(no subject)

[never_shall_yield]

 
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]

Comments

[never_shall_yield]

'Yes, you said. Nevertheless, we will see.'

He picks the first off the pile, and begins leafing through it.

'I do not mean to start a collection. When this is done, I will have no need for any of these.'

[cook_the_rude]

"You might want to build something else when you've finished wth your chapel in the woods," Dr. Lecter says.

[never_shall_yield]

'Such as? I think the barmen might object if I start peppering the grounds with random abodes.'

He could build a house, and live away from the noise of this place. That would not be so bad. But it is only an idle thought. This project will be quite enough work.

'When it is done, I should hope I will be able to leave.'

[cook_the_rude]

"I am sure the ground is quite large enough for all the random abodes you might want to build," Dr. Lecter says, smiling. "You think building a chapel will fulfill all the conditions for your freedom?"

[never_shall_yield]

He does not smile back.

'If it does not, I do not know what else to do.'

A voice has been nagging at him, pointing out that this still does not fulfill the quota of the angel's instructions. But it is a monument to God. He does not know what else to do. And besides, it feels right. It feels as though it fulfils a purpose. His purpose, he hopes.

[cook_the_rude]

"I am sure your project will give you all the opportunity you need," Dr. Lecter says. "And if you can't make connections with people, as you thought you were expected to, then God is probably going to be happy with you using your extraordinary skills to build a chapel where all the Christians in Milliways can go and pray."

[never_shall_yield]

'They are not extraordinary,' he says at once, quietly horrified by the prospect.

'It is a building. Anyone can put bricks together and paint them - they simply do not, or lack the incentive.'

The man's words remind him that the connections may still be impossible. His fervour regarding his undertaking dims a little because of it. What if it is all for nothing?

'And I did not say it was for everyone.'

[cook_the_rude]

"What else is a chapel for, if not for everybody who wants to worship there," Dr. Lecter says. "What did you mean to do with it when it is finished?"

[never_shall_yield]

He thinks a moment, then shrugs a shoulder tiredly.

'I had not thought. If I am allowed to leave afterwards, it will not be my affair. People will do with it as they will.'

It may stand empty and go to ruin. So be it.

[cook_the_rude]

"They will," Dr. Lecter says. "And I'm sure people will like a dedicated place of worship, even if they're not formally Christian."

[never_shall_yield]

'Perhaps. I have not seen much evidence of God here.'

It depresses him more than he can say. At least at home, there is belief everywhere. It manifests in different ways, but he will never be the odd one for that reason. Here, it seems there is nothing that does not make him different.

'And I will not tell people where it is. If they find it, that is their business.'

[cook_the_rude]

"They will find it, once you're started," Dr. Lecter says. "And probably talk about it. I hope you won't mind."

[never_shall_yield]

'I suppose it is inevitable. Someone did already find it.'

The place is too small. He will do it nonetheless.

'There is little I can do about it. If I minded so much, I could have done this drawing in my room. It is what it is, monsieur.'

[cook_the_rude]

"I am glad you did not," Dr. Lecter says.

[never_shall_yield]

His expression is ambivalent. People discovering he can draw, and what he intends to do here, means little to him. He will do it, and that is the end of it.

And so, he stands.

'It is late, monsieur. I believe I will retire. My sincere thanks for the temporary use of your books. They will be returned with no damage, I assure you.'

[cook_the_rude]

"I trust that they will," Dr. Lecter says. "I am looking forwards to seeing how this will turn out, and will gladly find you all the books you need."

[never_shall_yield]

'I thought we had determined that was not necessary.'

There is no rancour in his tone. He is too tired for it. Indeed, the happy product of all this work is that sleep is no longer difficult for him. He could put his head down and get eight solid hours on this table, if he had to.

But he does not have to. He has a bed upstairs, and has no qualms about using it.

'Good evening, monsieur.'

He gathers the books carefully, and is gone.

[cook_the_rude]

"Good night, Javert," Dr. Lecter says. "Sleep well."