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Somebody behind the scenes was pointing out that Lesgle could just do his darn job! It's been a while! and that somebody was quite correct.

Lesgle's strong work ethic has of course been keeping him on a routine schedule of busing tables and cleaning the kitchen, and here he is right now, bustling about in a way that is so far un-disastrous. Do interrupt him!

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"I am not," he says decidedly. "But I am somewhat acquainted with him. Yourself, sir?"

"Very much so," Eric purrs.
"She designs cars, I believe. And she bragged that she could easily hand my ass to me if we were to play a video game."

He obviously approves.

Well, Joly spent a good extra ten minutes on it, so it's probably okay, but one never knows! He smiles and leans forward. "Why, here you are, working away, when you don't need to; in rather marked contrast to former habits, I might note. I'm sure it's proof of some philosophy; certainly it's an argument against every employer who ever stinted his workers to make them productive." Not that Lesgle needs to be convinced, but aren't politics always the obvious topic of discussion?

The smile went completely inhuman, and was not nice at all. The smell of dust and became somewhat stronger, and a slight oder of decay could be detected.

"We are aquainted, " he said, "I wouldn't say we are friends by any stretch of the word."

Athelstan is working on his Bible at a table, occasionally fidgeting with the braid in his beard that he's still getting used to.

(Beard and braid both.)

"He makes his way around the social scene, doesn't he." Lesgle leans back in his seat and considers the man in the suit. "Is your point that I'm a pawn in a game with Hannibal Lecter? Or are the questions unrelated?"

Lesgle is slowly getting used to various shades of inhuman, but the dust and decay when the man smiles is distinctly unpleasant. But perhaps he's from a universe without toothbrushes.

"I've no idea what a video game is, but Mademoiselle Minx certainly sounds capable of managing the jewelry! And what did you do with the cross?"

"Are you going to tell me I'm becoming respectable? Bahorel said so the other day; I'm almost thinking I need to get arrested again just to prove him wrong. Violence, outside business, indecency..."

Eyebrows.

"Oh, but that reminds me. We were talk about the--ah. The Victor Hugo problem, and I had a brilliant insight, which escapes me at the moment." But he remembers that he had one!

It's remarkable. Laigle stops a moment at Athelstan's table, just to see what he's working on, and--it's remarkable. He shakes his head. "Do you need any more light? Anything?"

"The light here is almost a flood, compared to what I've worked in", he says with a smile. "I've never known anything like it, full daylight aside."

"Oh, dear-- is it honestly a problem? I haven't read the book, you know. Or do you mean that you've had an idea about the way universes connect?"

"He uses people, that is in no doubt, " said Death, " But I am not sure who he is using. I can just" Death took a drink of his tea. The smell of it was soothing.

"Let us just say he is in for some fun," Death didn't want to give too much a away.

"The latter. It--oh."

He frowns. "It sounded much more brilliant at the time, but there was wine involved. It was just the idea that, ah. Perhaps people's arrival here sets off some sort of...resonance...er...and inspires people in distant universes. Such as Victor Hugo. People who are receptive."

Yes, all right, it definitely sounded better before.

"I know." It's something Laigle is in a position to appreciate as well. "I've spent much more time than is at all reasonable, just turning the lights on and off. --But your work is beautiful. What inspired it?"

"His idea of fun, or someone else's?"

Joly frowns at Lesgle's hesitation-- he knows the sound of someone second-guessing his own theory-- and takes both his hands while he considers the idea. And he does take time to think about it, even though it seems obviously good; it deserves considering. But after a few quiet moments he nods and smiles.

"Yes-- yes, you know, I think it's very likely! I mean, of course there's the obvious fact, that we all interact here, and people might carry tales back--and, oh! Yes! Perhaps we all carry something of our own worlds, our own, our own realities with us, the way we all carry our own ecosystem, did I tell you about that?"

He releases one of Bossuet's hands to gesture with his own. "And, you know, people come back and forth all the time, it might happen at any point, we can influence other realities in past and future...Did I tell you, I've been thinking, time is part of the mystery here; there are books in the library from every point in every world's history, after all. Think, an author could conceivably come here before he's written a book, and then find it in the library! That has to have some effect...yes, of course, your idea makes a great deal of sense!-- I wonder if everyone who comes here has stories somewhere, then?"

"That was sarcasm," said Death with a straight face.

Sameth's reading and sometimes remembering to eat the sandwich on his table though he's forgotten his tea which has gotten cold.

When Lesgle comes by, he looks up and says, "I didn't know anyone other than the rats did the tables."

"I gave it to Buffy. About this tall, brown hair, very - spunky personality."

He smiles.
"Cute - nose."

As it were.

"The church doesn't yet have one, and I missed the art. So I thought, why not?"

Javert isn't keen, but that's Javert. Athelstan's going to do it anyway.

"Sarcasm? Sar...casm. Hmm. I don't think we have that in my world, or not yet; we've only gotten as far as 1832. --So is this an amiable hint to watch Dr. Lecter for signs of amusement, or...?"

"Ah, I haven't had the good fortune yet to meet any Buffys. But I'll keep an eye out for girls with brown hair and cute noses." He has met a girl about that tall, brown hair, spunky personality (at least, from Milliways' translation of the phrase into French) and a cute nose as it were. But that is an Ava!

"Someone else with a good sense of humor, though, who can take care of herself?"

He's genuinely concerned here.

"Ecosystem...?" He can barely hazard a guess as to what the word might mean. But Joly is being reassuring, and holding his hands, and--even more importantly--seems pleased with the notion. Bossuet's face brightens.

"Would it make a man a plagiarist to read his own unwritten book? --Oh, no, Jolllly, does this mean Victor Hugo is likely to pop in here some day, meet all this Paris crowd, and then take up his pen?"

It's a thought, though, that everyone here might end up having a story about them. It's comforting--maybe.

Death laughed, a rare thing for a living mortal being to do, make Death laugh.

"Touche, " he said, ' In all seriousness though, Hannibal is a dangerous man. I would watch him if I were you."

"I would say yes. At least to the last part."

He smiles.
Demon-girl.

"And she was no friend of Lecter's. She knows about him. And she knows the trinket came from him."

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