#(MAXIMILIEN) IC / MAIN

[lncarnon]

@black-watchs-cowboy has stepped foot into the casino,

and it is not an action that goes unnoticed. Perhaps to the untrained or unaware it would be a surprising thing indeed to learn just how extensive the security of any casino could be, much less the rather extreme measures that the ones ran by a certain omnic, had in place.

Maximilien is made aware within only a few seconds that the agent has come wandering on in, albeit not dressed down in his dark leathers signifying his position within the covert application of Overwatch. Oh, it is far from the first time that Max has set his attention on Cole, and likely it will not be the last as much as it would be convenient to be so.

"My, my. What a surprise to see a familiar face, arrived with no warning," comes the faux amused tone of Maximilien as he strolls up beside Cole. "Are you here for business, or pleasure?"

[lncarnon]

If Maximilien could sigh, it would be heard through the entire casino for his exasperation at his partner's jealousy was incredible. Max nearly allows for his facade of having an answer for everything, break, an impulsive response bubbling up but settling in the back of his mind instead. It would do him better to keep Reaper calm.

"They are paid to keep people distracted. The illusion would be broken if they did not interact with me. It goes no further than superficial contact, I promise you."

Promise. A rare thing from an omnic that prided himself on being devious, but for Reaper? He'd readily keep his word down to every syllable, no small twists of the truth or hidden meanings.

reaper knows just how ridiculous all of this is — certainly coming from him, of all people. he's the reaper, a horrifying shadow of a man come to kill from the dark. he should not be having feelings of jealousy, or any at all. yet his feelings for maximilien continue to confuse him and throw him for personal loops, even all these years later.

he rolls his eyes, despite knowing that the omnic can't see beneath his mask. "do they get paid extra to flirt with the boss?" he feels almost human again in this moment. almost. is this why he does this? to feel human again, to feel like a sliver of himself once more? perhaps.

[pedanther]

tenez, les voici qui nous suivent toutes les deux en robes blanches, l’une avec un bouquet de camélias, l’autre avec un bouquet de myosotis

see, they are following us, both in white dresses, one with a bouquet of camellias, the other with one of myosotis

Look, there they are behind us, both in white dresses, one with a bouquet of camellias, the other with a bouquet of forget-me-nots

I wouldn't have been able to tell you what a "myosotis" is, but I've heard of forget-me-nots, and even if I hadn't the name is evocative. I was poking at the Wikipedia article for Myosotis, and discovered that the French Wikipedia article has a list of poetic nicknames for the flower, which in addition to "forget me not" include (via Google translate) "love me", "remember me", "the more I see you, the more I love you", and "think of me". And this is the flower that Valentine uses to signal to Maximilien later in the chapter.

J’aurais vu avec plaisir le comte prendre quelque chose chez moi, ne fût-ce qu’un grain de grenade.

I should like to have seen the count take something in my house, if only an ice.

I should have been pleased to see the count take something in my house, if only a pomegranate seed.

Another evocative symbol, if you know the story of Persephone and the pomegranate seeds. One wonders whether it's the Count or herself that Mercedes is thinking of as the living person trapped among the dead – or is it that a certain person appears to her as one who has been to the land of the dead and then returned?

Sans doute elle crut que le comte allait lui parler; sans doute, de son côté, le comte crut qu’elle allait lui adresser la parole; mais des deux côtés ils restèrent muets, tant une banalité leur semblait sans doute indigne de tous deux; et, après un échange de saluts, Monte-Cristo se dirigea vers Albert, qui venait à lui la main ouverte.

No doubt she fancied the count would speak to her, while on his side the count thought she was about to address him; but both remained silent, and after a mere bow, Monte Cristo directed his steps to Albert, who received him cordially.

Doubtless she thought that the count would say something; and doubtless, on his side, he was expecting her to address him. But both remained silent, each surely feeling that a mere commonplace would be unworthy of them, and, after they had exchanged these silent salutations, Monte Cristo turned and began to walk towards Albert, who came to greet him with hand outstretched.

[sieclesetcieux]

On Saint-Just’s Personality: An Introduction

Saint-Just’s personality is deeply misunderstood.

Saint-Just was a very secretive person, and guarded his personality behind walls. It might come off as surprising, considering how he’s usually depicted, but he actually was very introverted and reserved at the Convention, at the Committee of Public Safety, and during his missions in Alsace and in the North.

He was also a very sensitive person. He didn’t take slights easily (neither did Robespierre). But unlike Robespierre, he was also extremely young and wanted to be taken seriously. He was building off from nothing. So he built his own “myth”: the man (re)born with the Revolution. He made his youth his advantage: he hadn’t been as corrupted as the others by the old ways. This is something that was used by other revolutionaries, for example Marc-Antoine Jullien, who was 19 years old in 1794. They would say their youth made them closer to “nature” – that is, the natural, uncorrupted state of humanity as defined by Enlightenment philosophy.

The Saint-Just people think they know via novels and movies doesn’t really exist. I can’t think of any fictional representation that accurately portrays him. How people think of Saint-Just is basically several different “fanon” interpretations, some built by his enemies, some built by people who did appreciate him but didn’t quite understand him – which didn’t help much in the end.

