III. But I don't like scenes, except on the stage.

[epigrammatical]

[In which Lord Henry treats the text feature as if it were a telegram service.]

[Text, private to Dorian Gray]
[This message is sent after two days' discreet waiting after Toby's arrival. Henry is not blind and definitely noticed Dorian's reaction, but (wisely, probably) did not interfere, and has allowed time to pass before approaching Dorian—and has also been studiously avoiding Toby. He has no idea whether his friend will answer, but even if he doesn't, that will tell him much of what he needs to know.]

Are you well? I do not wish to intrude, of course, but I could not help but notice a certain amount of recent excitement.

[Text, private to Alcuin nó Delaunay]
I hope this finds you well—would you be available to dine or for a drink sometime soon? I should like to hear of your progress with our yellow book.

[Open action nice choice and not so nice, post-trainwreck choice]

[ETA: Disturbing conversations about murder and possible eventual bad behaviour within.]

Comments

[epigrammatical]

[A pity the bookseller doesn't have a copy of Á Rebours lying around. But somehow there is a copy of Flaubert's Salammbô, the good lord only knows how or why—and Henry happens to have it in his hand. So he offers it to Javert.]

I'm quite finished with this one, if you'd like it.

[And then—oh. Money. Henry really hates handling money, hates the acknowledgement that regardless of the charade, he is an employee.]

I believe Daowei charges one juulan for the law codes, and two for the fiction. In this case I think he has undervalued the latter; some literature is insulted by having a price put on it at all.

[He doesn't appear to be making any motion to actually take Javert's money, though he's perfectly happy to give him the book.]

[inseine]

I had pinned you as English by the way you speak. Not French. Bilingual then?

[Javert tucks the law code under his arm and cranes his head toward the French Flaubert classic. He peers at the title and author.] Flaubert. I do not know him. [He gives a light, frowning shrug and thrusts his large fist in his pocket without asking any more questions. A book was a book. He could use the opportunity to expand his vocabulary, not to mention more distractions. It has been some time.]

You talk like you wish to give your novels away. [he mutters, drawing out the requisite three coins and holding them out to Henry.] Three juulan. Your shop's price. [You are going to take it, aren't you, Henry? He arches a brow.]

[epigrammatical]

I may be English, monsieur, but I am not a barbarian. [Henry's amused.] I am quite fluent in French, somewhat less so in Italian, and there is a bit of Greek or Latin to be had as well. [He nods toward the novel.] M. Flaubert is worth your acquaintance, in any event.

[He glances around the shop, hoping that Daowei might be around to handle the transaction—and belatedly recalls that the business of closing up for the evening has been left in his hands. Damn. He accepts the money delicately, as if receiving something slightly slimy and distasteful.]

Were it my decision, books such as this would be given away for free, or else sold for a fortune, but alas, it is not. Might I have your name, my dear fellow?

[inseine]

Your scheme would rid the world of authors and publishers quick.

[Is Javert a barbarian, then, for his limited tongues? Would Henry were to know that the other vocabulary he lays claim to are the French Gypsy tongue, extraneous amounts of rough street argot, and a smattering of Russian, he would undoubtedly think so. Either way it does not bother Javert, but Henry might catch a sardonic curl at the corner of his lip. His hand freed of coin, he accepts the Flaubert novel with a curt nod.]

I am Javert.

[There, that wasn't so bad this time. He has finally stripped himself of that pesky hesitation where he would normally speak his professional title. The Flaubert novel joins the law code under his arm.]

Thank you. For showing me in the right direction. I shall see about this Flaubert, whoever-he-is.

[epigrammatical]

Oh, it is merely a fancy, hardly a scheme.

[If he recognises the name, Henry shows no sign.]

And I am Lord Henry Wotton. You are welcome, M. Javert, and I hope that you find what you seek in your books.

[The money goes into the till quickly and discreetly and Henry just managed to not wipe his hands as if he's been handling something disgusting.]

There has been rather a dramatic influx of your fellow countrymen of late, has there not?

[inseine]

[Javert's brow flies up at the Lord, but he makes no remark beyond murmuring in a wry undertone,] I hope so. Or it will be a dull time.

[He had made a movement halfway toward the exit when Henry stops him with a few words about his 'countrymen.' His lips part. He flashes a wolf's grimace, halfway between humor and revulsion. He looks at Henry intently.]

You mean the rash of dead boys half my age, [he says curtly. He subconsciously holds his head high, nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. There is no surprise or fondness in his tone.] Yes, I've seen them. All four of them.

You Englishmen must be thrilled by this invasion.

[epigrammatical]

[In the secret parts of his heart, Henry is just relieved that Javert didn't see fit to ask about his title. He wasn't looking forward to the inevitable need to explain that to someone. As for the boys—]

I have spoken to three of them myself. [Said mildly, no judgement passed, one way or the other.] Were I from a slightly less enlightened time I suppose I might object, but as it is, I welcome all arrivals equally. Particularly when their personalities are interesting.

[And in fact, wall-like demeanour aside, Henry finds Javert interesting—perhaps because of the incredible stoicism.]

[inseine]

Equal men in a foreign land where nationality counts for nothing, language barriers set aside. Fair.

[Javert barks a tinny laugh. Interesting is one way of putting it.]

Woe be to the boring ones that slip below your favor! Ah! Perhaps I count as one of those? Best leave before you decide either way. I don't mean to keep you past your time.

[And with that he starts making his way toward the exist. When he passes Lord Wotton, he pauses and tips his hat briskly accompanied by a small bow.]

Bonsoir and farewell to you.

[epigrammatical]

Au contraire, M. Javert, you do not bore me at all. [This is actually sincere.] And if it is not too much to ask, I should quite like your opinion on the Flaubert when you have read it. But I should not keep you either, if you have somewhere to be. You may find me here, or in the Fire sector in the future.

[inseine]

Wotton, was it? [Murmured aloud to help stamp it into his memory. He pauses at the door, fixing a contemplative arch of his brow toward Henry. Javert has always been exceptional with faces, but names took a mild amount of effort. He hms.] I am not much of a reader, haven't done any in a while. But you'll hear from me about this Flaubert gentleman.

[A terse grin returns to his face.]

You can figure your next recommendation on my review. Until then!

[He pulls his hat low over his face and makes his exit. Now that you've gotten his word, Wotton, you'll certainly receive a little note from him about the book. Certainly. Even if this decadent Flaubert epic, or indeed, most fiction, isn't quite something he's prone to enjoy.]

[epigrammatical]

[Lord Henry, he almost corrects Javert, but for once bites his tongue and watches him go with a smile, feeling oddly pleased with himself. And he genuinely can't wait to see what this fellow makes of Flaubert's historical fantasy.]