witchfinder_general | OOM -- Javert, in London for confession

'And they will believe it?'

He does not look around him much. He does not care about where he is. He cares about making this go away. His cap is crushed in his hands, and while he is aware that he should take his cravat off, in order to fit more with the times, he does not bother. Let them think what they will.

"They are used to me," Father Harman says, "and at this time of night, there aren't many people here. Also, I'm a priest while most others work for the government, and many of them secretly find me strange."

Pause.

"I need my coat, and you need some coffee, so first we stop at my office and at the cafeteria."

'I need coffee? I do not want coffee. I want to see a priest.'

He stops short, the words having come out more sharply than he intended. He drops his gaze, and mutters an apology, but it is not as heartfelt as the last one he gave for speaking in such away to this man.

"You want to see a priest while completely sober," Father Harman says, leading the way down the corridor. "Your steps were a bit uncertain back there, so a cup of coffee is necessary. You can drink it while we're getting to the church."

He is fairly sure he does not want to be completely sober, either. For one thing, it turns his brain down. For another, without help he might not be able to get the words out.

'Very well,' is all he says.

'I did not know priests cared about such things, but perhaps I am wrong.'

"My colleague will probably not care, but I do," Father Harman simply says.

He opens a door, and turns on the lights. Inside is an office, with blinds drawn and darkness that slightly glows with dirty orange street lights outside.

There is a desk, and some chairs, and blue walls, hardly anything else. Father Harman puts on a coat that has been hanging behind the door, and puts some things from a locked desk drawer into his pockets.

'This is where you work?'

He looks around despite his distraction. The place could not look further from a churchman's place of employment.

"Yes," Father Harman says. "My team have heir lab here, and the vault where we keep the ashes of the neutralised Code Fives. The idea is to hide our small secret department in the most boring and faceless government building one can possibly find. It doesn't do to reside in a neo-gothic church and have a plaque saying 'Department of Vampire Hunting' on the door. Somewhat detrimental to the secrecy."

He checks the contents of his pockets, briefly, then turns off the light again. "Next stop, cafeteria."

No discussion.

He is rather sullen as he follows behind. But Harman seems clear on the necessity of this, so he does as he is told.

'Is it far? The church, I mean.'

"A few minutes by cab, about a quarter of an hour if you prefer to walk," Father Harman says.

He pulls out a small black device with buttons that have numbers on them. "Which do you prefer?"

They arrive at an elevator, and Father Harman presses a button.

'Walk. Please.'

He had spent a lifetime walking, without realising how good it is for the clearing of one's thoughts. Now he does not have to do it so much, he has come to appreciate this effect more.

In any case, the noise of a city may help. If, that is, he can get out of the building. When the walls open to reveal a small metal box, he is pulled from his distraction.

'What is this?'

"Elevator," Father Harman says. "Step inside, it brings us downstairs."

But before he can step inside, a small, blonde woman in dark, calm-looking clothes steps around a corner.

She starts speaking to Harman in English, which Javert probably won't understand all that well -- he will, however, notice that she is calling him 'Pearse' and talks about experiments and test rows and a virus while attempting not to look oddly at Javert.

A random woman, speaking words he does not understand. He looks at her once, then turns away and examines the lift instead. A box that will take them downstairs? Is it on some kind of hidden pulley?

Oh, he does not care. He glances at Harman somewhat impatiently, but then puts his hands behind his back and tries not to look anxious. Which does not work, but he is not aware of how badly he is failing.

Father Harman talks to the woman in English; Javert might understand something about 'spiritual emergency' and 'Jesuits'. She looks not quite convinced, but then Father Harman steps into the box, gesturing at Javert to follow him, telling the woman something about 'confidential' and 'personal', and then the doors close, leaving the woman outside.

"That was Dr. Angela March, the doctor and scientist of my team," Harman explains to Javert.

He steps in, still ignoring the woman beyond a glance. He could guess the walls will close again, but it still feels odd when it happens.

'She is a woman,' he says, almost absent-mindedly. He is looking up at the ceiling - and then the thing moves, and the sensation of it makes his eyes go a little wide.

"Yes," Father Harman says. "So is about half of humanity."

There is an odd, sinking feeling as the little metal box descends.

'Mmm.'

Well, he supposes he has even less reason to notice them now. He is more interested in the sudden thought of what would happen if this thing were to break.

'How tall is this building?'

"Not so tall," Father Harman says. "Fourteen floors."

Something goes 'ding!' and the doors open. Father Harman steps out, and leads the way down a corridor. The cafeteria is mostly dark, but there is a machine making coffee left working, and lit up.

Very quickly, Harman fills two rather flimsy plastic beakers with the coffee, hands one to Javert, and keeps walking. There is another corridor, and then a deserted entrance hall, and glass door, and then they're outside, with cars driving past, many of them black and oddly domed.

Father Harman is drinking his coffee, holding the beaker in careful fingers, his other hand in his pocket, walking fast.

Everything looks the same here. It is good; he does not have to think about any strange environment. The blandness suits. He simply holds the coffee, and follows.

