#ch: Robespierre
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1789, les Amants de la Bastille -> Costumes
↳Robespierre’s black velvet coat with red lining and matching red silk brocade vest, black breeches, and red stockings.
#1789 les amants de la bastille#robespierre#actor: Sebastian Agius#production: French#ch: Robespierre#perioddramaedit#weloveperioddrama#theatreedit#musicaltheatreedit#musicalgifs#europeanmusicaledit#europeanmusicals#costumeedit
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I FINALLY FINISHED MY BACHELORS WORK YAAAAY. Its basically a comic book and all of the artwork in it is done with linocut or drypoint. The whole book is 62 pages so i only included my favourite spreads. Excuse my horrible handwriting lol.
And you know i had to include Maxmilien and Saint-Just in the story somehow.
Voltaire is a main character in every story and through him reader learns how the 18 century changed regarding science, religion, philosophy and politics. The 3 chapters are beginning, middle, late 18. century. The story is always: "if he was 30+ yo in differnt time what he would be doing"?
The book also includes or mentions historical characters:
Ch. 1- Jean Antoine Nollet, Émilie du Châtelet, René-Antoine Réaumur, Edmund Halley, Isaac Newton, Louis XIV.
Ch. 2- Jean le Rond dAlembert, Denis Diderot, Louis XV.
Ch.3- Maxmilien Robespierre, Louis Antoine Saint-Just, Anton Lavoisier
#voltaire#maximilien robespierre#fanart#myart#frev#frev art#french revolution#saint just#isaac newton#18 century#edmund halley#linocut#drypoint#robespierre
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French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 16: Lord Robespierre
Colorized version of Fighting at the Hotel de Ville, 28th July 1830 by Jean Victor Schnetz. (embedded image description)
Prev - Lord Robespierre - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
WC: 3799 - CW: kissing, sexually suggestive, um… dread?
11 July 1789
“Well,” Janus remarked at the sight of a dozen more guards ringed around an enormous carriage. Resplendent in a gleaming white, the sash and window frames were trimmed in gold, and its six horses’ leads were wrapped in green silk and tiny golden bells. Even the spokes were gilded, though now marred and splattered with the merde of the streets of Paris. “We shall arrive at the prison in style, at least,” he finished, standing tall as one of the guards pulled open the door and ushered him forward.
A hand reached out from the cozy darkness of the cab. A familiar hand.
Remus leaned just far enough that Janus could make out his silhouette, one finger raised to his lips. Janus nodded, took the Prince’s hand and settled into the carriage with a little laugh.
“What in heaven are you doing in Paris?” He slid closer, eyes still adjusting to the dim light. “Your wig!” he gasped. “You… “ Janus reached for Remus’ cheek. “You’re not wearing any powder. And your clothes…” Remus wore a simple—for him—silk blouse and soft linen breeches with a matching waistcoat. Another laugh spilled from his lips. “How did you—Why did you?”
“Mon douceur…” Remus murmured, pulling him closer until he was nearly in the Prince’s lap. The driver snapped the reins and the horses began to move. “How? With a prize such as you at the end of the journey?” He whispered next to Janus’ ear, lips grazing his lobe. “All things are possible. As for why…”
He cradled Janus’ face between his hands and a flicker of longing danced over his eyes. “I missed you, mon douceur. Mon Janus sucré.” Remus drew close and dragged his thumb over Janus’ bottom lip. “May I show you how much?”
Free of makeup, free of their wigs, free of everything, the world around them faded. Wrapped in Remus’ arms, nothing but breath between them, Janus whispered, “Yes, please, I want—” the rest of his words were lost to their kiss.
After minutes or hours, Janus broke away. “My… my friends… They don’t know. They think… they thought you were arresting me.” He looked up at Remus. “I have to go back.”
“What if we sent word that would arrive even before you could?” Remus watched his eyes, long fingers still entwined with his. “Then would you stay?”
“I am tempted,” he whispered, moving closer.
Something softened behind Remus’ eyes, and a tiny, hopeful smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Mmm…” He knocked on the partition and the carriage eased to a stop. “It sounds as though you want me to tempt you.”
“Perhaps I do.” He lowered his voice, their words no longer muffled by the clop of the horses or the big, heavy wheels bumping against the road.
“Your Highness?” A voice called from outside the carriage.
Remus waited a moment for Janus to adjust his skewed clothing, then unlatched the door. “We will be sending a note to Paris. The same café where you found Sir Juriste. Send Florian. He's fastest. And…” His eyes scanned the cab and Janus really looked for the first time, too.
It was easily twice the size of the little carriage he and Logan used on their trips to Versailles. The plush seats were upholstered in green velvet, with soft rabbit fur lap blankets tucked beneath the benches. The seats in front of them pulled down to reveal a compartment with wine and various wrapped packages. The rich aroma of smoked venison and the sharp tang of aged cheese filled the cab and made Janus' mouth water. Remus reached inside and pulled out a small box. “Here.” He lifted the lid, revealing a small writing desk, and set it on his own knees, facing Janus.
“Keep the carriage still while he writes, please,” Remus added to the guard, who bowed his head and let the door slowly close, restoring their privacy.
“Thank you, Remus,” Janus murmured, then carefully wrote a note to Logan and the others, apologizing for the fright. His quill hovered over the parchment and he glanced up at the prince. “How long shall I say I’ll be gone?”
“For however long you’d like to stay,” he smiled, careful. Not yet his full grin, eyes soft and attentive. Patient. Tentative. Remus' hand on his cheek was gentle and warm, a balm against the barbs of his arguments with Logan. “Teasing aside, mon douceur, I would take you back immeditately if that was what you wished.”
His eyes stung at the memory of Logan’s words and he stared at the parchment for a long moment. Finally, he smiled up at Remus and finished the note in a flourish. Janus leaned in and pressed a slow kiss against his lips, then nodded. Remus grinned as he prepared the seal and pressed his heavy ring into the center of the soft wax. Then he knocked again on the side of the cab and passed the note to the waiting guard. Janus opened his mouth, another flash of worry tightening his stomach, but before he even had to ask, the prince added one more instruction. “Have Florian wait for a response.”
Janus waited until the door closed on the retreating sound of a galloping horse and the carriage resumed its course. “Thank you,” he said again, laughing when Remus pulled him onto his lap. He grinned and stretched both arms to either side. His fingers didn’t even graze the doors. “There’s room to move in here.” Arms now draped over Remus' shoulders, he drew closer and mouthed along the edge of his jaw.
“We’re still a few hours away from the palace,” Remus smiled. “I suppose we must find some way to entertain ourselves during the journey.”
~~~
When the café door creaked open, a little gust of warm air rushed in, ruffling the papers strewn across the tables. Logan scarcely noticed, attention tied to the little server as he entered and shook his head. “The bookseller and the… ladies across the street haven’t seen any new prisoners brought into Bastille today,” he said, hanging the now empty sack he’d used to carry the bread he'd ‘accidentally’ overmade. They were all good people, but sometimes a gesture of goodwill helped remind them where their allies were. “It doesn’t sound like he’s there, Logan,” he whispered once he’d gotten closer.
The words were little comfort, and his mind chased a dozen scenarios. If Janus wasn’t at the Bastille, had the King had him executed already? Privately? That didn’t sound like the King, a showy man who preferred the spectacle of sham trials and public hangings for traitors. But perhaps he didn’t want to reveal just how close Janus had gotten to his son and his own inner circle and had discretely dispatched him, saving face and saving—
“Lo?” Patton’s voice was soft and he’d reached up to dab at the tear fighting its way down his cheek. “We’ll find him. And we’ll free him.”
Logan nodded and looked around the café. Colére and his friends were speaking quietly two tables down, the topic shifting between future plans, their latest conquests, and how they might cajole a bit more money from their parents for the cause—or their own pockets. Children. Still, he was grateful only Patton—and Remy, he realized with a sigh—had noticed his reaction. “I know we will find him,” he said without conviction. “And then we—”
The heavy tromp and rattling harnesse of a horse just outside the door interrupted all conversation in the café. “In the hatch,” Remy commanded in a whisper to the remaining patrons. The boys from the Sorbonne and a couple at the other corner of the café quickly complied. “And you?” he asked Logan and Patton, holding open the heavy oak door, constructed from the same wooden boards that made up the rest of the floor. A sliver of it showed over the top of the bar.
“No, I will…” he shook his head and nudged Patton toward their escape hatch. Patton stood firm, shaking his head. Logan gave up. “We will see what they have to say.”
“And if they’re only here to arrest you?” Remy closed the door and slid a foot mat over top, then spilled a bit of flour and water before stepping through the mess.
Stomping boots outside cut off any response Logan might have made and the door swung open, revealing a single of the King’s guards. His musket wasn’t drawn, still strapped to his back, and he was red faced and panting lightly, hair stuck to his forehead around the edges of his helmet. “Can I get you a drink?” Remy asked, a heavy steel pitcher in one hand as he slid out from behind the bar.
The guard began to shake his head, then finally nodded once as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a piece of parchment, folded and sealed with wax. “I was instructed to deliver this to Father Logan Gérault.”
“I am Father Gérault.” Logan’s voice shook but only slightly. He stepped forward and accepted the letter, fingers tracing the seal. The future King’s signet. It would be valuable soon, especially if the rumors of the current King's ill health held any truth. He opened the letter carefully, ripping a bit of the parchment to leave the seal intact. A wax seal like this was once a treasure. But if Janus was right…
He squashed down the hope bubbling in his chest and opened the letter. “He’s alright,” he whispered, the opening words, the surety of his penmanship… Janus was truly alright. It was… it was…
“It was meant to be a surprise.” He pressed the letter against his chest and breathed. The words swam through tears. Was this all a game to them? Logan was tempted to give the letter back, or to shove it into Patton’s hands and let him continue reading.
“Logan?” Patton whispered and steered him back toward the table, shoving aside their plans. “Take your time,” he murmured and stood tall—as tall as his 5-foot frame allowed, at least—and met the guard’s eyes. “Thank you for delivering this. We were worried.” Patton tilted his head at the guard once Logan had resumed reading. “Would you like more water? Or perhaps some coffee before you go?”
Logan kept just enough of his senses to smile at Patton’s subtle invitation for an armed member of the Garde Royale to leave. The guard nodded, “I’ve been instructed to deliver a response, if you have one.” He cracked a smile at Patton’s earnestness. “But I would appreciate a coffee. It’s a long ride back to Versailles.”
Remy set a mug on a far table and filled it. The guard sat down and nursed the hot brew. Patton sat at the table across from him, and Logan didn’t miss how he’d put his own body between him and the guard. He let Patton’s quiet nattering fall away to a background buzz, punctuated by short chuckles from the guard.
Logan returned to the letter. But when he reached the last line, he fell into a chair, re-reading under his breath as though it could change the words in front of him.
“I shall return to Paris for a visit in a month or two. Yours faithfully, Janus.”
~~~
The rest of their ride to the palace had passed quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, and they’d needed to scramble to make themselves presentable again. “I see why you so favor scarves,” Janus teased, tugging gently at the edge of the green silk tied at his neck. “If you weren’t wearing this, all sorts of things might be visible,” he whispered as he leaned in as though to leave another mark against his skin.
