Who: Joanie and Javert (with a brief appearance by Luther and some NPCs) What: The Smackdown of the Century: Javert vs. Joanie. Where: Joanie’s neighborhood in SC. When: Evening of July 26th Warnings: Fighting, Swearing, Mind-fuckery, Angst.
Luther had found himself settling into life at the Wicker household more easily than expected. Patrick was making an excellent recovery and things seemed to be more of a family reunion at this point than a hovering over his death bed. People seemed fairly relaxed compared to that first evening – though he was constantly looking over his shoulder for Mattie to appear and assign him chores. He stuck with Joanie or headed out to explore the city, finding the air a nice change from the usual city smog.
It was nice in general to break away from Bellum though – he’d checked the forums on occasion, but couldn’t bring himself to do much. The Full Moon slipped from his mind on the day it was to occur. Plans had been made for most of the family to go out but Joanie and Luther managed to stay behind. Dolly was in the house somewhere, murmuring something about laundry as Joanie and Luther headed for the front porch. Sunset over the neighborhood was surprisingly peaceful as they kicked back in a swinging bench, glasses of lemonade in hand.
“So,” Luther asked, taking a sip of his drink. “When I first signed up for this, you made it sound like this would be torture. I think I’ve been through worse things.” Not much on the emotional department, but he did feel fairly settled now. Though Mattie made Joanie want to shove nails in her own eye sockets, that woman made a fantastic pitcher of lemonade. Before the whole family - sans her mother, the recluse - had headed out for an evening on the town, Batty Mattie had made a pitcher specifically for the three homebodies. Since Dolly wasn't interested, Luther and Joanie had the whole thing to themselves.
Kicking at the porch just slightly to make the swing rock backwards, Joanie glanced to Luther with a smirk. "We live in Bellum. Of course you've been through worse things." She laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "But you're right. It's...it's not as bad as I thought it would be." She paused, glancing over at him. "Thanks for coming. Even if you did hang me out to dry at dinner on Friday." "Even before," Luther said, leaning forward as the bench rocked back. The glass was placed there as he surreptitiously stretched an arm around Joanie's back...and moved in around her neck to put her in an armlock. "You deserved it," he said, smirking. "Well, you've also been a cop for like a zillion years, so even then it's not-" She cut herself off with a choked gag as she felt his arm slip around her neck in a playful chokehold. Eyes wide, she flailed, swatting at his elbow with a high-pitched whine. "Nnnnngh!" she grunted, holding her lemonade in one hand while she smacked his arm with her other. "Leggo!" she demanded. When it came to physical strength, Luther surpassed her. Though she had the addition of youth and size on her size, she wasn't getting out in that position. "I don't think so," he said, rocking them slightly. "You won't get into any trouble like this." It was clear that Joanie was a scrappy little street urchin compared to Luther's trained law officer. Extending her arm as far as it would go, she put her glass of lemonade down on a nearby end table so that she could use both hands to pull at his arm. It did absolutely nothing, and she made over-the-top gagging noises as the swing rocked gently back and forth. "I'm not getting into any trouble!" she protested, twisting as much as she could to look him in the eyes. "I've been very good this whole time, why are you doubting me all of a sudden?" Luther merely laughed, before loosening his arm slightly. "I'm not doubting you. Just teasing." There was enough room for her to slip out - even claim she'd broken free. He stretched out his legs as best he could, rubbing idly at the scar on his leg, while waiting for her to do so. The time on his watch said 8:20 pm, but he didn't think much of it. "You? Tease?" she asked with disbelief, quickly worming out from under his arm the second there was room. She rubbed her neck absently, thoughts turning to Tegan for a somber moment before she pushed them out of her mind. Now wasn't the time to angst over nothing. "I didn't know you could do that. Do you have other superpowers I don't know about?" She paused, scratching her chin as she leaned to the side, inspecting him. "Can you...tell a joke?" He raised an eyebrow at her, returning his hand to himself. "What? I can do it on occasion." Laughing, he bent over to retrieve his glass of lemonade. He took a large gulp of it before saying, "You know about the crime-dar thing..." He paused, thinking. "Criminals really stink." At his joke, she stared at him a long moment before dissolving into laughter. "Oh my God," she said, rolling her eyes and taking a long sip of lemonade. "That..." Still laughing, she shook her head. "That's horrible. That's just horrible." Snorting, she put her lemonade down and began to scratch absently at her neck. "Man," she said, shaking her head. "Am I the only one that's getting eaten alive here? Fucking mosquitoes." "What? It's true." They always reeked around the full moon. If there was one hting he was thankful for, it was that the smell didn't remain after Javert left on the Full Moon. It might be useful for hunting down criminals but he'd probably suffocate. He sighed, eyes sliding to Joanie as she scratched.
Something wasn't right. "No, I'm fine," Luther said slowly. He remembered her complaining about itchiness before, but when... Something dawned on him as he thought of Javert once more. He shot up to his feet, the glass tumbling to the ground and smashing. "Fuck, Joanie - what's the date?" "True isn't funny," she shot back, clawing at her neck and raking her nails down over her collar. Man, those bugs were just devouring her. When he said that he wasn't getting bitten, she laughed. "They must be attracted to me because I'm so fucking sweet."
When the glass smashed, she gasped, eyes wide. Shrinking to the side of the swinging bench, she looked up at him. "Uh..." she started, brain slowly crawling into gear. Why would he be so upset? Unless-
Her heart started to thud in her chest as she looked up at the sky. The sun was quickly sinking, and her gaze locked onto the moon. It was very, very round. "The 25th or 26th, I think," she said, starting to scratch more furiously at her forearms. His eyes followed hers up to the moon and a string of curses - in French - slipped out. He glanced at his watch again - it said 8:23 and stepped back from her. "It's tonight, how the fuck did we forget this? Joanie, it's tonight." Green patches were beginning to show up on her skin and he took a deep breath.
Fuck, he'd never seen her go green before. Luther grabbed the post on the building, trying to fight the shift. Javert's presence, colder and more driven took over though just as Luther swore again. He managed to grab one of the knives concealed on him and toss it to Joanie before he changed.
