2022-02-05 at 8:49 AM UTC
Jean-Sacre was a simple man. He liked fine food and wine. He savoured exactly two cigarettes outdoors at the start and end of each day. He looked forward to exercising for an hour every morning. He enjoyed spending time with his nephew.
These were the reasons for which Jean-Sacre lived and worked. And through dreams of agonized screams and perilous nightmares of grim vengeance, of God and hell and eternity and the anguish of their beloved, they were why he could sleep peacefully each night.
There was one other reason he could sleep peacefully though. That reason was Sullivan, a much more complicated man. A man who worked because there was nothing else in the world that occured to him or that he particularly lived for.
He enjoyed the idea of having things more than having them, and got disinterested in those things before he had the time to acquire them. They would chat often while they worked together and while Jean-Sacre could not call him his friend, they had developed an odd sort of relationship that he trusted.
On the surface, Sullivan did not appear an enigma at all. He was not closed-off in conversation, quite the opposite in fact. He was open and participative. But he subtly redirected all conversation away from himself. He didn't even know if Sullivan did it intentionally or if it was simply reflexive, but it was a skill Jean-Sacre had mastered himself.
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