“Speaking of tempting,” Remus laughed. The horse’s hooves clopped louder, echoing now against stone and not trees. He lifted the edge of the window covering and nodded. “We’ve arrived.” Reaching out to stroke Janus’ cheek, he then winked. “You’ll have to show me where else I should cover up tonight.”
By the time the carriage had slowed to a halt, they were ready for the steward to open the door and lead them inside. After a not-very brief interlude in the music room, they dressed for dinner. The two weeks Janus had spent with him seemed to have helped him bloom. They entered the formal dining room together and sat near Roman, far from the more sycophantic guests who jockeyed for a position closer to his father.
“So that’s where you’d disappeared to,” Roman smiled graciously, but there was a hint of a brotherly taunt in his voice. He sat regally, a pleasant and jovial expression on his face. Poised and calm. But his eyes darted up each time a new servant entered the room.
“He’s not back yet?” Remus asked. Frowning, he realized he didn’t know the name of the little servant who’d so captured his brother’s attention.
“No, he hasn’t.” Only Roman’s eyes revealed anything other than mild interest in the whereabouts of a favored server. He speared a bit of lamb with his fork and contemplated it. “When he does return, I plan to have the steward find him a more appropriate position.” Roman chewed thoughtfully, again, gaze pulled up at the sound of new footfalls from the serving hall. “He favors the horses… Perhaps he could be put in charge of the stables. Then Patton could send others out on the roads and he could… he could stay here.”
Janus remained quiet, but his posture told Remus he listened with more intent that it appeared. “Do you plan to ask him if he wants that?” Remus asked. “Or just… treat it as a staffing decision?”
“You don’t think he’s avoiding me, do you?” Roman looked up at him, ignoring his question, like he hadn’t heard it. Perhaps he hadn’t.
Raising a glass, he clinked his brother’s. “Only way to know is to ask.”
“He is likely only busy with his work,” Janus finally said, a flash of fire in his eyes. “I am certain he has far less leisure time than anyone seated at this table.”
“Quite true,” Roman laughed and took a slow sip of his wine. “I see why my brother keeps you so close.”
“Your brother is wise,” Janus laughed.
“I'm not at all certain about that, but I do believe we must mangez bien, riez souvent…” He smiled and lifted Janus’ hand to his lips for a small kiss. “Et aimez beaucoup."
Roman laughed behind his napkin, shaking his head. “It appears you have certainly got that last part managed, brother.”
“Take what you must from what you see,” Janus murmured, a sweet blush tinging the edges of his ears. “Il ne faut pas se fier aux apparences.”
Roman tugged at Remus’ green sash. “We know that better than most.”
“Speaking of appearances,” Remus murmured behind his goblet, tone suddenly serious. “Father looks… tired.”
Roman nodded, lips drawn tight. “He’s not eating, either,” he said, tapping his fork against his own plate. Remus looked and his brother was right. The King’s plate was still full, even as he moved his utensils around it. “Those aren’t partisans,” Roman muttered. “They’re vultures. They smell his weakness.”
Remus watched, as did Janus. “Perhaps…” he mused, “Perhaps we should make dessert a family affair.” He raised his hand and a servant was by his side. “Philomène,” Remus smiled. “Would you be so kind as to relay to our father, loudly,” he added with a wink, “That we wish to take our dessert with him out on the terrace?” He looked pointedly at the salivating courtiers and ambitious vicomtes surrounding the King. “In private?”
Philomène smiled. There was reason he trusted her. “Happily, Your Highness.” With a bow, she moved to the other end of the table and repeated his message. The King and the vultures looked up as one and Remus raised his glass with a crooked grin. A rare smile graced his father’s face and he nodded.
~~~
Later that night, or it might have technically been early the next day, Janus and Remus lay together as sweet summer air wafted in from the open window and fluttered through the curtains hung from the prince’s bed. The breeze brought with it the heavy scent of night blooming jasmine from the garden and a faint riot of crickets and frogs in the pond. The bedding was mussed, and Janus stretched like a cat, silk sheets sliding off his chest with the movement. He rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow. With his free hand, he traced the sharp angles of the muscles in Remus' broad chest and arms. He chuckled.
"I'd never expected royalty to be so…" he licked his lips and smirked when a flush dusted Remus' cheeks and neck. "So firm."
"Cheeky," the prince laughed, tugging Janus' hand closer and pressing kisses against each fingertip. He laced their fingers together then held their shared grip against his heart. "I’ve spent a lot of time in the fencing pens. There isn't much else around here for a physical outlet other than swords." He waggled his eyebrows at Janus. "Well, other than…"
"Hmm…" Janus chuckled, sliding a little closer. "I was certain I was not your first… physical outlet."
Remus' expression grew serious and he turned to his side and faced Janus fully. He cradled Janus' hand close and cupped his face, gently stroking his scar. "No, mon douceur… you're not my first. And I regret you can't be my last." He met Janus' eyes and didn't move away. Instead, he wiggled a small gold band off his pinkie and presented it to him.
"However, you will be the last in my heart." He released his grip on Janus' hands just enough to flare out each shapely finger. Remus slid the ring onto his slender index finger and smiled. It was a perfect fit. He briefly met Janus' eyes, his typically brash voice soft and hesitant. "Only if you'd wish it, as well. I am not asking you lightly, nor should you accept without careful consideration." He kissed Janus' hand again then stroked his hair, looking everywhere but his eyes.
“As King, I will be expected to sire an heir… like a horse or the court's hunting hounds. I… I do not like it, but without a clear successor to the throne after Roman and I are gone, France would plunge into a war between the nobles.” Remus finally met Janus’ eyes. “Could you live with that, mon douceur? With…” His voice cracked but he pushed on. “Knowing I must wed a Queen to… carry my children.”
Janus reached up and brushed away the tears that dared spill from his eyes. “Would I still be your King?”
The smile that spread across Remus’ face lit the room. He rolled on his back and pulled Janus on top of him. “Until my last breath and beyond,” he whispered, unshed tears sparkling in his eyes as he looked up at his love. He laced his fingers at the nape of Janus' neck and closed the distance between them, pouring his love into their kiss. Finally, he broke away, eyes wide. “If you’ll have me, that is.” He pressed another soft kiss against the scars that splashed across the sweet skin normally hidden by gloves. “You still have not answered.”
“There will be a scandal,” Janus's playful smile gave Remus hope. So did the soft touch on his cheek as Janus cradled his jaw.
Remus grinned, eyebrow cocked. “'Madame de Pompadour' was good enough for my father. Lord Robespierre is more than good enough for me.” He took Janus’ other hand and brought it to the side of his face, then slipped off the edge of the bed to kneel before him. “Will you be mine?” he asked again, a spark of fear tightening his throat. Perhaps Janus did not actually want this. Perhaps this was too much to ask.
“My dearest,” Janus murmured, brushing his thumbs over Remus’ cheekbones. He nodded slowly, then joined Remus on the floor, mirroring his pose. They knelt together and Janus pulled him down to the plush rug for a slow kiss. “I am yours.” He kissed Remus again, then whispered against his lips. “Until my last breath and beyond.”
~~~
Warm and safe, curled against Remus’ side the rest of the night, Janus didn’t sleep. He lay with his head pillowed against Remus’ chest, listening to the quiet thrum of his heart and staring at the ring. The flickering glow from the bedside lamp danced over the perfect gold band and the citrines dotting the surface gleamed with a fire of their own. Could he truly have everything he wanted? Not just this. This warmth and love and affection Remus so freely showered on him, but could he also have the power to help his city? Help his entire country? Even with only informal influence, living here in Versailles, he would have daily access to the King’s—to Remus’—ministers. He could affect real change, not just for Paris, but for all of France.
If Remus was sincere in his intention to install him in a position of actual power…. Janus imagined how much more he would be able to do, fighting from the inside, working each day to establish the revolution’s ideals of justice and liberty and brotherhood starting all the way at the top.
And his nights?
Remus sighed, drawing Janus a little closer before settling back into a deeper sleep. And his nights… With the exception, of course, when Remus was needed for his royal duties, Janus' nights would be spent wrapped in the arms of his love. He shifted against him carefully, fearful of disturbing this rare deep sleep. He tilted his head up and smiled.
Remus was already awake, watching Janus’ expression. “You’re beautiful when you’re scheming,” he murmured, voice rough and gravelly with sleep. Janus hummed, leaning in when he drew a hand through his bed-mussed hair.
“But I’m always scheming,” Janus chuckled, turning his head to kiss the inside of Remus’ wrist.
“That must be why I always find you so irresistible,” Remus laughed back, pulling him down for a long kiss.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them and Remus groaned, looking to the still dark sky. “I apologize for the intrusion.” The steward’s tense voice bled through the gap under the door. “You are needed.” Remus looked at the door with dread.
“Come in,” he called, sitting up and covering Janus with the sheet. He clutched his hand, fingers twitching.
The steward entered, then bowed his head, eyes on the floor. “Your Majesty.” A chill went up Janus’ spine at the extraordinary title and he squeezed Remus’ hand. “You will wish to be dressed.”
#French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution#dukeceit#demus#ts janus#ts remus#sanders sides fanfiction#Crown Prince Remus Capetian#ts patton#ts logan#Janus Robespierre#Father Logan Gérault#Patton Cœur#Lucas Colére#cw kissing#yeah‚ who'da guessed with that title :D#ts fanfic#Prince Roman Capetian
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24 janvier 1824
Il y a beaucoup de mouvement pour les élections de Paris. A la réunion de jeudi, chez Cas. Périer, Ch. de Rémusat m’a dit : « Vous êtes le député le plus aimé en France ». Le mot est flatteur, mais il est vrai. — Hier vendredi j’ai fait queue pendant une heure à la municipalité du 2e arrondissement pour avoir un certificat de possession. Les chicanes qu’on fait aux électeurs sont d’une fourberie mesquine et scandaleuse. On veut les dégoûter et on y parvient pour un grand nombre. Après une heure d’attente on m’a remis à aujourd’hui, et aujourd’hui j’ai encore attendu une heure avant d’être admis à déposer mes pièces, et il faudra que je revienne mardi, les chercher, et ce sera ensuite à recommencer avec le 5e arrondissement ; et puis il faudra faire légaliser par le préfet de l’Aisne.
Je suis tenté parfois de jeter le manche après la cognée. Combien d’autres le feront, qui n’ont pas les mêmes motifs que moi pour être persévérants. — J’ai été hier avec Bignon voir Koechlin à Ste-Pélagie. Sortant de là, j’ai visité Royer-Collard. En vérité je l’aime et je l’estime; mais il m’a dit des choses de l’autre monde, s’acharnant aux fautes et aux prétentions du côté gauche qui est vaincu ou plutôt qui n’existe plus, effrayé de la tendance révolutionnaire des jeunes gens, fâché de voir les écoles de Guizot et de Cousin lui échapper. Il voudrait être le plus vif de son parti. C’est difficile. Mettez à côté de cela qu’il a horreur du centre droit où il a raison de ne voir que des serviles. « Mais, enfin, lui ai-je dit, on ne peut pas en politique marcher tout seul. » C’est un exemple de la mauvaise position des hommes extraviés. Il a pris à cœur les promesses de Lalot. Il l’aidera dans la Manche. Lalot et lui ont même point de départ. Il se proclame ennemi constant et persévérant de tous les Jacobins, depuis Danton et compagnie jusqu’aux jeunes écrivains des Tablettes qui, dit-il, pleurent Robespierre.
