[open] then shall thy light rise up in darkness

[almaredemptoris]

Who: Jean Valjean (almaredemptoris) & YOU
What: Various activities as the city cools down
When: Throughout March
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): None


I. The Sanctuary

As the riots subside, diminishing from a wild blaze to glowering embers, and it becomes no longer necessary or practical to barricade oneself in his own home, Jean Valjean is quick to answer the call to help. It is not the blessing of Thesa he seeks, nor the bolstering of his reputation, but the soothing of his conscience. When before him are those in need, he feels compelled to lend what aid he can.

So, with a long list of components folded and tucked within his pocket, he sets out with a partner to replenish the ravaged supplies of the Sanctuary. Whoever accompanies him in this endeavor will find in him quiet company as they traverse the market district and the gardens to which the Sanctuary has access. He focuses on the task at hand, addressing occasional comments or questions such as, "Where do you think such an ingredient could be found?"

Later in the week, he may be sent out with a basket of medicinal potions and a list of addresses to visit. He is still learning the city's layout, so hopefully whomever he has been paired with is better versed in the twisting and narrow roads of Olympia, lest they end up turned around.

II. Rebuilding Olympia

When he is not under the direction of the Sanctuary, Jean Valjean devotes what time he can to the broader efforts to restore the city. Whether he is assisting Olympians and fellow refugees in repairing homes and businesses, or assisting in the collection of food, clothing, blankets, and other goods for the city's shelters, he works with a serious diligence. He brightens when he watches after the stray children of men and women hard at work, occupying them with stories and following along with their games. They are as dim shadows of his own Cosette, and he feels a bit more cheerful and a bit more melancholy at once.

He does not volunteer to supervise the cowed rioters as they carry out their sentences of cleaning streets and restoring the palace gardens, but as he carries out his own tasks he might be caught watching them with a countenance that is more pensive than contemptuous.

[OOC note: Feel free to reply in brackets or prose, I have no preference. PM me or use my comment on the plotting post (linked above) if you would like to plot. :)]

Comments

I.

[milesedgelord]

Although somewhat injured himself, Miles wanted to make himself useful after all there were so many people worse off than him during the rioting. It didn't take too much movement to deliver medicine, so he volunteered.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose glaring down at the list before looking at his partner.

"Perhaps it would be best if we reorganized the addresses by distance, we would get more ground covered that way."

[almaredemptoris]

"That would be wise," answers Jean Valjean. "And then each patient shall receive medicine sooner." He studies the list over once more, working to commit the street names to memory. One he points to, saying, "I have passed by this street before, and this one too, but I confess that many of these I cannot place. I haven't been here long. Perhaps you might know better, Monsieur Edgeworth?" He turns his eyes to his companion, studying him for a response. With little on which to base an opinion, he nevertheless gets the impression that Miles is of the level-headed and methodical sort, which suits him well.

I'm so sorry that this was so late.

[milesedgelord]

"Oh. Well, that's not a problem, let's see what we can do here."

With that, he pulled out a small leather bound organizer and a red fountain pen from his coat. He started to jot down the addresses in order of what district they were in.

"We're closer to the theater district right now and it would be best if we were to deliver to these locations first, and move to the red light district from there, sir.

How long have you been here, if you don't mind me asking Mr. Fauchelevent?"

no worries!

[almaredemptoris]

The commonplace book and fountain pen that Edgeworth extracts from his pocket supports his initial perception of a cerebral man. He glances over the revised list, mapping in his head their route as best he can with his incomplete knowledge of the city. The red light district in particular is terra incognita for him, but if his expression shifts upon realizing where their route would lead them, it is not judgment that crosses his features but rather the touch of pity. In Paris, such is not a line of work a woman chooses, but rather one that befalls her as does the shadow of misfortune. "Very well," he assents in regard to the plan. And in answer to the question, he adds, "I arrived only a few weeks ago."

[milesedgelord]

He handed him a copy of the new list he made, written in a neat cursive. A few addresses were numbered within the districts in regards to proximity.

