milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Javert is in his normal back corner of the bar. It was pouring rain when he finished in the forge for the day, so he came here instead of going out into the woods. He is surrounded by paper, and the odd ruler, and he is drawing something with precision on one sheet - only to finish it, shake his head and toss it away, before taking a new piece and starting again.

This looks like it has been going on for some time, and may continue the rest of the day. And possibly night. A distraction before his hand falls off would perhaps be welcome.

[OOC: Open UNTIL THE END OF TIME. Or next Wednesday. Whichever comes first. <3

ETA: YOU FABULOUS PEOPLE. *flings love at* I must crash, but it's been a blast. Am around all day tomorrow to continue. <3]

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"I'd rather say a minister, or a reverend," says Ellen. "I've met priests; they're men like Father Clifford, at Saint Monica's in Rivet City, and they're not allowed to get married. Reverend Avellone was, and so is Knight-Captain Colvin. It's a- it's a different order, I guess you'd call it."

Also, there's the part where Father Clifford is crazy, because what kind of religion seriously requires its most compassionate ministers to voluntarily remove themselves from the gene pool in a world where the mortality rate is nearly as high as the incidence of savagery and barbarism. That's up there with Confessor Cromwell and Radiant Mother Curie and their beliefs about Atom, in Ellen's book.

"And I never said so because it never seemed as if it ought to come up in conversation. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you with it."

'A different order? It is Catholicism.'

Or at least shares some traits with it. He approves.

He shakes his head at the apology, waves it off, and turns the paper on the table around. It shows the inside of a small church, a large crucifix dominating the wall above the altar, a roof with vaulted beams and shallow arch to the roof above it.

'I am making this,' he says, simply.

"Oh!" Ellen says, leaning over to have a closer look. "That... that's a very good rendering, I think. I'm not much of an architect, but... are you actually going to build that? Here?"

'Yes.'

He says it with the calm ease of one who will not be dissuaded from his task.

'I am no architect either, nor a builder. But I will make this.'

If she were Catholic, he would have already asked her to hear his confession. She is not, so he never will. But simply the knowledge that there is a priest here...he does not know how to articulate the relief.

'I had thought this place Godless, and now I see it is not.'

"If there's any way I can help with it," Ellen says, "let me know. I don't know what use I'd be during the building, but I wouldn't mind lending a hand. One way or another."

Then she smiles, just a little, and says, "There are angels who come here from time to time, too. If that helps at all."

(Personally, she suspects they're probably a better bet, but... well, she did go looking for a minister of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob before pestering the angels, back during the whole Point Lookout mess. It's good to know that the hierarchy isn't broken. Overstepping your bounds is always an unnerving thing.)

His face darkens, but not in a bad way. More confusion than anything. He is almost boyish with it.

'Yes,' he says.

'I have attracted the attention of one.'

He is still not sure whether to be grateful - but he is, of course he is - or rail in frustration over the impossibility of the task he has been set.

He waves it off, and adds, 'I will build this myself, as much as I am able. But there may be tasks that are impossible to do with one person. I will see. Thank you.'

"You're quite welcome," Ellen says. "Should I leave you to your work, then? I didn't mean to intrude, especially not if you're doing something this important."

He stares at her.

And then - unbelievably to even him - he breaks into a smile.

'Yes. Thank you. I would appreciate that.'

She understands. It is an amazing thing.

He likes her.

"All right, then," says Ellen, and returns the smile as she stands. "Take care, Monsieur Javert, and I hope your work goes well."

She gestures to Dogmeat to follow her. Time to go see if the rain's let up yet.

He stands too, and bows with respect.

'Good afternoon, mademoiselle. Be sure to find me when you return from your task. I wish you well.'

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