Jean-Paul | John - Monday Evening

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'A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man's mind can get both provocation and privacy.' -Edward P. Morgan-

Jean-Paul was very tired of having to borrow copies of books. His things from Laval had yet to arrive and, in the grand scheme of things, having multiple copies of books was never truly a hardship. He found his way to a bookstore not too horribly far from the mansion and set about picking the establishment's shelves bare. He could tell, from the expression on the bookseller's face, that she was probably going to be calling her manager to talk about the strange Frenchman who spent so much money in so short a period of time.

But he missed having his copies of the classics and he wanted to be able to make notations for Catseye, if she needed them. Not that she needed much help these days. She was well on her way to managing literature all on her own now. It gave him a distant sort of pride, how well she did. Fragments of their time together before he'd been taken in Romania still drifted through his mind, but it was difficult to place the pride appropriately and he could really only be sure of the fact that she said he helped her as much as he apparently had.

Humming a quiet tune, he laid a copy of Moby Dick on the counter and watched the bookseller add it to his increasingly large pile behind the registers. Next, he would tackle Shakespeare.

"Now let me guess." John stepped up to the counter and placed his stack of books next to Jean-Paul's. "You speed read." He had been watching the man for some time now and had been amused to see him clearing out the bookshelves, doing so without hesitation. Most people tended to weigh the purchase of a book, carefully reading the synopsis and rereading them again before making that all important decision to spend or not to spend.

John's lips quirked up into a smile. "We meet again." And oddly enough, he realized, always in the most unlikely of places.

"Some things should not be done so quickly," Jean-Paul said, brows rising just a bit. "Also, the pages would rip if I tried." He nodded toward the younger man's stack of books. "You finished the other that you were reading?" Pausing rather than continuing back to the literature and poetry section again, he skimmed the titles John was buying. There were several good ones there.

"Yup. Like I said, it was an easy read." He placed his hand on his stack of books and pushed it to the corner, away from prying eyes. There was no need for anyone, much less Jean-Paul to know that he also read Harry Potter in his spare time. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a bookworm."

"The English language and I, we have a love-hate relationship," Jean-Paul replied, deciding not to comment on the way the younger man had shifted his books. "She loves to remind me that I hated her in school." And then he'd gotten a degree in English Studies and Comparative Literature. The world worked in mysterious ways, sometimes. He quirked a smile, then shrugged and said, "My own books have not arrived from Laval. I was tired of waiting for the postal system here to find them."

John whistled low. "You're definitely gonna have to wait a while for them to deliver these to you. Unless you're planning on making a few trips back and forth on your own." He was already taking out his credit card to pay for his books when the idea struck him. "Or you could dump them in the back seat of my car." Correction. Scott's car.

Brows rising all over again, Jean-Paul said, "That would be convenient, I think. But I am not finished. This is one of several stacks." He gestured to the other two behind the register. "I have not made it to Shakespeare yet."

There was no way John was going to hang around in the bookstore for that. Even he had his limits. But - instead of saying - too bad, you're on your own, buddy. He made a gesture of 'whatever'. "Take your time. I'm gonna head to the bank. I'll be back in an hour?"

Jean-Paul nodded. "Merci." He watched as the bookseller bagged the other man's purchases, saying only, "The seventh book is worth getting through," when he caught sight of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. The corners of his lips quirked upward just a bit before he headed into the stakes once more.

John had paused midway of putting his credit card back into his wallet. He dropped his head with a sigh once Jean-Paul was out of sight.



They needed only two trips in and out of the front door before the books were safely deposited in Jean-Paul's suite. John surveyed the mostly empty room and lifted his brows slightly. "Really like what you've neglected to do with the place."

Jean-Paul sat his last bag of books on the counter in the kitchenette and then looked around the room. The pictures that had been hanging on the walls were still propped against them - he supposed he should put those back up, since he'd finally picked a room. "Interior decorating... it was never my strongest suit," he said, shrugging. The suite needed more shelves. He'd work on that eventually. Most likely after he'd gone to a different bookstore and bought himself a respectable stock of cookbooks.

His refrigerator still wasn't functioning, but he suspected it had something to do with the plug and had resolved to investigate it later. For now, he had bottled water. "Would you like something to drink?" The liquor bottles he and Logan had finished off that past Saturday had all been disposed of, at least. The last thing Jean-Paul needed was for people to start thinking he had an alcohol problem in addition to everything else.

"No thanks, I'm good." John stood by the door, considering his options. He could leave or he could stay. He eyed the bags on the counter, took a few books out and started to stack them up in a methodical fashion.

"Looks as though we could both start our very own library." John's room was packed with books, all stacked in corners and laid out all across the floor.  It would be very hard not to trip over them in the event of a blackout.

"Are you planning on staying here for some time then?"

Shrugging, Jean-Paul got himself a bottle of water. "It is possible. That was not my intention, but plans... they have a way of changing, non?" He opened the bottle and took a sip, then set it aside and began unpacking another of the bags.

Plans. John had made a dozen plans, all of which involved leaving the mansion but so far none had come to fruition. Not yet at least.

"This place has a way of sucking you in. Trust me, I'd know. I've been here for almost a decade and I can't fucking figure it out..." He dropped his gaze to the bottle and smirked. "Maybe it's to do with the water."

Sliding his new copy of Paradise Lost in to the space before the anthology of Poe's work, Jean-Paul slid his eyes to the side, considered the water bottle, and then shrugged. "This is my third stay here. Perhaps it is the third time that is the charm, yes?"

"Peut-être." John took the last book out and handed it to Jean-Paul. "I'm gonna leave you to it."

"Parlez-vous français?" Jean-Paul had a moment to wonder if he'd taught John and that was where the memory of his name had come from at the bar over the weekend. He couldn't recall specifically. "Merci," he said, indicating the book.

"Don't mention it." He managed a lopsided smile. "And pas vraiment. My French sucks." He never quite paid attention in class. His focus back then had been more on the subject and less on the lessons thought. The subject being Jean-Paul himself of course. But that was a long time ago.

"I'll see you around."

"Adieu," Jean-Paul said, nodding as he slid the book into the proper spot. Only four more bags to go. He really, really needed to figure out the shelving situation so these wouldn't sit on his counter for the rest of his time at the mansion. "And thank you, again."