logsinthenight | aug & sept catch all

characters: javert & ota
location: around beacon
date/time: august & september
content: fortune teller side-effects & intro log prompt
warnings: suicide mention

find your fortune

( Javert never cared much for his mother's profession. She was a fortune teller, and much more inclined than he to believe in such things as superstition and fate. Javert always considered it foolish, and he thinks the same thing of the machine when he passes it by at the amusement park, his lips curling disdainfully.

The fortune he receives is no less ridiculous, and Javert scoffs as the mechanical voice recites it to him. It isn't until much later when he finally realizes the truth of it, his limbs and hands become chilled despite the heat in the air. He's donned in his greatcoat and his boots, his hat and his leather gloves doing little to prevent him from shivering. He moves from one building to another with his arms wrapped around himself, not in an effort to appear unapproachable, but because he's so cold. Sometimes, he can be seen trying to warm himself by the bonfire, leaning a little too close to the flames.

When that doesn't work, he goes to the Invincible. He goes when he knows there will be plenty of people there, during the mid-day meal, or at the end of the night when everyone's having a night cap. He takes a seat at the bar, shivering violently despite himself, and asks, )

Is there any coffee left?

( He wouldn't turn down a glass of wine, either, but only the one. )

sinking fast

( It takes him a while to discover the cargo, sinking ever so slowly to the bottom of the lake. It's almost like déjà vu, and Javert curses them for their poor luck, throwing off his hat, coat, and gloves into the sand without thought. His cravat and boots follow shortly thereafter, and he rolls up his trousers and shirtsleeves as he wades out into the water. He doesn't have time to remember his death, or how it felt to drown. If he did, perhaps he would have been a little more hesitant to step into the water, with his lantern left precariously along the edge of the lake.

He collect whatever he can and throws it onto the shore, not thinking about anything at all save for his next dive. When he feels his strength begin to leave him, he collapses wearily onto the sand, waterlogged and out of breath and with his arms still clutching a bundle of wood.

He returns to the bed & breakfast not so long after that, carrying as many pieces of the cabinets as he can. His clothes cling to his skin, and his hair is beginning to curl from the humidity, but it matters little. He places them inside, against one of the empty walls of the kitchen and wrings out his shirt-cuffs in the sink. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I don't need practice, and I won't involve myself in pointless conversations. I can speak to others well enough.

( So he doesn't see the point in all this, save that it is meant to be a punishment. His frown remains, and he seems almost as if he's sulking. )

Conversations don't have to be pointless. I have had many very good conversations with people.

[They keep their voice easy, or as easy as they ever manage with tone. They're not judging. They're trying to help.]

As have I, but I do not wish to do so all the time.

( It doesn't seem as if he's going to change his mind. Before Soldat gets a chance to retort, Javert plunges his hands into his coat pocket, drawing out a small, leather-bound notebook. There are sketches inside of it, though Soldat doesn't get much of a chance to study them, before Javert flips to a blank page and sets his hand on top of it. )

There are other things we can do.

[The sketches take Soldat by surprise, so much so that they have to ask rather than see what Javert was going to suggest.]

You draw?

Yes.

( He answers flatly, almost as if daring Soldat to have a laugh at him. Drawing is not one of his usual hobbies, it's true. He often does it when no one is looking, or when he's with Matt, who cannot see what he's sketching and therefore cannot judge him. It's something that he's been dabbling in a little more often, though he hasn't spoken of it to anyone. )

If that is what you wish to call it. I cannot claim to be terribly good at it, but it is a useful skill.

[No laughter here. Nostalgia, maybe. A kind of happy sadness. Soldat is quiet for a minute, then they say softly,]

Steve used to draw. May I. May I see it?

( Javert's expression wrinkles, as it often does whenever someone thinks him capable of a concession. His hand is still spread on top of the notebook, though he seems quite reluctant to hand it over, he doesn't say no. He's silent for several moments, then all at once, he turns his head away and holds the book out to him. He doesn't want to see Soldat's face when he looks at them, but they aren't quite so bad as he thinks.