"In case we need to separate," he stated, adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Ah, I see. You'll get the hang of this city soon enough I expect. I've been here about six months now, and I must admit things are a bit more adventurous than I am accustomed to. How do you like it thus far?" He said as he began to walk towards the first address, which was a few blocks down the street.

[almaredemptoris]

As he falls into step beside the other man, he weighs the question and ultimately says, "There is a lot to become accustomed to. But I am grateful for the chance at a new start." It was the third new start he has been afforded, and the most miraculous, salvaged as he was from what he felt certain was the end of times. Yet this time, unlike when he began anew in Montreuil-sur-mer and again at the convent at Petit-Picpus, he has something to miss from the life before: Cosette, the child whom he had taken under his wing and become a father to. Cosette, who now lies asleep in the dark pall of the stars overhead. In so short a time he had grown used to her presence by his side, where now gapes a hole in her absence.

[milesedgelord]

"I know many men who are... I'm happy you got it if you needed it. I suppose it is the kind of place we can carve out the kind of men we want to be. Though I must admit it is a bit hard to let go of my old self."

For him, the new start wasn't something he necessarily wanted. He was so close to reforming the corrupt justice system back home that so much of his work felt like a total loss at this point.

Was he even a prosecutor anymore? He had been nothing else since he was twenty and had only wanted to study law since childhood.

"But one can find ways to be of service to others regardless of who we were."

I

[inaurare]

"Would you show me the list?"

Or else he may need to rise on the balls of his feet slightly to be able to look it over, which perhaps might make him feel a bit childish. Linneus has always been willing to help and eager to please - if he can help at all in restocking the Sanctuary, he intends to. Particularly given that he was one of the individuals responsible for their depletion in the first place, but then the mist had made most everyone behave a little rashly.

His fingertip hovers over several of the items in turn, once he can see them.

"These, we can find in the gardens easily enough but for the others, we may need to go a little further afield-" as he looks back to the gentleman with a smile, "Would you prefer to take some crops from here first, or to perhaps visit the market?"

[almaredemptoris]

Jean Valjean had been glad to see the young man well after the harrowing trial into which he had been thrust by the simulation room aboard the ship. Even if it had all been an illusion, dissipating like smoke wen its time had run, bondage impresses a heavy weight upon the soul. At present, he politely returns Linnaeus' smile and answers, "Let's see first what we might gather from the gardens, and then determine what remains to be purchased. Do you know the way?" He has only been to the Sanctuary once before, and therefore is far from familiar with the layout of the building and the area it occupies.

[inaurare]

It is hard to address the things that happen in the simulations - when there is nothing left, after, the simulations themselves might as well have been dreams. After all, there is no evidence that anything he experienced had actually happened, and those he experienced them with... not always necessary in the room with him. In some cases it is quite all right, but... the simulation in which he met this man had shaken him quite badly. Even though he is practical, good as he is at ploughing on by day, Linneus had had his fair share of troubled nights before he was able to settle, and the present climate had done little to help.

He is back to himself these days, though, and the idea of working in the gardens for a little bit is welcome.

"I know the way." When he had volunteered at the Sanctuary before, when the Sickness had broken out, he had occasionally taken patients out into the gardens - those who were strong enough, or those in need of the distraction from their fretting. More often, he had visited himself - there was a satisfaction in caring for plants, in knowing where things are growing. Also where things are kept, as he leads them toward one of the sheds for a trowel and a pair of small shears - it's slightly warmer within; and the air smells like wood and earth, like the tool shed in the gardens back home.

It is good to remember sometimes, that even if home is gone and far away, some things are not so different.

"We can use the equipment freely, but have you anything to carry things in?" There are baskets overhead, if not.

[almaredemptoris]

In answer, he reaches up to take one of the baskets that hangs from a nail overhead. So too does he take from the shelf a spool of coarse twine, which he places in the basket. "To bind like ingredients together, and prevent confusion when our task is done," he explains. Then to the gardens they go. In anticipation of the labor he would commit himself to, Jean Valjean had purchased for himself what appears to be the garb of the common man about Olympia. Over it he wears his own overcoat, but this he removes and sets aside once he and Linneus enter the greenhouse that stands at one end of the garden, in which essential herbs and flowers are grown even throughout the cold months. "Let's see, what is first?" He unfolds the list once more to consult it. The items comprising it have names that are largely unfamiliar to him despite his incipient forays into studying the flora of this world, but fortunately each row of plants is carefully labeled.

