logsinthenight | aug & sept catch all

Entry tags:

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. )

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[ elektra had spent intermittent time at the carnival, not wanting to spend too much time there in case things end up going the same way they had during the last festival. she'd seen the fortune machine, but also remembers covering for matthew when he'd asked another machine too many questions and isn't interested in any potential side effects, especially when her wrist and arm are still healing. she's already retrieved her own cup of coffee when javert approaches. ]

Plenty. [ she'll even pour him some, pushing the mug towards him. with anyone else she might not have bothered, but while she's not as familiar with him personally, she knows matthew patrols the town with him. ] Are you sick?

Edited 2020-09-07 21:05 (UTC)

[Soldat has been kind of concerned about Javert. The bundling up and the shivering is hard to miss, when you're a ~~borderline stalker~~ concerned friend. They trail him to the bonfire, and then come up behind him, off to his left enough that he should clock them coming and hopefully not be too startled.]

Sir? Everything all right?

( He doesn't know her well, either, only in passing and by name. It's not so difficult to discern when there are so few of them left, and Javert has always made it his duty to know who everyone is regardless. He shakes his head, taking the warm mug when it is offered to him and wrapped his large hands around it. The chill is beginning to lessen already, though he doesn't know if it is from being near someone or from the coffee. Perhaps it's a bit of both. )

I have been cursed.

( He answers simply, and given the certainty in his voice, it doesn't seem as if he's joking. )

It was that fortune teller. The one at the amusement park, do you know of it?

( It's a fortunate thing that the fire cannot catch on his clothes. Javert's coat would have surely been scorched and set on fire numerous times, and perhaps even more so now, with close he's standing to it. He notices Soldat walking toward him in the corner of his eye, and he hangs his head a little more lowly, all but muttering his answer into his cravat, )

No. ( He frownw. There's a pause, and then he explains, bitterly, ) I have been cursed by that fortune teller.

[ she's done that, too. there are times where it's been difficult; lately it's been disturbingly easy. now that he's got his coffee she busies herself preparing hers, with what is probably an obscene amount of sugar to anyone who's not her. she pushes the container to him once she's finished, bringing her mug in front of her mouth with her good hand. ]

I saw it. I didn't go near it. [ she's never been cursed herself, at least not when it comes to these sort of things, but she'd seen the effects of the hint-o-matic. ] Did it tell you anything?

[You got a super-soldier hanging on every word you say, Javert. Mutter if you want, they're still gonna hear it.

They frown, too, and step a little closer.]

Cursed? Rosinante said it made him babble... it made me a little chilly, but only for a day. What's wrong?

[What can they do to help?]

( Javert doesn't take any sugar, preferring his coffee to be as dark and bitter as possible. He frowns a little at the question, looking away for a moment as if annoyed that the machine had told him nothing useful. )

Only that I am cold, and that the coldness inside me shall grow until I find companionship.

( He had thought it nothing but foolishness at first. What does it matter if he is alone? He's always preferred to be on his own, but even Javert has limits, and the chill has become nearly unbearable. )

I thought perhaps being here would help. I have tried everything else.

( Javert hunches in a little, his chin hiding even further beneath his collar. He seems reluctant to admit to what's bothering him, but he does eventually say, after several moments of silent glowering and disdain, )

I do not seek companionship, and so it makes me cold.

( His words are muffled against his coat, and he huffs in irritation. )

I don't have time for such foolishness, and I am certain no one else does either.

You're cold. Because you're alone?

[Soldat is tempted to laugh, if that's the case. They won't, of course, because that would be mean, but-- how ironic. They take one more step closer.]

I've got time. If it will help.

[ yeah, that sounds about in line with the kind of thing those things are wont to do. elektra sighs and shakes her head, taking a sip of her coffee. ]

Was it specific about the kind of companionship? I don't have anywhere in particular to be right now.

[ she understands the desire to be on your own, she'd lived that way more often than not when she'd been alive. after a while you just kind of get used to living that way. but he looks pretty miserable at the moment and if this can be satisfied by some company, she doesn't mind giving it. ]

I didn't ask for your help.

( He barks, prickling a little. Soldat may not have laughed, but Javert can still make out the incredulousness in his question. Javert has always been a little too prideful, and loathe to ask for anyone's charity. )

I'm not your obligation.

[The brief bit of amusement drains away, and they just smile a little bit, a soft look rather than surprised now.]

No, you're my friend. You don't have to ask for my help. I want to give it. That's how it works.

[They might not know a lot about how one is a friend, but they do know that much.]

If you don't want it, you just say no. But I am still going to offer.

It did not.

( Which is another dilemma. Perhaps being near someone and talking to them will be enough, or so he hopes. Javert doesn't know if he can handle anything much more than that. He takes a long draught of coffee, but it does little to warm him and he seems upset about that. )

I would return home, but there is no one there. What brings you to this place, then?

