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[alchemistake]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, VARIAN. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 018.07.154.55 *** CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS has joined 018.07.154.55 <thealchemist>This thing is SO COOL okay- hey, hi, Varian here! If you're seeing this then you've reached my channel for messages. Leave me one if you need something!

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[inseine]

[It's true, Javert has no warrant, nor does he have any method of obtaining one. There is no authority for disseminating and approving warrants to Monsters; only he, himself, has the authority to investigate and condemn as he judges to be right. And it is a task which Javert is known to take very, very seriously. He has the witnesses, but ideally, he needs something a little less circumstantial to carry out the sentence.

A confession, for instance. Or some scraps of machinery plans. Once Varian is safely in his custody at La Forteresse, a raid of his rooms at Solsikke will come next.

Javert icily bends his head in a nod, Varian's assent serving well enough as an invitation to allow him passage. He sweeps inside and does a languid, deliberate round about the front room, a wolf prowling his territory. He goes ahead and starts to flick through scattered papers with gloved hands, probing scrap parts with his cane, and the like. It does not surprise him that he cannot spot any direct link to the truth serum machine ruins around the city, but the style and mechanisms he can spy... all of this is vaguely familiar to his unpracticed eye.

He begins a deceptively light tone of questioning while he searches.]

Tell me your latest contracts from the past month. What were they? With whom?

[alchemistake]

[There isn't much Varian can do about the similarities in his work. It's just something he'll have to deal with as it's brought up, if it is at all. For now, he's being probed for what he's been doing lately, which...okay, fair. He's been doing a lot more than working with the mafia, at least.

His wings tuck against his back as he starts to list off a few of his known projects.]

I'm working on a few projects for Kokichi Oma, mainly devices he wants to use for prank pulling purposes. Ash Williams has commissioned me to construct him a new mechanical hand. I'm also working on improvements to Jiro Kyouka's Simulacrum body. Any one of the initial coversations for these contracts can be re-read on my most recent posts on the Network.

[He has nothing to hide, is what his words say. Javert can even find some specific blueprints given to him by Kokichi himself. Any other papers are Varian's own notes.]

[inseine]

Yes, I've followed your work on the network, Alchemist.

[There are the Kokichi blueprints. He takes a steady, even look at Varian, and shuffles it aside in favor of more papers and mechanical bits.]

Yet I see nothing hinting to your alchemy here, only machines. [That is vital, and why Javert is completely sold in believing Varian, and not Robotnik, is his man. Robotnik specializes mostly in machines and has little interest in anything else. The recent incident involved chemicals and perhaps a bit of medical science, magic, alchemy. Varian fits the profile, a useful method and skill of describing particular criminals that he learned from his time with Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter before they both disappeared indefinitely.

His face sobers to a grim, flat expression.

He fits the profile, all right. The question that is ripe in Javert's mind, however, is why Varian did this thing and to what ends. Javert suspects he knows the answer, after a round of hypnotic information-gathering from Mirage's stragglers. And now he wants to hear it straight out of the horse's mouth.]

What alchemic projects have you worked? [he barks.] Be as specific as you are with your machines.

[alchemistake]

[That's the real issue here, isn't it? Varian is the only self proclaimed alchemist on the Peninsula. He's never once been secretive about the work he does. He's only told a very small number of people what some of his more intensive projects regarding that work is, though...and unfortunately for him, the wrong people caught on to it and played to the parts of Varian he's not terribly proud of. He doesn't hesitate to provide an answer, though his Mana-bought tail is twitching from one side to the other, like a displeased cat.]

My alchemy has been...harder to do, here. I don't have all of the materials I used to back in Corona, you understand.

[He shifts his remaining non-mechanical hand over to rest against the side of his vest.]

I'm running more of an apothecary these days, since I have more plant-based material to work with than pure metals. Some of what Kokichi wanted was alchemical, things like smoke bombs.

[Or pepper spray, for his own personal use. Capsules which are on his very person, though he doesn't dare reach for them now.]

I've been studying the properties of neon as well, to help Marnie with the lighting in the monster market in the sewers she's setting up.

[None of that sounds like a serum that can make monsters change, or spill unwarranted truths...]

[inseine]

And that is what you say you studied this month.

