merryeccentricities | After Many Things

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After Many Things

The dream with the inventory and the surplus of penguins is familiar; that the penguins take off flying is (also familiar) not at all, and Joly blinks half-awake in some confusion. Which turns to panic because he's gone he's gone where is he, and that sets him gasping, awake completely.

As soon as he is entirely awake, the weird panic vanishes. No one is missing; Bossuet is right next to him, the cats are asleep on the furniture that they should least be sleeping on, and even the beetle is still on the ceiling where he'd flown last night before they could put him in his warren.

Joly rubs his eyes and curls up closer to Bossuet again, already starting to fall back asleep , half smiling. Maybe they'd both had a little too much last night (last week) after the fireworks, but that's all right, everything's all right, they're both here and Bossuet is missing Guignon she's gone too--

Joly frowns. He's used to fretting, but there is...nothing wrong? Maybe things are a little complicated now, but it's a complication he doesn't mind. Of course he is upset, they're all upset with the political situation being what it is,all that fighting at the barricade just to see another king--

He blinks and sits up. He hasn't thought about the barricade in weeks, really; not since the anniversary. And the barricades of 1830 haven't been on his mind in months and months, even though it just happened--

--three years ago.

Maybe he's having a stroke? Or drank something he really shouldn't have? That would be comforting, he knows how to worry about medical problems.

He's just sure he isn't having one.

"Um." he says, very quietly, to a room somehow missing everyone who should be in it.

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"Yes, I was tending bar; we had a pretty good turnout--oho, Joly, I hope that Hotspur knight got back to his stable or wherever he lives, without breaking his neck, poor man--and, hmm--"

Oh, right, and then they'd had a conversation. Which Joly looks to be remembering too. Lesgle elbows him heartlessly. "I believe we're engaged to marry, now. Have you set a date? Or is that my job?"

Bossuet is a horrible person. Joly aims a pillow at him the best he can, given that Joly is laughing to the point of tears now, before opting to just fall in Bossuet's general direction and then try to cover his face.

He's laughing too much, he knows he's laughing too much, but the idea of either of them actually planning a wedding is too much, and it's such a relief against the persistent feeling of wrongness (Alcmaeon is gone am I) after (the barricade the new king) everything.

(am I dead)

That thought, faint and out of place as it feels, does sober him up enough to make eye contact again, though he's still giggling. It's a confusing thought, not a painful one; he knows he's dead, he's been here for almost a year, all of them are here. And what do birds have to do with that?

"How much do you remember?" He's still smiling, but it's all right, it's all right! He can have a conversation now. If Bossuet isn't going to be terrible and set him laughing again.

Edited 2015-07-26 20:52 (UTC)

"Well, we can salvage our respectability like any so-called Madame Whoever and her shopkeeper and their five children, and have it that we've been married all this time. How dare you imply otherwise?"

Oh all right, he'll behave. He runs his fingers through Joly's hair. "Hm. Hm, hm. There were the--birds--that's the wrong way to put it, of course, but it will have to do for now. But also we had just... It was like 1830 again. That summer, after. --Do you remember the other birds? Enjolras with an eagle, of course. Bahorel with--something loud and very very red.""

Joly is very seriously balancing a pillow on one arm held in the air now. It falls half on his face, and he laughs again. "And so my reputation is saved.--Thalia! Bahorel's bird. Some sort of parrot. They visited me in the infirmary; she stole my pens. And- Combeferre had a raven, I don't remember the name."

He bites his lip, thinking."I know all of us had birds, and that was...that was strange, for the world? I had a talk about that. I remember best the things that happened in Milliways, but I know those selves weren't from Milliways, and..." He frowns hard, thinking "...everyone had those--animals?--where we--they-- were from? But I can't remember most of them, except the ones I saw here."

He doesn't bother saying who he's really trying to remember. Legle is probably trying to call up the same image. Had Musichetta been another bird? Or something else entirely? Joly keeps talking, trying to spur memory now.

