Chapter 2: First Stage.
I forgot to put this up for the last chapter, so here goes: I do not own, and never will own, Les Miserables.
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The dream has changed somewhat--instead of being locked in an underground cell, I am in the middle of a huge field; vision is minimal due to the driving snow and biting wind. I am still a child, shuddering and stumbling in an aimless pattern. I still have control over my limbs, but it won't be long before the uncontrollable shivering begins; then I will not be able to keep moving and death will be inevitable.
The tears of frustration and helpless fear that well up hot in my eyes turn to ice on my lashes and face; without looking I can tell that my face is white with frostbite. The panic within my chest produces terrified screams for help, but the wind catches the sound and throws it back in my face. The shivering begins, throwing me to the frozen ground…
An odd twitching in my legs. Somehow the movement seems familiar--I struggle to work through my numb brain for a memory that might connect a name for the sensation. Then a sprouting sensation. Within moments I am a young centaur; I try to wrap my fingers in the hair upon my head but encounter what feels like stiff ears. They flick back and forth with a life of their own.
The transformation had not changed my situation in the least--I am still a shivering wreck in the middle of a snow-driven plain--but I can struggle to my feet and regain a bit of control, enough to set off in another attempt to find somebody, anybody, who can help me. But the icy wind whips up again in its determination to freeze and kill…
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Once again Javert was awoken from the nightmare to violent shuddering and fitful mutters. He ground his teeth in annoyance, effectively stopping the shivering, and opened his eyes. The faintest grey light came from the window: too early to get up without an excuse, and yet too late to go back to sleep. Javert reached for the blankets and burrowed under them in an attempt to recapture a bit of warmth, but they proved to be chilled. After a moment's deliberation he reluctantly eased to a standing position and dressed.
Upon pulling his shirt over his head Javert began to notice something a little on the odd side. The shirt's neck seemed to catch on something on his head--something that felt like his ears. But he didn't recall ever having that problem before. He absentmindedly scratched an ear--and nearly fell to the floor in astonishment. What met his fingers were hairy, stiff, and at least six inches in length. And they were firmly attached to the sides of his head.
Being a logical, methodical sort of person, Javert did the first thing that came to mind: he scrambled like an idiot over to the tiny shaving mirror in the corner. Since the mirror was only about five inches across, and the lighting happened to be quite dim, he got very small, clipped, faint views of the ears. However, after he lit a candle it was enough to tell that they were most definitely horse ears, covered with glossy black hair, and currently twitching back and forth in consternation. He didn't know exactly how he did it--they just moved without thought.
Once the initial panic died down, Javert sat down in the only chair in the apartment and tried to work out logically the reason that he would wake up with horse ears. None came to mind. As he calmed down it occurred to him that he was to be at work in an hour. All right, he could deal with that. But first, to do something with these ears…
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More than one person stared (and then yanked their stare away in ill attempts at disinterest) as Javert entered the police station. His top hat was pulled down farther than usual over his ears, and he declined to take it off as was his usual wont. Sergeant Reginald Prideux almost made the mistake of approaching the inspector with another of his prepared remarks, but a glance at the glaring face quickly changed his mind (and probably saved his neck as well). Instead, Prideux sidled off to the side and tried to watch without appearing to do so, shuffling some papers and pouring a cup of coffee.
Prideux's interest in his superior may have seemed odd, considering all he did was bother the man, but being from a large family he liked bantering. Javert was a tempting target because of his seemingly impenetrable stoicism; Prideux counted it a minor miracle if he got Javert riled past expressions of long-suffering. But Prideux was also the sort of person who liked nearly everyone he crossed paths with, despite the extensive teasing he poured on said person. Thus, it was natural that he became concerned (read: nosy) over other people's problems, real or otherwise.
As Javert stormed his way through the office Prideux followed a few feet away. He dropped papers off at various desks (ignoring the confused/irritated glances shot his way), paused occasionally to "read" the papers he held, and kept Javert in his sights the entire time. Javert seemed oblivious to Prideux's existence and stopped in front of the officer on duty.
"Inspector Javert reporting in I'm going out on patrol," Javert speedily informed the startled officer, touched the brim of his top hat, and spun around to nearly run into Prideux. The younger man flinched under the smouldering gaze, scattering a handful of papers on the floor in the process.
"What. Are. You. Doing." The words clipped off individually, making each one sound like its own sentence. Prideux made a brave attempt to appear nonchalant, but with Javert snarling in his face the attempt was a poor one. He muttered something about the papers and took a large gulp of the coffee in his hand, realizing too late that the liquid was scalding and nearly took the skin off of his tongue. Before he could choke it down he spat the coffee all over Javert's greatcoat.
Both gaped at the mess; since there was a very good chance that his very survival was at stake Prideux did the smartest thing possible: he fled.
"Sorryberightbackbye!!" Prideux shot across the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Expecting to feel Javert's huge hands on his neck at any moment added a lovely speed to his sprinting, and within four seconds flat Prideux flew out the back door of the Prefecture.
I can't believe it--I'm alive! Prideux took a moment to calm his racing heart; wheezing in the cold air was like a shock to the system, and he noticed that he was still clutching the mug of coffee. After a few moments he decided that it was safe to go back inside. Even after reassuring himself of the undoubted safety within he still crept back cautiously, opening the door to the inner room by inches and peeping around it to scout out for any danger before entering. No sign of Javert (which was good). On the other hand, everyone was snickering at him. Not good.
"That was a nice one, Prideux," the nearest officer sniggered. Prideux shot a death glare into the room, doing little to dispel the general air of hilarity.
"Yes, well, the Inspector's been needing something crazy to happen to him lately," Prideux snapped, after checking the room to make sure no superiors were lurking around. He slammed the door and set his coffee down on the nearest desk, hard enough to splash onto some nearby paperwork (he noted with satisfaction that it happened to belong to the officer who mocked him). He ignored the man's spluttered protests and slid theatrically towards his desk. "I'm going on patrol, adieu," he called and slipped out the outside door before a general protest could be brought up at his departure.