milliways_bar | Twelfth Night Party, Pontmercy style!

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Twelfth Night Party, Pontmercy style!

You -- yes, you, whoever you are -- got an invitation to the party. All of Milliways is welcome!

If you choose to come, you'll find Bar directing you to a big round tent that went up this afternoon on the lawn outside the bar. Marius and Cosette and various friends spent a lot of time this morning ferrying decorations in, and the waitrats spent a lot of time in the afternoon ferrying food in, but the doors won't officially open until close to sunset.

But this isn't a cheap white plastic tent, oh no. It's warm and domed and made of thick fabric, something like a very large yurt. A bit of magic keeps out the drafts, making everything extra cozy.

There's a fire in the middle of the floor, with a low screen encircling it but also magic meaning that this fire puts of warmth but will not actually burn anything, even if you step right into it. The floor is wood -- great for dancing, if you feel like it! There's a piano over against the wall for anyone who wants to make some music.

Everywhere there are garlands of European evergreen branches and herbs, studded with bright dried fruit and sparkling ornaments. (Mistletoe might very well be among them, though the Pontmercies haven't thought to supply that as an intentional party game.) There are candles and lanterns everywhere, and a big chandelier. There are no electric lights at all -- it's all fire -- but a good number of them are magical, so that nothing's going to get set on fire or covered with smoke. The general intended impression is of genteel, welcoming festivity, in a very French and very early 19th century European way.

There are food and drinks galore. Come in and enjoy the party!

[OOC: Party-style post! Subthreads for various categories and activities, etc. Open from now until whenever!

Edit: As of Joly's arrival, Cosette now has a mini-polaroid camera. Fear, Milliways. Feel free to assume that she's popped up to take a candid picture of your character(s) at any point, as long as they're not doing or wearing anything scandalous! She will happily give the resulting picture to your character if they want; it probably won't be a very good picture, in terms of composition or focus, but it will be cheerfully enthusiastic.]

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"Where on the seaside?" Father Harman asks.

"To Italy. To the spas at Campania Ischia, do you know it?"

The mun just googled it to hastily pick a place! So let's assume that it's one of the more politically calm areas in Italy in summer of 1833, since that's certainly also one of their concerns.

"Oh yes, I do," Harman says. "I am sure he will enjoy the warmth."

Pause.

"Have you heard of Inspector Javert at all, lately?"

The question makes her blink up at him in mild confusion. "Why -- no, not recently, father. He's not a man inclined to social calls, I'm sure he's very busy."

And she's grateful to him, always, for saving her father, and for telling her the truth when no one else would.

But -- well -- he was harsh and almost cruel in how he did it, and her mother hates and fears him, and then there's Marius, and -- well, none of this takes away from her gratitude an iota, but it doesn't incline her to push for social calls with him, either.

"You might send somebody with a gift?" Harman suggests. "Just to make sure he is doing reasonably well. A policeman's life is always dangerous."

It's a startling enough suggestion -- on the edge of presumptuous, if not all the way across it, and a sudden intensification of what Cosette thought was only a social inquiry -- that she looks at him in some astonishment.

"Why -- to where? I don't even know where he lives! Not in the slightest. Father, I don't understand. Are you worried for him, is there something we ought to know, my husband and my father and I?"

"I am generally worried for Javert, always," Harman admits. "Once, when there was this sickness was going around making people think they were somebody else, I thought I was Javert. So yes, I feel concerned, knowing what being Javert feels like from the inside. He is a remarkable man, and I personally would be glad to hear of his continued outward well-being."

It is almost an entreaty, the worry for an almost-friend that breaks through any social barriers and washes you up as a beggar on the thresholds of virtual strangers.

Well, this is suddenly extremely awkward! And more than a little baffling!

(Cosette has not yet encountered the IMDB flu, and for some mysterious reason her father has not seen fit to tell her about his experiences with it.)

Cosette clasps her hands together around her little camera, groping for the right response.

"Why -- why, father, I don't understand at all, I'm sorry. But that sounds like it was a very hard time for you, and I'm sorry to hear it. I'm glad you're entirely recovered from your illness." That's safer ground! Well-wishing after an illness is certainly something Cosette knows how to do. "If I hear of him, that he's well, I can certainly try to bring you word of it, to reassure you. But I really don't think sending him a present would be the proper thing. How awkward he would feel! And you see it's quite impossible. I don't know where he lives, I don't know how to reach him. But I'm sure he's quite well."

He seems quite capable. And there's a sadness in him, a harshness, but she's not going to speak of that to someone else, even kind Father Harman. It would feel horribly intrusive, the worst kind of gossip, and double so at a party.

"You might find him at the préfecture?" Father Harman says.

"But I couldn't go there!"

Does Father Harman not understand anything of society? He's a holy man, a wise and kind man, a priest motivated by a deep if somewhat confusing concern for a member of his flock, she doesn't mistrust his motivations in the slightest, but what society is he used to at home, that he's pressing on with this?

Cosette has pulled back a little, unconsciously; she's groping for the words to explain what is, to her, a self-evident truth.

"Father, I don't know what you -- you are a holy man, you're a man of charity, perhaps you can go anywhere, high and low are alike to you. Of course, that's as it should be. But I couldn't go to a préfecture! Even if I didn't, if it was my husband, if it was some messenger, don't you see -- M. Javert wouldn't want any such thing. To take an interest in him, why, everyone would wonder at such a thing! His bosses would have questions. It would be an intrusion. I couldn't do any of this, you see, father?"