I came upon the fair on my way back from the labs. I can't really do many rides with my arm like this - [ she holds her bandaged arm and casted wrist for emphasis ] - so I stopped to get coffee instead. [ she might go back if matthew decides he wants to, or if treeby does, but in the meantime she hasn't really eaten either. ]

Are you hungry at all?

( His words put Javert to silence. He doesn't smile, but neither does he balk or refuse the other man's offer. It seems Soldat's proximity has eased the chill from his body somewhat, and Javert is not shivering quite so violently as he was earlier. He turns away from the bonfire, stalking toward one of the benches, saying, )

You may do as you wish.

( His words are kinder now. If he didn't want Soldat around, he would very blunt in saying so. Once he's seated, he unfolds his arms, but his frown remains. )

Though I have little to offer to pass the time.

If you don't want to talk, I am very good at sitting quietly. Also, I have music, and the network to read, and paper to fold.

[They're a little sad they don't have a pack of cards, but they're seriously running out of pockets to keep spare things in, these days. They follow Javert over to the bench, and settle in next to him, not quite touching shoulders but close to touching.]

What helps you?

I don't know.

( It does seem as if he's warming up a little more, but he cannot tell if that is because of their proximity, the conversation, or their familiarity with one another. He may have to consider it a bit more. )

The fortune teller was not overly specific, which is not surprising. It is difficult to be wrong if you speak in generalities.

( He casts a glance to her arm, which he had noticed before, but had not thought to mention. He doesn't feel as if he's particularly hungry, but perhaps that is only because his mind has been elsewhere, and more concerned with keeping himself warm. )

Why are you asking?

( It almost sounds as if she's trying to be nice to him. Javert frowns a bit. )

I don't take much more than bread with my coffee. That is enough.

Because I am.

[ look, she tries occasionally. she's not necessarily great at it, but she can make an attempt, and given there's not a whole lot of people left among them, it feels important that they look out for each other. she can read the room and he doesn't seem all that thrilled about it, but he doesn't ask her to leave and mentions taking bread with coffee, so she goes to find some.

locating it doesn't take her too long, and she sets the basket in the center of the table, tearing off a piece for herself and picking off a piece to pop into her mouth. ]

Any improvement as far as the cold goes?

What exactly did it say? Maybe I'll have more luck.

[It's really doubtful. Soldat may be the only one in Beacon more literal than Javert is. But they're still curious.]

No longer are you troubled by the heat of summer. That coldness inside of you shall only grow. For any relief, you will need to find the warmth of companionship.

( He recites it as well as he can, his voice even and gruff. He sits there quietly for several moments, seething a bit. )

You see? It is useless.

( He's not quite as irritable as he used to be. Perhaps it is because he's growing soft, or growing used to others treating him nicely for no particular reason. It takes almost no effort for her to find some bread and bring it to him, and that seems to please him somewhat. He wouldn't allow her to go through the ordeal of cooking for him. )

It's better.

( He takes one of the pieces of bread and eats it. )

The cold lingers still, but there there may be nothing for it. At least the effects do not seem to be quite so terrible as that machine from the Night Market.

Seems pretty clear to me. You need to spend time with others. Interact.

[That's rough, buddy. Having to spend time with people. Or not-people, as the case may be.

Soldat scoots a little bit over so they can learn their shoulder experimentally against Javert's, to see if that helps. Hugging is just plain out of the question today, but there are other things they can maybe do.]

( A hug may have been a little too much for him, and too fast. Soldat's shoulder brushes against his, and it gradually spreads like fire throughout his limbs, warming his body from the inside out. He cannot hide a small sigh of relief, and he relaxes somewhat into Soldat. )

Or perhaps I need only ask for them to touch me.

( He says, and that almost seems more to him preferable than conversation. At least then he won't be forced to make small talk. )

I interact with others plenty enough. I don't know why I must be punished for it.

Maybe it's not punishment.

[If this is helping, Soldat can lean a while. There's no confinement. It's easy enough, and they can recognize Javert relaxing. Stop shivering.]

Maybe it's supposed to help.

How? It's not as if it makes my company any more pleasant.

( He's well aware of how unappealing he is. Perhaps not here, but in Paris, he was hated for being the son of a paroled fortune teller, whose husband was a convict and serving a life sentence. After that, he was despised for being a policeman, and despised by many of his colleagues for being too honest. He's never been treated kindly. He's irritable, blunt, and not as good of a man as he once thought he was. It's a wonder to him how anyone can tolerate his presence. )

[This close, it's easy to bump his knee against Javert's gently.]

Help you, not someone else. But practice does help. Practice interacting with people might make it easier.

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.

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aug & sept catch all

find your fortune.

Fortune

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