milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"This is where I work," Dr. Lecter says, climbing up to the mezzanine, "my private rooms are through there," -- he points while climbing -- "but as you're not interested in food, there's no reason to take you to my kitchen."

He arrives upstairs, and starts walking along his book cases, pulling a book from the shelves here and there.

"Do pick up anything that interests you."

'You live and work in the same place?'

Well. It is not unheard of. But still unusual. He considers a moment, then walks to the shelf indicated. His eye is inevitably drawn to the French titles, and he pulls one of the shelf.

'What is it you are trying to lend me, monsieur?'

It is a large book. He looks at it. He has the feeling it is probably rather expensive.

"Architectural drawings and books about building," Dr. Lecter says. "Here, catch!"

He throws a slim volume of prints, showing different kinds of Roman arches, at Javert, very precisely so it should be very easy for him to catch. It has been published at some point while Napoleon was ruling Italy, and what words there are are in French.

He does catch them, and turns the front around so that he may see the right way around.

'Monsieur. I thank you but really, it is unnecessary.'

Except he knows he does not know enough yet about what to do, and he must learn somewhere. Still, it feels very strange being in this man's library, helping himself to his books.

"I'm expecting them back when you're done," Dr. Lecter says. "They're not very valuable, but I need them for reference in the general scheme of things."

He bends, opens a drawer, and pull out a book that, for some reason, didn't get to be on the shelves.

"I knew I still had a spare copy of this! Catch!"

The book sails through the wide open space of the office as surely as if on its own wings, aimed to land smoothly in Javert's hands.

'Of course, monsieur,' he says, slightly affronted even as he makes the catch.

'I would not dream of intending to keep them.'

He looks down at the book.

'...I was not intending to build a cathedral. I do not think I have enough life left to manage so much.'

"I didn't expect you to," Dr. Lecter says. "But the principles you need are all in there. Arches, supports, cranes, vaults, tools, beams, the lot. That one, you can keep. Whenever I come across a copy in a used book store, I pick it up because I keep giving it away."

He wanders on, and throws another book at Javert. It's about late medieval churches in northern France, published in the 1820s.

"That one, I definitely need back."

'Do you meet lots of people intending to build churches?'

Perhaps it is in fashion in these times. He can only guess. And now he is throwing a rather nervous look at the door, in case he should be discovered here.

'Is there no one else in the house, monsieur? It will seem strange if I am here, no?'

Casually stepping between worlds is not something he is comfortable with. It is not natural.

"Anybody interested in history, art, or architecture can use that book," Dr. Lecter says. "Here, have this as well."

It is a rather larger book of construction drawings for baroque churches that comes flying towards Javert.

"Do take a look at that book case, there are some good primers on architectural perspecitve drawings that you might find useful," he adds, turning back towards the ladder and starting to get down.

Edited 2014-01-24 20:44 (UTC)

Larger, heavier. He has to rearrange the stack he is amassing in his arms.

'Enough, monsieur, please. I will have no time to choose a design if I have to read all these.'

He does glance at the bookcase. He is not sure what a 'primer' is, but it cannot hurt.

'I was not planning to make blueprints. Just enough to make sure it will not fall down, and that it is serviceable to look at.'

Edited 2014-01-24 20:47 (UTC)

Dr. Lecter is coming down again. "Most of the pages contain prints and drawings, and you don't have to read them, just reference them when you have questions. You should study the Macaulay closely and then just look through the others. Drawing primers, too."

'What is a primer?'

He had been mostly planning to dig a trench, build four walls and put a roof on. Add a chimney for a fire in the winter, and that would do. He does not expect anyone else to see it unless they happen by - but the spot is fairly remote, so he doubts that would happen too often. Now he is imagining stained glass and marble floors, and the task seems rather larger than he can comfortably manage alone.

"Something that lists the basics of a skill, for reference, if you are wondering how to best do something," Dr. Lecter says, crossing the floor towards the desk. "In this case, architectural drawings. Here."

He pulls a book from the shelf and hands it to Javert.

"That should be enough. Let us go back."

He follows with no little relief.

'Why do you have all these?'

Javert hates books. He hates reading.

He supposes he will not mind looking at pictures.

Dr. Lecter walks back into the bar, waiting by the door to close it after Javert has come through, as the man is laden with books.

The man has probably read them all, too. Ah well. Some people have the leisure to do it. Or the desire. He understands neither. Still, he is careful when he puts them down on his papers, as they have been lent as a favour.

'I will not keep them long. My thanks, monsieur.'

"May I have a look at the drawings you have not discarded?" Dr. Lecter asks.

'If you desire.'

There is a small stack of them to his right. Most are sketches, with only five or six finished with any detail. They show the church from the outside, from all angles of the inside, a close-up of the roof and the ceiling structure. They are not architecturally sound, but that was not the point of them. The point was to decide on something he liked, and thought he could manage to build. He will work out the schematics next.

A couple of the sketches show ambition - stained glass windows and a column or two - and the detailed ones include candlesticks, and ornamentation in the stonework. He looks a little abashed when he notices he did that.

'They are just ideas,' he mutters, looking down.

'Nothing more.'

Edited 2014-01-24 21:43 (UTC)

"They are some very good ideas," Dr. Lecter says. "For the details and the structural basics, you have books now. I like these candlesticks; they are nice and detailed. Late 18th century, I'd think? And the windows -- I have some books about stained glass windows, and the processes used to make them. Just tell me when you need to know about them, and I'll get them for you."

His eyebrows raise.

'Is it possible for one man to make a stained glass window?'

Because he had assumed not - but at the same time, a church does need one.

And he will not answer the vague query about the candlesticks. It occurs to him that he is not the exert on those, and it makes his lip curl.

"I am sure you can make the leaded panes and then perhaps get help to put them into the tracery of the windows, unless you make that very detailed, in which case you might be able to do it alone," Dr. Lecter says.

He is not sure what any of that means. He nods anyway, and makes a note on his list. He supposes he needs to make a decision on them before he builds the walls anyway, but it can wait until after the foundations have been set.

'I thank you for your help, monsieur. I will see. The bricks must come first.'

"Yes," Dr. Lecter says. "I take it you know how to make them?"

'Not at all, beyond sand and water. But I can learn. I may not read as well as every man, but I have been told their are books on everything here. And I must make kilns, apparently.'

Already he is daunted by the size of this task, but not once does he consider turning away. He will build what he has to, he will work every minute. He will free himself, by his own hands. It does not matter how long it takes, or what he has to do.

"Clay," Dr. Lecter says. "I should find you some books about the history of brick-making from the library upstairs; I don't have any at home."