[Javert watches the swish of Varian's tail. Right, left, right, left, flick, twitch, swish. His hand is poised over a few more irrelevant blueprints and machine parts, and a thought occurs to him as he transfixes on that tail: Varian has hidden himself in this garage all week, doing, what? Cleaning up? Sweeping away his shame? Destroying the evidence? His face darkens, a tic forming in a muscle in his jaw.

Where is he hiding the truth, and how can Javert draw it out? He has a few dark tactics surging in his head, all in the dulcet, coaxing tones of Madame Fog herself.

Outside, just beyond the dim glow of the garage lights, there is movement in the shadows, circling around the backside of the building... and Javert is careful to keep his face set and off the obscure figures in the night.]

Is this place your only workspace?

[alchemistake]

[It was a question he was hoping wouldn't come up, but...as much as he doesn't know Javert well, he figures he's smart enough to realize that's something to ask. Solsikke is where all of his friends from home are, so it only stands to reason...]

I live at Solsikke. I've told you that much.

[He couldn't hide that even if he wanted to, which is something his past self could have never foreseen.]

I work with my machinery here to avoid anything happening to it when I'm working with liquids. I recently dealt with a flood at the castle after accidentally tapping into the pipes, so that's when I decided having a second shop would be best.

[It sounds reasonable enough.]

[inseine]

[Javert abruptly slaps a palm onto a table full of blueprints, several steps too loud and sudden for it to be a friendly gesture as it's meant to imitate.]

I have an idea.

[Declared as if it is the most novel thing in the universe. He bounces on his heels and whirls around on Varian, punctuating each weighty sentence with a prowling, advancing step.]

You see, my good fellow, I don't think we are being candid with each other. None of that, none of that! It is time we tear off the veil and lay bare our secrets, eh? We can be friendly gents. So. [Step, slow and steady.] You tell me which is more agreeable to you. [Step.] Keep your mouth shut, by all means. But you will come with me by cab to Solsikke Castle at once. [Step. He marks his speech with a roll of his wrist, pressing his palm to the center of his own cold chest.] I get the grand tour of your workspace and quarters, and ask your floral nymph friends some simple questions. No stone unturned, and all that tedious, necessary business.

Or.

[He comes to a stop a hairsbreadth from Varian, looming over him with a haughty and grave curl of his lip. He smells strongly of tobacco smoke and cheap aftershave. At his heels, his shadow pulses and begins to move, as if it were capable of independent thought. What is the shape of your nightmares, Varian? Are you willing to find out? Because Javert is on the verge of deploying unconventional methods to intimidate what he wants out of the boy.]

We leave that for later, and you can come with me directly to my offices for a nice chat. With a good old friend of yours. [He bends closer.] A loose-lipped human friend. In the merchant and trade business. [A beat. Unblinkingly, appending in a flat, toneless threat,] Who I picked up just this morning.

[alchemistake]

[Varian, despite appearances, is much better at lying and bluffing his way out of situations than one might assume. He's done it before, he'll do it again. But this here...this right here is what he was afraid would happen. It's why he conceded to work with Mirage in the first place; everything and everyone he loves and holds dear being under their thumb, knowing that at any moment they could be hurt. And Javert is playing exactly to that fear, whether it's intentional or not. Varian has every reason to think it is.

So, yeah. He figures there's a high chance he's bluffing about the caught human in the hopes Varian will panic and admit to things right there to avoid a less harsh sentence, but no. It's not himself he's concerned about any longer. Still, it's hard not to be intimidated when a Vampire several towering feet taller than you is approaching with vicious intent, backing Varian up both literally and figuratively against the wall. He can see Ruddiger's eyes flashing in the darkness under the table, terrified, but staunchly staying put because Varian told him to. There's little option left for Varian, because he absolutely refuses to let Javert go to Solsikke at all, just as much as he won't be coming with him to his prison quietly.]

I see. [Comes his eventual reply, measured and tense.] You're just like them.

[Unafraid to use fear, threats, and any other vile means at his disposal to bring about his justice. It makes Varian's skin crawl, despite knowing good and well that he deserves to be hated for what he's put the peninsula through this week.]

Give me the chance to explain, and I'll tell you what you want to know. But if I hear that you've set one foot in Solsikke, you're going to be sorry.

[inseine]

[Like 'them?' Javert's brow twitches almost indiscernibly. Who would they be? Humans? The thought nearly makes him bark a laugh. Idiot young man! Javert has little patience for that, and he snorts, his shadow falling perfectly still. The harsh light in his eyes fades to nothing but icy, unreadable calm. He clamps his cold hand on Varian's shoulder and gives it a firm hold.]