Many of the sketches are of the residents, and Soldat will be able to find one of himself, if he flips through it. It's clear that he's spent a lot of time on them, in order to get the details right. There are drawings of the spirits, too, both friendly and malicious. Soldat may recognize a few of them. Javert stares at the ground as the other man looks at the notebook, haughty and embarrassed. )

[They ignore his expression. Javert is touchy, they know this. Instead, they flip slowly through the pages, and smile quietly after a few of them. The spirits are all so varied and interesting, the portraits are-- touching. They brush fingertips to their own, when they find it, recognizing the hair and eyes, even that dumb cleft in their chin.]

They're wonderful. I had no idea.

[It really is like Steve. They... they know he used to draw the person they used to be. They know it. He drew everyone around him.]

( Javert stoutly refuses to look at him. Even when he hears the wonderment in Soldat's voice, he keeps his gaze fixed to the ground. He doesn't know if he could stand to see the other man's smile, knowing that he may be getting the wrong impression. Soldat's portrait may be a little more carefully drawn than the others, but that is only because Javert knows his face better. That's what he tells himself. )

That girl Coraline said I work too much.

( He explains, frowning a bit. )

She said I needed another past time, and I've always had a good memory for faces. I thought it may be useful to have them committed to paper.

[Soldat isn't reading anything too strong into it besides simple care and attention, at least. That's all it had been when Steve drew the-- person they used to be. They close the book reverently and offer it back.]

I'm glad you did. You are very good. Do you enjoy doing it?

No.

( Javert doesn't know that hobbies are supposed to be fun. He only reads to make himself sound more educated, and he only draws because it distracts from his thoughts. He takes the notebook and covers it with his large hand, without opening it again. )

It frustrates me more than anything. I cannot always get the pictures to look right.

[Oh, Javert. While something in them does resonate with that-- there's a flash of small, skinny Steve, much younger than most of the memories they have of him, throwing a sketch book across the room in frustration-- Javert should still do things that make him happy, sometimes. Soldat leans a little again against his shoulder.]

Is there anything you do enjoy, sir? Besides patrols and practice.

( Javert stiffens a little at the question, his irritation becoming all the more palatable. A heavy sigh escapes him before he realizes it, exasperated and tired, and he says, )

If it is your intent to lecture me, spare your breath. I have heard it all before.

Edited 2020-11-28 02:49 (UTC)

No, sir. All I want is for you to be happy.

[Far be it from a murder machine to lecture Javert about enjoyable activities. Doing stupid things to get himself killed, maybe, but not his hobbies.]

And if there's something you like doing, I could find a way to do it with you. If that's something you wanted.

( That seems to shut him up a little. His body is still a bit rigid beneath Soldat's shoulder, and he's frowning, but it's not any different than his usual broody moods. He's feeling overwhelmed with emotions, with gratitude and relief, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he finally admits, )

I like to watch the stars.

( Sometimes he daydreams too, but Soldat already knows that. He isn't the first person Javert told about this, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing. )

They often brought me comfort when I was young, and my mother taught me of them.

Edited 2020-11-29 17:17 (UTC)

[There, see? That's something. Soldat looks up at the sky, obscured only a little by the light from the bonfire, certainly nothing like it would be in a city.]

I don't know much about them. What did your mother teach you?

She taught me of the constellations in the sky, and how to recognize them. She also taught me where to find the North Star, Polaris, but that is not of much use to us here. The night sky here is different.

( That seems to unsettle him a bit. It's just one more thing about his life that is unknown to him and unfamiliar. He hesitates a bit before looking up at the sky, and the dwindling number of stars that hang above their heads. )

Guess that comes from being on a different world. Everything's from a different perspective.

[They jostle his shoulder very gently, still pressed close.]

Maybe we can make up new constellations. Here. New constants.

aug & sept catch all

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