This time though, Luther's clothing swept away into Javert's work uniform. No change in physical appearance, aside from a harsher glint in his eye. Luther himself had vanished completely, not even a whisper in his mind. Javert had arrived and taken over. This wasn't supposed to happen. That's all she could think as she looked down at her hands, watching her pale skin be consumed by green. Her hands themselves began to shake as she looked up at Luther, standing slowly. Her muscles tightened as she heard a raucous cackling in her head, an itchy presence beneath her scalp that made her cringe and writhe, clawing at the sides of her head.
"Hello, my dear."
No.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. The transformations were supposed to be done. They survived Russia, damnit, and this was the reward they got? Her breaths grew faster and shallower as Joanie glanced over to Luther just in time to see him toss her a knife. She snatched it midair with skill she never thought possible.
When his clothing began to change, Joanie had to choke back the urge to scream. Though Luther's face never changed, Javert looked like a completely different man. Clutching the knife to her chest, the now fully green girl stared at the French officer, eyes wide. "Luther?" she asked softly, terrified of what his response would be. His eyes had been on the ground when he arrived, taking in the new location and processing Luther’s memories since he left Russia. It had been too long since he’d been out and Javert stretched his limbs, thankful for a chance to be free again. Though Luther had made decent progress in the last month, doing more as he should and blowing off the witch, he still had run off with her instead of staying in the building. They could be in New York now, taking care of Eponine or the others instead of here in South Carolina.
Javert looked up, eyes settling on the green person – matching her up to Luther’s memories of the pale-skinned Joanie – and let himself relax slightly. He could still take care of the criminal here then. A hand went to his waist at the name, pulling out a revolver. His back was to the exit down the steps and she was effectively cornered unless she jumped off the porch or ran into the house. As far as he knew her family was innocent though – he couldn’t let the witch hurt them. He moved suddenly, firing to her right to direct her to the left – his back going to block the door into the house.
“Non,” he said, mouth curving into a wolfish smirk. “Inspector Javert, at your service.” Being watched like this was terrifying. Though she had asked for Luther, she knew he wasn't there. Luther didn't look like this. He was a hard man, no doubt, but Javert was something more. As he reached for his waist, she cringed, taking a step back towards the house. What was she going to do? Go inside? Her mom was there, and she wasn't stupid. She'd demand to know what was going on, and they'd all be labeled crazy. No, she had to get away and hide until this was all over.
Seeing the revolver made her heart stop. Eyes wide, she could only watch in horror as he fired. Slapping a hand over her mouth to strangle the scream that wanted to fly loose from her lips, she ran to her left, scrambling down until she was standing at the steps of the porch while Javert blocked the entrance to her house.
Her mother. She couldn't let him hurt her.
Though everything in her was shaking with fear, Joanie dropped her hand and straightened up, looking as arrogant as possible. "Constable Cockbite," she said, clenching her fists so that he couldn't see her hands shaking. "I'm so glad to see you. Though I'm kind of disappointed. I expected something impressive, you know? You look just like Luther."
Sorry, Luther, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
With a vicious grin, she turned her back on him and fled, running full-tilt for the driveway in the hopes that he'd pursue her. She had to keep him away from her mother at all costs. He was almost disappointed that she took the bait. Javert let the revolver follow her after the shot had gone off, cocking it again as a warning. The sudden arrival of cockiness surprised him though as his smirk stayed until the insults arrived. He didn't care about being impressive or what she thought of Luther - not one whit. The Constable Cockbite however caused him to snarl.
"What did you just-" But she was gone, taking off down the yard. Javert wasted no time in taking off after her, ignoing the pain flaring up in his leg as he fired. At the second shot, she ducked, legs scrambling beneath her as she ran. Though she wanted to scream, she forced herself to remain silent - she couldn't make a scene. She just had to get away. This was where she had grown up. She knew this neighborhood better than anywhere else. All the twists and turns, all the little nooks and crannies were visible in her mind's eye. She had the home field advantage, and if she just kept running, maybe the older man with the bad leg would tire first.
As she raced down the street, she could hear the most horrifying word in the world ring out into the night: "Joanie!" Her mother. Instinct told her to look, but panic forced her not to. She had heard the shots. She knew something was wrong. Porch lights flickered on as people came out to see what the noise was, and Joanie couldn't look. Her arms and legs were bare, as she was wearing a tank top and shorts, leaving her green skin visible to everyone.
But she couldn't let that slow her down.
"You can't run forever, child," the Witch said. "Only one of you will survive this."
"Shut up. I can lead him on. This will work."
And with that, she took an abrupt turn at the end of the street. Here were houses that hadn't heard the gunfire, houses where most people were still watching TV and therefore dead to the world. Joanie hopped a low fence and tore through someone's back yard, hoping to create a loop that would throw Javert off-track. The gun ran out of bullets quickly and Javert tucked it into his holster once more. He ignored the shouts and disruption from the sides, intent on the witch. As she suddenly turned he followed, maintaining his breath by not shouting after her. The fence was vaulted, though his breath was already moving heavily. Alright then, they would add breaking and entering into crimes. Every bullet missed, though they did the job at terrifying her every single time. The idea that somebody was actually shooting at her with a gun intended to kill people was almost too much for her to handle. So she blocked it out, focused solely on getting him the hell away from people before he made a stupid mistake and killed a child.
Their shortcut through several backyards was taking them towards a large, popular day care in the neighborhood. It had a large backyard and was fairly secluded, fenced-in and safe from the road. For now, it'd be a good place to drag him through.
She slammed into the chain link fence and gripped it with scared fingers. Climbing fences in movies looked easy, but for someone that had never done it before, it was very hard. Luther's knife was shifted so that she held it in her teeth as she climbed the fence, huffing and puffing as it rattled beneath her. She couldn't look over her shoulder to see how close he was - it'd break her concentration. The distance between them grew as they went on, but Javert was moving differently. Sprinting was what he was more used to, but he knew that if he continued, he'd be unable to catch her. The steadiness helped his breathing and his leg slightly and he was quieter as he took off after her.