This is important to point out because in the end these are the sources we have to learn who Saint-Just was as a person:

What those who knew him wrote about him (sometimes writing many decades later, which naturally impacts memory)

The little insight we can gleam from the few personal notes he left here and there in notebooks (and an unsent letter) that were never meant to be read by anyone

I know this seems obvious, but people often forget that historical figures are not fictional characters. They were real, living, breathing, human beings. They were people, and people have flaws and contradictions. People don’t necessarily remain the same at 20 years old, at 25, at 30 and so forth. People change.

The Saint-Just who writes Organt before the Revolution isn’t the Saint-Just who writes L’Esprit de la Révolution et de la Constitution de France in 1790 and isn’t the Saint-Just who gets elected deputy to the Convention in 1792. The Saint-Just who writes an unsent letter to Villain d’Aubigny (usually dated of July 20 1792, though it’s a topic of debate) is a Saint-Just no one was supposed to see. Same with most of his personal notes they built the Fragments des Institutions républicaines with.

Most importantly of all, a person will appear different to different people in different contexts. It’s a matter of perspective.

If you only take Desmoulins’ and Hilary Mantel’s and Tanith Lee’s perspectives on Saint-Just, well, I’m sorry to say, that’s not Saint-Just. That’s a perspective of Saint-Just.

Moreover, Saint-Just has many faces, many images, many legends, some of which he created himself while he was alive.

Victor Hugo was influenced by the Romantic Historians of the French Revolution, Michelet and Lamartine specifically, and their descriptions of Saint-Just to create Enjolras.

This is how you can find this connection making it even through novels that don’t like Saint-Just very much:

“He has a mind of fire and a heart of ice.”

- Bertrand Barère on Louis-Antoine Saint-Just

“It is a thing unheard of that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire.”           

- Bossuet on Enjolras, in Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“...Camille felt an instant aversion, as to the touch of ice, which is what the young man most resembled. Chiseled from an ice floe.”

- Camille on Saint-Just, in Tanith Lee, The Gods Are Thirsty

Thus, even traces of this Saint-Just lives on in Tanith Lee's book.

Main testimonies

Most of them are here, in French, and some have been translated. If not, I will work on it. I will repost them on this tumblr as well, along with additional information about their author, their reliability, their personal biases, etc.

Sources by Saint-Just’s hand

While some revolutionaries have enough correspondence to fill entire volumes, Saint-Just comparatively left few letters behind. We do have one letter that gives incredible insight into his state of mind, but it’s important to remember this letter was never meant to be read by anyone. It was an unsent letter, found in his things after Thermidor, and then made public against his wishes, much like most of his personal notes. It is, however, an amazing letter nevertheless, but it’s important to keep this context in mind: he did not want you to see him like this.

Secondly, we have a lot of decrees he wrote during his missions. Though most don’t say very much, they do give clues on his personality, on his attitude, on his perspective. In some cases, he would write a quick postscript to a letter written by Le Bas and addressed to Maximilien Robespierre. Interestingly, while Le Bas would use the “vous” with Robespierre, and admitted to his wife Élisabeth he felt closer to Augustin than to Maximilien, Saint-Just always uses the “tu”. This isn’t just a matter of revolutionary zeal – the whole “vous vs tu” question during the Revolution is another, much more complicated story.

Finally, we have personal notes scattered through the manuscript that became known as the Fragments des Institutions républicaines. It’s a strange document to study and refer to. There is, indeed, a project he was working on concerning the Republican Institutions. There are at least two drafts. But the document has other things has well: from notes he later used in speeches (you can pinpoint the similarities) to a very short fictional romance between a man and a woman that’s hard to interpret.

The document known as the Fragments des Institutions républicaines was made from random papers found on him when he was arrested, taken from his apartment, and in a notebook that Barère kept. Pages are missing. Some pages are obviously torn. This is the one place where he confided some of his deepest thoughts, which reveal a great deal of insight on the Revolution and on his role, as well as his mental state. It was written in the last months of his life, when he could feel what was coming.

Saint-Just wrote fiction: yes, there’s the much maligned, very misunderstood Organt. In the same period, which is shortly before the Revolution, he also wrote a play called Arlequin Diogène, a short story called La Raison à la Morne, and a very short epigram of 8 verses, Épigramme sur le comédien Dubois qui a joué dans Pierre le Cruel.

Most of these must be treated as any work of fiction regarding their author: separating fiction from the author is complicated. Is he referencing his own life? Is he even aware that he is? The context of their redaction, however, gives a lot of information and some insight on himself. One of these texts is extremely interesting in order to study his personality. It’s a sort of foreword to Organt titled Dialogue entre M... D... et l’auteur du poëme d’Organt. The format almost resembles that of an interview. This is important as this is Saint-Just the Author, as he wants to be seen. The style is trenchant, concise, straight-to-the-point. Here Saint-Just the Author of 1789 meets Saint-Just the Representative of Year II.

(This post in an introduction to a series of several posts in the process of being written. Please be patient. If you want to know more, feel free to send me questions though! I’ll try to answer as well as I can.)

[veliseraptor]

You mentioned before you also really like villains, who are your all time favorite ones? What characteristics will usually make a villain interesting to you? (Your "fuck the villain police" is perfect by the way).