"--Prouvaire had a black swan, it was lovely. I didn't see Feuilly, and I can't quite remember how he was now, only that he was another bird. Had another bird!" Had? Had been? The explanation is right on the edge of that strange doubled-memory.

"Of course if we had the five children too, it would lend some color to the story. After all, how could we have had them all if we weren't married? --Hey!" He rescues Joly from under the pillow and goes back to playing with his hair. "Mm, Feuilly's was something green, something you never quite expected it to be..."

Yes, he's thinking of Musichetta too. He doesn't think she had--was--a bird. Something soft and sleek; but that brings him back to his dream a little too vividly, and he laughs at himself under his breath. "1830, though. 1830, but we were all of us coming and going from here. I wonder..."

How did that turn out?

Joly waves at the cats. "Are you denying our children your name?--And you with so many. Heartless, I call it heartless." He grins and burrows closer to Legle in a spirit of pure betrayal.

But 1830, the other 1830. The other France. "I don't know..? I don't remember anything of that life past our time in Milliways, at all. I'm sure we weren't Bound, there..." He frowns. "I wonder why-- that, why then?" Now he wants to know too.

"Cats are not children. We've had this talk before, Joly..." He falls silent, pulling at bits of memory, but everything that he has of that other France really is like a dream, a dream fading fast. "I suppose that's really a, a world, though? A universe? Where we all have our, our--daemons? Was that the word?"

Joly puts a hand over his heart when Bossuet denies the cats. "It's true! Oh, they grow up so fast." His smile loses some of its teasing edge when Legle when Legle mentions the daemons. "Yes! That's it. And I remember...oh, how they felt, but not much else? And most of that in Milliways. But it must have been something real, anyway, if we both remember it." He's still smiling, but he frowns a little now too, reaching up to touch Legle's cheek. "Is that--?" Is that all right is a foolish question, but he's not sure what Lesgle thinks of Other Thems, overall.

Lesgle smiles crookedly at him. "I don't know that I care to have my soul taken out and popped back in again, after I've professed so long not to believe in such things."

Joly grins. "Oh, I have lots of theories about that. Would you like me to tell you about brainwaves, and potential electromagnetic projections, or the possible way that the energy of the human body would interact with the medium of--of--" he claps his hands together in triumph and sits up. "-- Aether! They had actual aether in that world! And oh, I did have a lot of theories. I think it entirely explainable without getting religious, if you want to avoid that."

He blinks as he thinks that over. "--What part of us do you think came through here? Do you suppose our actual bodies fell through our doors?" It's not an argument. Joly's been wondering this himself for a while.

"Hm! You mean--us us, not the, ah, the usses that were here with their, ah, daemons? I--well, I certainly feel as though I have a body. I eat, I sleep, I confess that I have an amorous disposition--but hmm, I suppose you mean, ah, was there--was there something left in Paris?"

Joly smiles and shoves at Legle fondly for the amorous disposition remark. "--Yes, I suppose. I'd say that it makes the most sense to assume something like the Federations's transporters, with our bodies being, oh, sort of remade on the way here, and that works for some of us, but I...remember opening the door..." He frowns, but only in attempted recollection; shaken as he had been, he barely remembers arriving in Milliways at all. The 1830 of the daemons, dreamlike as it's becoming, is still more immediate than his own June 7th.

He squeezes Joly's shoulders at the little shove. "I...hm, I admit it, I have no explanation whatever. I have always assumed that there were--well, call them earthly remains if you like." Lesgle waggles a hand at the phrase: ooh, genteel. It's easier than saying he'd assumed there was enough left for a funeral. "Do you have any plans to study it?"

Joly catches one of Bossuet's hands in his and hmms cheerfully, thinking. "I was studying it at first. But then it didn't seem very pressing, and there was so much else to learn. But if other versions of us are going to start coming in and borrowing our time here I may have to consider it again."

