World: Paris
Scene: A street somewhere.
Players: Enjolras = Abby; Eauie = Dessa
It's getting dark out... the sun is turning a section of the sky pink fringed with purple, and men are walking down the streets lighting the lamps. Eauie walks with her gaze down, as if she were in prayer. The plain white habit of a nun in training seems to glow in the incipient darkness. She holds in front of her a bowl with the charity collections that were made that day, and she's on her way back to the convent grounds. She's a little nervous... it's only a little way, but she's not used to walking alone, especially in the nighttime.
Enjolras turns out of the narrow side street, drawing a deep breath to clear his lungs. Someday he'll have to re-examine why he spends half his time in places where tobacco smoke is more prevalent than air. He pauses, blinking a little in the odd light of dusk.
Eauie manages to spot the gentleman who suddenly appears in front of her in the top of her line of vision, and she brings her head up fully, stopping quickly and jumping in fright, letting out a little yelp, but managing, if only by a few inches, not to collide with him and drop the bowl she carries. She then realizes that she's staring at the man in front of her, and quickly lowers her eyes to the ground, as she's been taught to do. "Pardon, Monsieur." She speaks in a low tone.
Enjolras steps back swiftly, ducking his head a bit, boy-like. "Your pardon, sister. I wasn't paying attention."
Eauie does not see the head ducking, but speaks to the ground. "My fault was also there, Monsieur. But God forgives," she affirms, and she resolves to be more alert in the future.
"Doubtless," he murmurs. The young voice registers then, and such of the young face as he can see, and he smiles at her a trifle less diffidently and more kindly. "You're not hurt, I hope?"
Eauie shakes her head, and seems to shrink without moving, "No, Monsieur. I hope I have not hurt you, either." She begins to really fear that she might have hurt him - without actually touching him, and she swallows softly.
Enjolras blinks. "Not at all." He moves to go on his way, then pauses, casting a questioning look at what she's carrying.
Eauie moves the opposite way to be on her way, then stops as he stops, a mirror image, and catches the glance, quickly averting her eyes again and holding the bowl closer to him. "Anything for the orphans, Monsieur?" she repeats, as she had been taught to say it.
Enjolras hesitates an instant, then nods, and searches in his pocket till he finds a couple of coins. They clink softly against the rest she's collected. "Good luck to you, Sister." Despite his intentions, it comes out a little bitter.
Eauie briefly allows a smile to fill her face... she notes the bitter tone and she says in a tone to convince him of the magnitude of his great deed: "God bless you and keep you, Monsieur."
His face darkens. "Perhaps," he says shortly, ungracious as young men will be when sharply embarrassed, and turns away.
Eauie turns after him, obviously upset by this reply. "God will bless you, Monsieur. You have done a great thing this day." She speaks in a soft, still childish tone... sounding perhaps younger than she is, but with all the conviction of a girl insisting that it was Saint Nicholas who put the coin in her shoe on Christmas night.
Enjolras glances back. "There's no need for that," gruffly.
Eauie pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts, and she puts the question to him, "Do you not believe in His salvation?" She only dares to grab furtive glances up at him, but not to look at him for any length of time.
Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "I don't believe it's merited by the casual throwing about of loose change, no."
"But... we all do what we can, Monsieur," she argues mildly in return, "It may be loose change to you, but see what so many people's loose change has made?" She tilts the bowl slightly so that he can see all the coins inside.
"We do what we can," he echoes, half to himself. "Yes, I see." He starts to say something more, then checks himself, and concludes only, mildly, "It is more to your credit than mine or anyone else's."
A blush spreads over her face. "I am only a messenger. Without people like yourself all over Paris, there would be no one giving charity at all, and then... and then trying to collect it would be a fruitless mission."
"You ask out of selflessness. They give out of guilt." His tone is harsh; if anything more so when he amends, after a second, "We."
Eauie keeps her eyes on his shoes. "But guilt is not a wrong feeling... it is the cause of selflessness. We are all born guilt-laden by nature. Those who recognize their guilt can be selfless, like those who gave this money, to redeem themselves."
Enjolras falls quiet, considering this. "Perhaps so," he says at last, quite mildly. "Even so, it's a poor penance for a great many sins."
Eauie steals another glance at him as he's silent, only to look down once more as he speaks again. "As I said, we all do what we can... many people have families to support, and cannot at any time afford to give very much away. And there is also the penance the soul pays."
"That's as it may be." Unconsciously he's lapsed into declamatory mode, shoulders back, voice crisp. "Most people might think a little harder about what they can afford -- be it money or time or simple thought -- the latter most of all. Charity is no subsitute for concern, nor for action."
Eauie is somewhat startled by the gentleman's sudden harshness, and she seems a little cowed by it. She finds herself gazing at him once more, seemingly mesmerized by his manner of speech. "I'm... sure if you would like to speak to Father Masrein about your idea... he would be pleased to listen and perhaps to help you." She looks down again and defers this man of such lofty ideals to someone a bit higher than herself.
Enjolras laughs a little, wryly, and the momentary frost is broken. "No, I don't think so. Though I thank you for the suggestion."
Eauie keeps her eyes on the ground, then. She nods slightly, and then moves off again, saying, "Thank you again for your donation, Monsieur. God bless you, Monsieur."
Enjolras sighs, very slightly. "Good evening, Sister." With a courteous inclination of his head, he turns and walks away.