Grand concert chez Mme de Rumfort. Mme Merlin fait vibrer l’âme et agite le sang de qui l’écoute. — Pasquier est toujours en caresse et plus du tout en espoir d’arriver aux affaires. M. de Humbolt est inquiet sur les bruits qui courent d’une expédition française dans l’Amérique espagnole. Mlle Sébastiani devient forte et épaisse. Mes enfants sont heureux : Arthur est revenu le 22 Janvier. Le colin-maillard et les jeux ont repris. Fernand qui se porte mieux ne couche plus dans notre chambre. Le rhume de ma Lise diminue. Moi, je ne tousse pas, cet hiver.
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Answer to What was the strangest execution in history? by Eric Wang https://www.quora.com/What-was-the-strangest-execution-in-history/answer/Eric-Wang-434?ch=18&oid=227038145&share=767f2c80&srid=7KVRc&target_type=answer
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French Revolution but with a Britney Spears soundtrack
#Danton calls dibs on Womanizer#and Saint-Just calls Toxic#Camille gets Oops!... I Did It Again#and Marat gets If U Seek Amy#and Robespierre? Work B**ch#french revolution#frev
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Robespierre & Saint Just from Innocent Rouge ch. 84
#innocent rouge#shinichi sakamoto#innocent shinichi sakamoto#robespierre#saint just#spoiler#chapter 84
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Fic: Doors Open ch. 1
A while ago my lovely friend Gabby asked me to expand on the Unconventional universe and nearly two years later, here we are. This is part one of eleven (maybe, we’ll see). Anyone unfamiliar with the series might want to check out the original fic here, bc this might not make a ton of sense (or don’t, you do you).
Read on AO3
Read on Fanfiction.net
Nothing particularly exciting happening during the first year Elsie was on the Waverider.
She got acclimated to the timeship (both Sara and Leonard thought she made the switch to the future remarkably well) and to her new family. She was truly loved on the Waverider, even managing to grow on Rip — he had initially been unsure about Sara and Leonard’s decision to adopt the little girl from the 1930s, however, as he watched Elsie’s relationships with her parents grow (and when he saw that her removal from the thirties didn’t destroy the timeship) he couldn’t ignore the benefit she was bringing to the team. They all enjoyed having Elsie on the Waverider. She added an element of fun to the dynamic amongst the team.
She played dress-up with Kendra and Ray, Jax was teaching her how to play football just like he promised, even Mick had a soft spot for her. Early on in their time on the Waverider, Mick had proven to have quite a knack for cooking, and since Elsie’s arrival, the two had taken to making meals for the team together. She would sit on the metal counter and watch him chop vegetables, and he would always let her stir ingredients together with a big wooden spoon — he even let Elsie stir things on the stove, even though Sara always told her no.
During a brief shore-leave a few months after Elsie moved onto the Waverider, the team returned to the present time and Sara and Leonard introduced their daughter to their families. They legally adopted her on that visit as well, and she officially became Elsie Lance.
“Lance?” Lisa had repeated when they told her.
“The Snart name dies with me,” Leonard had replied, answering her confusion.
“Unless I keep my name when I get married,” Lisa then pointed out.
“That’s not funny,” Leonard had replied seriously.
Elsie’s fourth birthday came and went. They celebrated it on the Waverider with a big game of hide-and-seek that even Rip joined in on, and a trip to Pompeii to watch Mount Vesuvius erupt.
Not too long after, Kendra said goodbye to the team and they welcomed two new members: Nate and Amaya. Rip was relieved to see that Elsie had not become a distraction for the team, but a motivator. Sara had become less reckless on the field, but had lost none of her will or tenacity. Leonard had grown increasingly protective of his team, even the new members. They all seemed to work better together.
Even though Elsie attended all the team meetings and sometimes journeyed into the times they traveled to, she had never joined the team on a mission. That is, she hadn’t joined the team on a mission yet.
“Time to get dressed,” Sara said to Elsie as she walked into her bedroom, “Did you pick out clothes for today?”
“Uh-huh,” Elsie nodded, holding out a bundle of clothing.
“Pink jeans and a pink dress,” Sara commented with raised eyebrows, “Wow. Really?”
“Yup.”
“Okay,” Sara let out a sigh as she shrugged, crouching down to help her get dressed.
“Miss Lance,” Gideon said as Sara helped Elsie pull off her princess nightdress, “Rip would like you to know that he has called a team meeting.”
“Okay,” Sara nodded, “Thanks Gideon.”
“Of course,” Gideon replied. Then she was silent.
“I wanna play with Kendra,” Elsie said.
“We’ve been over this,” Sara said, pulling the cotton dress over Elsie’s head and beginning to help her arms through the sleeves, “Kendra went back to the real world. Then Amaya and Nate came, remember?”
Elsie shook her head
“Yes you do,” she replied, “You played restaurant with them yesterday.”
“Oh,” she replied, gripping her mother’s shoulders as she stepped into the pants Sara was holding out in front of her.
“Ready?” Sara asked, once the pink jeans were pulled up and buttoned.
“You gotta do my hair,” Elsie said.
“I’m gonna do it on the Bridge during the meeting,” she told her, picking up a brush and several hair ties from the surface of Elsie’s dresser, “Let’s go.”
Elsie bounded out the door and down the corridors of the Waverider, Sara following at a much more comfortable pace.
The rest of the team was already at the meeting when Sara arrived; even Elsie beat her to the bridge, waiting for her in a metal chair.
“Miss Lance,” Rip said, “Thank you for finally joining us. Let’s begin.”
Sara crossed the room and sat in her chair next to Leonard. Elsie stood in front of her, leaning against her legs as Sara started to run the brush through her blonde hair.
“Here’s the plan,” Rip said, “Our latest adversary is taking refuge in the year 2025.”
“Hey, that’s close to our time!” Ray said.
“Yes, Mr. Palmer, it is indeed,” Ray nodded, “In 2025, he doesn’t pose any threat to society, but he is in something like a planning mode. He knows what he’s doing, now he’s just getting ready.”
“So what are we trying to do, exactly?” Jax asked.
“Figure out his plan so we can head him off at the proper moment."
“Awesome!” Nate said, “We’re gonna snuff him out before he burns!”
“Did someone say burn?” Mick asked, seeming to tune into the meeting just then, “I’m in.”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Rory,” Rip said, “but we’re going to be doing this mission a little differently. Think early days, Raymond and Kendra buying a house in the fifties. Some of you will be scattered throughout the city. The rest will be posing as the occasional tourist when necessary, and parsing through the information we collect on the Waverider.”
“What happened to diving in and hoping for the best?” Amaya asked.
“Our success rate with that tactic dropped to a level so low it warranted a change in plan. We’re trying something a bit more strategic this time.”
Amaya nodded.
“So,” he continued, “Our new mission will be taking us to València, a coastal city in the south of Spain.
“We’re going to Spain?” Ray exclaimed, “Cool!”
“Yes, Mr. Palmer,” he said, “Our target is Sebastián Reyes. In 2025, he is thirty two years old, and within the following decade, he will become one of the world’s most dangerous people, joining the ranks with Ivan the Terrible, Robespierre, and Osama bin Laden.”
“What exactly is he doing?” Nate asked.
“What any man of his kind does: tries to eradicate what’s unlike him. For him, it is people under a certain tax bracket. It’s his opinion that a lack of money is the result of a lack of intelligence and poor decision-making. There are, of course, other factors involved, but his goal is to eliminate those who earn under a certain amount, take the money they leave behind into the government of Spain and therefore solve the debt crisis and leave more money for the remaining citizens, including, of course, himself.”
“Why are we only hearing about him now?” Sara asked as she wrapped a hair band around one of Elsie’s braids, “If he’s really this bad, why haven’t you ever mentioned him before?”
“Because, until recently, he didn’t exist — that is to say, he wasn’t the person he is now. Something we did in the last month or so changed his story and inspired some terrible actions from Mr. Reyes. We are going to València to fix it.”
“Who are you placing there more permanently?” Nate asked.
“I’m sending Jax and Martin straight onto the campus of the University of València. Martin will be taking up the position of professor of physics and Jax will be a graduate student in the biotechnology department.
“Do they have a good football team?” Jax asked.
“If by football, you mean the game with a black-and-white ball you can’t touch with your hands, then yes, I believe they do,” Rip answered, “To continue, I’m placing Mr. Palmer in the same apartment complex as our target in the hopes that you can get close to him and we can find out more about his day-to-day life.”
“Cool!” Ray said, “I’ve always wanted to be friends with a sociopath!”
He didn’t seem to notice the bemused faces the rest of his team shot him.
“The last group I’m sending in on a slightly more permanent basis will include Sara, Leonard, and of course, Elsie. You three will be placed in a suburban neighborhood a little outside the city. You’ll be posing as a family who moved to the area for work. I have a spot for Elsie in a preschool and jobs lined up for both of you — and I request that you both actually attend them please.”
“Hey!” Sara protested as Leonard said, “That’s fair.”
“The rest of us — Mick, Nate, Amaya, and myself — will be staying on the Waverider to parse through and organize all the information you collect.”
“When do we leave?” Jax asked.
“Tomorrow,” Rip replied, “I suggest those who will leave us start packing.”
“Where are we going?” Elsie asked her mother later that evening.
“We’re going on a vacation,” Sara answered.
“What’s a vacation?”
“What?” she asked absently, “Oh, right.”
Sara often forgot that Elsie had come from the 1930s. She made the jump to the futuristic setting of the Waverider very well, but part of that was because she was going from one extreme to another; her new home held no resemblance to her old one. It existed in a kind of bubble, separate from any particular moment in time, so Elsie still had some gaps.
“A vacation is when you go somewhere else besides where you live, just for fun. Some people go to relax and some go for sightseeing,” she explained.
“Where are we going?” Elsie asked.
“Spain,” Sara replied, “for a mission. Daddy and I will be working, so I guess it’s less of a vacation than actually moving there…for a little while. Daddy and I are gonna go to work and you’re gonna go to school.”
“School?” Elsie repeated.
“Yeah, like how Sofia goes to princess school in that show you watch. You’re gonna go to school and have a teacher and learn new stuff everyday with kids your age.”
“Cool!”
Sara was feeling cautiously optimistic about the mission, although she would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a twinge of worry about the sudden change in tactic. Rip wasn’t wrong in his comment about their previous few missions not going particularly well, but they always accomplished what they needed to. They had a routine: screwing things up before they made things better. Maybe it wasn’t particularly efficient, but it managed to be effective. Changes in their routine might not go over well, and this was the source of Sara’s anxiety.