That's good. I knew you could see reason. In spite of offering your hand to power-thirsty humans. [Oh, the hate and disgust poured into that word, humans! He raises his voice and tilts his head toward the door.] Easy, boys, you can come in, now!

[Those shapes lurking around outside happen to be a handful of quite human guards from the prison... most of them with sweat beading on their brows, breathing a sigh of relief. Most of them, save for one, who is not dressed in the uniform of La Forteresse prison. That one is a rugged man, smiling and bright, whistling a jaunty tune and thumbing the vicious tip of a silver dirk in his palm.

That one's important. Keep an eye on him, and the way he glances meaningfully at Javert. Look closely enough, and plain as the light of the moon, tiny pinpricks of red bounce in his pupils. Something's up with that one.

Javert grins mirthlessly and jerks his head to the door. He has completely transfigured with Varian's concession, from a looming, teeming mess of darkness and pitch black to a discordantly fierce, amiable sort of man. Varian may as well be witnessing the giddy victory dance pirouetting in the Inspector's mind.]

Let's away, then. Solsikke will be searched, of course. It need not be me that searches the place. But don't forget: Honest people have no need to fear authority. So long as you did not drag your friends into this bad business, they're off the hook.

[alchemistake]

[Varian had enough of a time keeping his composure with just Javert breathing down his neck. Having his garage practically stormed with men suddenly is enough to cause the feathers on his wings to puff up a bit with fear. Isn't all of this a little much? Javert sure is fine with hiring human help to do his dirty work for someone who speaks of them like a curse...

Honest people have no need to fear authority, huh? Varian sets his jaw, his tail curved around one of his ankles, now.]

"In spite of offering your hand to power-thirsty humans."

[Varian parrots the words Javert just spoke as he angles his gaze back up towards the monster, and Javert may or may not be shaken to his core to hear his own voice- exactly mimicked in the same cadence and tone- back at him. A gift from the Fourth.]

You should practice what you preach, for one. And second...I told you I'd talk with you, but I want to do it here. You have no evidence to bring me in besides my word, but you've had me surrounded since the beginning. There's no reason this needs to be taken anywhere else. There's nowhere I could go at this point if I wanted to, is there?

[It's Varian's turn to bluff. He's banking on the fact Javert doesn't know everything a Goblin can do...]

[inseine]

[All the air is sucked out of the room at the sound of Javert's own booming voice parroted back at him. The humans all stand perfectly still, breathless, silent enough to hear the heartbeats heavy on the ear. Save for the man with the silver dirk, he is breathing free and easy, his eyes glittering gleefully. What in hell is wrong with that guy? He's too calm, too relaxed. Is there something else he's turning in his palm along with that silver dagger? An extra glint beside his knife hints at something out of place.

Javert's grip tightens firm enough to bruise. All amusement flees from his face, and he pays the terrified humans assembled around him -- his tools, for it is they that serve his goals and not the other way around -- no heed, even as Sven Askelson the Dagger-Man sidles delicately closer. The calculations grind away in his head.]

My physical evidence for you is at Solsikke. You want time to hide it from me. I see that plainly.

[It is a statement, like the drop of a coin in a still, silent room. HIs eyes narrow.]

Speak quickly. Be smart about it. [Javert does not relent in his hold.] And don't test my patience, else I'll haul you in to La Forteresse myself.

[alchemistake]

[The aforementioned Dagger-Man is a problem. But Varian is just going to staunchly ignore him while Javert is nearly piercing his shoulder with how firmly he's gripping on to him. So, in response, he'll reach up and grab Javert's wrist with his mechnical hand, the one that can't be physically harmed. He won't force him away, but he will....suggest he let go by squeezing with a similar grip, pumping magic through the spell he cast onto it to get the fingers to flex. It's up to Javert whether or not he releases him.]

I have nothing to hide, Javert.

[He replies, his eyes glittering with determination as much as they are with a deep seated shame for his actions. This could have gone so differently.

But fine. This is a truth he can tell without a serum forcing it out of him.]

For the last few months, long before Mirage appeared, I've been studying ways to create a cure for monsterism. I had no idea if it was something I could actually do, but after seeing the way both myself and my friends suffered due to the Poachers, I wasn't just going to stand around and do nothing. I've reverse engineered potions and created my own back in Corona. I knew I could do something.