OH DAMN DO I LOVE VILLAINS, this is practically a defining personality trait at this point, it’s a running joke with my friends, I’ve got a villain couch that’s really more of a villain annex

the inhabitants of said villain annex are, as of this moment (and I’m probably forgetting some)

Loki (MCU)

Medea (Greek Mythology)

Clytemnestra (Greek Mythology)

Morgana Pendragon (Merlin BBC)

Ishamael/Moridin/Elan Morin Tedronai (Wheel of Time)

Semirhage (Wheel of Time)

Celegorm (The Silmarillion)

Maeglin (The Silmarillion)

Curufin (The Silmarillion)

Light Yagami (Death Note)

Mazrim Taim (Wheel of Time)

Erik Killmonger (MCU)

Nebula, formerly (MCU)

Hela (MCU)

Rhulad Sengar (Malazan: Book of the Fallen)

Azula (Avatar)

Zuko was in the villain annex for a while but then moved out

Victor Vale (Vicious/Vengeful)

Sandor Clegane (A Song of Ice and Fire) sort of half counts?

every version of Mordred

most versions of Lucifer

every version of Magneto

casually, Edmund from King Lear

honestly at this point Kylo Ren can come too because I do Care about him

I once wrote a fic from the point of view of a wolf in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

I was a little bit in love with Brian Moser from Dexter

I literally just remembered about Maximilien Robespierre (but not that one) from Le Chevalier d’Eon

like I said I’m probably forgetting some

then there are people like Charles Vane who is kind of a fake out villain/antagonist (you think he’s gonna be! but then he isn’t), and the adjacent “morally dubious assholes, some of whom may or may not count as antagonists (i.e. Lelouch Lamperouge, asshole extraordinaire). 

as for what makes a villain for me - there are a few things. a major one, as is probably clear from the above, is a level of self-awareness - performative villainy (I still need to finish that essay) is a big Thing for me. (see here for a working definition, pending the actual essay.) another is a level of...”it didn’t need to be this way.” a villain where you can see the potential, see the places that things went wrong and see the potential for them to be better - that’s a villain that absolutely pulls at me. 

I like my villains suffering. but not like. “deserved suffering” (quote unquote, I’ve gone on record about how I generally do not feel satisfaction at seeing my villains in pain when it’s presented as “deserved”), like, “I don’t like this and I wish this wasn’t my life but I feel trapped and like I can’t escape” (Loki, Maeglin, Celegorm, arguably Morgana). 

I’m also a sucker, though, for a good Magnificent Bastard, and for villains who are just having a great time with no regrets (i.e. Hela, Brian Moser, Semirhage). villains who make some valid points (Magneto, Erik Killmonger). 

it’s a variety, really, but I’d say those are the main “archetypes” that I go for.

[morsmordrehasbeensaved]

♔ HIS TEETH DRIP WITH CRIMSON; COME A LITTLE CLOSER ♔

✤  Joseph Mulciber. ✤  Slytherin / Seventh Year. ✤  Pureblood. ✤  Death Eaters. ✤  Open character.

Spite is your biggest motivator, it drives you and it guides you. It has since that filthy mudblood got your father thrown in Azkaban for showing them their rightful place, and it will until your last breath leaves your lungs. Your family was considered a disgrace in pureblood society when your father was put away, not because of what he did, but because he got caught, and you had to start off as an outsider. With tooth and nail, you clawed your way up, a dark mark now proudly gracing your forearm. You feel unbeatable. 

BIOGRAPHY.

Power. Pleasure. Prominence. So was saying of House Mulciber. The french lineage was one that had blood stained hands, taking the lives of anyone that stood in their way. Friends, family, enemies, it was all the same to a Mulciber. The family came into being during the 18th century, teetering on the edge as observers for the longest time until opportunity came. Jacques Mulciber was a young wizard, no more than 25, when he saw a vision for his family. His father had died years earlier, leaving behind the family’s decisions to a child… and it was no surprise to see the Mulciber’s suffering. Jacques Mulciber was inexperienced as a leader, often walked over by the other pureblood families. Anger had been boiling underneath his calm exterior, his grand plan coming into fruition with every spiteful comment, every demeaning look. He would claw his way to the topic of the French society, he would prove everyone wrong.

It was no surprise to anyone that France was going through turbulent times. As the aristocracy grew in wealth, the poor barely scrounged enough for bread. The Wizarding World mirrored that of muggle. A storm was brewing and Jacques felt it. There was no better way to rise as family then to remove others… but Jacques struggled with how to do that successfully.  On a trip to Paris, it was as if fate was smiling down on Jacques Mulciber. His carriage had struck another, and out tumbled a man. Someone whose picture had graced the French papers. Maximilien Robespierre, the face of the Revolution. 

Jacques Mulciber knew that he wasn’t a good man. He was selfish, he did what he could to advance his own position. No matter who it would hurt. Jacques had little conscience telling him to leave the muggle man alone, but that simply wasn’t his way. Out came a charming facade, a friendly hand while he positioned a knife in the back of other pureblood families. Robespierre was a surprisingly easy man to control, especially with the help of the imperius curse. The Reign of Terror was an orchestrated event by a young Jacques Mulciber, Robespierre his marionette. It wasn’t a curiosity that the ends justify the means, and how the aristocracy were the main targets of france’s revenge. “Softness to traitors will destroy us all.” And such traitors were the other pureblood families that had laughed at the Mulcibers. As the guillotine fell, so did the people standing in his way. By the final chop in 1794, Jacques Mulciber commanded the french society. And he would be damned if his family ever fell from grace again.

