Maybe some details were not quite according to the plan, but generally it was working. Despite those details. She had not planned a row with Carlisle, for example. But, on new moon, she just could not stand when someone was borrowing her cosmetics without asking first. Especially if it concerned her lipstick and even more especially when it concerned Carlisle. Usually she get on well with her cousin, more less on a level of infinite armistice, but at times Carlisle Cullen could really get on her nerves. Unlike her other cousin, Vlad, Carlisle was a contradiction of everything a vampire was supposed to be. Unfortunately centuries before, Vlad's grandmother's cousin had gone to war, and then on a journey, and it was then he had met the half-sister of... a woman of Cullen blood, anyway. And it was an old tradition that vampire clans did stick together.
It took her a while to register Javert was talking to her. She blinked.
"Yes?"
"Name," Javert barked out. Clearly he was in a foul mood.
"Fleur Dumal," she answered immediately.
"Very amusing. Real name. I don't care how your clients do call you."
"Oh, that was very impolite of you, Monsieur."
"N a m e."
"Dumal."
"Real name!"
She sighed theatrically.
"Amália Bianca Brândusa Cătălina Franciska Gabriela Ibolya Ilinca Krisztina Lenuta Marica Miruna Sorina Tereza Viorica Zsuzsanna Arany Cullen Dalca Dumal Horváth Nemes Szarka Väduva Vasilescu Vörös."
The inspector looked as if all his life functions, from breathing up to thinking, stopped for a while.
"You asked for it." She shrugged.
"You're delusional."
"You want me to repeat?"
Inspector Javert grimaced.
"Any shorter form?"
"Marica Zsu-... I mean, Marie Suzette. Dumal."
For a while there was only the sound of pen scratching the paper.
"For how long am I supposed to stand like this?"
Javert put the pen away and looked up.
"Just a moment longer and you'll sit in your cell. I believe you can endure."
"Can't we negotiate?"
"Negotiate?"
"Well, you know, Monsieur..." She smiled seductively. The she pretended to take in a deep breath; for some reasons it always worked with men.
"No, I don't." The inspector face was inscrutable.
"If you would not close me up in a cell, we could go someplace private and..." She faked another inhale of breath. "And negotiate."
Javert stood up, then took her by arm roughly.
"I have a proposal. I close you up in a cell first. The we can talk. I've never noticed bars can disrupt conversation."
…
Javert was closing the door to the cell.
"Just half the usual price for the, err, guardian of the law," the woman offered, smiling coquettishly. She had no idea why, but she had heard once sales were always supposed to work.
Not this time. Javert just raised an eyebrow and continued closing the door. He did not seem interested.
"Believe me, inspector, I am an expert when it comes to human emotions." That, at least, was true. Smell, for example, could tell whole tales about a man. Javert's scent was actually saying the inspector was bored, mildly irritated and not the least interested. "Besides, you know what people say about that silent, upright ones..." She winked at Javert.
The inspector reached for his hat and turned towards the door, without a word.
"Where are you going? Monsieur l'Inspecteur!"
Javert halted in the doorway, half-turned his head and smiled with satisfaction.
"On my watch. Bonne nuit."
"Merde," she uttered under her breath, when inspector Javert departed. She was beginning to regret she had offered to help her cousin. This time, the bloody mission was impossible.