Her main concern was Elsie, who had only ever left the Waverider for more than a few days at a time. This was her home, the only one she had known since war-torn Norway. Perhaps choosing this mission, one that would completely uproot her daily life, as her first mission wasn’t the best idea. However, Elsie didn’t seem too fazed by the prospect of moving to Spain for an indefinite amount of time, so Sara chose not to worry — or, rather, pretended not to worry.
Rip had told Sara and Leonard that, to spare them the inconvenience of furnishing an entire house, Gideon had generated everything they would need, down to the silverware and toys. All they had to worry about was clothes and any personal items that would be missed during their time away from the Waverider. Both Sara and Leonard had packed everything they needed into two boxes and while the latter began dinner (the chore wheel had landed on him that day, much to Leonard’s disgruntlement, as he thought he’d get to evade the job entirely for at least several months), Sara began going through Elsie’s clothes, tossing the ones more apt for warm weather into a cardboard box with Elsie’s name printed on it.
She hit a roadblock when she told Elsie to pick just a couple toys to bring with them to Spain.
“But who’s gonna play with them while I’m gone?” Elsie whined.
“Maybe Nate will,” Sara said, trying to hide her frustration, “You can’t take them all. Rip said there’s toys for you at the new house so, like I’ve said seven times, pick three and put them in your backpack. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
She turned away and headed for the door so she wouldn’t have to see Elsie’s pout (she made a mental note to make sure Leonard stayed away from her room for a while — if Sara thought she might cave, he certainly would).
Eventually Elsie picked her three toys — a stuffed elephant, a Rapunzel dress-up dress, and a set of markers that Sara traded out for a deck of rainbow playing cards when she wasn’t looking because she knew Elsie would miss them more (and they would be impossible to find in València because Gideon made them herself). The team ate dinner together in the mess hall (the last team dinner for a while, Ray realized sadly) and then Sara and Leonard let Elsie have dessert — blue popcorn, another one of Elsie’s farfetched requests neither Sara nor Leonard knew how Gideon accomplished — in their bed while they watched a movie.
“What happened to not letting her sleep in our bed anymore?” Leonard asked quietly, gesturing to Elsie who had fallen asleep about an hour into Bridge to Terabithia, curled up in Sara’s arms.
Sara locked down at her daughter.
“Yeah, wishful thinking, I guess,” she replied. She looked to him, furrowing her eyebrows when she saw an expression on his face that usually signified he was having some kind of internal debate, “What?”
He let out a sigh, “I just was wondering if this is a good idea. We never involved her in a mission before, never mind a new type of mission. We don’t know how this is going to pan out.”
“I know,” Sara nodded seriously, “I’ve thought about that too.”
When they decided Elsie should stay with them on the Waverider, they hadn’t been ignorant to the knowledge that having a toddler onboard the timeship during a mission to safeguard all of time would not be easy. Leonard and Sara had quickly agreed they wouldn’t bring Elsie on missions, not even simple reconnaissance trips — they had seen those go sideways — but that still left the concern of what to do with her when they had to be out on the field. More often than not, at least one person from the team wouldn’t need to go on the mission — usually Rip, as of late — and that person would watch her. Occasionally, however, a mission would require the efforts of the entire team. In that case, Gideon had assured Sara and Leonard she could make sure Elsie stayed safe.
Although those types of missions were few and far between, and nothing bad had ever happened during any of them (in fact, the Waverider hadn’t been attacked in a while — not since long before Elsie came onboard), Sara and Leonard still hated the idea of leaving their daughter alone on the Waverider.
“And I know we said we wouldn’t take Else on missions,” Sara continued, “but this is gonna be different. It won’t be like our normal missions where we, you know, kick ass and then get the hell out. It’s gonna be longer, more strategic.”
Leonard nodded his agreement.
“And,” Sara continued, “I actually trust Rip with this stuff. He’s a dad too. He wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger.”
“I know you’re right, but you know me, I get stuck in the hypotheticals. If something happens to her…” he trailed off.
“I know,” she nodded, “We’re just gonna have to be careful. If something bad does happens, we bring her back to the Waverider — and hey, bonus points: we get to hold it against Rip for the rest of his life.”
Sara saw Leonard smirk slightly.
“I should get Else to her bed,” she said, carefully shifting Elsie in her arms and getting to her feet, “Long day tomorrow; we’re moving to Spain.”
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French Musical 1789, les Amants de la Bastille Challenge [Day 24/30]
Favourite Foreign Production: Toho (2018)
#1789 les amants de la bastille#1789 the musical#perioddramaedit#weloveperioddrama#musicalgifs#frenchmusicaledit#musicaledit#musicaltheatreedit#europeanmusicaledit#theatreedit#asiantheatrenet#Toho Stage#Production: Toho#actor: Miura Ryosuke#actor: Daisuke Watanabe#Actress: Sayaka Kanda#actor: Teppei Koike#actor: Kenji Sakamoto#ch: Robespierre#ch: camille desmoulins#ch: olympe du puget#ch: ronan mazurier#ch: auguste ramard#fmc
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French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 13: My Name is Janus Robespierre
Prev - My Name is Janus Robespierre - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
Rated: M - WC: 3112 - CW: referenced/implied sex, kissing
24 June 1789
Janus didn't know precisely when he’d fallen asleep, or if the prince ever had. They’d talked for hours. The tales had started with a vaguely anonymized version of how he’d met Logan, the way Logan had forgiven him—well, forgiven the angry young ruffian who’d tried to steal from him, taken him in, taught him. Remus had listened with wide eyes, soaking in the tale and asking more and more questions. Janus obliged, almost slipping twice and calling the former priest by name.
Eventually, the conversation turned to Maître and the time when Remus and Roman were four and they’d pretended to get confused and called him Papa for weeks. Their music teacher had humored them but even as children they’d known it was all a game.
“We never could fool Maître when we’d switch clothes, either,” Remus laughed against Janus’ crown, the prince’s breath warming his scalp and sending a shiver down his spine. “He would say I moved with vibrato and he could recognize me a mile away.”
“So do you only play, Your Highness,” Janus’ emphasis, along with a hand carding through his hair revealed the tease. “Or do you also sing?”
The prince laughed, low and quiet, rumbling through Janus’ bones where he lay cradled in Remus’ arms. “Do I sing for you?” His smile was a armed than the fire. “I would do anything for you, mon douceur,” he murmured. Again, Janus felt the pang, imagined what it might feel like to hear that sentence end differently. I would do anything for you, mon Janus.
The last thing Janus remembered before a creak in the floor jolted him awake was the prince’s soft baritone. His eyes snapped open and he woke nestled in Remus’ arms. He was face to face, well, face to waistcoat with the steward. “I should have expected to find you here,” the steward muttered to the prince, setting down a breakfast tray with more force than necessary. “Prince Roman claimed you’d risen early this morning. I did not realize he’d meant it so… literally.”
The steward glanced at the bed without meeting Janus’ eyes, lips tightly curled before he returned to his tasks. He sniffed as he moved to the window and pulled at the drapes, allowing sunlight to stream across the room. “Will your… guest be dining with you this morning, Your Highness?”
“Yes. Sir Juriste will be dining with me.” Remus fixed him with a glare and the steward’s face softened into a more neutral expression. Janus burrowed a little deeper under the covers, guilt clashing with shame. You and I should be allies, he thought to the steward. And I don’t even know your name as you are chastised for my sake.
A smaller but louder part of Janus’ heart, though, was pleased to have someone fight for his honor, to demand respect for him. Still, he could not meet the steward’s eyes.
The steward bowed his head to the prince as though all at once he remembered his position. “My apologies, Prince Remus.” He then turned and faced Janus briefly before bowing. “Sir Juriste.”
“That will be all,” Remus said, his voice dangerous and low as he addressed the steward’s hairpiece rather than this face. A cold chill ran down Janus’ spine at the speed with which Remus’ tone had changed. He watched him leave, only turning back to meet Remus’ eyes after the door had clicked shut.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured, once again the soft warm prince from last night. “Please do not allow his poor manners to upset you or mar this lovely morning, mon douceur.” Remus’ voice held a trace of concern, and he reached out and cupped Janus’ cheek. “Don’t let it worry you. He’s just having a bad day. Here… let me make it all better for you.” Remus leaned in and kissed his cheeks, his forehead, and finally his lips, lingering and deepening his kiss. “Mon douceur, ” he whispered when he broke away so Janus could breathe. “My love, I can make the whole world right for you.”
Janus let himself melt into the prince’s embrace, his soft hands and even softer lips a balm against the prickles left by the steward’s judgment. His eyes fluttered shut and he kissed back, and for a moment, his entire world was consumed by the heat of their embrace. After a long, long while, Janus pulled away, shaking his head. “No, Remus… you can’t. I… I’m…” He looked up into Remus’ eyes, and floated in the softness, the sincerity, the love looking back at him. His throat closed up, eyes burning.
He couldn’t do this anymore.
“R—Remus… Your Highness… I… I am not Henri Juriste,” he whispered, the words forcing themselves past his lips. “My name is Janus Robespierre.”
The prince remained silent, gaze fixed on Janus’ expression as he reached out and stroked his scarred cheek. “I—I—I am not a noble, Your Highness. I stole the invitation to your party. I—I am a clerk for the merchant’s guild and a low-level member of the Jacobins. I—I—I sleep in a cot in the parish basement and I—”
“I know, mon douceur.”
“What?” Janus could barely manage the one word as his ears filled with static and the walls caved in around him. He wiggled away and tried to slide out of the bed.
“Shh… mon douceur… ” Remus’ voice remained soft even as firm hands wrapped over his. “Of course I know, love…” He grasped Janus’ hand and kissed each knuckle. “I asked about you… at the ball. I wanted to know more about you.” He smiled and shrugged. “Sir Henri Juriste is a semi-literate sixty year old philanderer with gout, bad teeth, and a nasty temper.”
“But why would you…” Janus stilled, gaze shifting between Remus’ gentle grip and his soft smile. “Why would you have me here as your guest if you knew I’ve been lying to you? Why would you—”
“Ah, mon douceur…” he leaned in and brushed a kiss against Janus’ forehead. “I told you why the first time you came here after the party.” His eyes were bright and clear and Janus felt the world fall out from under his feet as the universe shrank to just those eyes. “I care for you, mon douceur. You make me smile. You light up the room, you light up my entire world with your grace. I want to be with you.”
“But…” Sour guilt churned in his stomach. “But… but I—I've been lying to you.”
Remus was quiet for a moment, but he didn’t pull away, and he didn’t stop stroking Janus’ cheek. “Did you have a good reason for your deception?”
He closed his eyes and selfishly leaned into Remus’ gentle hand. After a long while, he eyed the tray next to them, laden with more food than he and Logan would see in a week. And they were among the fortunate in Paris, with many more knowing real hunger. “Yes. Yes, of course I did.”
“Well, then,” Remus murmured and closed the distance between them, one hand cradled at the back of his neck, as he pulled Janus in for another kiss.
Janus melted in the prince’s embrace, his mind battling the evidence of his lips, of his ears. Remus was here, still holding him, still wanting him .