Greatness continued down the Mulciber lineage until it fell into the lap of Henri and Camille Mulciber. The August sun shone through the Mulciber mansion, tucked away in seaside town of Le Havre. A pitiful scream filled the halls and Joseph Cesaire Mulciber entered the world, red-faced and angry. It was almost as if his birth had been an omen for the boy to come. Joseph’s childhood was one of free reign. He was a Mulciber, and to the french society, that meant something. Jacques Mulciber had promised him a future, one of leisure and lavish. That type of pampering easily jaded him, after all, children took after examples, didn’t they? And what examples Joseph had. A guillotine sat in the Mulciber foyer, the same one that had taken the lives of so many allies they had. Gruesome paintings littered their walls. For Joseph, there was always something romantic about them. He could often imagine himself in the same situation, watching as the life left the eyes of someone he’d lied to and called a friend.

Childhood could’ve been lonely for Joseph, he had no siblings, just a mother and father tucked away in the french seaside. But it wasn’t. Joseph’s imagination was far reaching, developing a knack for all things cruel. He’d thought of himself as strange, unlike the other boys that fluttered about playing stupid games. No, Joseph was attracted to things a bit darker. He’d once found a baby bird that fell out of his nest, but such a scene didn’t initiate a caring bone in his body. He stared curiously at the pitiful thing, before snapping its wing. The noise the animal made was glorious, filling Joseph’s mind with the pictures that hung up in the Mulciber mansion. He would be Jacques Mulciber second coming. 

The pureblood way was galas, be it France’s society or England’s across the channel. Music would fill the halls, the atmosphere bubbling with champagne and girls in pretty dresses. Even as a boy, Joseph thought of it all to be an act. He saw how the patriarchs would disappear, congregating together to discuss future plans. Those powerful men left an impression on him, he could only imagine what kind of things they’d done to get to the top. It was during one of those faithful events that he met someone like him: Amycus Carrow. Adrastos Carrow’s little monster. It didn’t take long for a friendship to blossom between the boys, after all, there had been no one Joseph could relate to until he saw Amycus. His explosive temper was refreshing, admirable even. For the longest time, Joseph had keep his cruelties to himself, venturing off to kill whatever little creature he’d caught in private. Amycus exuded violence, and Joseph couldn’t help but be drawn to the other boy. 

Joseph met Andromeda Black during the Black’s Winter Ball, when he was no more than eleven years old. A strange thing had happened, something that he couldn’t quite explain, but he found her absolutely fascinating. She wasn’t like her older sister, who was too brash and bossy, a woman who didn’t know her place. Nor was she as ice cold as her younger sister, Narcissa Black. No, the other two didn’t interest him. Perhaps it was the heart that he saw in Andromeda, a rarity among pureblood women. He’d never been good at handling delicate things, desiring much more to break it and see it fall apart. And such a find drew out his destructive side. An obsession with the middle Black sister grew in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to see how far she could be pushed until she snapped into two…