[inaurare]

A smile at that, leaning in to take a look at the list again.

"Some common herbs go by different names, here. I've been trying to learn them..." It would have made life easier if the list-writer had grouped like items together, but that can't be helped. They can just tackle what they can, as they can. "But some names are quite similar - Valeriana, that one is closest..."

Up one of the garden paths and in one of the raised beds there. Equipped - he snagged himself a basket of his own, if just to make handling his tools a little easier - Linneus is ready to work. One graceful hand indicates their way, making sure they start up together.

"Have you done very much garden work in the past, sir...?"

[almaredemptoris]

"I've got some experience," he answers modestly. He had learned the trade of pruning at a young age and dedicated the next fifteen years of his life to the trees of Faverolles, all to carve out a meager existence for himself and his sister's family. These skills he had harnessed once again in the five years he spent in the convent at Petit-Picpus helping the garden to flourish. For him it is not a hobby in whose soil sprouts peaceful contemplation; it is labor that had simply been necessary, and he pursues it now simply because he possesses skill in it. As he follows the young man, Jean Valjean carefully reads over the wooden markers that label each plant, committing as much as he can to memory. "I have studied a little too," he continues. "Some of the plants of this land have similar properties to the plants I know from home. It is just a matter of relearning."

II - thought I might let them meet in person! :)

[braidedwonder]

Eventually, as things calmed and stayed tame.. Duo, as usual, became a little too curious for his own good. Mipha had told him that things had been just as out of control in Olympia, that people had started destroying businesses and homes all the same, and that mist...

So one sunny day will find him perusing the streets in quiet observance, hands tucked away in to his pockets and a small back pack on his back with little bit of dry food just in case. Mipha had been right, of course. Things were a lot less orderly than he remembers them being before they'd left after the bomb and Duo had taken a shine to the rougher populace of Wyver -

It had felt a little more homely, at the time. Though now that he knew anti-refugee sentiment was as rampant on both sides... well, his favor's soured a little on both ends.

Duo isn't really anyone of note to the wandering, playing children of Olympia until he made the mistake of pulling fruit out of his pocket in bunches. Then he's like a magnet, laughing as he's approached for a bit before leisurely passing it over. He's used to this, really, from every time he's gone back to L2, making deals with children who already had snacks in hand for the hell of it, the like.

Once he's seated Duo almost blends in as one of the youth - just, you know. With a black eye and bruised knuckles.

excellent c: sorry for the delay in response

[almaredemptoris]

There are five young children whose care Jean Valjean has been temporarily entrusted with, all brothers and sisters whose parents are occupied with the labor of rebuilding the inn to which their family is proprietor. His gentle demeanor and white hair, which adds to the impression of a harmless old man, had soon won over the beleaguered parents. They thought him a godsend, appearing as he had and offering to mind the children. So it is that he has come to guide this small pack of children in a walk around the block. He is accustomed to the quiet and thoughtful walks he had shared with Cosette, the doting child constant at his side; these children are more content to skip ahead and shout for little reason other than their youth, and their freedom after long weeks of remaining cooped up. Jean Valjean minds not, however, encouraging them in their games and only admonishing when one strays too far or interrupts the path of a passer-by. He is briefly brought back to another life, in which he was responsible for his seven nieces and nephews, whose faces and voices are eroded in his memory by the long intervening decades. When the children gather around the young man - a child too, in his eyes - he is granted the chance to catch up. His imposing stature is softened by the subtle curve of a smile. "Are they bothering you?" he asks the youth.

no worries! busy weekend here!