It is a little different outside. He has never been to England before. Modern London is nothing like modern Los Angeles; the government buildings on the street are old, and not entirely unlike some of the newer buildings in his Paris. He spares them a glance, and then one for the priest.

'What is in your pocket?'

He seems different here.

"Cell phone, mirror, crucifix, and allicin spray," Father Harman says. He takes a sip of his coffee. "I've never been attacked in London when I was out alone, but they do know who I am."

Harman is walking with a certain energy in his step; this is his turf, and woe betide the Code Five who tries to disturb him while he goes about his priestly business.

'Vampires.'

He says it dully, without looking up. It was a vampire that started all this. He has not considered there might be more here. He is pulled from the thought by coffee spilling on his fingers from the top of his cup, jolted free by the pace they are taking. He shakes the drops off impatiently.

'We can get in a car, if you prefer.'

"We don't have to," Father Harman says. "As I said, I've never been actually attacked in London, I'm simply cautious. Do drink your coffee, rather than spilling it."

'Yes.'

It is tinged with sarcasm, just barely. He tries to make up for that by doing what he is told, but it is not good coffee and he does not want it anyway.

'Caution is advisable.'

Of course it's not very good coffee; it came from a machine in an office building after hours. It is simply a hot drink containing caffeine.

"Caution is second nature," Father Harman replies. "That spire behind the brown building is where we're going."

It is really not very far.

He takes another mouthful. And then another, because he was told to. And then he tosses the rest into the street, otherwise he will be sick. The cup follows, and he puts his hands in his pockets.

'Thank you for this. I did not mean to have you come out where there might be danger.'

He is just speaking for the sake of it; he hates doing that, but he does not know what else to do.

"There is always a modicum of danger, everywhere, to everybody," Father Harman points out, stopping.

He takes a deep breath.

"I do realise that people in Paris in your time simply threw everything away where they stood; people still do the same in big, bustling and dirty third world cities. But here, we have litter bins -- that thing over there. You can put your used coffee cup in it, and municipal workers will take it all away later."

Javert stops too. He is forced to listen by the man's tone, and finds himself frowning. A cup does not seem that important.

'I will remember,' he says, in order to get them moving again.

The priest does not seem to recognise the urgency of this problem. The church spire is in sight; he is moments away. He stops to talk about a cup?

Father Harman finishes his own coffee and puts the cup into the bin. "Littering is illegal and punishable by a fine," he says. "Please pick up your cup and put it in there. I'm sorry about that."

He hopes Javert's crisis won't get worse if he realises he was breaking a law. The poor man!

Javert stares at him. And then at the cup. For a moment, he holds himself tall...and then he crumples, and walks into the gutter to retrieve the cup. He puts it in the black can with his head down, and does not raise it when he walks back to the priest.

'Can we continue now?'

His voice is low, and desperate. This was a bad idea, perhaps. It seems he cannot help doing wrong.

"We can," Father Harman says, and starts walking again.

He walks for a bit, then says, "There is no reason to be ashamed; you didn't know, and when I told you, you put it to right. Nobody can expect more than that. Contrition and penance in the sacrament of confession work similarly, if less profane."

People used to scuttle from the streets when he walked. A hardened criminal once refused to fire on him, because he dared not. Now he is dreaming of men, and picking rubbish from the street like a beggar. Well, this is what pride gets a man. He deserves no more. But it still stings.

'Of course, Father. You are right to correct me.'

There is every reason to be ashamed, but he cannot admit to why. Which only exacerbates the problem.

They are quite close to the church now. "I don't like to correct you, but it would be worse to just abandon you to the misunderstandings of a different time," he says, turning a corner in the dark.

A shadow vanishes into some alley or mews.

He lifts a shoulder, and lets it drop. It is done. His attention is caught by the shadow, but he says nothing. He is sure Harman has seen it too, and does not want to point out the obvious.

Harman looks into the alley, but doesn't stop to investigate longer; within a few minutes, they have reached the church, and the priest pushes the door open.

Even at this time of the evening, the church isn't closed, and there are candles burning in front of a crucifix, and of a Virgin Mary.

"Can you wait here for a moment while I fetch a priest?" he asks, leaving Javert in the half-darkness by the candles.

'Yes, of course.'

He leans his back against the wall, and watches the floor. He did not think to ask whether there would be a priest here at this time.

'I cannot go anywhere. I will wait.'

Father Harman returns after a while, another middle-aged Jesuit priest wearing black in tow. The priest has glasses, greying hair, and is otherwise rather nondescript.

"This is Father Meunier, from Quebec in Canada, who speaks both French and English as well as a number of other languages," he explains to Javert. "He will hear your confession. I will wait here in the meanwhile and take you back afterwards."

He nods, then steps back towards the candle-lit crucifix, and sits down, quietly becoming one with the surroundings.

Now, Javert will get his chance to unburden himself to a complete stranger who doesn't even know his name, in the privacy of some nameless London church of the future.-

Javert barely looks at the new priest. He turns towards the confessional at once, and enters without looking back.

Edited 2014-05-05 22:15 (UTC)

OOM -- Javert, in London for confession

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