Being french, there was only one school of choice for Joseph Mulciber, and that was Beauxbatons. The option disgusted him so, and it felt like a banishment from the rest of his world. Amycus had ended up at Hogwarts and so did Andromeda (he’d been having his eyes on the papers to hear any sort of news about the girl). He couldn’t stomach the powder blue uniforms, how Beauxbatons seemed to pride itself on all things pretty instead of power. Joseph may have only been eleven but he knew what he wanted, what he needed to bring the spirit of his ancestors to life. He felt a resentment growing in his heart towards the school, and how it stood in his way. Joseph had always been impulsive, and the summer of his second year proved that he hadn’t changed. Joseph had been out with his parents, on the beachside of Sainte-Adresse when he snapped. The beach was relatively empty, only the Mulcibers and a muggle family taking up space by the sea. As Henri and Camille took to sunbathing, Joseph had his eyes on someone else. The little girl from the muggle family. She was happily sitting in the water, splashing about with her toys. Joseph always thought that muggles were stupid, having no magic and no real worth in their world. And, her parents seemed to be paying little attention to her. Joseph had hurt things, animals but a person? He’d never thought that he would have the opportunity… and it was the perfect way to get from France to England. Joseph coaxed the girl away from her family, towards a secluded side of the beach. He learned her name: Odette Marceux. He acted like a friend. Henri and Camille came back to the screams of a child as Mulciber held her underwater. Not long enough to kill, but long enough to hurt. On her arm was a distinct scar, caused by Mulciber, it was shaped in an M. Both of his parents were shocked, doing their best to ignore whatever darkness had been growing inside him for so long. Now face to face with the realities, they were frozen. Joseph had finally figured out a way to get what he wanted and it was through the pain of others. He threatened the girls life, saying that he would kill her unless he was sent away from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts. Like sand, Henri and Camille caved to his requests, and he quickly let the muggle girl go. Henri obliviated her, but Joseph wouldn’t forget her face. She was his first victim. Joseph transferred to Hogwarts as a third year and was promptly placed in Slytherin, but it didn’t come as a shock. His recent choices proved that he would do about anything to get what. While Beauxbaton had been a fish tank, Hogwarts was full of sharks. Like his close friend Amycus Carrow, like the girl he’d spotted at a gala and hadn’t forgotten about. Joseph was delighted to finally be around people that he could relate to and close to Andromeda. Call it obsession, but he couldn’t get the pureblood girl out of his month. Especially after his experience at Sainte-Adresse. He was curious as to what kind of screams she would make.As a Mulciber, Joseph had a free pass to high society. And he surely wielded it well. He found himself in a pack of other purebloods, each more dangerous than the other. They bonded through their hatred of muggles and weakness. Together, they were climbing the chain of command, each destined to be a formidable heir to their house. That expectation didn’t phase Joseph, he knew what it wanted and who it would take to get him there. Amycus and Joseph played off each other’s strengths, forming a team that was difficult to beat. Their reputation was infamous about the school, two alpha males where they belonged. That inkling of admiration continued to grow in Joseph’s chest with every conversation, every victim. There were very few people that had a hold on him the way Amycus did.It was nearing Joseph’s sixth year when he finally set his sights on pursuing Andromeda fully. He’d been, over the years, stalking in the shadows, doing his best to charm with every conversation they had. He knew that a pureblood marriage was what his destiny held, women offered allies for every man’s cause. Their familial connections were extremely valuable. Not only had Joseph been drawn to Andromeda’s beauty but her last name was formidable. Joseph would corner her at every chance he got, but he did see someone in his way. Ted Tonks, a hufflepuff who was about as impressive as a mouse, hung over Joseph like a rain cloud. He couldn’t help but notice stolen glances, meetings between the girl he yearned for and the mudblood. The whole concept of it scared Joseph, but he knew there was a card to play. A meeting with Cygnus Black and an engagement that sealed the deal between him and Andromeda. What Joseph wanted, he put his mind too… and a Mulciber was worthy of such a match. History preached it. His proposition was well received by Cygnus Black, and Andromeda’s hand was torn from Tonk’s and given to his. Finally in its rightful place, Joseph’s obsession was cementing itself as a reality. He couldn’t be more pleased, even if his betrothed seemingly loathed him. Given time, he’d break her apart like he did with all things, and she’d submit. Joseph was proving himself to be the proper Mulciber heir, terrible and chaotic to a fault. But that was the way his family operated… Amycus came to Joseph after the engagement speaking words of a Dark Lord. An army that was meant to rival Grindelwald’s. It peaked his interest, his desires growing with every day. And it gave him a chance to prove himself, to stand by Amycus’s side.  Jacques Mulciber had Maximilien Robespierre and Joseph? He would have the Dark Lord as his vehicle to domination. Twisted with belief in himself and his ability, he took the dark mark proudly.It seemed like the world was falling into place for Mulciber, he was going through the dark lord’s training, he had Andromeda, and fought alongside Amycus. With so many ends tied, he couldn’t help but remember one that had gotten away. That young girl from the beach-  Odette, that’s what she was called if his memory didn’t fail him. Drunk on his own accomplishments, Joseph suggested the family take their usual trip to Sainte-Adresse. Henri and Camille obliged. Under the surface, Joseph felt his glee growing. On the off chance this girl was there, he would finish what he started. Not for anyone else, but for himself. Joseph spent the next few days of the vacation searching for her, playing the part of a forgotten childhood friend…. Because he was, wasn’t he?On his fourth day in Sainte-Adresse, Joseph struck gold. He walked into a cafe, the summer day in full swing. Joseph wasn’t considering failure as an option as he took a break to get a coffee. A waitress served him his order and he recognized her scar: the M he had placed there. His eyes shot up to her name tag: Odette. So here she was, years later, a waitress. Blissfully unaware of how she almost died until his grip. Muggles truly were stupid animals. Joseph had put on a charming persona. He had the looks, a commanding presence that was impossible to not notice. Like a snake in the grass, he swept Odette off her feet, promptly offering to take her out of a date. She agreed, and his trap was set. He would have his first taste of death later that night.The restaurant was ablaze with panic as blood splattered the walls. It covered his clothes, that of his parents and the dead body of Odette Marceux, whose throat had been cut with one move of Joseph’s wand. He sat there laughing, taking a sick pleasure in the entire scene as his sweet mother and father watched in absolute horror. Perhaps they finally saw the monster he’d become. Such a realization, though, couldn’t stop Henri Mulciber from feeling responsible for his son. The aurors descended on the scene, removing muggles as quickly as they could before they disarmed the Mulcibers. Joseph stayed silent, revelling in chaos that he produced. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the consequences, he never thought that far ahead. To his amazement, Henri confessed to the crime and was whisked away to the french ministry. Left behind was Camille, a woman too shocked to recall a thing during the interrogation, and Joseph, who claimed it had truly been his father to save his own skin. Mulcibers were traitors, even to their own. What Joseph had not expected was the consequences of the killing. Much like before Jacques Mulcibers reign, his family was looked down upon. Their patriarch rot in Azkaban, for a horrendous crime that even the purebloods turned their nose to- so was the custom when someone went to jail. Joseph was still too far in his head to feel foolish about casting his family from grace. It was simply an obstacle that he would take head on. He would hold onto Andromeda, he would use the Dark Lord’s army and he would make the Mulciber name worth more than it ever was before. 

