[Javert stares, uncomprehendingly. He is stunned, beside himself, gobsmacked, and that isn't something that occurs with any regularity.
He realizes at once that he's made a fatal error. He doesn't truly know this woman.
He operated at a distance from her, watching her through network proceedings with only the occasional run-in. So much of those network conversations have melted into his memories, unreachable, with how many times he's died. But it is a moot point. If he'd known about her history with addiction, he wouldn't have known to associate it with liquor, regardless. It is separate in his old-fashioned head, as natural as Hawkeye Pierce guzzling gin with every quiet moment he gets.
So when Javert saw the storm of emotions wreck her face, her voice, and posture, he understands only that one fact: he overlooked her when he should have owed her his attention. He caused this, and him alone. He's cursing himself violently under his breath, stricken and exhausted.
In what can only be described as a damn blur of movement, he's thrown open both the nearest window and his liquor cabinet and starts to angrily throw each and every bottle out into the abyss of Dyster town. He's cross. He's mad, mostly at himself, and above all, he just wanted to make a pact with another Priest. This has gone cross-eyed, and this is the best way he can think of to make amends.]
I apologize, [he hisses fiercely, fraught with exhaustion, as he reaps his path of destruction. Crash. Crash. Crash. Systematically throwing everything away. He means his apology, too, rarely being a creature to give one.] I've been an ignorant dolt. Knew not a lick about you, did I? See where it's brought us!
[He pauses halfway through throwing a very expensive 100 year whiskey, hand on the bottleneck and reeled back to toss. His gaze skids towards a still-livid Amanda.]
Would you like to throw some? Smash one against my thick skull, if it will please you.
CW: addiction and alcohol
He realizes at once that he's made a fatal error. He doesn't truly know this woman.
He operated at a distance from her, watching her through network proceedings with only the occasional run-in. So much of those network conversations have melted into his memories, unreachable, with how many times he's died. But it is a moot point. If he'd known about her history with addiction, he wouldn't have known to associate it with liquor, regardless. It is separate in his old-fashioned head, as natural as Hawkeye Pierce guzzling gin with every quiet moment he gets.
So when Javert saw the storm of emotions wreck her face, her voice, and posture, he understands only that one fact: he overlooked her when he should have owed her his attention. He caused this, and him alone. He's cursing himself violently under his breath, stricken and exhausted.
In what can only be described as a damn blur of movement, he's thrown open both the nearest window and his liquor cabinet and starts to angrily throw each and every bottle out into the abyss of Dyster town. He's cross. He's mad, mostly at himself, and above all, he just wanted to make a pact with another Priest. This has gone cross-eyed, and this is the best way he can think of to make amends.]
I apologize, [he hisses fiercely, fraught with exhaustion, as he reaps his path of destruction. Crash. Crash. Crash. Systematically throwing everything away. He means his apology, too, rarely being a creature to give one.] I've been an ignorant dolt. Knew not a lick about you, did I? See where it's brought us!
[He pauses halfway through throwing a very expensive 100 year whiskey, hand on the bottleneck and reeled back to toss. His gaze skids towards a still-livid Amanda.]
Would you like to throw some? Smash one against my thick skull, if it will please you.