aug & sept catch all

[policier]

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. )

Comments

[policier]

( 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.

[worthallthis]

[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?

[policier]

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. )

[worthallthis]

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.