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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He shrugs a shoulder, and turns back to his drawing.

'They are usually in abundance. I will make this one, and the patrons will have to make do. I do not know any priests, so there will be no one to hear confession. It will have to do.'

"Only the Catholic part of the Christians here will need a priest for their confessions," she says. "I am sure your church will do very well for everybody."

'I should hope not. Other people have other gods they pray to. Let them build their own place.'

In a time where other religions are heathen, the idea of sharing has simply not occurred to him.

"Everybody of a Christian faith," she specifies. "Others would have no need of a church."

'Heathens,' he agrees, with a nod.

He assumes that is something they can agree on.

"What makes a heathen, for you?" she asks.

'Unbelievers. And those who believe in false gods. Everyone who comes from the East.'

Even the few he has seen parading around Paris, clearly wealthy; they may have status in their own country, but it does not count in his eyes.

But this is surely just common sense.

"I think there are Christians in the East as well," she says. "Especially if everything east of France already counts."

His eyes narrow.

'You are being pedantic, madame.'

He genuinely did not know there were also Christians in the East. There are a lot of things Javert does not know.

"Christians are those that say they believe in Christ, are they not?" Katrina says, with a little smile.

She is still being pedantic. Javert sits back in his chair, and tries to stop his ire rising any further than necessary.

'Is there a point to any of this, madame?'

"Yes," she says. "There are different kinds of Christians, from different countries, and I am inclined to believe that they all will be grateful for the existence of your little church, once it is built."

Edited 2014-01-27 01:51 (UTC)

He shrugs once more, a stiff movement that is little more than a jerk of his shoulders.

'That is their affair.'

He is not doing it for them.

"You do not think you serve God by serving your fellow men?" Katrina asks.

Edited 2014-01-27 16:23 (UTC)

'I had hoped that honest work for just rewards was the way to please Him. It is all I believed.'

He still thinks he was not wrong. Just...a little narrow-sighted, perhaps. He looks down.

'It no longer matters what I believe. When you do what I have done, all the work means nothing. All that matters is redemption.'

"You think God would discard all the good work you have done within your life, Monsieur Javert, for the sake of one moment of what I believe must have been utter desperation?" she says. "I cannot think that God would be so harsh to any of his creatures."

'Well, you are wrong. I have it on good authority from one of His angels.'

Javert's God is not a kind one. He would not know what to do with himself if He were.

'And on whose authority would you have it that I have done good work at all?'

"You are building a church," she says. "So you are a man who would do good work."

He sighs. People seem determined to think the best of him. It is not right they should do so; if they knew the full extent of his failures, undoubtedly they would change their opinion. And he would tell her, but he does not know her, and he is tired. It would take all night.

'Again, you presume much.'

He turns back to his work.

'Leave me be.'

"Monsieur Javert," she says, staying where she is.

He has already started to draw again. His pencil stills, and his eyes flick sideways.

'Yes?' he says, with a heavy implication of what now?

"God is not going to desert you now," she says. "I am looking forward to praying in your church, one day. Good evening."

And with that, she turns and walks away.

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