As she climbed the fence though, he was able to push on. A burst of speed and he was after her, a hand reaching up to grab at her thigh and then her waist, intending to tug her down. "Putain de merde-" The sensation of his hand on her leg made her squeal with fear despite her previous convictions to stay silent. She clamped down on the knife with her teeth, kicking at him as he grabbed at her waist. Despite her attempts to wriggle free, Joanie was brought down hard. Her fingers were coaxed out of the chain-link fence as she slid down on her face, landing on the ground with a wheeze.
She didn't know what he had said, but she knew it was no good. Grabbing the knife from her teeth, she held it out to him, expression grim. "Don't come any closer," she wheezed, face turning a dusky brown as blood rushed to her green cheeks. "I-I'm warning you." Javert stepped back as she fell, kneeling over her as she began wheezing. The knife was looked at with distate - because Luther had given it to her rather than what it made for danger. "Do you really think you can harm me?" He grabbed her wrist, intending to flip her over onto her stomach. Seeing Luther's face with Javert's mind behind it was enough to make her want to cry then and there. But she held on. She had survived Russia. She had survived this.
"You burned Russia," the Witch observed.
Joanie didn't even have the presence of mind for a comeback. Javert's hand around her wrist was struggled against, but she couldn't break free. She was flipped easily, finding herself face-down in the dirt. Her sneakers dug into the grass as she tried to fight her way out from beneath him, her hand that held the knife gripping it tightly. He moved closer, knee going to the small of her back before he pried the knife away from her hand. Struggling, he leaned forward to hiss in her ear. "Did you really think that you would escape? You're meant to burn in hell." Never mind that he didn't believe in it - it was what the law said. She was meant to be burnt at the stake and would suffer the appropriate punishment. Feeling the knife leave her hand was a definite low point. She had no weapons. As he whispered in her ear, she grunted, reaching out with her free hand to dig her hand in the grass. Pulling a clump of grass and dirt from the ground, she held it tightly in her palm. "Tried it," she hissed back, slowly pulling her hand in closer. "Decided it wasn't for me."
Calling out a word in Hebrew, she felt the grass and dirt turn to fine sand in her palm. She twisted her hand and flung it at his face, hoping to shock him enough for him to let up, just a little, so she could escape. Javert thought she had aquiesced and had tucked the knife away into his own clothing. He hadn't paid attention to her free hand, assuming she couldn't do anything. Magic was forgotten until he heard her call out the unfamiliar word. The sand was in his eyes immediately, stinging and burning. A sharp shout escaped him and his hand released hers, quickly switching to a stream of French curses. The second his hand released her wrist, she was on the move. Digging all ten fingers into the ground, she lunged forward, pulling a leg up to kick at his stomach in the hopes of throwing him off balance. Not bothering to even notice if it had worked, she scrambled out from beneath him and began to run again. This time, she'd take him to the nearby high school. Sometimes the summer coaches forgot to lock all the doors - if she could get him in there, it'd be a maze that could keep him busy for some time. Sand still in his eyes, Javert wasn't able to see kick until too late. He bent over, hands reaching out to claw at her before she was gone. With a growl, he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing furiously at his eyes before chasing after her. Tears leaked from his eyes as they continued to stung, but he continued on, mentally cursing the girl. Next time, he'd gag her. Though she knew it was necessary, Joanie felt a pang of guilt over the fact that this was Luther's body. That guilt would keep her from doing anything to hurt him, though she knew all too well that Javert wouldn't exercise the same pity for her.
"You have to do away with your friend, my dear." The Witch's voice was soft and gentle, wheedling in her mind. "Do you really want to dance like this every month?"
"We'll find a way around it," she replied stubbornly.
"If you don't have the stomach for it, perhaps you could let me."
Joanie wasn't sure if she could even hand over control to the Witch, but it didn't matter. "No." She'd get through this on her own. Fortunately, the high school was looming ahead. They were at the edge of the football field, passing the tall bleachers. Javert's eyes continued to water as they made their way to the edge of the school. Scraps of Luther's memories allowed him to realize what it was - between Luther's own experiences with high schools and passing this before. His grimace deepened when he thought of his counterpart and his hands clenched into fists as he ran.
"Arrete!" He attempted, not thinking she would. It was a small hope that it would at least slow her down so he could attack her once more. Her lungs were starting to burn as they approached the school. Passing the bleachers, Joanie tore down the field, keeping her gaze locked on the school ahead. Javert's call caused her to flinch, and against her better judgment she instinctively turned to look at him. Stumbling slightly, she looked ahead again and tried to make up for that hesitation as she bolted onward. Javert pulled Luther's knife out again, never stopping as Joanie stumbled. The space between them lessened and he was close enough to make out the individual strands of her hair. With a snarl, he swiped with the knife intending to wound her at the very least. Joanie's prior experiences with cuts involved those of the paper variety. A few times she had nicked herself shaving, and once she got a nasty little cut on her left ring finger when she got sloppy with carrot cutting. But feeling Luther's knife slice across her back, forming a diagonal line that connected her shoulder blades, made her realize just how damaging knives could be.
This time, she couldn't hide it. She screamed, lurching forward and falling to her hands and knees. The pain ripped through her just as the knife had ripped her skin, leaving a long slice mark in both her back and the shirt she wore. Its black material split to reveal the red wound as it began to bleed.
Realizing that she was on the ground, Joanie pulled out two clumps of dirt and held them in her hands. "Sakeen!" she hissed, the dirt and grass turning into a knife of her own. She twisted, holding the knife up as she simultaneously tried to stumble up to her feet. As the knife made contact, Javert's mouth tugged into a smirk. Her scream only made it wider and he laughed. She deserved any injury she got, the evil witch and he could easily say he was thrilled he had been succesful in hurting her. As she stumbled forward, the knife was tucked back again.
He was almost surprised by her blood being red, but he continued forward. The grass before her was turned into a knife too quickly and a frustrated sound escaped him. He moved forward, pulling the knife out for at the ready, a foot swinging out to catch her in the shoulder. Was he laughing? The cold sound did more to terrify her than the knife at her back had, and she held back a whimper. Just as she was about to try and stand, his foot connected solidly with her shoulder. The power behind the kick sent her flat on her back, grass poking into the fresh wound across her shoulders. She hissed in pain, reflexively grabbing his foot and pulling on it in the hopes that he'd be caught off-balance while she simultaneously lashed out with her legs, trying to kick at his other leg. His laughter only increased as his kick connected. In the darkness, her face and the grass didn't look much different in hue - if he stepped on her as he moved forward, it wasn't his fault. He didn't fall when she grabbed his foot, attempting to kick her off while wobbling. The next kick sent him down, a large oof escaping him.
