(no subject)

[witchfinder_general]

Father Harman is sitting by the back door today after the service, drinking tea and watching the other patrons.

For once, he has no books, research or work on his table.

This time, he's worried about one specific patron. He's hoping to talk to him, but he will of course talk to everybody else who might pop by.

He's really begun to care about people in this place, he realises. Even fictional Frenchmen.

Comments

[road_to_calvary]

Valjean was not at the Sunday service because he was in Paris - unlike Javert, he has not decided to stay at the bar for a while. But he is still coming in for at least a few hours every day, both to assist with the church roof over the past few days, and now to finish something he plans to give as a gift.

He comes in from the outside, bringing snow and fresh air with him and smiles at Father Harman as he sees him.

[witchfinder_general]

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Fauchelevent," Father Harman says, pleasantly. "It's good to see you!"

[road_to_calvary]

'Good afternoon, Father. How are you?'

He does not look much worse the worse for his endeavours, beyond seeming extremely tired. But he appears peaceful, and has clearly been working at something. There is sawdust on his rough trousers, and on his sleeves.

[witchfinder_general]

"I am fine," Father Harman says. "I have seen the progress Javert and you made on the church roof, and have been over the other day to bless it, with Brother Athelstan."

[road_to_calvary]

'Ah, yes. I have met this man.'

He smiles at learning this, though.

'You blessed it? Thank you, Father. I am sure Javert will be pleased to hear that.'

Or perhaps not. He is not sure what Javert thinks about the church any more, to be honest. It confuses him, but he has not seen him often enough to ask.

[witchfinder_general]

"It felt right; I hope neither you or he will find it presumptuous," Father Harman says. "Brother Athelstan told me about having helped you two with raising the roof."

[road_to_calvary]

'Indeed. He was very helpful. People were most generous with their time and efforts.'

Milliways being what it is.

'It seems much further along now, despite there still being much to do. Smaller things, though.'

[witchfinder_general]

"People tend to be helpful here," Father Harman says. "They care about other people, for no better reason than because they exist.

[road_to_calvary]

'Yes.'

This is a polite agreement, nothing more. He is not well-versed in this area,

'And how are you faring in your bid to put vampires in, ah, space?'

[witchfinder_general]

"It's going to happen next year," Father Harman says. "Bureaucracy moves very, very slowly. And it's not as if they were getting antsy in their metal containers."

[road_to_calvary]

'Well. At least you mind will be at ease. They will never be able to come back.'

He knows how important that is to him.

[witchfinder_general]

"There will always be other things that my mind will at unease about," Father Harman says. "That's how I am made."

[road_to_calvary]

'Ah.'

He ruminates on that for a moment and then sits down, still looking thoughtful.

'Is there anything I might help you with?'

A beat, then he remembers something.

'I was shown clippings from a modern newspaper about the Pope of your time. Or around your time. He seems a very good man.'

[gredya]

Gredya, as usual, comes to her lesson with a parcel of food for Father Harman. This time it's something that has leaked a hint of grease through its paper wrapper, but the grease hasn't reached the piece of paper that reads Good Christmas. in Gredya's handwriting.

[witchfinder_general]

At least she has a handwriting now, and a discernible one, at that!

"Hello, Gredya!" Father Harman says.

[gredya]

And she knows how to look up spelling!

Gredya nods to him. "My friend said, people write cards. For Christmas." Which is a solstice holiday, and this is the solstice, so you know. Good Christmas. "And those are latkes. The man who made them, he said, eat them soon but heat them up in the oven."

[witchfinder_general]

"Thank you!" Father Harman says. "Thank you ever so much, Gredya. Who made them?"

[gredya]

She looks relieved. The Christmas letter was correct, then.

"Same man who makes other things I bring sometimes. He has an inn in my world. A little like this."

[witchfinder_general]

"I'm going to enjoy these," Father Harman says. "Is it winter in your world as well?"

[gredya]

"Yes. More snow than here, in the place where I live. We keep a territory in the hills. Very rough land." Her hope is that it's undesirable enough that the other Wyr won't be too eager for it.

[witchfinder_general]

"At least you'll find food here if it runs out in your rough hilly territory," Father Harman says.

Beat.

"People here will be very willing to help out; they care about your children."

If anything happens to one of them, people will not regard that as 'nature being red in tooth and claw', but as a great tragedy; Father Harman is quite aware of how precarious their existence is, and that not all five might make it through the winter without help, and he is determined that they will have what they need. And then, grow and learn and rise to the full potential of their human side.

[gredya]

Gredya laughs softly. "At home, some people are angry about the children. They frightened a faun." Shrug. "They did not kill the faun. They did not hurt the faun. So I don't think it is a problem."

I mean, really. Fauns are delicious, and that one is still trotting around. Which is not to say that Gredya isn't annoyed with the children, but that's different from someone else being annoyed.

[witchfinder_general]

"Who could give you problems, apart from other Wyr?" Father Harman asks.

[gredya]

"Many things." She raises her eyebrows. "Hippoi--horse people, centaurs--kill Wyr whenever they can. Griffins might. There is a king, and an Inspector General. They protect that world. They will kill someone if they think they should. There are the Great--but they only hunt to eat."

It's a complicated place.

[witchfinder_general]

"It sounds quite dangerous," Father Harman says. "I suppose that none of them can be reasoned with?"