The room, the steward, the castle, everything dissolved around them. Janus’ heart stretched out, racing over the countryside down long, winding roads. The same roads he and Logan had traveled to bring him here. “Wait—“ he whispered, pulling back and pressing his hand against Remus’ chest. “I—I need to tell you why.”
Remus sat up and tugged gently at Janus’ hands, raising him up to a matching position. He drew closer and cradled Janus’ face between his hands. “Tell me, love.” He smiled, looking down at the now-open front of his dressing gown. “Would it help to be properly dressed?”
“Perhaps,” Janus murmured before nodding. This… this was unlikely to end in anything better than a quiet banishment and it would be better to be escorted out of the castle fully dressed. Or sent to the dungeons in something sturdier than a sleeping gown. “Yes. Yes, please,” he finally said.
“Very well,” Remus agreed. He stroked Janus’ cheek, then slipped out of the bed and walked across the room where he touched another panel in the wall. It clicked open, revealing a wardrobe filled with various outfits appropriate for riding or sport. He nodded, taking out an outfit from the back, then extended a privacy screen. “Pick whatever you’d like, mon douceur,” he bowed. “Let me know when you are ready,” he murmured, then moved behind the screen. After a moment there was a rustle of fabric and the prince hung his dressing gown over one corner of the screen.
Remus chose as simple of an outfit as he could and dressed quickly. Still, the prince had been mostly quiet behind the screen, a small shuffling sound the only sign he was still there.
As soon as Janus had fastened the top of his borrowed waistcoat, he called out, “I’m dressed.” He looked down at the prince’s stockinged feet when he emerged. “Thank you… ah…” He gestured toward the table where the steward had placed the prince’s breakfast tray. “Shall we sit?”
The prince poured them each a cup of tea, then nodded to Janus with that soft, small smile. “I’m listening, mon douceur.”
It was difficult for Janus to know quite where to start, so he began at the very beginning, confessing he was the young man who’d tried to steal from the priest. Remus’ small nod told him he’d already suspected as such and the rest of his story fell down in a deluge.
Janus told the prince everything.
Remus was quiet for a long, long time. Finally, he refilled his cup with cold tea and finished it. When he next spoke at last, his voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. “Did you come here to kill me and my brother?”
“No!” Janus leaned forward, reaching for the prince’s hand before he could think better of it. Remus took it and cradled it between his own. “No,” Janus said again. “Of course not!”
“But was that an option?” He met Janus’ eyes with the same intensity as that first time they’d met. “I am not deaf to the Jacobins’ clarion.”
“No.” Janus’ voice was choked. “Not after I met you,” he admitted in a small whisper. Remus leaned forward as though the unflattering admission made him somehow trust Janus more . “I’ve… I have been trying to convince the rest you can be persuaded.”
The prince did not speak and simply leaned back in his chair, fingers laced loosely together in front of him. Janus swallowed hard but didn’t drop his gaze. “Was I wrong?” He struggled not to eye the door and wonder how much faster the prince’s longer legs might make him if he ran.
Remus lowered his hands and leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “I am not the one you need worry about..” he began, reaching for Janus’ hand. “The Ministers of finance and state are where the actual power lies now. Necker is practical, but Minister Vergennes has my father’s ear and Neck may be deposed soon. There is a rumor, though, that de Fleury may replace him and he’s easily manipulated…”
~~~
Summer 1830, Café Procope
“Wait—” Virgil interrupted the bearded man and his heavy mug thunked down on the worn bar table. "Non, non, non…" He shook his head, incredulous. "You’re trying to tell me that the future King of France knew the entire time that Janus was lying to him?”
The man nodded nodded and drained the last of his coffee. Before he’d set down his mug, the bartender was at his side, refilling it and pouring fresh milk. “That is precisely what I’m telling you.”
“But… but why would he have him in his castle? Why would he—he—he trust him that way? A Jacobin spy?! He put himself, his brother, his entire family at risk… He was—”
The man tugged on the small leather strap tucked under Virgil’s collar and revealed a plain silver ring. It looked remarkably like a wedding ring. “He was in love?” The man admired the ring and held it closer to the candlelight to read the inscription. Virgil avoided looking at it and instead pulled it back from his hands and kissed it blindly before he shoved it back under his shirt. The bearded man sat back, cradling his coffee in his hands. “Love makes people do stupid, thoughtless things, does it not?”
Virgil scowled into his cup, belatedly realizing the bartender had refilled it when he’d served the other man. “Just tell me. Does Janus kill Remus? Is he the one who killed the king?”
“No.” The man was quiet as he added milk and sugar to his coffee. After he’d had a sip, he looked up at Virgil. “Would you rather not hear the rest of it?”
“Would you give me back my gun if I left before you finished your fairy tale?”
The man merely raised an eyebrow and drank more of his coffee.
“Entende!” Virgil slumped back into his seat, arms crossed in front of his chest. Still, as he listened, he tapped the middle of his sternum, just over the ring hidden beneath his shirt.
~~~
26 June 1789
The following days were a whirlwind.
That evening, they’d dined together with Prince Roman and his guest, some visiting noble from Gaul. Twice, Janus had caught a glimpse of Patton in the hall, assisting with serving but not actually entering the room. The second time, he caught Roman’s glance in the little server’s direction, as well, and Janus tucked away that morsel of information to ask about when he returned to Paris.
Abandoning the pretense of a platonic visit, their nights were spent tangled together in Remus’ bedroom, greeted each morning by the sun and a noticeably subdued steward.
Their days were spent exploring both the castle and the machinations of the King’s inner circle of advisors. As the Dauphin, Crown Prince and future King, Remus was called to several conferences with the King and the foreign minister while Janus was there, but before the first one, he brought Janus to a small room down the hall.
Despite its relatively plain door and notably small size for a room in this part of the castle, the room was richly appointed, with a heavy mahogany desk, a plush chair, and enough writing supplies to make Logan salivate. The corner of the room held a settee complete with a samovar and a box of teas.
The room contained both a small fireplace and a wood stove, each cold and empty for the summer. Remus led them both inside and closed the door before he pointed to the chimney flue and whispered in Janus’ ear. “The fireplace doesn’t actually work. My great-grandfather had it installed so he could listen to his ministers in their private meetings, but he never told my father or his about it.” He shrugged with a little grin. “Roman and I found it by accident and Maman explained how the kitchen would be tasked with keeping it stocked for long meetings.”
He smiled and brushed a quiet kiss against his lips. “I’ll return as soon as the meeting is over.” The click of wooden heels and the King’s voice pouring from the ‘fireplace’ soon proved just how effective of a spy room this was and Remus grinned before pressing a silent kiss against Janus’ hand and slipping through the door with a bow.
Moving with the same care he would use when trying not to wake Logan in the mornings, Janus settled at the desk, remarking with a smile how the inkwell was fresh. It seemed that, though the King was not aware of this room, his sons made good use of it. He heard the moment Remus joined the meeting, his familiar voice lower and filled with an authority that, to Janus’ completely objective ear, sounded more earned than the King’s. Remus would serve France—and all of her people—well as King. Janus tried hard not to hope the rumors of the King’s ill-health were true.
Shaking himself from his musing, Janus realized the meeting had begun and he should take advantage of the incredible opportunity Remus had afforded him. He wrote across two sheets, one with notes from the discussion, the other with ideas to bring back to the prince for future conferences.
~~~
Long before Janus was ready, their time together had come to an end and they exchanged a long farewell in a greeting room just outside the main doors. Logan’s carriage was near enough that Janus could hear the horses’ impatient blowing through the open window.
“When will I see you again?” Remus whispered against Janus’ gloved knuckles. His warm breath seeped through the silk gloves, one of many parting gifts from the prince. Remus had dismissed the guards, ignoring their reluctance and simply waiting for them to comply. The man at arms closed the door pointedly behind them and ordered two guards to remain in position, flanked on either side.
Janus couldn’t hide his smile, blushing and looking away with a little huff at the twitch he felt in his own lips. “I am right here. You cannot possibly miss me already,” he murmured, holding tight to Remus’ hand. It had only been a few days, but the thought of waking up alone in his cold bed sent a pang through his chest.
“I miss you the moment those doors close with you on the other side.” Janus’ breath caught in his throat as he looked up into Remus’ eyes. Those words would be hyperbole, mere poetry meant to woo a weak-willed heart. But in Remus’ voice, his brilliant green eyes staring back into Janus’, he knew in his soul that Remus meant every word.
“I do, too,” he whispered, the truth spilling unbidden from his lips. Panic bubbled in his stomach. This wasn’t the way this was meant to go. Remus’ smile washed over him, bathing him in a warmth that melted all his worries, melted his fear and his panic.
He lifted Janus’ chin and leaned in, one hand cradling their shared grip against his own chest, the other sliding back to curl against the nape of his neck. “I love you, Janus,” he whispered, his breath warm against Janus’ lips.
“I love you, too,” he murmured before another rush of fear stole his voice and he surged forward, capturing Remus’ lips in a hungry kiss.
#French Kiss#ts janus#ts remus#ts logan#ts patton#ts roman#ts virgil#ts lucas#Janus Robespierre#Crown Prince Remus Capetian#Prince Roman Capetian#Father Logan Gérault#Patton Cœur#Virgil Gamin#Lucas Colére#dukeceit#future dukeceit#character death#major character death#ambiguous ending#French Revolution AU#AU of the French Revolution: What would happen if Robespierre fell in love?#cw kissing#cw suggestive#cw implied/referenced sex#sanders sides#sanders sides fic#tss fanfic#ts fanfic#ts fanfiction
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LYON, FÊTONS LA GRATUITÉ, Paul Jorion, le 5 JANVIER 2019 – Retranscription
LYON, FÊTONS LA GRATUITÉ, le 5 JANVIER 2019
Ouvert aux commentaires.
Chers Amis, l’heure est grave parce que je me suis rendu aux conseils de ce brave jeune homme qui voulait nous faire boire sa bière artisanale et je ne sais pas si, du coup, je pourrai suivre mon exposé comme je l’aurai souhaité au départ. J’ai quelques antisèches qui devraient m’aider et, heureusement, j’ai pu intervenir de la salle ce matin et dire quelque chose qui me paraissait très important sur le capitalisme. Peut-être que l’on pourra passer sur ce sujet-là…
Soyons sérieux. Deux dangers nous menacent et, vous le savez, une personne qui se trouvait là ce matin m’a glissé dans l’oreille : « Le problème, essentiellement, est de savoir comment nous allons prendre le risque qui est le nôtre maintenant. » C’est vrai, il y a un danger d’extinction pour l’espèce humaine qui est lié au fait que nous risquons effectivement d’enfreindre ce que l’on appelle la capacité de charge d’un environnement pour une espèce, c’est-à-dire le fait que cet environnement doit lui être favorable. Il faut qu’il n’y ait pas de gaz toxiques dans ce que nous respirons. Il nous faut une certaine quantité d’oxygène. Il faut que l’eau ne soit pas polluée, eau que nous buvons, et il faut que nous ayons le droit de la boire, de la trouver. Il faut que nos aliments soient des aliments qui ne soient pas toxiques à leur manière également.
Le risque d’extinction est réel.