Teeth gritted, he rounded on her, scissoring out with his legs, hoping he'd get her in the face. The knife was still in his hands and he moved to bend forward, not intending to go down without a fight. He stepped on her outstretched arm, causing her to wince and writhe. But as he fell, she felt a small inkling of victory. She moved to crawl away when she caught his foot in her chest, just beneath the swell of her breast. Grunting, she flopped on the grass, sitting up despite the pain in her ribs.
As he bent forward, she held up her knife, once again hesitating. She couldn't hurt Luther. In her heart, the knife was just a bluff. It was a way to feel less powerless. She couldn't stab him. Hell, she wasn't sure she could even cut him. So she stayed there, defensive. "You don't want to do this," she said as she tried to scoot back, attempting to find her footing. There was a grunt before he used his free hand to get to his feet. "Don't I?" Javert laughed in disbelief, eyes leaving her knife. "I'm not your precious Luther. He's a fool to have fallen for your tricks - you've charmed him with one of your magic spells." He stepped forward, hand and knife out. "He's forgotten his purpose." As he stood, she scrambled to her feet. Clutching her knife, she backed up a few steps, posture defensive. "I don't have magic...trick spells!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "He's my friend. And "purpose" is bullshit. Nobody has a purpose. We're all stuck here on this crummy rock, we come in naked and screaming and it only gets worse from there." She took a sharp breath. Maybe if they kept talking, he'd relent. Javert kept advancing, mirroring her steps as she stumbled backwards. "You do, we've both seen it," he said, voice cold. He nearly rolled his eyes as she went on. "Yes, yes, as he told the brat at the bar you're his very best friend and he's so proud of you." The knife arced through the air, more to scare her than hit.
"His purpose and mine were the same, until you figured in. Until all of you did." Well, this was confusing. His tone was mean, but his words made her all fuzzy inside. Imagine that. Though from Javert, she imagined they were meant as cruel. But to hear that Luther was proud of her was a small slice of incredible. For a second, her face was hopeful, though the expression faded into fear as he lashed out with the knife. Squealing, she threw up a hand in an arcing motion in the opposite direction, parrying his hand away before she took half a dozen hasty steps backwards.
"There is. No. Purpose!" she barked, holding her hands up slightly in a mimic of the "fighting stances" she had seen on TV and in movies. "Not for any of us, and especially not for you. Because you aren't real. You're just a bunch of words some guy put on a page, you're nothing. Luther helps people every day, he makes a difference. You have no right to judge because you have done absolutely fucking nothing at all." He shifted the grip on his knife, shaking his head. She had it all wrong - Luther let criminals walk free while knowing of them. He was best friends with a witch. He was debating giving up the search for his Valjean. He had tried to stop Javert from doing his job. Luther had done nothing in comparison to what he had. Years said that - for Javert was more than ten years older than Luther was - and the memories in comparison.
"Nothing?" Javert nearly laughed. "You're the one who is nothing. You're a witch, a petty criminal. Luther is a petty man, who's failed. You don't believe in a purpose because you haven't found yours." She stared at him, eyes wide. "Oh, yeah. I'm nothing. I have a job. I have a family. I have friends. There are people here in the real world that know me. Luther's the same. What are you? You're fictional. You haven't done anything because you never existed."
The worst part was that she was starting to enjoy this. She advanced on him, emboldened by the venom she packed into her voice. "Purpose is something we make up to make ourselves feel better. But if you did have one? If you had any purpose at all? It'd be as a warning. Because you? Are the worst kind of person." Javert believed himself to exist, despite the fact that everyone considered him only made of paper and ink. It didn't mean anything to him and he ignored what she said, only focussing on the purpose. That was more tangible and could actually be applied.
"And that's where you're wrong." With a tightened expression, he dropped his knife and reached for her wrist. A foot went to hers as he pulled her towards him. One hand was still on the wrist with the knife, while the other went around her head in a lock. Thank you, Luther. She was going to respond. The words were in her head, and had marched onto her tongue. But before they come out, Javert had moved much more quickly than she'd have ever expected. She was stunned, too surprised to react in time to stop him. In what seemed to be one fluid motion, she was grabbed, reeled in, and held.
Gasping, she began to struggle against the headlock, though she knew she wouldn't be able to get out of it. Luther had used the same move on her playfully earlier that night, and she hadn't been able to escape when he was just joking. Her knife had was disabled as well, and she couldn't break it free. She struggled anyway, reaching back to elbow him in what she hoped was his gut. His attention was focussed on getting her knife completely out of commision and the elbow him hard. He bit down to keep from shouting, arm tightening around her neck. Before he had only wanted to keep her in place - now it was more dangerous. "Bitch," he hissed, hand reaching up to yank at the hair at the back of her head. As his arm tightened, she gasped. It was already hard to breathe, but now she was afraid of turning blue. As he yanked her hair, she squealed, bucking against him. Her neck jostled just enough to allow her to tilt her head until her lips were level with his arm. Though her knife hand was free, she just couldn't cut Luther. That was the kind of thing she was trying to prevent. So she curled her lips back and bit down as hard as she could on his arm while simultaneously elbowing him again, also stomping down on what she hoped was the instep of his right foot. It was enough of a struggle to make his grip loosen. Gasping as he moved his weight to his left - and his bad leg - dodging from the movements of elbows and teeth. A fist went out as the sole retalation, aiming for her temple before she had enough space to slip out. The second his grip slackened, she was on the move. She began to duck, butting her chin into the crook of his elbow as she forced her head downward. Just as she felt freedom, a fist collided with her temple. Gasping in pain, she fell out from under his arm, shoving him with her free hand while she pulled the knife closer. Not looking back, she began to run in the hopes of getting away from him for a little while longer. It took Javert a few moments to get moving again, gait uneven between the pain in both legs. They ran to the school, Joanie throwing a door open as they ran inside. The lack of the moon made seeing things difficult - especially when he didn't have time to find a light switch.