It's not even a matter of her father being a secret convict and her husband having ties to illegal society and seditious activity, though certainly they're both relevant. But even if she came from the most spotless family possible, it's a matter of the ingrained social class divisions of her society, and where she stands in them, and the fact that Javert has shown no inclination to bridge those divisions either.

It could be arranged, perhaps, by someone with a much sneakier turn of mind than Cosette. But she doesn't have that turn of mind, certainly not at age seventeen, and even if she did she doesn't have the allies and resources to accomplish much sneaking.

Father Harman nods. "That is a great pity, but you are probably right. As a priest, I could -- and can -- go anywhere."

Cosette fastens onto this with relief.

"Yes, you see, it's quite different for you, father." She's laughing a little as she says this, though she's utterly earnest.

This isn't a social division it's ever occurred to her to protest. She doesn't wish that she were a man or a priest or even that she had their freedoms; she likes being herself, and with all her reading of future years, she hasn't really thought in any deep way about the limits of women (bourgeois or otherwise) in her society. A lady can't do this or that, that's just how it is.

"A holy father, why, who could think to bar his way? The Church has business with every soul, every soul has business with God. It's different for someone else. But I am sorry you're worrying so about him. If I do hear from him I'll try to bring you word. And, you know, Mme Bar passes notes, she's the kindest of souls. Perhaps you could leave word for M. Javert yourself, or a gift of your own, if you like? It's Christmas, he's of your flock. Perhaps he'd like that."

Javert is kind of a grinch, Cosette.

"I will do it, in case he comes back," Harman says. "But do you think you might take me through to your world? A priest, as you say, can come to the préfecture and ask for a certain policeman, claiming a charitable mission, and nobody thinks twice about it."

He is persistent.

That he definitely is.

Cosette's relief is gone, back into a tense, uncertain discomfort. She stares at him.

"Why -- why -- why father, I know you mean the very best, it's a credit to you! But where would you say you had come from? A priest of home, or you in your own home, that's nothing to remark on, but -- forgive me, father, you'll think this very rude, I ask your pardon, but you see you would seem very foreign at home, very strange. Just as I would in your year and your England, I'm quite sure! And in any case I certainly couldn't bring someone home without my husband's permission."

Oh heavens, she feels so stiff and awkward and rude just saying any of this. But there's a spark of defiant anger down below it now: why is he so persistent, why can't he just enjoy the party and speak of light things like food and Christmas, why must anything be unpleasant tonight, on her perfect evening at her perfect party, where everyone ought to be merry and laughing and glad?

"You husband is here; we could ask him," Harman says. "I do think I know enough of French, and of history, to pass for just one short errand."

Her husband is indeed here, and he has had half an eye on this conversation-- not this one in particular, but on Cosette generally, in case she requires him. And he has noticed her discomfort, and even as Hartman mentions him, he is making his way towards them.

Which is good, because Cosette has no idea what to say to that! It's not at all what you say, it's not at all the response; she's taken half a step backwards, nearly unconsciously, while she gropes for a response.

And oh look here's Marius!

She's all awhirl, but relief at his appearance is uppermost. "Husband!" she exclaims, turning gratefully towards him.

"Good evening," Father Harman says to him, politely. "I'm afraid I rather spooked your lovely wife with a large request."

"Did you."

It comes off coldly, which is not entirely his intent. He's done his level best to be a good host tonight, though it does not come naturally to him. But Harman's comment knocks him off guard-- spooks? request?-- and in his surprise he slips away from whatever hostly cheer he's managed to muster over the course of the night, and into his usual stiff formality.

"I think we have not met. I am Marius Pontmercy."

Edited 2017-01-13 17:29 (UTC)

Cosette settles in at his side, still gratefully. She'll join in the conversation again in a moment, but they can introduce themselves like men, and -- and perhaps Marius will have a better idea of what's the right polite response to such persistent insistence; perhaps he'll know the right thing to say to make Father Harman understand matters, without being unfriendly.

Harman offers his hand to Marius. "Father Pearse Harman, Society of Jesus," he says. "It's a pleasure to meet you, and I am glad all is well with your father in law. However, there is somebody else I am quite concerned about."

Marius takes the offered hand, a touch uncertainly, and inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement of the well-wishes to Valjean.

"Somebody else?" he echoes. "I can think of no one who would require you to apply to my wife for assistance. No one who comes here, at least."

"M. Javert is a part of his flock," Cosette puts in, in a quick low aside.

She's not totally sure how Javert stands with regard to religion or the church -- it was confusedly, last she was told, and not very clearly explained. But surely he must be a part of Father Harman's flock, from the way Father Harman feels so free to show and act on his concern.

"The good father wants very much to be certain he's well. But I explained to him that we haven't heard from him in some time, we're not on social terms."

"So I was pleading," Father Harman adds, "that you might either get a message or small gift to him, or let me through to find him myself, and make sure. A priest, after all, can go anywhere."

Marius stiffens in surprise at the mention of Javert, just a little.

"My wife is quite right-- we have no contact with him in Paris, and indeed, hardly any here. I hope, monsieur, you do not rate my wife's goodness so poorly as to think she would put off such a kindly request without cause! But it is quite impossible. Might I suggest you consult Madame Bar? Perhaps she can be of assistance. We cannot."

A few months ago, his response may have been different, in light of what Javert did for Valjean. But now? Now, he'll avoid Javert as long as he possibly can.

Twelfth Night Party, Pontmercy style!

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