[braidedwonder]

Duo hadn't really been paying close attention to who, if anyone, was minding this roving pack of kids. It wasn't all that unusual on his home colony for their to be lrge, roving packs of children. He'd been one of them in the first decade of his still short life, though nearing the end of his second he'd barely been amongst children his age who were still actually, mentally, children. Despite everything that Duo tells himself to quell the odd feeling that he'll never be normal and never actually achieve something like a life with the war in his home world over - he'll always be a soldier. Always carry a knife in his boot like he is at the moment, and not just because he was currently in "enemy" territory either. Olympia in general wasn't Duo's enemy, so that was what it was.

But the older voice brings his eyes up in a snap, for the moment slightly obscured beneath long bangs and the brim of a black baseball cap that was his typical costume of late. Once he acknowledges him Duo shakes his head in a 'no' motion, laughing as he plucks a teasing snack out of one child's hand.

"Nah.. I'm used to this.." Duo laughs, turning his hat backward as another playful hand attempts to reach up and snatch the odd (to them) style hat right off his head. Another child has found his braid and is using it as something of a hair accessory - fair enough, considering the boy has hair long enough for himself and about four other people, almost as long as he is tall. "Granted, you guys are basically tame compared to the guys I used to run with, y'know."

A group of wild animals, all of them. Or at least so Sister Helen had said.

Blue eyes turn back to their older companion, scrutinizing for a moment. "You their grandfather?"

[almaredemptoris]

"No, just their neighbor," Jean Valjean answers, and in the biblical sense this is true, for he would consider the general population of Olympia to be his neighbors. But so too does he prefer to shroud the precise location of his own residence in obscurity. "With the way things have gone, they've been held indoors for much too long." This he seems to offer as an explanation for the children's rather boisterous behavior, flocking about him as they are and forgetting to keep their hands to themselves. The eldest daughter alone grants Duo some reprieve, standing back and nattering on about how dreadful it had been to be forbidden from going outside, how they had awakened one night to the cacophony of shattering glass, and how they had then had to stay with cousins, all crammed together in tight quarters with fear gathering in the corners like shadows. Her siblings interject intermittently, to agree or disagree with her account of events. Jean Valjean is content to watch the children in their play and chatter. Throughout the worst of the sack of the city he had had only prayer, books, and his own thoughts for company, and while he has grown accustomed to a solitary life, he had more so grown accustomed to life as shared with Cosette. To once more have the laughter and chatter and questions of children is altogether pleasant.

[braidedwonder]

"This poor guy, bein' you guys' neighbor, huh?" He laughs as there's squawks about the way he's worded that, the children immediately pointing out that they've not seen him around. Duo is of course loathe to say out loud that he lives in Wyver these days and instead shrugs, palms to the sky. "Listen, when you look like me you gotta have your ways, yeah? How's all this hair supposed to just go away?"

He certainly isn't going to cut it all off without some kind of crazy reasoning, after all. If he's made it through a war with a good five feet of hair hanging off of his head there's no way a war on Nysa is going to convince him to cut his hair off. Due for a trim soon, yes, but definitely no major changes on the horizon. The long haired boy listens dutifully to the eldest girl, nodding and offering his commiseration about being kept inside for far too long. Of course he hadn't stayed indoors during that whole ordeal, but he'd been a child kept inside due to unrest.

"Well, at least you got kept in with your family, yeah? Could be worse." He smiles, ruffling the young girl holding his braid's hair to make her let go before he casually flicks the length on to his shoulder, a subtle way of saying he was done with having his hair handled.

"This kinda thing happened at home for me and they kept me in the Sanctuary for two days. I think I about climbed the length of a stained glass window out of boredom." That had gotten him a good whack from the sister, but had been fun at the time. The mention of the Sanctuary seems to spur the children on, though, asking if he'd been one of the ones kept inside of this Sanctuary, and Duo quickly remembers to back track. "Oh, no, not that Sanctuary. Another one kinda like.. the temples around here I'm sure you guys go to sometimes."

