You Get Accustomed to the Smell
By Mizamour
Note: this is a short misfic from Thenardier's pov (the musical version)... I know this is very, very AU, and probably very out of character. But please bear with me...don't flame. This is my interpretation of what he might be like if things were a bit different.
"Here among the sewer rats/A breath away from hell/You get accustomed to the smell"
-Les Miserables, "Dog Eats Dog"
The noise in the street seemed like a whirlwind that didn't know which way to spin. Chaos roared dully, the whine of a crowd that has seen excitement too many times and too few. The people, lost in their own doings, running every way but staying within a certain boundary. No one would venture to the shadows without a crowd beside them. The square was clamouring to itself.
And that was just the way he liked it.
Monsieur Thenardier, master of the house - and of the city. A smile twisted his features as he backed into a corner. The missus would wonder where he was. Well, let her wonder. He had enough wondering to do himself. Really, did the people really think he was so incompetent as to just be the inn's token con, swindling but laughable, not to be taken seriously as long as you handed over your wallet? Right. He wasn't here because the business at the inn was bad – no, not that. If customers got a bit short, there'd always be the option of raising prices, adding extra fees – some frequents used to joke that he added three percent to the bill just for sleeping with the windows shut. He let that go - it helped business. Customers like a little life in the place. And there was never a shortage of that for them. But Thenardier – he wanted something more. Yes, the place was fine, always something going on – but it lacked the chase, the sly feeling of evasion and capture that he had to have. The thrill of the hunt. That's why Javert never arrested him, Thenardier thought, even with all his rules, and laws, and procedural ramblings. All in all, they both were trying for the same thing, Javert and Thenardier. Except Javert hadn't killed… yet. But he wouldn't think it strange that Thenardier had. It's a world where "the dogs eat the dogs," all under the glare of the stars and the mocking pale orb. Might as well take advantage. That one out there, blood running out into the cracks of the stone – he was a mouse, not even a dog. With all his muscle and size, he wouldn't seem an easy target, but he wasn't hard to get, that one. Just had to go for the heart, which in most cases is the same thing as the wallet. Either way, Thenardier had surprised him, and taken the wallet, leaving a dark oozing hole. He'd left the heart in the road. Thenardier ducked into the alley, close to the door. He could hear the sharp sounds buzzing inside, seeping out with the yellowish beam shining out under the door. He smiled with the corner of his mouth, and took off his bloody apron. Put it in the butcher-pile, no one's the wiser. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to the dark, glittering yellow in the low light.
Pardon me, M'sieur, you won't be needing this no more.