Mais, il y a un autre danger immédiat lui aussi, et c’est un sociologue américain qui s’appelle Peter Frase qui attire l’attention là-dessus. Cela fait très mauvaise impression. Il jette un pavé dans la marre. Il parle d’un risque d’exterminisme. C’est quoi l’exterminisme ? C’est quand une partie d’une population décide de se débarrasser d’une autre. Comme nous le savons, il existe maintenant des moyens industriels depuis 1941-42 de se débarrasser d’une partie de la population que l’on juge gênante.
Vous avez peut-être vu cet article. Je l’ai mis en exergue sur mon blog. Cet article écrit par la rédaction du Monde sur la manière dont les rédacteurs du Monde ont été un peu choqués de la manière dont les lecteurs du Monde ont parlé des gilets jaunes en termes extrêmement négatifs. Le regard posé par les riches sur les pauvres est toujours un regard assez consternant. Il n’est pas impossible qu’un certain nombre de personnes dans notre société soient considérés comme des gêneurs essentiellement par d’autres. Nous savons que les moyens existent maintenant. Vous avez dû voir le film Robocop. C’était il y a quelques temps. Ces Robocops existent maintenant. Il y a des moyens d’éliminer. On appelle cela des munitions intelligentes. Il y a des moyens de se débarrasser d’une partie de la population. Ce n’est pas quand vous irez à la manifestation que l’on vous fera disparaître. C’est peut-être quand vous retournerez vers votre bagnole.
Le danger d’exterminisme existe dans notre société. Il existe d’autant plus que le travail disparaît, qu’une grande partie de la population était salariée et que ce travail disparait. Je ne vais pas entrer dans les chiffres. Ce n’est pas le sujet aujourd’hui. Certains vous disent que c’est seulement 9 % de la population qui va perdre son emploi dans les années qui viennent, d’autres chiffres donnent 40 % – 60 %. Ce n’est pas simplement l’intelligence artificielle. C’est l’automation, la mécanisation. Tout le travail est en train de disparaître et pas simplement au niveau des caissières, pas simplement au niveau des lignes d’assemblage. Aussi les médecins, les grands spécialistes d’oncologie, la machine fait mieux qu’eux maintenant et ils ne vont plus être indispensables.
Qu’est-ce qu’il faut faire ? Il faut le plus rapidement possible séparer la question des revenus des gens qui étaient des « travailleurs », comme on les appelait autrefois, des « salariés » récemment. On les appelait aussi des « prolétaires ». Séparer la question – pour ces personnes qui gagnent leur vie en travaillant – de leurs revenus, de celle du travail qui sera effectué puisque ce travail est en train de disparaître. Ce n’est pas simplement qu’il est délocalisé quelque part. Les secrétaires, les sténodactylos n’ont pas été délocalisées en Chine. Elles ont disparu par l’invention du logiciel qui s’appelle traitement de texte, purement et simplement. Il faut séparer la question des revenus. La personne qui est remplacée par une machine, la machine va continuer à travailler et elle va rémunérer la personne que l’on appelle le capitaliste, c’est-à-dire le propriétaire de la machine qui a pu avancer l’argent.
Que vont devenir les autres ? Deux solutions possibles : la solution du revenu universel, revenu de base. C’est une possibilité, donner de l’argent à tout le monde. Une autre possibilité, c’est la gratuité. Personnellement, j’étais acquis dès le départ à l’idée de revenu universel mais c’est en regardant les chiffres que je me suis aperçu que ce n’était probablement pas le bon angle d’attaque. Cela coûte très cher. Les Anglais ont calculé que cela coûte 12 % du PIB en Grande-Bretagne, le revenu universel. La gratuité sur l’indispensable, cela représente simplement 2,2 %. C’est à notre portée. On ne peut pas dire que ce n’est pas à notre portée.
D’où vient cette question de la gratuité pour l’indispensable ? Elle nous vient d’un fameux discours sur les subsistances d’un certain Maximilien Robespierre, qui nous a posé la question « Quel est le premier objet de la société ? ». Le premier objet de la société est de maintenir en vie les êtres humains. A qui répondait-il ? Il répondait à ceux qui venaient d’inscrire dans la Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen comme un droit sacré, le droit à la propriété privée. Il dit « Avant la propriété privée, il y a le droit de vivre ». Il faudrait séparer l’économie en deux parties : celle pour l’indispensable qui ne serait pas, comme on le dirait, marchandisé, monétarisé, et l’autre, le superflu, que l’on pourrait laisser à l’activité des marchands.
Qu’est-ce que c’est que cet indispensable ? On peut le définir assez rapidement. C’est bien entendu l’alimentation, l’habillement, la santé, l’éducation. Aujourd’hui, le téléphone, la connectivité, etc. Il faudrait revoir la définition de temps à autres bien entendu, mais il faut commencer par là. Le revenu universel, malheureusement, donner des chèques aux personnes – j’ai travaillé 18 ans dans la banque – c’est une proie toute désignée pour les milieux bancaires. Il y a aussi, bien entendu, on appelait ça autrefois « boire sa paie. » Il y a aussi la possibilité de mal utiliser l’argent qui est donné. Il faut le plus possible, pour tout ce qui est de l’ordre de l’indispensable, à mon sens, le protéger, l’immuniser contre la monétisation.
La gratuité, à mon sens, est la première étape. La question a été posée ce matin. La gratuité, pourquoi ? A mon sens, la 2ème étape, je l’ai signalé mais je le rappelle, est d’aller vers un monde sans argent. Quand Keynes, en 1936, pose la question « Qu’est-ce que qui ferait que tout le monde, demain matin, se réveille dans un monde se disant soulagé, le monde est soudain meilleur ? ». Il répondait à l’époque « le plein emploi ». Le plein emploi, nous ne l’aurons plus précisément parce que le travail et l’emploi disparaissent. Qu’est-ce qui pourrait faire que nous nous réveillions demain dans un monde en se disant, tout à coup, « Nous sommes soulagés. La vie est devenue bien plus simple ». Un monde sans argent. Il faut aller vers là.
Pourquoi faut-il aller vers là ? C’est la 2ème étape à mon sens. Pour éliminer, finalement, ce système capitaliste qui repose sur la propriété privée. La propriété privée, nous le savons, elle contient la notion d’abusus. Le propriétaire peut faire ce qu’il veut de la chose dont il est le propriétaire. Des lois sont intervenues ici et là pour protéger, pour empêcher que ce soit véritablement le cas. C’est vrai pour les individus. Ce n’est pas vrai pour les entreprises. L’abusus est encore total pour les entreprises. Notre système de comptabilité aussi ne tient absolument pas compte du fait de savoir si quelque chose est renouvelable ou non. Les externalités négatives, comme on le dit, ne sont pas comptabilisées. Notre système comptable, notre système capitaliste est un système de destruction des ressources. Il ne tient pas compte, d’aucune manière, ni dans l’abusus, ni dans la comptabilité, du fait que nous soyons propriétaires de quelque chose qui est renouvelable ou non. Nous pouvons détruire, dans le système actuel, quelque chose qui ne pourra plus jamais servir à personne sur notre terre.
Si nous voulons survivre, je termine par là, il faut, dans l’immédiat, que nous allions à l’encontre de ce risque d’exterminisme qui est absolument réel, c’est-à-dire qu’une partie de la population apparaisse comme des gêneurs purement et simplement et que l’autre partie de la population, qui n’a plus absolument besoin de ces gêneurs, essaye de les éliminer. C’est la première chose.
La deuxième, c’est la tâche ultime si l’on veut, pour notre espèce bien entendu, c’est empêcher l’extinction. Il faut que nous parcourions l’ensemble de ces étapes dans le bon ordre mais que nous y allions extrêmement rapidement.
Merci.
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ClubNinetyThree 5/15/14 2.2.2 Magna Testantur Voce Per Umbra
...I have no idea what that means. I mean, I could quick-translate it, but when Hugo goes Latin it always MEANS something, some cultural reference, and I don't know that one at all.
I can't be sure, with the way the language is structured; but while Danton, Marat, and Robespierre are all clearly in some discord, it seems like Marat and Robespierre are being set up as somewhat allied? I'm reading the whole "I want a dictactor " "you or me" "me or you" thing as "I'll take either one of us, provided it's one of us.", with Danton against the whole idea.
They may be "conflicting thunderbolts", but really the whole chpater sounds like a smacktalk showdown, with each man in turn bragging about his street cred and trash talking the others and I hope that sounded completely ridiculous because this CHAPTER is completely ridiculous; they're all talking about war and domestic policy and the lives of who knows how many people with the same maturity involved in shouting MY DAD CAN BEAT UP YOUR DAD. It would be funny if it weren't so serious, and it's still absurd, but it's an awfully bleak absurdity.
Language question to anyone reading it in the French! Can I get an explanation of what the heck is happening with pronouns when Marat goes off all Thee and Thou at Danton and Robespierre?
Also, Livid is happening all over this chapter. I think "livid" may be the new "sepulchre". Adding it to the Drinking Game!
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French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 3: "Prince Roman"
Prev - "Prince Roman" - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
Rated: T - WC: 2612 - CW: suggestive
4 June 1789
Standing at the foot of the grand staircase, Janus surveyed the dance floor. According to their plan, while in the main ballroom he had a short list of attendees he needed to meet. Most were lower-level nobility, hangers-on who'd had the great fortune of being born a third cousin, twice removed from some Baron or Vicomte. He intended to gradually work his way through those connections into guests with greater influence. With a bit of luck and a lot of persistence, he might be able to ingratiate himself with an actual voting member of the First Estate.
His other job, less sanctioned by his dear but overly cautious pacifist friend, was to identify weaknesses in the palace's defenses. Anything he could gather on the layout, habits, patterns, and processes of the palace guards could prove not only useful, but lifesaving to the brave souls who stood ready to storm the palace if it became necessary. As much as Logan was wedded to the conceit that words could shift the tide and peacefully reform their government, there were many who believed the only way to enact change would be with the King's head on a pike.
Janus' own mind fit somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. Recent events, though, including the sacking of the only minister known to support the Third Estate, had firmly shoved Janus closer to the side of change 'by blade' and not 'by quill.'
On his way into the castle, Janus already identified two alternative entrances and a suspected third behind a large hedge that he planned to inspect as the champagne and absinthe party reached its storied climax and the guards would have their hands full keeping the créme de la créme of French society from seeing who could make the leap from the roof down to the large stone fountain in the topiary.
He felt movement to his left and his heart stopped. Mere inches from him, close enough that he could detect his fleur de lís perfumed face powder, stood Prince Roman, resplendent in his famous red sash.
Bow! Bow! What are you doing, Robespierre?!
Smiling smoothly to drown the panic rising in chest, Janus bowed deeply from the waist. “Your Royal Highness,” he purred. As Prince Roman returned his attention to the dance floor, Janus caught a twitch at the corner of his mouth and hand and narrowed his eyes before also gazing out at the revelers.