Two months ago, I was approached by one of their associates offering to assist me in my research. They gave me the money and materials I needed to work with. By the time I had a working prototype, they wanted to take it for themselves for immediate sale. When I refused...

[He takes a breath, pulling his gaze away for just a moment.]

They threatened me. They told me people would suffer if I didn't comply. My friends from home would die if I didn't listen. My intent was never to use it on people unwillingly, ever. Whether you believe me or not is up to you, but that's the truth. It didn't work as intended, and...you've seen the results.

[inseine]

[Javert jerks his hand back and stiffens, still and cold as a statue. There is only one thing that blares loud and clear in his thinking:

This person is an insurgent. It is worse, much worse than he supposed, not just a practical joke or a goblin prank. Oh no, this is serious, gravely serious. This is treason against the Fog. This is undermining Her will on Monsterkind. This is defying a higher authority for his own -- and a group of punk humans' -- heinous, self-serving gain.

Javert sees only in black and white. Varian was once white, a victim of the Poacher's vile might. And now, irrevocably, he has blackened his record, stained it, smudged it beyond recognition, never to be cleansed again. He cannot be trusted. The humans are wicked blackmailers and fiends, fine, that is expected, they will meet their end as soon as Javert can prick them with his fangs and claws. Varian has no excuse to turn his wickedness on his own kind. None whatsoever.]

A cure, [spits Javert derisively.] Your pitiful excuse for a cure is rebellion against the Fog. You twisted us, changed us, and poisoned us! All this, for the purpose of stripping us of our shapes and abilities! You want my thinking about your plan, you damn fool? Trust your Monstrous friends to care for their own hides, and devour the blackmailers yourself. We all have fight and bile in us. We were made to be so!

[Javert thrusts a thumb out the door.]

I am warning you, and listen well. Out with you! You are coming with me to prison. It is healthier for you to come through the door and march directly.

[alchemistake]

[Rebellion? Against the Fog? That...was legitimately something that never once occurred to Varian, despite being in alliance with the Fourth. He doesn't care about the Fog particularly, but...he...]

Wh- I, I'm telling you, I didn't intend for this to be used against people like it was! That wasn't what I wanted! I wanted the option to be available. I don't care about what the Fog does, or what she wants. People deserve the right to make that choice! Do you think I would have just stood there and let them use me if I felt like I could do something to stop them?!

[So...maybe it is rebellion after all, huh? In a technical sense. By giving people the ability to choose to be human, Varian is reversing what the Fog put upon them in the first place. Some of them didn't want this. Some of them did. Those who wanted to remain monsters could do as they pleased for all Varian cared. The changes...those were an unforeseen side-effect, something he could have avoided if he were allowed the opportunity to actually test his serum as intended. And now he's being taken to prison, which he could have seen coming from a mile away.

He would have gone with Javert just to prevent anyone else from getting hurt or dragged into this, but the way he's suddenly spun it into a god-focused issue does not sit well with him. It makes him wonder...what will this monster do, once he realizes Varian is in alliance with Elias? Will he simply imprison him, or does he have other plans? A Fourth follower in the grasp of a Fog follower who believes with conviction that he's committed treason against her.

In that moment, he realizes that he cannot step out of that door.]

...I'm sorry sir. That's not happening today.

[There's a moment where one could hear a pin drop before Varian's prosthetic arm suddenly clatters to the floor of the garage, useless. The Goblin himself, in contrast, immediately shifts forms and disappears among the shadows, suddenly nothing more than his own shape on the wall. Lucky him that Javert chose to come after him at night, because he can potentially make an escape without being touched by sunlight that would surely stop him. And that's clearly what he intends to do as he can be seen moving along the wall as fast as he can, making a break for the exit past the humans who were previously blocking it.

He can't use this form for very long. He just needs enough time to get far enough away that they won't be able to find him again.]

[inseine]

[Javert hisses a curse.]

Resisting arrest! You signed your own undoing! Askelson! [he barks, his palm splayed open. It was a needless command, for the aforementioned Sven Askelson is there in a flash and dropping a far-too-familiar syringe into Javert's huge hand. His unblinking, unyielding eyes dart around the room, following the spasms and flicks in the shadows. A frightful, triumphant smile marks his face with the evil of utterly wrongheaded conviction, his fingers closing around the drug syringe. All this is done in a matter of seconds, and then he, too, ripples and explodes into a burst of fog, invulnerable and difficult to track.

