trans_9 | (no subject)

Javert had been reluctant to leave the relative familiarity of the ship, even for the promise of open air. However, he had had little choice and therefore had descended with the rest of the crew for 'Shore Leave', a concept he had not considered for a very long time.

He kept to the markets, largely considering clothing he wished to aquire, being quite tired of the plantsuit and wanting his old clothing, or some approximation of it. It was unlikely he would find the proper uniform, but some form of clothing appropriate to his era must be available, somewhere.

His largest difficulty with the entire holiday was the masses of people moving to and fro. Pickpockets, thieves, he spotted every one of them and could hardly restrain his urge to collect them. One had even dared to try his pockets; the boy was sent off with a smarting hand and a foul look. This, more than anything, made him miss Paris-- where the vagabonds knew him, and if they did not flee the sight of him, they at least left him well enough alone.

He stood to the side of the thoroughfare, watching the passerby of all shapes and sizes, looking as close as Javert could to being lost.

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[This is open, right?]

Winter had finally found a pair of earrings she liked the look of. Unfortunately, within half an hour of buying them she was finding that they itched and burned in her piercings. Not the right kind of metal.

If she kept them in long enough, they would stop irritating her earlobes, or else she would get used to it. For now, they were a distraction - and, actually, she welcomed it. When she was thinking about how much she wanted to take the things out, she wasn't thinking about loss and how idle and unproductive she was forced to be.

Even distracted, though, and heading towards a shop that she remembered had seemed reasonable, Winter did see someone standing out. Not because of his species or appearance, no. It was because he was standing to the side without resting or seeming to wait for someone.

She hesitated, but - distraction, again. She literally had nothing better to do. So Winter stepped evenly out to the side and approached the tall man. Her voice low and composed, she asked, "Are you searching for something?"

[Ack, yes! I feel dumb now.]

Javert turned his head to stare at the woman. He didn't immediately recognize her, but she didn't look much like the natives of the planet. She was likely another member of the crew.

"Searching, yes. Finding is another matter altogether, however." He made a disgruntled noise deep in his throat. "I am not a man for idle wanderings."

The Alderaanian woman clasped her hands together behind her back, returning his stare with a cool look. "Nor am I. We're at leisure now, but even on the ship it seems like there is little that needs doing."

"I've seen a detailed map and a directory; I've also gone beyond the usual tourist attractions to see where the natives spend their money. If you're looking for something material, I have a good chance of knowing if it can be found here, where, and which place would charge the least." Winter was blessed, or cursed, with a perfect memory. Anything she saw, heard, or felt was preserved in absolute clarity. Sometimes it was helpful.

"I am simply looking for appropriate garments." Javert's versions of appropriate could be different than those of other people.

"It is rather a lot to handle, isn't it?"

Luna's voice comes from beside him, and if Javert turns to peer at the odd blonde, he will see her trying to keep her ice cream from trickling onto her wrist with a lick at the waffle cone. Her hair looks rather unkempt, and it's obvious from the specific brand of unkempt that she went swimming earlier and has yet to wash the salt out of her hair.

He turns his head and looks down, staring at the diminutive, unkempt girl. "...I suppose so. Smaller than Paris, hah! But to me, less known."

He made a noise in his throat. It was disturbingly close to a 'harrumph'.

"Vagabonds abound."

That has her attention.

"You're from Paris? I've always wanted to go to Paris, but Daddy says that the French Minister for Magic is worse that Cornelius Fudge. Apparently, he drinks unicorn blood so he won't ever have to give up his position, and he did ban Sirius Black from France, though I suppose I would do the same if I thought he was a notorious mass murderer." She pauses to eat a bit of her ice cream cone, eyes sliding up to stare at the harrumphing man.

"Vagabonds are interesting people, sometimes."

Javert just stares at her for a moment.

"...Indeed." Crazy insane British children, he thought.

Clearly, he issn't up to keeping up with Luna at the moment. Poor Javert.