Seeing her pass a corner, Javert took off, slipping on a freshly washed floor. His feet slid out from under him as he landed on his ass, cursing once more. The punch to her head had made things fuzzy, but she was able to press onward. His limp slowed him down, giving her time to reach the school and try the side door. It flew open, allowing her to dart inside with Javert in hot pursuit.
They were on the first floor, in one of several academic corridors. Though she hadn't been here in years, Joanie remembered this building so perfectly that she wasn't terribly hampered by the lack of light. She kept to the wall of lockers, trailing her fingers over their metal faces to keep a grounding. As she went on, she reached a gap in the wall. Thinking back, this was the corridor leading to the cafeteria and gym. She took it, feet slipping and sliding over the floor.
She heard Javert fall, and despite herself, let out a loud, high-pitched cackle that echoed through the halls. "You can't catch me, old man!" she called into the darkness, sprinting towards the end of the hallway. "Don't wanna break a hip." Perhaps it was weak of him, but the witch's cackle sent a chill down his spine whenever he heard it. Hands clenched into fists on the floor, Javert gritted his teeth. One heave and he was up, wobbling slightly. His tailbone ached and the floor was still slippery - a terrible combination for balance.
Following the sound of her voice was difficult. The echo distorted things, leaving him lost shortly therafter. Having the prescence of mind to shut up, Javert kept his knife out and walked carefully through the halls, searching for her. Because she wasn't wearing a watch, Joanie had no idea how much time passed in that large, empty school. It had three floors, with labyrinthian hallways that were never the same from floor to floor. Holding her knife defensively, Joanie crept through the halls, doing her best to stay on the move while simultaneously conserving her energy.
After what felt like a lifetime, she finally took a chance and sat down beside one of the rows of lockers on the first floor. To her right was the open door they had entered, giving her an escape route should Javert find her. But she hoped that he was so turned around on one of the upper floors that he would never encounter her.
The cut across her back had stopped bleeding freely, though it stung whenever she shifted her shoulders. Though she wanted to lean her back against the wall to ease the ache in her spine - having a full chest was painful after a while, especially when she wasn't dressed for an athletic tryst - trying to do so made her hiss in pain and recoil. So she rested face-first against the edge of the locker, her cheek pressed against the cold metal as she did her best to keep her breathing quiet while she waited for the sun to just fucking rise already. Javert was a patient man, but irritability made the hour and a half that passed torture. His feet continued to slip on the newly washed floors and though occasionally he thought he caught a glimpse of the witch, she was gone before he could get there. He'd come to the conclusion that he hated school - and several other things - until he finally ended up where they came in.
His breathing had become more and more labored as he searched the building but at the sight of her, he went quiet. Lips pressed together, he rounded behind her, intending to approach from where she couldn't see. His steps were even and pressed heel-toe to make no sound until he was close enough to her to make out the dried blood on her back. He was almost too tired to smirk, but he managed a small one anyway.
Reaching out with a thick hand, Javert grabbed the base of her loose bun, yanking her to her feet. His leg moved up to kick her in the backs of her knees, as she rose, his balance compromised slightly.
"Miss me?" He hissed. In her little hiding place, Joanie was convinced that she was alone. She heard a very faint sound once, but upon looking around she saw nothing. Clearly she was just being paranoid. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let out a soft sigh. Maybe she had lost him. Maybe he was stuck on the third floor, leg too painful and stiff to allow him to climb down the stairs. That would have been nice.
Just as she was beginning to settle into a sense of security, Joanie felt something grab her hair. She didn't even try to censor herself as she screamed bloody murder, her left hand flailing backwards to slap at his arm as he dragged her to her feet. His leg swept her knees and caused them to buckle, her weight sinking until she could feel the pain in her head as she sagged while he gripped her hair tightly. Instinctively, her left hand gripped his arm in an attempt to find her balance. Instead of helping her, it brought them both down.
They fell backwards, Joanie landing at a glancing angle against Javert's chest with her right shoulder digging into the floor. Holding her right arm out at a distance so as not to hurt herself unintentionally with the knife, she rolled over onto all fours and tried desperately to scramble to her feet. He should have expected her retaliation and though he struggled as she grabbed him, they tumbled down. The air was knocked out of him and his eyes shut as he tried to get breathing again. His leg had twisted in the fall and her landing on him didn't help matters. It felt like his whole body ached with pain, begging to be knocked out so that it would be over.
Javert wouldn't give up or give in to those things though - a sharp breath and he was pushing himself up, hand still gripping her hair. The knife in his left hand had been knocked loose and he struggled to get both. Those fingers in her hair were like steel claws. Tugging against him, Joanie shrieked, trying to twist in order to bite him as she had before. Unfortunately, his grip was so close to the base of her neck that she couldn't turn. Her cheek brushed his thumb as she tried desperately to reach his wrist, finally giving up when she realized it wouldn't work.
So she improvised.
As he stood, she followed him, reaching her feet faster as she didn't have a bad leg. The second she was standing, she threw herself into him, hoping to slam him into the wall and knock the wind from him. Her knife was held out far from both of them, her right arm almost perfectly extended away from their bodies. It helped her balance while keeping the knife safely away from them both. Javert stumbled as she pushed into him, back slamming against the lockers. His knee came up to her stomach, eyes going to the held out knife as realization dawned. Hurt, it was because of Luther - why wouldn't she hurt Luther? She was a witch. Rage drove him onwards, ignoring his abandoned knife to merely recover. His hand loosened from her hair allowing him to punch her once more. As he stumbled, she was dragged with him by her hair. She tried to pull back once more before she found his knee in her gut. That almost hurt more than the punch to the face. The air left her lungs and she slumped, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders for support. Her right arm began to shake with the effort it took to hold it out, the blade of her knife trembling midair.
Feeling his fingers slacken in her hair, she began to pull back, prepared to try and run when his fist slammed into her cheek. Stars burst before her eyes and she stumbled away from him, left arm flailing while her right was held as stiffly as possible. Finally, she leaned against the lockers, holding her face in her left hand with her right arm slack at her side.