Janus had expected the prince to say more, to spout the usual niceties and court graces designed to elicit more subservient genuflection from him. He felt the weight of the prince's eyes on him and he needed conscious effort to relax his jaw and warm the smile already curving his lips. Etiquette demanded that Janus could not be the first one to step away from their interaction, nor could he speak again without invitation, and so he remained, bound to a silent conversation partner.
His gaze flicked over to the prince’s face. Prince Roman's were bright, the varied shades of green reflecting the golden light from the lanterns and sconces along the walls. Janus detected an actual glint of mirth in his courtly smile. He’s enjoying this! Watching and waiting for his guest to squirm.
But Janus could be patient. That was the primary reason why he was the one to attend this party and to gather information. There was no denying that Logan possessed far more knowledge of the court’s rules, spoken and otherwise. He was a stronger conversationalist and knew more about the history of the palace and the royal family than likely even the gaudy twin princes themselves.
However, Logan also quickly tired of nonsense power games and was just as likely to fling a drink in a rude Baron’s face as he was to best them in a debate.
So Janus resigned himself to a period of awkward silence, standing with his body attentively angled toward the prince while gazing over the dancing partygoers, eyes respectfully lowered until the prince bothered to address him again. Or dismissed him.
The Prince twitched again and Janus bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself not to stare. When Prince Roman finally spoke, inquiring why he’d never been to a palace party before, Janus was nearly caught flat-footed in surprise. Nearly.
Cover story at the ready, Janus smoothly recovered and he readied himself to trade carefully crafted pleasantries designed to discuss France’s encroaching imperialism in the sub-continent the way some might comment on the morning’s brew back at the Café de Foy.
While Janus was well-prepared with the explanation he and Logan had crafted for his previous absence from the court, what he hadn't been prepared for was the Prince’s response.
“You are aware of the latest uprising?” Janus' jaw dropped, his shock only barely contained by the sudden appearance of Patton at his elbow. With the little server's knowledge of the grey spaces at the palace and the details of the ball at their fingertips, it had been a relatively straightforward task for the former scullery hand to sneak in through the servants' entrance, integrate himself into the rest of the party staff, and learn what he could.
Janus suspected Logan had also insisted Patton join "the mission" in case anyone recognized that Sir Henri Juriste was not who he purported to be and he needed to make a hasty retreat. Even the guards avoided the cramped, byzantine halls between the kitchen and the posh rooms used by the royals and Patton's experience with them would ensure them a means of escape.
Hoping Prince Roman did not notice his surprise, Janus smirked. “I imagined affairs of state at that level were beneath the prince.” For a moment, he feared he'd pushed too far when the prince casually threatened retaliation for his remark. His hand shook, but something behind Prince Roman's dancing eyes convinced him he was still playing a game.
The prince's loud laugh proved him right.
In truth, Janus was finding it increasingly difficult to hold on to his sarcasm. Prince Roman seemed both knowledgeable—at least, in part—and genuinely put out by the King's obvious hypocrisy. The prince's thinly veiled disdain for his own father's decisions was intriguing and the sounds and bustle of the party fell away as spoke.
Prince Roman's gaze continued to flit around the room, somehow managing to follow their conversation despite his apparent distractedness. Patton had specifically mentioned the infamous tics of the elder Capetian brother, Prince Remus. Not of his younger brother. Interesting. Palace intrigue, Janus supposed. Perhaps the rumors were merely an attempt to lessen the perceived fitness of the future King. A weakness such as that could be used to apply pressure to the King’s decisions, granting greater power and influence to his advisors.
His musings had distracted him so much that Janus had nearly forgotten his place and was ripped back to the party by the prince's sudden request for his name.
“Of course," he stalled, slowing his breathing and re-centering his thoughts on the plan. Perhaps the plan has just advanced. "Your Royal Highness, I am Sir Henri Juriste." The prince met his gaze, giving him his full attention and Janus froze, transfixed by the shifting green in his eyes. Prince Roman's lips moved slightly as though he was rolling his name around in his mouth.
Finally, Janus heard Logan's voice in his head—bow!—and he carefully bent at the waist, one hand resting over the third button on his overcoat, just as they'd rehearsed. “It is an honor to meet you, Prince Roman.” He swallowed dryly, annoyed at himself for his sudden nerves. The plan was going exceedingly well, and, yes this development would require some improvisation, but he'd been granted an incredible opportunity. He wasn't going to waste it by fumbling their interaction now.
Despite his attempts to bolster his own confidence, Janus was actually stunned silent at the prince’s invitation to dance and he could only bow his head, thankful the layers of face powder intended to disguise his scar would serve well to mask the flush he felt crawling up his face.
The prince offered his hand, and subtly reminded him that court etiquette dictated it would be rude to deny the prince the honor of a dance. The tic in the corner of Prince Roman's eye, though, left Janus with the distinct impression the prince was reminding himself of that fact, as well. His cheeks warmed at the prince's nickname for him, and he irrationally wondered what 'Sir Janus' might sound like in the prince's voice.
"The honor would be mine, Prince Roman." The prince's smile faltered and his eyes darkened for half a breath, but his frenetic grin soon returned and he led them out to the dance floor.
Even through the silk of Janus' gloves, Prince Roman's hand felt warm as he led them to the center of the ballroom, the roiling sea of dancers parting to let them through and maintaining a respectful distance. The prince raised his hand in a little twirl and the court musicians immediately stepped down the tempo of the raucous tune they played, the slower pace rendering the piece barely recognizable as La Bataille. One hand just below Janus’ waist, the other cradling his hand and holding it aloft, the prince drew him close, closer than was typically proper.
“Don’t be afraid,” Prince Roman murmured near his ear. “I won’t bite.” The prince’s breath was hot against his neck. “Not unless you ask me to.”
Janus straightened his spine and met the prince’s eyes. “I fear no man,” he said, his voice steel, but his breath caught in his throat at the smile that spread across the prince’s face when Janus began to lead their dance.
“I can see that, Sir Henri,” The prince purred. He drew Janus even closer, and a shiver ran down his spine as warm lips grazed his ear. “I like it.”
They twirled across the dance floor, the crowd shifting around them as they moved. All eyes were on them, even more so than on the Crown Prince himself who appeared held captive by a cadré of yammering ministers and advisors who seemed disappointed they weren't the only one who had thought the dance might provide an opportunity to bend the elder Capetian prince's ear. Shifting his attention back to Prince Roman, Janus couldn't help but wonder what he could do with future king's attention.
"Hmm… scandalous!" Prince Roman smiled down at him, humor coloring his gaze. "Already making eyes at my brother?" He grinned when Janus' blush shone through his face powder. "Before we've even finished our first dance?"
"Of course not, Your Royal Highness," Janus demurred. "Merely observing Prince Remus does not appear to be enjoying the dance."
The prince turned them on the dance floor so he could have an unobstructed view of his elder brother. His mouth twitched, sharp eyes taking in Prince Remus' poorly masked dour expression, his impatient glares at two of the ministers next to him who'd launched into a red-faced debate. "Alas, no. He does not." Prince Roman turned them again so that neither could see the elder prince clearly. He leaned in close to whisper in Janus' ear. "I suspect our future King would trade places with me if he could."
Someone caught Prince Roman's attention from across the dance floor and the prince beckoned him over, turning away from Janus to speak quietly into his ear. Janus raised an eyebrow and in a fit of courage, smirked at the prince. "And which of us is having their attention stolen away by someone else now?"
Prince Roman threw his head back and laughed, spinning Janus in a broad twirl. "You are quite right, my dear Sir Henri," he raised Janus' gloved hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, setting off a titter of whispers around them. Janus could only stare up at the prince, dumbfounded. "Merely a small matter I needed someone to attend to," he said as he lowered Janus' hand but didn't release his gentle grip. "Tell me, Sir Henri, would you care for a walk through the topiary?"
A thousand thoughts collided in Janus' head. This might be his chance to get a glimpse of the rumored secret entrance behind the hedges, as well as see what other unconventional stances the younger prince might hold that could be leveraged by the cause. However none of those thoughts could compete with the quiet whisper in his mind that the prince's hand was warm and gentle and was gripping his hand just right. He nodded, "That sounds lovely."
He smiled when Prince Roman bent his arm and laid Janus' hand near his elbow. "This way, then," Roman murmured, eyebrows dancing over eyes that sparked with energy, a bright grin splitting his face. He leaned closer and whispered near his ear, "Stay close to me, it's a bit of a gauntlet." The prince lingered, lips close enough to radiate heat against his skin. For a brief, delusional moment, Janus wondered if the prince knew the reaction his close proximity elicited. "Ready?"
"I am always ready for anything," Janus said, chin lifted and shoulders squared. He met Roman's eye when he pulled back, a smirk fighting its way onto the prince's face.
With a short nod, he led Janus to the pair of windowed doors and they stepped out into the cool night air. Janus stopped short when they reached the edge of the gardens and he inhaled the fresh fragrance of germander and lavender. Small lanterns flickered gently in the breeze along each side of the wide paths and tall, bulbous trees stretched overhead. There was nothing like this in all of Paris.
"It's beautiful," he whispered. He turned and smiled up at Prince Roman and let out a little laugh at the way his expression danced, eyebrows waggling. The brilliance of his grin was practically bright enough to read by.
The prince pulled his arm—and Janus' hand—closer to his side and seemed to buzz with energy, his footsteps almost bouncing as he took them down the path, describing the new plants they'd installed and the vision he had for next winter's planting. After they'd reached the end of the path and sat together on a stone bench to admire the fireflies flitting between the hedges, a courtier approached.
"Sir, I have the infor—" The prince interrupted him with a gesture and waved him forward, leaning close and nodding as he whispered in his ear. Janus busied himself counting the fireflies, toes clenched in his shoes to help him resist the temptation to watch their interaction and try to learn what he could from their body language. Or perhaps even catch a few words whispered too loudly. This close, however, Prince Roman would be certain to detect that kind of eavesdropping, so he did all he could to make it clear he paid their conversation no mind.
And yet… Janus couldn't help but feel the prince's eyes on him as the courtier spoke and he worked to keep his expression calm, demonstrating how simply fascinated he was by the garden.
After the courtier left, Prince Roman was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and moved closer. Janus turned and the prince peered at him, searching his eyes, expression unreadable. His eyes bounced over Janus' features until his face finally bloomed in a smile and he rose to offer his hand."Would you be willing to accompany me on the dance floor once more, mon Sir Henri? The night is still young."
#French Kiss#ts janus#ts remus#ts logan#ts patton#ts roman#ts virgil#ts lucas#Janus Robespierre#Crown Prince Remus Captian#Prince Roman Capetian#Father Logan Gérault#Patton Cœur#Virgil Gamin#Lucas Colére#dukeceit#future dukeceit#character death#major character death#ambiguous ending#French Revolution AU#AU of the French Revolution: What would happen if Robespierre fell in love?#cw kissing#cw suggestive#cw implied/referenced sex#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfic#sanders sides fanfiction#tss fanfic#ts fanfiction
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French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 4: Father Logan Gérault
Prev - Father Logan Gérault - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
Rated: T - WC: 2165 - CW: none for this chapter
4 June 1789
Logan leaned against the side of the carriage, the heel of his boot hooked on the cab's folding step. He kept one eye on the path from the guests' entrance to the palace, the other on his fellow drivers as they discussed their employers' various foibles and vices. "You had better not even think about waking the good Lady Petite Ferme before eleven, that's all I can say," the driver closest to Logan said with a snort. "Otherwise you'll end up with a chamber pot over your head." He laughed quietly along with the other drivers, their voices low as each of them remained aware of where they were.
