Apologies for the delay (if there was any)…apparently the teachers of my school aren't happy of the fact they're already breaking child labor laws and want to pile us with more homework. Just a rushed little chapter. Enjoy.
…when he saw her.
She was like a vision that had fallen to into his mind when he was sleeping. Surely, he thought, there could be no prettier than the wonderful angel in silk that has fallen before my unworthy eyes.
A smile passed his wrinkly face, making him seem like he wasn't so hard and so…old. Yes, he seemed like he was only twenty-some old now, now that he had a warm smile of lust and delight plastered over his face. He looked very handsome now and a group of grisettes who were walking back from work looked at him, giggling about sweet nothings and handsome 'older' men.
But that didn't matter to our dear member of the French police force, all he wanted to do was find out what the name of the lovely lady was. So, with his face burning like brand he walked up to the lady (who was being ushered away by a rather harried-looking Enjolras) and said, "My dear lady, I find you rather dashing and lovely, will you please tell me your name?"
The wonderful lady's soot black lashes fluttered for a moment as she cooled herself with the silk fan she had her hands. "My name is Shanaelle Clairvaux," she said in her half-whispering voice. The man holding her hand grunted.
The man. Javert's face fell as he saw the angelically handsome man holding Shanaelle's hand. It felt like the whole world was crashing onto him, chunk after chunk, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He sighed wearily, his years coming back to him.
But wait…maybe he could seduce the girl into his arms. Of course! He had his share of mistresses in his day and he could inveigle the girl into his arms; that way she would forget about what that sappy little blonde man-child ever did to her. How perfect his plan was…that is, if the man-child weren't so perfectly handsome.
Still, the show must go on!
"Ah, Mademoiselle Clairvaux," he began breezily, remembering the times he, as a young boy, would go and play with the ladies. "Surely you prefer the company of someone with the title of an inspector than a university student." He shot a quick glare at the handsome man, who was white all over and positively fuming.
The lovely lady's eyes changed from a wonderful blue-green to an enchanting, seductive green-blue as she glanced wistfully at the blonde man. "Enjolras..." she whispered, placing a finger on the boy's pale cheek.
Enjolras, Enjolras. Javert's eyes narrowed as the surname went through his head. Probably a university student who was trying to change the world with flowery prose and a lovely speech. Well, at least this older and more sensible man had the advantage when it came to logic.
"Now listen here, Inspector," the handsome man 'Enjolras' snarled, showing his perfect teeth. "She's my mistress and as a follower of the so-called French law I expect you to—"
"Monsieur, I have every right to arrest you for speaking poorly to a member of the police force," Javert warned, a strange tone in his usually stern voice. It must have been—it must have been pure, absolute love! Pure love! The thing poets mourned about in their work, the thing centuries of artists attempted to capture and failed. Yes, the goddess of love herself had just placed a kiss on Javert's face and mercilessly left her yearning for more. Ah, how—
Smack! Something hit him hard in the face! The poor police man was dazed for a moment as the pain spread through his whole head, numbing him and stealing his senses. Through his double-vision gaze he saw a flash of golden hair standing in front of him, with a glare that scared him even through his throes of pain.
"How dare you!" Javert hissed through his teeth and, with the nightstick he carried always carried around, smacked Enjolras blindly. There was a cry of pain and a silent string of curses before the man doubled the attack.
The fight had begun.
Jehan Prouvaire walked down the streets of Paris with a notebook in hand in hopes of meeting with Feuilly and sharing a few of his sacred sonnets with him. Feuilly was the only person, aside from Combeferre, who could really appreciate the little things in life. Indeed, they were different; Jehan was from a wealthy family whilst the other was from almost nothing at all. Yet, they both held a career that required the love of art and all things delicate.
"'My love for you is as radiant as Helios'—no, that would never work. Combeferre tells me I make too many references to the Greek gods…" thus he rambled, talking to himself, oblivious of what was around him. The few people who passed by him gave him strange looks, muttering about Bohemians and dreamy university students. Jehan was oblivious of that too.
But, despite all that, he heard the war cries to two men in the corner of one of the deserted streets. "Oh dear," he muttered, tucking his notebook away and rushing to the source of all the noise. There, to his surprise, he saw Enjolras on the ground and wrestling. Next to them, in all her glory, was the lovely woman that Enjolras had brought in just the other day.
"Mademoiselle," he began, feeling his face turn from pale to a beet red. "Are you alright? What's happening?" He had completely forgotten about his dear friend Enjolras in the presence of this lady.
"Oh it was just awful! They just began fight and…the blood!" She sighed dramatically, swooning into Jehan's arms.
Jehan wasn't the strongest person in the world and almost dropped the girl when she fell into his arms. "Ah… Your skin is as soft as rose petals," he muttered, his face only a few inches from hers.
She smiled bashfully, her wonderful eyes once again changing colours. "Merci beaucoup," she whispered.
"Come with me the Café Musain?" he asked, completely forgetting his visit Feuilly. Perhaps she could be someone who would appreciate his poetry…
Well? Whaddya think? Please review!