CONNECTIONS.

MARY MACDONALD  ━ Biggest victim so far, wants to silence her voice above all. ANDROMEDA BLACK  ━ Betrothed to, enjoys teasing her. AMYCUS CARROW  ━ Partner in crime.

THIS CHARACTER’S FACECLAIM IS CODY CHRISTIAN.

[loribos]

New Post has been published on Toronto Events, Activities and Entertainment

New Post has been published on http://www.torontonicity.com/2017/11/22/patron-perfectionists-broadview-hotel/

Patron Perfectionists Canadian Finals at the Broadview Hotel

By Lory Diaz

The Canadian finals of the 2017 Patron Perfectionists Competition were held November 14, 2017 at Toronto’s beautiful Broadview Hotel, located at 106 Broadview Avenue and Torontonicity was invited to attend. The rooftop bar hosted the four finalists from across Canada, who each created a cocktail inspired by Canadian flavours, Patron tequila, and its home: Mexico!

The four Canadian finalists were Maximilien Jean from Montreal, Martin Corriveau from Vancouver, Makina Labrecque from Calgary, and Toronto’s own Chris Anderson from Lavelle. Each competitor had to present a cocktail that used Patron tequila as its base, but beyond that they were only limited by their imagination. The final results were uniquely delicious in their own way:

Maximilien Jean presenting at the Patron Perfectionists Competition at the Broadview Hotel

Maximilien Jean introduced us to the Calle San Lorenzo, which is a cheeky play on Saint Laurent Boulevard in Montreal and the importance it plays in the cultural identity of the city. Jean combined Patron Silver, ice wine, and verjus (more acidic juice from green grapes), then added a beer-like foam topper by mixing the ice wine and verjus with xanthan gum. The results were a cocktail disguised as a beer, but with beautifully full flavours.

Martin Corriveau presented the San Miguel Arcangel, a cocktail inspired by the warmer flavours of Mexico, featuring a red capsicum (think red pepper) infused Patron Silver. He balanced the flavours out with agave syrup, and lemon juice, which softened the edges of the tequila and spice. This definitely felt like the type of drink you would want to sip pool-side in the summer, or enjoy in the winter to warm you up. It was absolutely delicious!

  60 Hands cocktail by Makina Labrecque

Makina Labrecque went with strong flavours and presented the 60 Hands cocktail, which she described as a tribute to all the people that play a part in creating the signature Patron tequila. This cocktail is now featured at Proof YYC, the bar that Labrecque manages in Calgary: Patron Silver, Benedictine, pernod (fennel and black licorice flavours), and bitters. The drink is booze-forward, but in a delightfully welcoming way: sweet, aromatic, and deliciously smooth going down.

The Queen of Atotonilco cocktail by Chris Anderson

Chris Anderson focused on the Patron honey bee logo, and named his cocktail The Queen of Atotonilco. Everything from the full flower, torched cinnamon stick garnish, to the bee pollen rim had a distinctly Toronto style to it, because we do love our presentation here! The cocktail’s main flavour profile contained Patron Silver, celery, anise, cinnamon and fennel. Think refreshingly green as the first note, and then warm comforting cinnamon at the end. Beautiful and delicious!

Small hors d’oeuvres were brought around throughout the night, but the watermelon bites drizzled with white wine vinaigrette and a dot of crème fraiche were my favourite. They were slightly tangy, but refreshingly sweet!

Watermelon Bites at the Patron Perfectionists Competition at the Broadview Hotel

The mini Thai lettuce wraps with beef were also a standout for me! The beef was moist and juicy without being overly saucy, which allowed you to enjoy them without worrying about a mess.

The three designated judges ranked each competitor, but guests were also allowed to vote, meaning that a crowd favourite and a finalist were announced that night. For crowd favourite, our own Chris Anderson won! He had many guests mesmerized with his cocktail crafting and presentation skills, so congratulations to him!

Patron Silver Bottle at the Patron Perfectionists Competition at the Broadview Hotel

The finalist who is on their way to represent Canada in the world Patron Perfectionists Finals at the Hacienda Patron in Jalisco, Mexico is… Makina Labrecque! Her 60 Hands cocktail really spoke to how community-oriented Patron is, as they focus on supporting local farmers, growers, and labourers in Mexico. Their bottles are even made from recycled glass, demonstrating an environmental conscientiousness for which more companies should strive. Torontonicity wishes Makina Labrecque all the best, as we know she’ll represent Canada well in the finals!

[lncarnon]

“if anyone hurts you, it will be the last thing they’ll do.” -> for max :-)

Max had invited the other over for simple company, a like minded individual that understood their plight. Even for someone as successful as himself Maximilien was often met with scrutiny if only because he was an omnic. Human people could have a gambling addiction (and one he fed willingly) but the world seemed to forbade that he made any sort of name for himself because of it.