Heaving, she looked over at him before glancing down at the knife. She still couldn't breathe well, recovering from the knee in her diaphragm. Running wasn't an option. With a wince, she clenched her hand around the knife and whispered a Hebrew word that came out thin and weak. The knife disintegrated into dust. Nothing was adding up and it infuriated him. A hand went to the lockers, pushing on it to get to a better position. Though his whole body ached and the old stab wound throbbed, Javert towered over her crumpled figure. Had she really given up? Disbelief remained on his face as he stepped forward.
He winced, bending over to his boot. Another knife was kept there and fished it out, holding it over her. Voice hoarse, he stepped forward. "You're not made to win in the end. The law always triumphs." Taking that break to catch her breath was the worst thing she could have done. She leaned against the lockers, fingers clutching at thin air and it suddenly hit her how tired she was. They had been running for hours, fighting on and off in ways she had never had to before. She wasn't built for this. She wasn't used to this. Breathing was still difficult, and her back was killing her. Every time she stretched, she could feel the wound widening slightly. The knocks to the head had made things fuzzy, and it was getting harder to fight off the sheer terror she felt whenever her gaze landed on Javert.
As he approached her, knife held up, she crowded against the lockers and whimpered. She had two options: flee or beg. She was too tired to do the former, and she knew the latter would do no good. So she went with a third option.
"Too bad for you," she wheezed, latching her fingers into the slats of the nearest locker. "You aren't the law." She barked a string of Hebrew, turning the door of the locker into a lightweight bat. It took a few precious seconds and left her vulnerable during it, but it was her only option. Javert's mouth curved into a smirk that thrived though he was weary. Her fear and whimpering only made him advance more, pausing as she spoke. Not the law? Fury crossed his face and as she began speaking in that evil language, he grabbed the hair on the top of her head again, the knife at her throat. His back ached with the position and the bat wasn't good, but Javert kept on. This witch wasn't going to win.
"Of course I am," he snarled, tugging up. His knees bent in preperation for her swinging at him but the knife was at her neck. She'd have to be careful. Though he gripped her hair and yanked her back, she continued her little spiel until it was complete. When the glow died down, she was holding the light bat, though it did her very little good at the moment. The only thing she could focus on, the only thing she could feel, was the knife at her throat.
She gulped, holding her throat tight and leaning back into him, nearly all of her weight bearing on his front. She was trying to avoid the blade, trying to shrink away from it. Her eyes were wide and absolutely terrified as she stared at the guts of the locker she had dismantled. As he pulled on her, she could feel the blade slide over her throat.
Tears began to form in her eyes as she gripped the bat. In the back of her mind, the Witch was screaming at her to destroy the blade, but she couldn't do that. It was against her skin, but not enough for her to do anything. Though the Witch insisted that she could, Joanie knew she couldn't. Not like this. Not tired and beaten and scared.
"Don't...do this..." she whimpered, the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "I'm not a criminal..." She was lying. "I'm not a monster..." She had set fire to those people. "I'll go quietly with you..." She'd kick and scream and fight the whole way. "Please..." The smirk grew as her fear became evident. Good, she should be scared. If a knife to her throat was what it took, he should have gotten her in tihs position earlier. He shifted his weight slightly, pulling her towards him and letting the blade remain near her neck. A few of her tears hit his hand and he adjusted his grip slightly.
"Drop the bat," he ordered. "And then we'll see." The knife moved slightly on her throat, a little higher as a warning. Her heart was beating hard enough to make her feel sick. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let out a garbled murmur as he instructed her to drop the bat. She considered destroying it as a way to prove that she was cooperating, but knew that he would slice her neck open if she began speaking Hebrew. Leaning back against him still, trying to escape the blade as it hiked further up her throat, she let out a whimper.
The bat clattered to the ground, the sound echoing through the corridor. She would have pushed it away with a foot, but she was too scared to move. If she leaned even an eighth of an inch against the blade, she feared it would rip her neck open.
"Okay," she said, tears flowing more easily as she fought to hold her neck still. It was difficult, resulting in the skin rippling and tensing beneath the hard blade. "I have nothing." Biting down on her lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Please..." she pleaded again, feeling the same helplessness and terror she had in Russia. "Please..." The knife moved back a few centimeters when the bat came to the ground. He shifted them around so she was against the wall and he had taken her place. His bad leg kicked the bat away as he pushed her cheek against the wall. "Good."
Deciding what to do next was more difficult. He needed her to stop talking and to get her out of here - back to somewhere she could be taken care of. Come sunrise Luther would surely free her. She'd have to be taken care of prior, by either being turned into custody or killed. A stake was the normal procedure - the football field would do as one, if he could tie her up there. Water, drowning her was also a possibility. His lips pressed together for a moment before yanked her to her feet, knife pulling back so she wouldn't impale herself.
"Walk with me." When the knife was moved, she heaved a small sigh of relief even when her cheek was shoved into the wall. She stayed still, crouched as he held her there. Her gaze stayed on the knife the entire time, eyes wide. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but at least he had moved that fucking knife.
As he hauled her to her feet, she obeyed despite the pain in her shoulders and exhaustion in her leg muscles. She didn't say a word at his command, just following silently. Wherever he took her, she would follow. At least, until they left the building and were in open spaces. Then, she'd try to escape. She didn't trust him - wherever he was taking her would not end well for her. His hand remained entangled in her hair, keeping her on a leash as they left the building. They headed out to the field, headed for the goal posts. His knife remained in one hand as he looked about for suitable options for firewood and securing her. Nothing stood out to him and his mouth tightened as they trudged on. As they approached the goal posts, her blood ran cold. She remembered the sensation of being tied to the stake in Russia, and all the panic was overridden by the desire to never have that happen again. Suddenly, she wasn't okay with being compliant.
She had to get out of there.