When the laughter died down he met each of their eyes. "It needn’t be that way, Étienne" Logan murmured. "We are all French, we are all born into this world squalling, and we'll all leave it and return to dust when we die." He lowered his voice further and a few of the drivers leaned in. "There is nothing in the scriptures that says it is part of God's great plan that we should live beholden to any man simply by right of his birth."
Another driver laughed. "You sound like an American."
He nodded. "Perhaps we could all learn something from the American revolt," Logan replied with a smile. "The King himself, for all his hypocrisy, couldn't deny that."
Their heads jerked up at the sound of quiet footsteps on gravel. Logan peered down the path and sighed, a cold knot of worry in his chest finally loosening. Though the figure was still too far away to see clearly, Logan would know that delicate stride anywhere. As he grew closer, Logan began to pick out his features, amazed as he always was, by Janus’ ability to keep up his appearance even after hours in what must have been a steaming dance hall.
Undoubtedly drained from maintaining a pretense during the long party, he still walked with an easy grace and his footsteps had a subtle rhythm, more dance than stroll. Even at the end of a long night, he didn’t slouch, didn’t hang his head, instead walked proudly, royally , even. Although, Logan nodded unconsciously, Janus Robespierre would be sure to seethe at that assessment. The thought brushed a genuine smile across Logan’s face. Robespierre, the incorruptible, the brilliant, the passionate, the—
Logan shook himself free of that line of thinking. Janus hummed a light tune as floated down the path back to their stolen carriage. Logan wasn’t familiar with the piece, but he was confident his friend was completely in tune. Playing his part, he snapped to attention once his “employer” was near the carriage and escorted Janus into the cab.
“Very good, Sir, just this way,” he said, letting his voice carry. “Had a bit much to drink?” he added and the driver at the carriage next to theirs guffawed, but covered it quickly. Logan winked at him. While Janus and Patton fulfilled their missions inside the castle, Logan's had been to get to know the other drivers, both fishing for information and looking for potential allies among the class of workers who lived adjacent to the ease and luxury of the court’s nobility. The very people too often overlooked by those in power until it was too late.
Once Janus was settled in the cab, Logan leaned over the window sash. “I’ll move us around the back paths to pick up Patton,” he whispered just before snapping the brogue foot shut. “We’d best be off,” he called to his new compatriot. “See you next time, Timothée? Or perhaps at de Foy?”
Timothée nodded, a glint to his eye. Logan smiled to himself as he climbed back up to the perch and urged the horses down the main path. After several dozen yards and the laughing voices and impatient huffing of the other waiting drivers and horses faded away, he extinguished their lamp and led the horses down the service path back toward the castle. After a few minutes of slow driving, he spotted a dotted line of white stones in the path, shining bright in the moonlight, Patton’s signal that the coast was clear.
Logan stopped the carriage and Patton climbed down from a thick tree branch, stumbling only briefly but quickly catching himself with his strong grip. “Hey there, Logan,” he cheered quietly. “Thanks for the ride,” he said with a chuckle once he’d climbed up next to him. “I have so much to tell you!” Patton gripped Logan’s cloak, hands shaking with excitement as he twisted fistfuls of the worn oilcloth.
“And you will…” Logan nodded, his low chuckle cutting through the now cold night air. “Let’s get past the last guard post and then the both of you can sit up here and tell me everything you’ve learned.”
Nodding rapidly, Patton grinned, then gasped. “And I brought you this!” He fumbled through the folds of his cloak and pulled out a packet wrapped in a handkerchief. “Some bread and cheese and jambon sec for you.” He fumbled some more and retrieved a small bottle of wine. “And this to share,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I hope you can forgive me, but it will not be missed at that palace.”
Logan eyed the dusty bottle and finally nodded, eliciting a small laugh and the return of Patton’s lighting-bright grin. He shook his head, his own smile growing at their new friend’s irrepressible enthusiasm. And his thoughtfulness.
“Oh, yes, and Janus!” Patton let out another laugh and poked his head through the small opening that connected the driver’s box with the passenger compartment. “When I saw you dancing with Prince Roman, I nearly dropped a tray of drinks! He seemed to really like you! He didn’t dance with anyone else all night!”
“You danced with—“ Logan forgot himself and he cut off his ringing voice only after his surprise leaked out. Fortunately, the section of their current path was deserted and they were still a half mile out from the final checkpoint. He lowered his voice and sat a little straighter, reins tight in his grip. “That is… excellent news. We certainly do have a lot to talk about.” His voice grew fuzzy as he mulled over this new bit of information. “Quite a lot….”
~~~
Janus and the prince had danced together all night. Several times throughout the evening, various pairs of guests would approach and bow to the prince in a traditional request to trade dance partners. The prince merely smiled and declined each time. Each time, drawing Janus just a bit closer. The first two times they were approached, Janus would loosen his grip, eyes trained on the prince’s face, widening in surprise when the prince chose to continue dancing with him. By the third, Janus winked at the prince, pleased at the little twitch in his jaw the gesture evoked.
The party eventually came to an end, but as the guards worked to clear the last of the rowdier revelers off the dance floor, Prince Roman pulled Janus behind the court musicians and presented him with a folded piece of parchment, sealed with green and red wax. The corners were slightly bent, as though the prince had been carrying it for some time. “I want to see you again,” he said simply. “This is not a command, but an invitation. Come only if you wish.” He pressed the small paper square into Janus’ gloved palm. “This will get you past the guards.”
Janus had looked up in stunned silence, but softened at the sincerity in the prince's dancing eyes, the almost nervous twitch in his mouth. The prince had then leaned close, his breath warm against Janus’ neck, lips just brushing the shell of his ear. “Please come see me, whenever you wish.”
With a jolt, Janus realized he wanted to return. Not to take advantage of this ludicrous opportunity to grow their influence with none other than the future King’s twin brother. Not even to maintain the pretense of who he claimed to be, to keep that path into Versailles open for any future schemes. His throat went dry and he was grateful the darkened compartment hid his expression from Logan and Patton. Because he realized, he didn’t want to return to Versailles to see The Prince.
Janus wanted to return to see Roman.
Inside the cab, he nodded and tucked the small invitation sealed with the prince’s ingot back into his sleeve. "Yes,” he agreed with his friend. “Quite a lot to talk about.”
~~~
Remus flung open the double doors that led to the princes’ private dressing suite and twirled his way inside, the melody of the last song of the night still flitting through his mind. His palms tingled, tiny pinpricks of heat and pleasure reminding him that mere moments ago, he’d held the most amazing man in his arms. “That was wonderful!”
Roman didn’t look up from where he lounged on a silk-upholstered fainting couch, shoes kicked off and legs crossed at the ankles. He’d flung his left arm over his eyes as he let his right hand soak in a copper bowl of cold water. “That was dreadful.”
He groaned when Remus flopped onto his legs then wiggled to get comfortable. “There’s another bench right there ,” he hissed, finally moving his arm to look at his brother. Roman shook his head at Remus’ dopey grin. “I am pleased you had a good time, at least." He closed his eyes again and snapped his fingers at his dresser, pointing to his eyelids. "At least that cute little blond serveur is back in the palace. I missed him. He knows how to keep a drink fresh.” The young servant in the corner rushed over with another bowl and a cold cloth. After wringing out the linen, he laid it carefully over the prince’s eyes and hurried back to the corner to wait for further instructions.
Remus winked at the servant and mouthed, “Thank you,” before digging his shoulders into Roman's shins. “So, little brother, tell me more about how dreadful it is to be the crown prince at these events.”
Ripping the cloth from his eyes, Roman sat up and glared at his brother. “You knew!”
“‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown,’” he murmured, patting Roman’s head and reaching for his green sash. He winked at the dresser whose eyes had widened, making no attempt to hide his eavesdropping. “Ready to relinquish this?”
“Gladly,” Roman swore, using one hand to pull the sash up and over his head and practically throwing it into Remus’ lap. He raised his other hand from the copper bowl, eyeing his knuckles plaintively. The servant quickly swooped in and swapped the bowl for a fresh one. “I swear I’m getting a rash from all the slobber of a thousand ring kisses.” Flexing his fingers, he slipped his hand back under the water. “I don’t know how you can tolerate it.”
“It helps if you tickle their chins when they lean in to kiss your hand,” Remus said as he relinquished Roman’s red sash and coat. “They back off quickly but no-one will dare say anything.” He grinned and fell silent, his thoughts consumed with the soft brush of silk against his lips from each time he'd kissed his dance partner's hand that evening, the man's quiet smirk, the delicious sarcasm laced through his voice every time he called him 'Prince.'
Roman lifted the cloth and eyed his unusually quiet brother. He nudged Remus with his knee. "You met someone interesting tonight, didn't you?"
"Perhaps," he said with a shrug.
"'Perhaps,'" Roman laughed. "You're positively giddy." He lay back down and straightened the cloth over his eyes. "Are you going to tell him he wasn't dancing with Prince Roman but with you? Or have I just found a new admirer?"
"Not on your life!" Remus snapped, his grin doing little to cover the fear in his voice.
Roman's eyebrow raised beneath the cloth. "You like this man." He let the silence sit between them for a few moments then finally blindly patted his brother's shoulder. "He wouldn’t turn down an invitation to the palace by the crown prince, now, would he?"
He remained quiet and after a minute Roman sat up. "But you want him to come for you." He gave his older brother a crooked grin. "I have a feeling he will come. You are quite fetching in green. Though perhaps not as much as I…" Remus rolled his eyes and looked away. "But aren't you worried he will be upset you pretended to be me all night?"
Remus grinned, looking down at his familiar green sash and the heavy ring Roman had returned to him. He recalled the seamlessness of their dance, and that little pleased gasp at his first sight of the garden. The surprise and fire in his eyes when they'd discussed the Pondichérry revolt. "I have a feeling he'll understand."
#French Kiss#ts janus#ts remus#ts logan#ts patton#ts roman#ts virgil#ts lucas#Janus Robespierre#Crown Prince Remus Captian#Prince Roman Capetian#Father Logan Gérault#Patton Cœur#Virgil Gamin#Lucas Colére#dukeceit#future dukeceit#character death#major character death#ambiguous ending#French Revolution AU#AU of the French Revolution: What would happen if Robespierre fell in love?#cw kissing#cw suggestive#cw implied/referenced sex#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfic#sanders sides fanfiction#tss fanfic#ts fanfiction
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Furukawa Yuta as Maximilien Robespierre in Toho’s production of 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille (2016)
#1789 les amants de la bastille#maximilien robespierre#robespierre#Furukawa Yuta#ch: Robespierre#actor: Furukawa Yuta#Production: Toho#perioddramaedit#theatreedit#musicaltheatreedit#asiantheatrenet#historyedit#frenchmusicaledit
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