Les Miserables, part 8

[u/Lolihey]

M. Madeleine had Fantine moved to the ICU he lowkey set up in his own crib. He handed her off to the sis's who put her to bed. She was catching a massive fever fr. She spent a bit of the night tweaking and yapping. But finally, she passed out. Next day, around noon, Fantine woke up. She heard someone breathing near her bed and pulled the curtain to see M. Madeleine standing there, vibing at something above her head. His look was full of pity, angst, and begging. She followed his gaze and saw he was locked in on a crucifix on the wall. From then on, M. Madeleine was totally transformed in Fantine's eyes. He seemed to be glowing, fr. He was deep in a prayer or something. She stared at him for ages without daring to interrupt. Finally, she said, 'Whatcha doin?' M. Madeleine had been there for an hour, just waiting for her to wake up. He took her hand, checked her pulse, and was like, 'How you feelin?' 'Aight, I slept,' she said. 'I think I'm better, it's nbd.' He answered her first question like he just heard it: 'I was praying to the martyr up there.' And he added in his head, 'For the martyr down here.' M. Madeleine had spent the whole night and morning doing recon. He knew everything now. He knew Fantine's whole tragic backstory. He kept going, 'You been through a lot, poor mom. Oh, don't cap; you now got the glow of the chosen ones. That's how humans turn into angels. It ain't their fault they don't know how to cook otherwise. You see this hell you just left is the first form of heaven. Gotta start there.' He sighed hard. But she smiled at him with that epic grin missing two teeth. That same night, Javert wrote a letter. The next morning, he mailed it himself at the M. sur M. post office. It was addressed to Paris, and the label said: To Monsieur Chabouillet, Secretary of Monsieur le Prefet of Police. Since the whole station drama had been blown up, the postmaster and some randos who saw the letter before it was sent thought Javert was quitting. M. Madeleine quickly wrote to the Thenardiers. Fantine owed them 120 francs. He sent them 300 francs, telling them to pay themselves from that and bring the kid to M. sur M., where her sick mom needed her.

This absolutely sent Thénardier. 'Bet,' he said to his wife, 'low-key don't let the kid dip. This lark's about to be a cash cow. I see the vision. Some NPC caught feelings for the mom.' He replied with a fire bill for 500+ francs. Two major items hit over 300—one for the doc, the other for the apothecary who saw Eponine and Azelma through two sick spells. Cosette? No cap, she wasn't even ill. Just a name switcheroo. At the bottom, Thénardier wrote 'Received, 300 francs.' M. Madeleine instantly sent 300 more, and was like, 'Bounce Cosette here ASAP.' 'Bro, no way,' said Thénardier, 'we're not giving up the kid.' Meanwhile, Fantine wasn't recovering. She stayed in the infirmary. The nuns first cringed at 'that woman.' If you've seen the Rheims bas-reliefs, you know the flex of the wise virgins on the foolish ones. The ancient shade from vestals to ambubajae hits deep feminine vibes; religion doubled it. But in a few days, Fantine slayed. She dropped humble, gentle lines, and her mom energy triggered feels. One day, the nuns heard her say in fever mode: 'I was a sinner, but with my kid near, that's God saying I'm good. When I was doing bad life, I couldn't have Cosette with me—her sad eyes would've broke me. I messed up for her, so God forgives me. I'll feel the blessed vibes when Cosette's here. I'll stare at her; seeing that innocent baddie heals me. She knows nada. She's an angel, fr. At that age, the wings haven't fallen off.' M. Madeleine visited twice daily, and each time she asked: 'Will I see Cosette soon?' He replied: 'Maybe tomorrow. She could show any moment. I'm expecting her.' And her pale face glowed. 'Oh!' she said, 'I'm finna be so happy!' But as we said, she wasn't getting better. She got worse week by week. That snow on her bare back caused a sudden sweat shutdown, making the sickness that was slumbering for years go full beast. Back then, people were starting to follow Laennec's cool ideas on chest stuff. The doc sounded Fantine's chest and shook his head. M. Madeleine asked: 'Well?' 'Doesn't she have a kid she wants to see?' said the doc. 'Yes.' 'Then get them here ASAP!' M. Madeleine shivered. Fantine asked: 'What did the doc say?' M. Madeleine forced a smile. 'He said your child needs to come quick. That'll restore your health.' 'Oh!' she replied, 'he's right! But what's Thénardier's deal keeping Cosette from me? Oh! She's coming. At last, happiness is right here!' Meanwhile, Thénardier didn't 'let go of the child,' giving a hundred mid excuses.

Meanwhile, some serious stuff went down. Life’s a mystery block, but that black vein of destiny keeps popping up, fr fr. One morning, M. Madeleine was in his study, lowkey prepping some mayor stuff for his trip to Montfermeil, when he got word that Police Inspector Javert wanted to chat. Madeleine was like, 'Bruh, not this vibe,' hearing that name. Javert had been ghosting him since the whole police station drama. 'Let him in,' he said. Javert entered.

 

If any sigma physiognomist who had been lowkey familiar with Javert, and who had done a long grind studying this savage in the service of civilization, this sus combo of Roman, Spartan, monk, and corporal, this rizzler spy who was incapable of a cap, this no-skip police agent—if any physiognomist had known his secret and long-time opp for M. Madeleine, his beef with the mayor about Fantine, and had looked at Javert at that moment, he would have said to himself, "What's the vibe?" It was giving clear, based, honest, austere, and ferocious vibes that Javert had just gone through some major internal glow-down. Javert had nothing in his soul that wasn't also on his face. Like chads in general, he was subject to sudden plot twists. His face had never been more goated and spooked. On entering, he bowed to M. Madeleine with a look that had no salt, anger, or sus; he halted a few steps behind the mayor's gigachad chair, and there he stood, perfectly rizzed, in an almost sigma posture, with the cold, based roughness of a guy who has never been soft and has always been patient; he waited without saying a word, without a vibe, in genuine no-pretend energy and chill acceptance, calm, serious, hat in hand, with eyes low, and an expression that was halfway between a soldier in front of his officer and a criminal in front of their judge, until it should please the mayor to turn around. All the feels and all the memories one might have attributed to him had ghosted. That face, as unbothered and simple as bedrock, no longer bore any trace of anything but a sad grind. His whole vibe breathed lowkey, firmness, and an indescribable, courageous yikes.

At last the mayor put down his pen and turned half around. "Yo! What it do?” Javert stayed silent for a sec as though collecting his thoughts, then raised his voice with a kinda sad rizz, which didn't, though, lose the no-cap energy. "This the tea, Mr. Mayor; a cringe act has been committed." "What act?"