Panicked, she lashed out with her elbow, hoping to slam it into his face as she jerked forward, hoping to loose his grip in her hair so that she could run. The elbow caught him in the cheek and he hissed in pain. Something went loose in his mouth and he cold taste blood. Grip slackening on her hair slightly, a hand went to his cheek before he cursed at her. Were she not fueled by panic, she'd have hoped that Luther hadn't been too badly hurt. But now, she was too scared to think about that. No, she was focused on one thing and one thing only - getting away. The thought of being burned was almost scarier than the knife to her throat. The heat, the agony she knew would come, it consumed her as she recalled something Luther had taught her. Cupping her left hand, she swung it at the ear on the side of his face she hadn't hit. Hopefully it would stun him enough to let go of her hair completely. It was lucky that they were both exhausted from their running across the neighborhood. Her swing didn't quite hit him in the ear and he recalled the move, just as pain exploded across the right side of his face. A shout escaped him as he released her completely, bending over in agony. The nerves throughout that side of his face erupted in pain and his grimace didn't help. Despite the fact that her legs were tired and her back burned from the cut - not to mention her head was ringing - Joanie tore away from him the second his hand slipped from her hair. Not daring to look back, she tore across the football field in a sprint that she sustained only as long as the goal post. As she passed it, she slowed significantly, wheezing, but forced herself to keep moving.
They'd go to the park. It was far enough away to tire them both out even further, so maybe - just maybe - he would relent by the time they reached it. He'd attempted to stumble after her, but the pain was too large. Javert was too old for this - even in Luther's younger body, he was too young to be running after twenty-somethings and get punched and beaten and keep it up for several hours. Panting, he put one foot in front of the other and followed her, keeping her in sight. By the time he got to the edge of the field he was able to start a wheezing jog that turned into a walk.
Ahead of him he could see the witch in a similar position. They continued on, through the streets and a few backyards as they made their way to a green park. Sometimes it seemed like he was catching up to her - others that she was getting further ahead. They panted and wheezed, even as old women on porches shouted at them, until he caught sight of small white bridge over a small water way in the park. The walk to the park was torturous. Her shoulders burned. She could feel the way her skin had been ripped by the knife and repeat abuse, and her head was still pounding from getting knocked around. Being kneed in the stomach and battered about had also taken its toll, and it was all she could do to not collapse in the middle of the street then and there.
As they reached the park, she groaned, ignoring a few older women as they shouted. Yes, she was green. Yes, she had a wound across her back. No, she wasn't going to talk to you right now. As she labored onward, her gaze locked on a small bridge over a little mini-river. It was fairly secluded by a few bunches of trees and shrubs, which made it the perfect place to take him.
Glancing at Javert over her shoulder, she forced herself into a swift trot as she approached the bridge. Clamoring up it, she turned to face him, wheezing. "It's. Over," she said between huffs. "Let's call a draw." Javert didn't slow when she stopped - if anything, he moved fater. Grabbing the post at the edge of the bridge, he hauled himself forward. He continued to use the side as support for his bad leg, glaring at her. "There's no draws, witch."
At this point, both of them were disarmed. She had been injured more than he had - but she'd been faster. His strength was at it's last legs and his leg had flared up again. They were even, save for her magic if she made use of it. "One of us is coming out of this alive." He forced himself forward, glaring. "And I will end you." The intensity on his face and in his voice turned her blood to ice. She had never heard someone so intent on killing another person before in her life, save for Aiden. But then, Dracula had done wrong. He had killed people. Joanie? She was innocent. Luther had said it himself, the Russia incident was in self-defense. It was baffling, staring down someone that wanted you so dead.
Compounding the horror was that Javert wore the face of her closest friend in the world.
As he lurched forward, she took a step back. She was so winded by all the fighting and running, and the pain she had endured in their confrontations had sapped her energy. Magic was a possibility, but she was so tired. So very tired. Using it recklessly would only exhaust her further.
"You can't kill me," she said, forcing her voice to be strong even though her insides were trembling. "You're tired. Your leg hurts. For fuck's sake, Javert." She wheezed, wiping her brow. "Give it a rest." He continued advancing, only stopping a few feet away from her. The look he gave her was just as horrific as ever - ready to kill her should she do anything. She had to be taken care of before dawn, otherwise she'd be free for another month.
"Can't I?" Javert laughed at that - a tired one, but dark nonetheless. "I can and will. And you're too scared to even hurt this body because it's Luther's. Why do you care about him?" Though his tone was cold, he wanted to know. She was a witch - why did she care about the inspector? His face said "murder." Everything about him was predatory, and in the worst possible way. She recalled the way she had felt when she incurred Shere Khan's wrath in Russia, and realized that the feeling was almost the same. Gulping, she wanted to back up but couldn't bring herself to. Squaring her shoulders, she stared him down. Her hand gripped the railing on the side of the bridge to keep from shaking.
At his laugh, she cringed. She wanted to run. She should run. But she was too tired. The longer she looked at him, the more it began to sink in that she might not get through this. Tears prickled in her eyes again at his question, and she tried not to sniffle as he pointed out that she was too afraid to hurt him.
"He's my closest friend," she said, forcing herself to remain strong. She couldn't break now. "He protects people, and he doesn't compromise himself for anything. I respect him more than I can say, and I trust him even more than that." Her knuckles went white and for a moment, her expression changed into something almost as dark as his. "And nothing pisses me off more than seeing a piece of shit like you treat him like garbage."
Without thinking, she launched forward. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but she crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a sort of tackle. Javert had released the railing as she spoke, noticing she was near tears. In the end it didn't matter that she wouldn't hurt Luther - or that they seemed to have a friendship that defied the laws of sanity and what was good. It was a weakness and he would use it against her, until she was down and dead. Her expression darkening caused a slight raise in eyebrows and his arms went out at the ready as she launched herself at him.
His arms went for her shoulders, intending to pry her off of him. When he realized she was clutching too tightly a snarl escaped his face and he whirled himself around, intending to slam her into the wall of the bridge. "Foolish bitch." When he pushed at her shoulders, she hissed in pain. Their constant running and scuffling over the course of the night had pulled at her wound slightly, opening it up and keeping it from forming a real protective clot to scab over. The entire area was tender, and she let out a grunt of pain as he slammed her back into the wall of the bridge. It caught her in the lower back, forcing her upper body over just slightly.