[almaredemptoris]

His smile turns a degree sheepish as he amends, "Well, it's true that I have only recently come." To the neighborhood is what his words imply, but to this world is what he truly means. He expects that this hidden significance shall be gleaned by the boy, whose talk of a Sanctuary catches him as a hook catches a coat. In his mind he can see as clearly as if they presently stand before him the sort of brilliant stained glass windows of which he speaks, reaching above to a vaulted ceiling and ruling over a stone floor below. These are fragments of another world, one left behind. When the chattering of the children subsides enough that he might slip in a word, Jean Valjean continues, "Moreover, it seems that you've had your own share of troubles these past few days." He gestures briefly to his own eye to mirror the purpled eye that Duo boasts. "Not too many troubles, however, I hope?" This launches the children into a new barrage of questions: What had happened? Did he make someone mad? Was he trying to fight off robbers?

I

[nineteenfortyfive]

Claire peers at the list in his hand, brows furrowing. "Odd. I've never heard of that one. Must not be terribly important if it's not commonly used, but better safe than sorry. Thank God they've labeled things here."

Her attitude towards the Sanctuary has taken quite a downturn, and yet she's still a faithful employee. Where else can she treat the sick? Save for a shoddy clinic established only for a time of crisis, she has no means of setting up something anything like the Sanctuary. Besides, as a refugee, that sort of endeavor might draw too much attention.

So, she remains, helping to restock things her friends might have taken on her behalf.

sorry for the wait

[almaredemptoris]

Before them stretch rows of herbs, flowers, and vegetables, all cultivated for the express use of Lysa and her daughters. Jean Valjean had dedicated years of his life to the soil and that which sprouts from it, yet the names on the list and the greenery sprouting around them are alien to him. "Indeed," he answers conversationally. "I'm afraid I would be at a loss for where to begin otherwise." His gaze turns from the garden beds, as he tries to take account of all that grows there, to the women beside him. "Well, let us see if we can find where this grows." So speaking he begins down one row, scanning the wooden plaques that denote what grows there, and he politely gestures for Claire to investigate the adjacent row.

no worries I am also on the late train

[nineteenfortyfive]

"All right," she agrees with a small smile, and begins the search. Silence would be fine--she doesn't prefer it, but she can read and talk and walk at the same time--yet there's no reason to not be friendly.

She glances about to make sure there's no one within earshot before asking a question she's had on her mind since they partnered up.

"You're French, aren't you?" Fauchelevent is not the name of a man that would be born in Olympia, she assumes. She could be wrong, of course. Plenty of her friends from worlds in which England never existed sound very English. Curious, that.

[almaredemptoris]

He nods, appreciative of the discretion she practices. He has kept his identity and origins concealed for fourteen years, cloaking himself in secrecy while maintaining an outward appearance of as much transparency as he can afford, but what is new to him is having others who share in the burden of secrecy. Of course, that he hails from another planet is only the tip of the iceberg; far more secrets lurk beneath the surface. "You have discerning ears, Madame Fraser," he says, his gaze flickering from the labels he studies for only a moment. "Paris was my home. And you must have made yours in...Scotland? Or perhaps England? Do tell me if I'm mistaken."

[nineteenfortyfive]

"England, then Scotland, then America," she replies with a smile. And a few places and times in between, but that's a little much for this conversation. "I did live in Paris, for a time. My husband sold wine for his cousin while we were there."

Not the sole reason, of course, but the wine trade was a good cover for those hoping to foil a prince's plans of claiming a throne for his own. It never worked out, in the end, and so Paris holds much bitter disappointment in retrospect.

But it wasn't all terrible.

[almaredemptoris]

He nods convivially, although he has no personal attachments to Paris: he had chosen the city for the simple reason that it was large enough to swallow up any man, thus enabling him to hide in plain sight among the masses. "Wine is a fine business to take up in Paris. You must have been able to keep comfortable lives." Just then he spies the herb that was indicated on the list and he pauses beside it, motioning with his hand for Claire to stop her search. If she comes to the side of her aisle that is adjacent to the row of garden beds he had been inspecting, then she should be able to reach the same patch of herbs from the opposite side. "Here it is," he says, setting down the basket he has borrowed from the Sanctuary for the purpose of completing this task. "We need the leaves, so let's gather a good bundle." Then to continue the conversation he adds, "You seem to be quite well traveled."