Varian's protestations and excuses have fallen on deaf ears. Javert does not humor treason. No yielding, no mercy. To give a little is to approve an undermining of the Fog's will, and Javert, inclined towards fanaticism in his dog-headed, severe application of his deeply ingrained principles and beliefs, cannot allow even so-called 'incidental treason' to slide. Lessons must be taught, Monsters must learn to direct their curiosities and impulses in the proper direction: experiment on and mutilate humans, not your fellow people. Varian will become his example, and his lingering warning to the remaining deviants tucked amongst monsterkind.

The vampire-flavored fog thins and spreads. For Javert, now, it is only a matter of following the shadows, the faint movements on the walls, goblin blood's unique scent. Javert will not allow such a prize to slip through his claws, not this time.

And unlike Varian, Javert has the advantage of maintaining insubstantiation for as long as he damn well pleases. He can be a patient, tireless beast, and he will dedicate himself to an adrenaline-fueled chase for the rest of the night if he must.

He pursues. He hunts. And he observes, waiting for the proper moment to spring from the mists and deliver his strike.]

[alchemistake]

[There’s no turning back now. Varian has left everything behind in his attempt to get away, yet he has little plan for how to deal with this situation once he’s depleted his energy for this form. Where does he go? He has no sort of refuge with the broken apart Mirage- he wouldn’t accept such anyway- and he refuses to find shelter with friends at the risk of getting them killed in the process. Could he go to the arcade? Somewhere, anywhere-

The men back at the garage will hear a faint rattle before a raccoon suddenly darts out from under a table, scrabbling against the ground as he rushes past their legs and fled into the night, hissing and snapping if anyone attempts to grab him. He won’t be able to keep up with Varian and Javert, so instead he does the only thing he knows to. He flees elsewhere, not to save his own hide, but to maybe find help before it’s too late...

It won’t matter either way what Ruddiger does. Varian takes advantage of the dips and cracks in the walls as he escapes his garage and bolts into Bavan proper, mainly trying to put distance between himself and the Vampire. He’s unaware Javert has any leverage against him beyond being likely bigger and stronger, and at this point he’s prepared to fight if he’s left with no other alternative. The darkness is his enemy as much as it is his lifeline.

Barely ten minutes pass before Varian can stand it no longer. He never even makes it to the arcade, too frantic in his escape to really find anywhere suitable to go. He hasn’t looked back, yet somehow knows Javert must still be giving chase. In the end, he ducks into a pitch-black alley, tucking himself well out of view of any potential light as he tumbles back into physical form. He presses himself flatly against the wall, heaving while struggling to keep his breath muted so it can’t be heard. He’s trembling from the exertion as it is, but if he can just shake this guy long enough to catch his breath, he can find somewhere to hide. Then he’ll make his case known on the network. He’ll deal with whatever consequences come after that in a more civilized manner.

That was the plan, anyway.]

[inseine]

[With Javert indisposed, the un-uniformed Sven Askelson takes the lead of the team of humans. What Ruddiger and Varian leave behind is the cheerful orders of a fishy-smelling dockhand, encouraging the guards to pluck up all the toys they can find and collect them in marked evidence bags. They will take care of raiding the garage while the vampire and the goblin match wits and claw.

The scent of blood fades quickly in the brisk night air, and Javert must shift his strategy after he pours his intangible self through the window-cracks after the boy. Instead, it is the quickened, adrenaline-fueled thrum of thee heart he picks out of a sea of human pulses. He desperately grasps that thread (metaphorically, of course, since mist can only drift, not grab) and follows it.

Javert stretches himself thin, no more than a wisp in the air. He needs to cast a wide net, his attention swelling and ebbing with every twitch in the darkness.

Eleven minutes pass until he catches wind of his prize. There, in an alley dark as pitch. The stink of goblin is fresher again.

Varian's fatal mistake is thinking he can disguise the heaving beat of his heart as well as his panting breaths. A vampire's keen ear and eye does not miss a heartbeat, particularly one as loud and desperate as his. Where there is a beating heart, there are arteries, and there is coursing blood. Javert feels the telltale tingling excitement of his prey close at hand.

For Varian, his warning comes only as a chill.