Lesgle twines their fingers together comfortably. "Well, you know I'm always a willing subject for study, happy to sit under any array of blinking lights or buzzing buzzers. --So I suppose they're back in their world now? I wonder if one could send a message in any way."

"We might leave messages with Madame Bar? Milliways is likely the same place for every time and world. If it happens again, or if it's been happening--it might be we could even carry on a correspondence!" Joly grins. "That would be amazing, I'd have so many questions for them."

He smiles, thinking of possibilities. After a moment, he says "Oh!--It was something like a cat. But it wasn't a cat."

"That's true; at the very least we can leave messages. But do you think--were we somewhere else while they were here? Or did we alter.... Hm? Oh! Oh. Yes. Yes, something like a cat..."

He sketches a curve with his hand, the line of a sleek animal with a long tail. "Silvery. And spotted."

Joly smiles. "Something soft and very clever. A beautiful creature.--I'll have to see if I can find anything like it, I would like to see one again. I don't think it was something native only to that world? --Yes, we can leave them messages. I hardly know what. Mm- I don't know where we went. Or if we did go anywhere? If we were entirely separate from them , I don't think we'd have the memories left over? It doesn't feel at all like your flu." He blinks. "I was sick, though. But I don't know anyone who remembers having the flu, er, together."

"Combeferre could probably name the creature from a description--but here, you're far ahead of me when it comes to these computers; is there a way to ask a computer What sort of animal is soft and silvery and spotted and very clever, with a tail? And if not, what good is a computer?"

Lesgle yawns and scratches his beard, trying to put his mind to the question of where they were if they weren't here, or who they were, or what it all meant. No conclusions present themselves in any useful way. "Mmh. You'll need someone cleverer than I to solve this, I think; but as I said, I'm always happy to sit as an object of study."

((GAH, I'm so sorry, I didn't spot the notification that you'd replied!))

"There is, actually-- I can show you how, later. Unless you really want to see right now? The tablet should work. It's a little early to head for the Library, I think." Keen observers may note that Joly is in fact not even much heading for the bedside table.

Lesgle makes a noise of effort--enh--and gives up the attempt on getting out of bed. "It can wait; I am content to know that your computer earns its keep. I really should learn my way around those things..."

Joly, who's been making general efforts at getting well under the covers, sighs significantly, then laughs and rolls over to the table instead. "Well, who am I to discourage you from learning?"

He grabs his own tablet and leans back over to show Bossuet. "...look, see, there's this program? And-- uh, cat-like, silver, spotted..." he types in words, quickly.

...And there it is. "Genet." His voice is suddenly very soft. He taps on a picture of a little soft-silver creature; it expands to fill the screen.

Laigle has to angle himself to see the screen properly--and then, yes, there it is. That's Musichetta: her daemon, at least. Whose name is--is--is on the tip of his tongue. He reaches out, his fingertip nearly touching the screen. "Yes, that's right," he says, his voice a little rough.

It's strange, the feeling of looking at a photograph of a strange animal and feeling as if he were looking at one of the dearest loves of his life.

Strange, but not unwelcome, and he's smiling a little even if he might start crying soon. There's no portrait of Musichetta, no locket or sketch to remember her by, and he's suddenly grateful to the memories of his other-self for this connection, unlikely as it is, temporary as it might be.

Joly takes Legle's hand, fighting the urge to apologize; Bossuet had wanted to see this too, and he loved her, too, and probably there's no way around that without at least a little sting. And their own daemons belong to another world; he can't reach out to hold Guignon, or feel Alcmaeon curling up against Bossuet or his daemon for connection and shared comfort. But he holds Bossuet's hand tight, and has to hope it's enough.

It is enough; it isn't; this elegant little creature isn't the Musichetta that Lesgle misses, but it's a hint at how another-him felt about her, and about Joly. After taking a long look, he leans down to kiss Joly's shoulder, and then rest his head there. "Maybe we can leave a message." (Another thing that won't be enough; what can they possibly say?)

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