He had been lamenting over the various attempts on his empire, both between his competition and police forces, when mentioning that harm was more often than not included in these little games of charades. Nothing permanent, for certain, but harmful all the same.

Ramattra's response seems to floor him.

Max cannot help himself but to stare at the other, looking away again just a moment later.

"I appreciate your.. ah.." For an omnic that often had a response for everything, he was, for once, quite speechless. It doesn't last long as he recovers to try and save face.

"I appreciate your protectiveness, even if all I can offer to you in return is funding for your own purposes."

[lncarnon]

@amadaans has gotten Maximilien locked up again. It happened from time to time, between Overwatch and Blackwatch and the police and whoever else wanted to see him boxed away, they all tried. Oh, how they tried. Yet, every single time, he managed to worm out from beneath their thumbs and continue on with his enterprise as if nothing had even happened. It became almost a sort of game, and one that he cherished enough to continue to entertain.

Plucked out of his lavish home with a bag over his head, he had been sat down in a chair, mulling over to himself which of his numerous enemies could be responsible this time. The answer comes as soon as the blackout fabric is snatched away and his optics fall onto an ever familiar face.

"Commander Reyes, you do know my home is always open for you to come visit, these theatrics are quite unnecessary."

Though there is no smile on his metal features, one presents itself in his tone, buried down to the hilt in how his head tilts just slightly as if to enunciate his uninterested demeanor for the situation. Glancing down towards the cuffs that keep him rooted to the already bolted down table, his hands raise, just enough to jangle the metal on its surface.

"As are.. these."

[lncarnon]

❛  don't make me do this. it scares me.  ❜ / gabe and max pls

There hadn't been much in regard to expectations for something between them, a gamble for the one who always claimed to understand the odds. For the most part, he did. Maximilien was certainly part of the reason omnics were forbidden from taking part in the casino scene; anyone with even a inkling of his past knew very well that he had made much of his fortune by playing the system, walking in with pennies and leaving a millionaire by nightfall. He couldn't really blame them for making such a decision, any omnic that really wanted to put in the work could have done the same, he just had been the first to try.

But this? This semblance of something that he might dare call a working relationship? Max was at a substantial loss over how to parse it. They weren't really friends, and they certainly were still at odds. Affixing a timepiece around his right wrist his mind is in a silent frenzy working over the man laying in a bed just out of his sight, the dues he had to pay for his benefactors, and which suit he was going to don for the day.

Had he the lungs he might have sighed out of the dry sense of irritation beginning to form beneath the blanket of considerations. If ever was there a chance for him to remove the thorn that Overwatch and Blackwatch alike had become for Talon, it would be now. He knows the others on the council would riot to hear that he had the Gabriel Reyes unarmed and unarmored, and instead of doing something about it, he was busy dressing himself and thinking over the day ahead. He could certainly try; there's a firearm in a drawer in the nightstand, it would either work, or he would be dead. Another gamble, hah.

Hearing Gabriel move from beneath the blanket and sheets disperses the idea quick enough, he was out of time for that, to little too late he thinks.

"Ah, he lives again. I was beginning to wonder if you were planning to sleep the entire day away. How long would it have taken one of your overt rejects to come snooping?"

Max speaks without turning around to address Gabe, instead shifting his stance just enough that he can watch him through the reflection of the mirror.

"I would be suspect number one, certainly, with how often you drag me down into an interrogation room."

There's a degree of mirth within Max's tone, an amusement for how true his statement was. It would be ruinous for the both of them for this little affair to be found out. Talon would quite literally have his head on a platter if he couldn't manage to make up some bullshit excuse for his actions or lack thereof. Would it really be such a stretch to say he was applying unique techniques for dredging up information?

Being met with silence it earns a degree of further attention from Max, who finally turns around entirely to gaze upon Gabriel.

"You are being entirely too quiet, Commander-"

The title had become something of a pet name he used to irk the man, but instead of being met with some manner of agitation, Gabe finally speaks. The words that come out of him leave room for Max to fill the silence with his own lack of words. Doing nothing more than staring at him, Maximilien finds himself at an impasse. Apparently they'd been on the same train of thought; what was this?

What were they?

"Very well," the toyful tone he'd been using, dropped entirely.

"You will not need to worry about anyone here mentioning your stay, you are free to leave.. whenever," he states with a small wave of his hand before turning to the mirror once again. So the man is a bit touchy, he does make note of such, but he cannot say that the idea for himself is any less terrifying. Max never had much reason to get close to anyone, his empire and affiliates were far too consuming for something- someone else in his life.

He will remind himself of that, next time, if it ever happens again.

[lncarnon]

@valkguard has crossed paths with the wealthy,

though whether or not that was her intention is truly anyone's guess. Maximilien is a very public figure and though he was certainly proud of it, it sometimes got him into situations that could be avoided if only he had been just a little less blatant in his activities. Pausing as he makes note of her figure- outside the regalia of her more known persona, the omnic eases past his armed guard much to their annoyance. A gross missuse of his power being the one that signs their checks.

"What a stroke of luck," he taunts. He's no believer of such human nonsense, everything came down to numbers. "To see such a substantial face of medical science, who I am certain held no intentions of crossing my path."

He remembers that moment they shared, chasing his sorry ass down while surrounded by, what had felt like, useless Talon goons.