The fog creeps in a swirl up Varian's calves. It crawls and rolls, thickening to a dense cloud, up the front of his shirt until at last a hand darts and coalesces out of the dark tendrils and throttles him unforgivingly against the alley wall.

Javert's glittering, glowing eyes emerge last, vicious, triumphant, and fierce. He raises his free hand, the one with the Poacher drug syringe, skyward.]

Too much, my good man, [he remarks in a rapid slur, icy tone dampened by an odd, chiding disappointment.] I had my hopes you would listen, and there you go, proving nothing but the worst. Didn't I tell you walking would be healthier?

[And he makes to plunge the drug deeply into the side of Varian's neck.]

[alchemistake]

[Varian has little recourse to retaliate, especially when Javert strikes with the speed of a snake. He’s grabbed by the front of his vest and shoved back so roughly he can’t even reach his arm around to grab for the few serums he has on his person for defense. A smoke bomb, anything...but he’s helpless, nearly lifted off the ground as he stands at only 4’5” against Javert’s looming might. Javert’s visage is terrifying enough, but then he sees it.

A very sickeningly familiar syringe held tight in Javert’s fist, and for the first time since he was approach, true terror flashes in his expression.]

No!!

[His left hand reaches up, and in a last ditch attempt to back Javert off, he lets loose a burst of flame from his fingertips that lights up the alley between them. Elsa, bless her, had taken the time to help him hone his magic and it’s paying off here. What once was a power he could barely control is now nearly entirely his to command.

But he’s a second too late. He feels the needle plunge into his neck, and try as he might he can’t fight back the scream that rips from his throat. His knees buckle as the drug takes effect near immediately, prevented from falling as Javert keeps him held up. His last attempt to fight back fizzles into the darkness as the magic is sapped away from him as quickly as his strength. Soon, he will hardly be able to keep his head up. The sensation is awful, traumatic, and far too familiar.]

[inseine]

[The flame licks his whiskers, and as soon as the syringe strikes home, Javert abruptly drops the goblin at his feet. He hisses and spits, dousing the flames with fervent pats and suffocating slaps. By the time the flames are out, the damage is done, his whiskers reduced to ash and his face an angry, burnt red. It smells of burnt flesh. Javert grits his teeth against the pain, and sends a silent prayer up to the Fog for there to come another turn in the weather soon, to quicken his healing.

Madame Fog. His nostrils flare with a heaving sigh, and he bends his neck down to the goblin heaped on the ground. Fangs glitter through the last furls of smoke. He crouches beside Varian and lifts his head to stare him down in the eye.]

Stay awake, [he barks coldly, disguising the pain in his face with a toothy sneer.] You worked on your poisons before Mirage. Tell me something. Is Elias mixed up in your project?

[alchemistake]

[Even in the end, Varian wasn’t a strong fighter...but he’s glad he didn’t go down without getting one good swing in. It makes him feel vindicated in some distant kind of way, even as he crumples to the alley floor the moment he’s dropped, limbs too weak to hold him up. It’s not just losing his abilities as a Goblin, but practically all of his strength is gone thanks to a combination of the drug mounting on his pre-existing exhaustion. All he can do is lay there, prone as Javert leans in towards him looking extra crispy.

Varian lets the corner of his mouth twitch into a pained smirk, his claws scraping the concrete as he mentally berates his own body for not being able to get up, just get up.]

U...unlike some people, my li-life doesn’t revolve around gods, man made or otherwise. He do-doesn’t even know about it.

[Which is the truth. Varian has kept the two separate this whole time. Still, marks of the Fourth aren’t easily hidden...like the faint arcs of energy that jump around in a few hollowed out spikes covering his heart in time with its rapid beating, barely visible now that the drug is in full effect.]

CW: imminent execution

[inseine]

[Javert is silent for a time. He pants and braces against the sting in his face, pupils grazing the young man from the tip of his horns all the way down to his toes. His attentions stop over those damning hollowed-out spikes, and he watches the arcs of power dance and spark before his dimming, dull eyes. Anger, resentment, hatred bubbles to the surface: anger, that these upstarts think Elias gives a care about them; resentment, that they fail to see the truth of the damage they reap in siding with the Fourth on the feeble wish that they'll be sent home and return to a life they left behind; hatred and revulsion, for rebellion, disorder, and willful insubordination to one's Heavenly (or Hellish?) Condemner and Creator.

