(no subject)

[marcato]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, SATURNSCHILD. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 001.00.653.90 *** SATURNSCHILD has joined 001.00.653.90 <saturnschild> Hello. <saturnschild> I'm listening.

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[inseine]

[At just past midnight, a security detail led by a tall, shadowed silhouette weaves past The Luxury of Time. The tall man ushers forth three men at his heels. Two of them are heavily armed, flanking the third, roughly handled by either arm.

Onlookers and night owls who happen to be awake crane their necks out the windows and swiftly retreat back into their homes and apartments when a pair of blazing red eyes darts their way. It is the manhandled fellow that draws the most nervous curiosity: he is hunched over, silent, his feet dragging upon the ground between the two well-muscled humans carrying him onwards. His hands are shackled together, and a thick black sack obscures his face.

Anyone who keeps up with the local Bavan City news would recognize the shadow in the fore as Javert, private investigator, lead warden of the freshly-redubbed La Forteresse Prison. He has been blessed with more press than he would like as of late for his prominent and decisive actions taken against the shattered Monster Poacher organization. Not all of it has been flattering.

Which means that the shrouded man must be one of monsterkind's prized prisoners, and it appears Javert is intent to show him to a place that will teach him a very fine lesson in proper administration of justice.

Doors slam shut and blinds snap closed in his wake as Javert and his men march onward through the hushed streets, undeterred by the gawpers and busybodies whispering in the darkness.]

cw: body horror

[marcato]

[Aunamee follows. He wears the disguise of a young man with a quick smile and dark glasses, an obvious anomaly in these dark, midnight streets. Without the shades, however, he'd stand out even further -- this disguise contains lips instead of eyelids, teeth instead of eyeballs, red pools of blood instead of pupils. The glasses are very, very necessary.

He keeps his distance, squinting through the darkness as he zigs and zags, moving from side street to side street in an effort to conceal his pursuit. Javert isn't leading these people towards the prison -- he's leading them away from it. Where? Why?

His curiosity makes his fingers tingle. He must find out. ]

[inseine]

[If Javert recognizes someone is spinning them, he does not show it. He weaves through the city with his arms crossed forbiddingly, Napoleonic in his bearing and his even, sure stride.

It becomes apparent soon where Javert is headed, when the stark geometric building looms ever closer along the horizon. The Cube. Javert and his two muscled companions are escorting this prisoner directly to the Cube.

The four of them halt in front of the Cube's entranceway, and Javert bids his two minions to release the hooded man with a sharp gesture of his cane. They part and take their appropriate place loitering around the outside of the Cube, lighting their cigarettes, chatting softly between themselves. Upon very close inspection, Aunamee or anyone else might catch the occasional red burst in those humans' pupils... but surely that is only a trick of the moonlight. Javert is left to his devices with his man, circling him like a wolf would his prey.

Slowly, he approaches. He gingerly peels the sack off his man's head, revealing a thick, rumpled mass of brunette locks. And steadily, his claws comb that hair back into place, eyes glimmering luridly through lulled lids. He wraps a steely grip around the chains joining the man's hands together.]

Come along, now, [he commands hypnotically. He languidly loops the chain around the breadth of his palm.] Let's not dawdle.

[Javert abruptly yanks the man along behind his crisp, eager step, and the pair of them disappear behind the darkened doorway of the Cube.

Aunamee ought to recognize Javert's captive. Oh, yes, he should remember him very well as the man called Wegener, the one who shouldered the brunt of Javert's poacher ire since the two of them first met in November. Wegener, the man who wriggled out from justice's cold, unforgiving grasp. Wegener, who escaped imprisonment and righteous punishment.

Merciless, blind Justice is finally come for Wegener. Better late than none at all.]

[marcato]

[He sheds his disguise just outside the entranceway. It's a simple process, as straightforward as flicking a light switch. One moment, he's a human. The next, he's not.

The staff members inside the Cube's lobby recognize him for who he is and shrink away. He takes little notice, instead moving towards Javert and his captive with long, confident strides.]

Bonsoir, Monsieur Javert.

[He normally isn't so formal with Javert -- not anymore -- but right now, he's so excited that he's practically dizzy. Formality is a costume that he wears on his best days and his worst days. Tonight is the former.]

What a happy accident, running into you like this.

[He makes no acknowledgment of Wegener. He might as well already be dead.]

Have you reserved a room?

[inseine]

[Javert jerks up at the familiar voice. There is an anxious energy hanging about him despite his calm, expectant demeanor, like it is utterly unsurprising to him to find Aunamee in this place. He loops the chain around his palm for a second round, tightening his grip.]

Apparently, [he affirms, flat. Wegener is wide-eyed and stubbornly silent, head hanging toward the floor. Red welts already mark his wrists where the shackles bind him.

Javert's gaze drifts past Aunamee toward his reserved room. A grimace deepens the weary lines in his face, anticipation quivering palpably in the small, electrifying twitches of his muscles.]

What are you doing here? Come to observe this creature's sentence?