"You could say that," chuckled Brujon roughly. "If the likes of prison deals between guards and prisoners can be called 'acquainted.'" Javert showed no outward sign of distress other than a slight flush and a quick twitch of his collar.
"If there is no crime here, I should be going. Please pardon the intrusion," he said briskly, and began to march out.
"No!" came the soft yet compelling tones of the small female with the wealth of rich brown hair, shining with bewitching copper highlights. "Surely we can all part as... friends?" she said, perhaps archly. And so it was that a bemused Javert found himself being tugged unresisting towards a large bed. "Sit! I am Blanchefleur, so now that we all know each other, wouldn't you be more comfortable without your hat?" asked the young lady. Javert quickly snatched it off his head.
"I apologize. I should have removed it upon entering your house," he said.
"No offense has been committed," she said with a light and pleasant laugh. "Perhaps you could tell us about your day. We'd be fascinated. And set aside your baton, although perhaps we might want it later." Javert half stood up, confused and disturbed by this last, but the woman put a light hand on his arm and smiled fetchingly. He knew it was a bad idea, that the whole situation was ludicrous, but somehow Javert found himself detailing his day with military precision. The woman stared at him with wide, curious eyes.
He was warming to his story of locking up some particularly persistent thieves, when his glance happened to shift and he noticed that Brujon was now sprawled to his right on the bed, his vest and rope no longer on his person. Javert's tale trailed off as he stared at the all too familiar muscular chest beside him.
"Yes?" asked Blanchefleur.
"I, uh, had best be back to my... shift..." said Javert, trailing off as he turned and realized that the girl had now removed her gown.
"But why not stay and play with us, Inspector," she asked. "After all, you have oh so many buttons to undo. It would be a shame to leave you to undo them all yourself." Javert shivered as her tiny hands slid over his chest and began teasing the militaristic row of buttons on the front of his uniform.
"I really should..." he began, but was halted by a large, firm hand that stroked his sideburns and turned his face to meet an all-too-familiar mouth. This was madness! This was insane! And then all thought fled as the woman's flowing tresses tickled his partially bare chest and one huge, rough hand began undoing his trousers. The woman's small, delicate hands carefully untied his hair from its queue and she chuckled in lusty appreciation.
"Your hair is so stunning, Inspector. Who would have known? And you are so stunning, Inspector, under all these buttons and layers." Javert groaned as the woman pressed her small but well-formed body against his front, while to his back he could feel the familiar weight of 92783. "How nice of you to dress as such a present to be unwrapped!"
All resistance vanished into many pairs of hands, legs and other parts entwined. Javert cried out, almost hoping it would stop, this assault on all his senses, but there was no mercy. It seemed to never end, but there was a slight pause when all were temporarily sated. Then, apparently ready for something slightly different, the tiny, beautiful woman switched places so as to be between the two men. Brujon, for once not slow, took her in his arms, one long leg stretching over to include Javert. Javert stroked the woman's flank, then pressed hard against her back. She cried out as the two men concentrated almost solely on her, yet seemingly all gained some new energy from the new scenario.
Suddenly, Javert realized that the only hands caressing him were two large and hardened ones, and the only legs moving against his were brawny and hairy ones. He stroked the lustrous hair of the woman beside him. "Blanchefleur?" he asked. Brujon, ever slow, furrowed his brow.
"Blanchefleur?" queried Brujon.
The small form was still between them.
"What do we do?" asked Brujon, too dumb to be panicked but worried all the same.
"Sit up. Move back. Give her room!" commanded Javert, his air of rigid authority marred slightly by his nakedness. He gently turned the beautiful face towards him, and noted with horror that Blanchefleur was not breathing.
"What do we do?" asked Brujon, again.
"Nothing," said Javert, after a long pause. "It seems we have already done it. This woman was clearly an evil temptress. She lured us into her web, not thinking that our relative size would prove her downfall, and now she's dead." As he spoke, the Inspector pulled on his trousers, then his shirt.
"She's... dead?" asked Brujon.
"Yes," said Javert, remembering just why he had spent so little time in the company of 92783 other than what was physically necessary.
"But..." Brujon paused, staring at the pale and beautiful body on the bed. "What about...?"
"What about what?" said Javert, fiercely, briskly tying his hair back. "There is nothing more to discuss. Crawl back to whatever you call home, speak of this to no one, and I will forget we both were ever here." Brujon stared at him in bewilderment. "No one would ever believe you anyway, assuming you could get the words out coherently."
"But..." said Brujon again, stubbornly.
"Go!" said Javert, throwing the rope and vest at Brujon. Brujon scuttled out of the room, skip-hopping into his clothes as he went. He spared one quick look behind him, a look that revealed the Inspector gently holding a lock of the chestnut-hued hair and kissing it as he closed the vivid hazel eyes that would never again sparkle with jest. Brujon had no idea what half the words that he had just thought meant, for the second time this night. He shook his head, slipped out the window, and tried to think of just what he'd tell Thenardier.