A twitching, ugly smile spreads his lips, forced and shallow. This is his chance to make a statement against insurgency, disorder, indecent chaos against the Fog's sovereignty. This is his chance to deliver upon his threat that he has always been working, always been arranging his game-pieces behind the scenes, always been lying in wait to demonstrate his role as enforcer of Natural Order.

In the name of the Fog. For the Good of their kind, for the smooth functioning of the Fog's plan for them to live their wicked ways and keep men underfoot.

The dry smile falls. There is nothing but somber, grave death in the deep, dark pools of his pupils, eating what was left of his heart alive. His face is hard enough to be carved from stone.]

People don't lie to me. I see your marks, Traitor. No respect for your betters!

[Roughly and with little regard for personal comfort, Javert hauls up Varian by the collar and slings him over his shoulder. He mops up some ooze from the burn-wound at his jaw, lips grimacing in disgust. And he begins to lope and drag along, with purpose, back toward the looming shadow of La Forteresse prison.

His guts roil.

This is just. This is right. No mercy for False God insurgents, no forgiveness for anarchists and men who insult Her reign. Javert's mind is abuzz with his self-assurance and his whispering, dimming doubts, his prayers arcing high from his bowed head. He considers with a sententious solemnity the sentence he will deliver upon the boy, understanding quite well the gravity of his role.

And he makes his choice, his voice low and hoarse and tickling the hairs of Varian's ear.]

You have the night in the jug. Come morning, you will be shot to the death in Madame Fog's name.

[alchemistake]

[Varian is honestly amazed at himself that he's still awake right now. Perhaps some sort of side effect due to having been injected with this drug so many times in the past. He's not immune to it by any stretch of the imagination, but he definitely is able to fight off the initial blow. The first couple times it was administered, he remembered falling unconscious pretty much immediately. Still, that doesn't mean he has the strength to stop this from happening. He's like a limp doll in Javert's arms as he throws him roughly over his shoulder, leaving him with a wavering view of the city street below as he's carted off to prison.

What will happen now is left up to Javert, he thinks as they go. He has no doubts that his garage is currently being torn apart as they speak, but at least the stuff left behind there is replaceable. He never expected to be able to get the same materials given to him by Mirage again, so he'll just remake things on his own terms. His arm is definitely priceless though, so he'll just have to hope it was left behind and forgotten due to not being involved in the case. As for Solsikke...he's confident that Cassandra, Elsa, and Anna aren't just going to let someone barge in on them without due reason. And even if there's a reason...

Well. It's out of his hands at this point.

Of course, what he isn't expecting is what Javert tells him next. Words that turn his blood to ice. He's certain his already frantically hammering heart actually stopped for a moment.

Despite being pushed to the brink multiple times, he never died at the hands of the Poachers. He's never experienced the way Ryslig handles death. Frankly, he never wanted to. Nobody wants to die, right? Not even if it isn't permanent...too bad he lacks the strength to struggle as the words ring hollow in his mind.]

Y...you're going to kill me.

[Why tell him this now, instead of waiting until before it's slated to happen? So he can sit in the suffering of knowing that in the morning he'd die?]

[inseine]

You heard me! Be thankful I am generous enough to leave it at a swift death, and the demon AM won't get a swing at you, [he utters tonelessly. Javert's self-controlled, resolute, commanding voice resumes through his winces and sharp, pained noises. Later, in the quiet of his office, he would further rationalize his decision as the just one, one that is severe enough to serve as a warning and to please the Fog, but spares him from the cruelty Varian would have suffered beneath AM's lash.] You will be free to walk when you wake up with the coming of the Fog. I won't be so gentle for recidivists.

[They are bold words concerning death, of course, from one who is absolutely revolted by harm done against fellow Monsters. Bold words, indeed, from one who has suffered five deaths of his own.

Perhaps he is numbed to it, now. Perhaps his mind has melted fractionally from all the horrors he, himself, endured.

It speaks to the significance of Varian's case that he is choosing to condemn in such a way. One lousy death shall never return to Monsters the week they lost to madness; one lousy death will not make up for his treasonous intent.

Javert's body aches from his injury, but he presses onward, his square jaw tucked stubbornly into the collar of his coat. Soon, they will make it. Vampires move quickly, even when they are battered, burnt, and bruised.]

Don't cross Her will again. Were it Her plan to knock us down to our damned, wicked selves, She would do it Herself.