[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

[almaredemptoris]

His expression is contemplative as Linneus explains himself. Such feelings are not unfamiliar to him, nor is the act of theft for the sake of survival. Theft is wrong in the eyes of the law, but withholding aid to the needy is wrong in the eyes of God. "None should be condemned for willing to live another day," he says quietly. "And with that life, you can strive to give back to others."

[inaurare]

That frown still furrows Linneus' brow a little while he works, loosening the final root and smoothing the soil over after it's pulled up. It's important to Linneus to try to do right, to be kind, to try to help, compelled not just by his nature, but his own experience. He has given must, been taken from plenty. And struggled even then being kind to himself.

And sometimes what people call kindness is just being nice - so many people he has known to be nice only to smooth over cruelties.

"To give - to be kind - sounds an easy thing. But kindness offered only when the inclination allows, when the situation makes it easy... that is not necessarily the measure of a man, I think. Sometimes kindness is perhaps making a hard decision, in the knowledge that it will help..."

It is presumptuous, however, to say such things. He forgets, sometimes, that in the eyes of most he is young yet - what a thing it is, to feel old. To be in his mid-twenties and already tired.

[almaredemptoris]

Age is not a factor in how one becomes burdened by hardship, nor in how one bears this load: the young bend as do the old. At twenty-five Jean Valjean had found himself responsible for his widowed sister's seven children. Day by day he had been whittled down smaller and smaller, closing in upon himself, until he broke. The window. The bread. A nineteen year sentence on his head. Now with twice as many years passed, he feels younger in many respects. His spirit had been renewed first by the compassion of the bishop, then later by the innocence of Cosette. The one had cleansed him of the hatred that befouled his heart, the other kept him from regressing to those darker instincts of disgust and defeat in the face of mankind's wretched underside. "Compassion in its truest form is that which is given in spite of any consequence. When it does not serve the giver to any end, or indeed when it may harm the giver. Compassion is mercy." Jean Valjean finishes separating the parts of the plant, and tying together each separate bundle, which he places in the basket.

[inaurare]

"Yes." Soft, a taut little smile with those words - simple words, but big in their meaning, in their acting.

He straightens up, taking a deep breath of the garden air, squaring his shoulders a little. That's better. The garden has always helped him.

"...shall we move on?" Literally, and in terms of conversation, one hand sweeping toward their basket. "Our list is long, and there is only so much time in the day, no?"