Scrambling to keep her balance, she gripped his shoulder in one hand while she pulled herself close to him, balling up the fist of her other hand and moving to strike down against his clavicle, right beside his neck. "Psychotic jackass," she hissed. As she punched him, Javert grunted. "Fuck you," he hissed, hands moving from her shoulders again. She was nearly over and with the right movement - he could almost see this working to his advantage. Gritting his teeth, he reached for her neck, hands closing about it.
"Let go," he warned her. It would be hard to tell when he'd gone too far with coloring - after all, she was already green. "Bridges are the perfect place to end a life. It's a shame it's so low - otherwise, people would believe you were going to throw yourself off." His teeth gnashed at her, hands finally moving from her neck. His free hand pried hers from his before a backhanded slap went about her head.
"They're nameless like you will be," he hissed. Each blow from her was blurring - his whole body ached and he doubted any place where she kicked him wasn't already bruised. He released her suddenly, attempting to pull away - this clearly wasn't working. The slap knocked her to the side, but at least her throat was free. She scrambled away from the edge of the bridge and rounded on him. Though her upper body was aching, her legs were at least in better condition than his. They were tired, but uninjured. She was still fairly quick on her feet, able to maneuver around him.
"There's one that's got a name," she said, forcing herself to keep laughing. Digging her fingers into his jacket as he turned with her, she stepped forward to try and force him against the edge of the bridge. "I think you know him." It was a bad move Javert realized later. A snarl escaped him as she grabbed him. His legs were weak but he did have size on his side. They pushed at one another like wrestlers, a low animalistic sound coming out. "Possibly, I don't keep track of everyone." His size was easily crowding her, and though he was unsteady on his legs, he was pushing her back fairly easily. So, he wanted to push her over? Fine. She'd take him with her. Breaking the tension, she threw her arms up around his neck and let her weight sink from his shoulders, letting her knees go slack as she attempted to drag him down. Mouth near his ear, she whispered softly. "I know what happens to you." As she clung to him, not unlike a monkey Javert stumbled. They moved closer to the edge as he fought to pull her off of him. Their balanced teetered until they neared the edge of the bridge that sloped downhill. His left leg went out from under him as they tumbled down, her falling onto him. "Putain-" He spat at her. He didn't care what happened to him, he wanted her dead. They slid down the bridge, tumbling until they reached the bottom. Fingers still digging firmly into his shirt, she steadied herself over him on all fours. It was an awkward position, but if it kept him from being able to throw her off the bridge, then she'd deal. She wasn't sure what he had said, but she could figure that it was bad. "Do you wanna know?" she asked teasingly, tightening her knees together on either side of his legs to try and hold them still. During the fall his left arm had moved to catch them. It was twisted painfully now and moving the fingers killed. He hissed as the witch climbed over him. "Don't give a damn-" He said, before shoving his right leg up. It would hurt more if she was male but it should still do something if he could push between them. Though Joanie was a woman, feeling his shin slam into her groin was quite painful. Hissing, she rolled to the side, curling into a semi-fetal position. "Owww," she whined, rolling over onto her knees beside him. "What if you die?" Javert took the opportunity to push up into a sitting position. His left arm wouldn't behave properly and putting any weight on it killed. "If it's while killing you, I'll have been succesful." The way he said that so matter-of-factly made her heart stop. For a second, she forgot that this was Luther. It looked nothing like him now. It sounded nothing like him now. This was Javert.
A shrill cackle sounded in the back of her skull as she balled up her right fist and threw it without abandon straight for his face. He had attempted to get on his knees and over to her when the cackle came from her. Javert froze, missing the fist until it was too late. It connected with his right eye and he went down, again. The pain throughout that side of his face had still been in agony from before - now he could barely breathe as it filled.
A stream of curses came from him as he shut his eyes. It would swell he knew - if he lived - and any attempt to open his right after made it worse. His leg kicked out, aiming nowhere near her. The leg missed her by a mile and she skittered to the side, bristling with rage. The Witch was egging her on, encouraging her, and she had a hard time resisting. Standing up, she looked down at him, strands of dark hair falling around her face. Without a word, she lifted a foot and rested it on his abdomen, pressing down firmly and slowly while she gripped the railing of the bridge with one hand.
"You die, by the way." Her stepping on him gave him a better idea of where she was. Writhing under her foot, both arms grabbed her leg, tugging. His left wrist killed as he did so, disliking the grip but he refused to let go. Nails dug into her skin, intending to do some damage so he could breathe properly.
Javert opened his left eye, glaring at her as best he could from the ground. Through heaving breaths he managed, "Everyone - dies - in - the end." She hissed as he gripped her leg. Her footing was already unsteady, and so she stumbled, grabbing the railing of the bridge to keep standing. She shook her leg to try and throw him off, lifting her foot from his stomach in the process.
Damnit, his response actually made sense. The asshole. Gritting her teeth, she tried to pull her leg back away from him. "Some sooner than others," she grunted. Javert rolled away, releasing her leg in the process. He ended up landing on his left arm again but it didn't matter - he needed to be far enough away so he could breathe. A few meters down from her he laid on his stomach, panting. No answer was given - he wasn't rising to her bait. When he rolled away, she wanted to go after him. She wanted to hunt him down and beat him the way he had done to her. But she was just so tired. Gripping the edge of the bridge, she slowly sank to the ground with shaking legs. She couldn't even remember everything that had happened, as it was all turning into this blur in her head. Her temple was throbbing where she was sure he had hit her before, and she felt as if her back were on fire.
With a final wheeze, she rolled onto her side, chest rising and falling slowly, and felt herself slip away. Javert finally managed to look back up, one eye opened and facing her. She seemed to have passed out and with everything that had happened, a weary smile crossed his face. He dragged his body over to her, using three limbs intead of four. Blood was on bridge's plans - who's? - and his fingers came up bloody as he got to her.
He stared at her for a moment, weariness over taking him. There wasn't anything he could do - not this beaten and bruised. Someone would come eventually and find the witch and him. They'd have to. He heaved himself to the brdge's railing, leaning against it. He would keep his eye on her until an opportunity came. He wouldn't let her go again and she would be apprehended like the God damned criminal she - she was...
Despite himself his left eye drifted shut. Sleep and oblivion claimed the pain and he didn't have the energy to fight it off.