[ At some point, Frederick goes from pushing fluttering pieces of paper away from his face to handing them out to various passersby, becoming a pseudo-assistant to the photographic bots that hover in the air. It seems kinder to return a precious photograph that might hold sentimental value to someone, not to mention that the sight of so many errant pictures scattered on the ground are enough to push Frederick's neatfreak tendencies into overdrive.
Someone needs to clean up this mess. It may as well be him.
So he stands, arms overflowing with photos of men, women, animals, locations, and tries valiantly to return photo to owner to the best of his ability. It doesn't go well - for one, many of those passing through simply don't care, and for another, there are enough people that matching photo to person in the two seconds allotted is a daunting - if not impossible - task.
But still he tries.
He tries now, scooping up a newly printed set of photos and rushing over to the older gentleman that's just strolled by. ]
Beg pardon, but might these belong to you?
[ Please say yes, his arms really can't hold any more pictures. ]
[The sudden flash of the camera had startled Jean Valjean, but he had shortly recovered and continued along his way. However, with his vision marred by violet spots, imprinted by the flashing light, he had failed to notice the photographs drifting to the ground like autumn leaves at his feet.
When he is approached by the young man, he is about to deny ownership for these papers he has never seen — but then he is startled by the image preserved in the foremost photograph. It features himself, as seen from perhaps several paces away, in mid stride with a serene smile adorning his countenance; at his side, and it is to there that his eyes are drawn, both in the photograph and the present, walks Cosette. Her hair catches the sunlight and her expression is sweet. His heart soars and aches at once for this sight he has not seen in months while in stasis she sleeps.
Finally, he finds his voice. His expression remains bemused.]
[ Ah! Finally someone receptive to taking back their photos. Frederick immediately launches his assault, though it shows only in the animation in his voice and the eagerness shining in his eyes. ]
From the machines [ he points at one hovering five feet away ] surrounding us, though I cannot say yet who they choose to photograph and when. However, many of these photographs seem to hold significance to those they belong to. I simply wished to return them in case they proved important.
[ From the way this man's gaze stays firmly on the picture held out to him, he'd say the picture is at least of interest, if not import. ]
Is she a relative of yours? A niece, perhaps?
[ The age difference makes the theory plausible. ]
[He looks to where Frederick gestures only briefly, his eyes drawn to the photograph as if by gravity. When he answers, it is as if an afterthought.]
Yes, thank you, monsieur.
[He then reaches to carefully take the stack that the young man had gathered. As the photographs pass hands, Jean Valjean lifts his gaze to him and gives a quiet wistful smile.]
She is my daughter.
[A simple and ordinary statement, but the way he says it seems to carry much weight.]
Reflexively, Frederick's gaze is drawn back to the picture of the young woman, whom he silently begins to contrast against the man before him. They don't look much alike, but perhaps she takes after her mother more? In any case, it's clear the man loves her very much, which is all that matters to Fred. He smiles softly. ]
Your daughter is a beautiful young woman. What is her name?
[ Hard to tell if this man is a Refugee or a local, and thus harder to know if the young woman is present with them or not. ]
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nysalogs2018-07-21 07:59 pm
JVJ
Someone needs to clean up this mess. It may as well be him.
So he stands, arms overflowing with photos of men, women, animals, locations, and tries valiantly to return photo to owner to the best of his ability. It doesn't go well - for one, many of those passing through simply don't care, and for another, there are enough people that matching photo to person in the two seconds allotted is a daunting - if not impossible - task.
But still he tries.
He tries now, scooping up a newly printed set of photos and rushing over to the older gentleman that's just strolled by. ]
Beg pardon, but might these belong to you?
[ Please say yes, his arms really can't hold any more pictures. ]
no subject
When he is approached by the young man, he is about to deny ownership for these papers he has never seen — but then he is startled by the image preserved in the foremost photograph. It features himself, as seen from perhaps several paces away, in mid stride with a serene smile adorning his countenance; at his side, and it is to there that his eyes are drawn, both in the photograph and the present, walks Cosette. Her hair catches the sunlight and her expression is sweet. His heart soars and aches at once for this sight he has not seen in months while in stasis she sleeps.
Finally, he finds his voice. His expression remains bemused.]
Where did you get these?
god i'm the worst
From the machines [ he points at one hovering five feet away ] surrounding us, though I cannot say yet who they choose to photograph and when. However, many of these photographs seem to hold significance to those they belong to. I simply wished to return them in case they proved important.
[ From the way this man's gaze stays firmly on the picture held out to him, he'd say the picture is at least of interest, if not import. ]
Is she a relative of yours? A niece, perhaps?
[ The age difference makes the theory plausible. ]
yes you are val :\
Yes, thank you, monsieur.
[He then reaches to carefully take the stack that the young man had gathered. As the photographs pass hands, Jean Valjean lifts his gaze to him and gives a quiet wistful smile.]
She is my daughter.
[A simple and ordinary statement, but the way he says it seems to carry much weight.]
cries, forgive me kath
Reflexively, Frederick's gaze is drawn back to the picture of the young woman, whom he silently begins to contrast against the man before him. They don't look much alike, but perhaps she takes after her mother more? In any case, it's clear the man loves her very much, which is all that matters to Fred. He smiles softly. ]
Your daughter is a beautiful young woman. What is her name?
[ Hard to tell if this man is a Refugee or a local, and thus harder to know if the young woman is present with them or not. ]