[lncarnon]

Max grins below the metal facade of his expressionless face for he knows that they had found nothing that could imprison him, and better yet, had not a thing to show that their efforts were worth the resources spent. Lena had said at much even if not directly. People were such fun books to page through and he certainly planned to go cover to cover with her, if she entertained his antics for long enough.

"I have always been better with words," he starts off, eyes returning onto her. "And you know should well enough that we do not find ourselves exhausted in the sense that you understand. I thoroughly enjoy conversation. If you don't, you can leave."

His left hand resting upon his right points over towards the door, and his head tilts in the slightest, betraying some sense of a smirk.

"As for your second question; I would love nothing more than for Overwatch to crumble around me, so I no longer have to consider rearranging my plans in the chance that you people come and bag me up again for these.. imaginary connections."

Yes, he had told them where to find Akande, but even as that deal had been brokered he ensured that his knowing of the man was nothing more than on friendly terms. He enjoys the casinos, the people that come to them, he might be here..

"I have nothing of use for you."

@desiccation from [x]

He stares at her with the utmost degree of curiosity. Their bargain, that one between himself and Overwatch, was long since passed and done with. Maximilien remains reclined into his uncomfortable chair and awaiting release from where they are holding him. The promise of being let free had been forged within that gray area; they never said when. "What makes you think that I should give you anything more than what I already have?"| Maximilien leans forward and stands up, sending a wayward glance over towards the armed guard on the other side of the room. He had never once raised a hand towards any of them and yet they still insist he is dangerous. Perhaps, if he had a firearm, but otherwise there is very little outside of word of mouth to fear from the omnic. "What do I get out of this?"

"You ever get sick of bargaining? I mean, really, it has to be exhausting constantly looking for a deal out." Lena reclined comfortably, rocking her chair back on two feet. She, on the other hand, had her rest, well prepared for their conversation. Laws around this were murky, rough time stretches before they were forced to turn him loose. If all else failed, there was an organization not bound by those rules in the basement, though that was a drastic measure.

Overwatch had been scrambling, peeling through whatever they could salvage from Maximilien's personal effects that could give any kind of clue of Talon's next blow. So far, nothing. Time ticked by and their opportunity slowly shrank.

"Not throwing you in prison for a lifetime to start." Lena proposed, tone light and airy as she allowed her gaze to glance him up and down. "That's my first chip. Now here's where I ask: what do you want. Why is Talon going after these rich businessmen? The money all goes through you, Max, so you must know something."

[lncarnon]

❝ i didn't know you could do that. ❞ ｡° ⸻ maximilien.

Though his face is unreadable by design, there is no mistaking how the omnic smiles within his tone. It is a key factor in how well he managed to worm his way out of trouble, woo others into cooperation, and make subtle threats really and truly hit home.

"No one is safe from the invasion of privacy," he replies again. She had come poking around and he was swift to find out exactly why. How many people under his employ could go digging and source out a rogue element to the game they're all involved in? Too many to metaphorically count. Except he knows exactly how many people there are on his payroll and exactly how to contact each of them, where they are most likely to be, and who was best suited for each task given their resume.

"Not even those employed by the American government."

[lncarnon]

@volegne has stepped into the casino,

It is a loud, boisterous place unfit for those who enjoyed silence for a companion, and lived in the shadows. The entire interior is lit to be inescapable not only from the people within but the countless cameras that were continuously monitored by his staff. Cheaters were intolerable, even if he himself was one, though he would argue that being able to understand and counteract people was no cheat.

And that, precisely, is why it takes no less than two minutes for the Omnic to drop what he is doing to greet her. An unwarned visit was rare, especially from the likes of her, and he wanted nothing less than to decipher why exactly a killer has come wandering into his place of business. Sure, plenty of others did and he could truly care less so long as they do not cause strife. However, she was a different breed of danger, and one that he did not care to have so openly wandering about the establishment. Either someone has sent her here, or..

"My, my, what an unexpected pleasure," he starts off on his approach, hands clasped together before him. "I did not take you for the gambling type."

The last time they had been so close to one another felt like an age ago, carried alongside the presence of a man he had willingly betrayed to save his own metal skin. That is a secret he holds near and dear, and the only reason he's so keen on finding out why she is in his den. Hopefully, had her purpose been to kill him, she would have just gotten it over with already.

[lncarnon]

"i am capable of more than you give me credit for." - Tea to Maximilien

He could say the same about himself. Many of his less than honorable deeds would never reach the light of day, make it to the news headlines, or ever surface because the witnesses were long since dead. Plenty only ever knew of what he let them see, hear, experience. Beneath the suave exterior of the omnic's persona, far less than savory actions were just barely hidden.

"Is that so," Max finally comments, leaned forward in his chair and fingers steepled together upon his desk. "Would you care to expound upon that notion, or are you nothing more than another mouth boasting empty promises?"

His tone does not betray a single thing, other than him sounding positively bored.

[lncarnon]

❛ Well, look, a bribe. How thoughtful. ❜ For Max !!

No secret to him that government pay could be quite paltry, money was often enough more than an easy out to get what he wanted. How many peons of Overwatch had he persuaded into playing things to his favor? He might have lost count, had he been anything less than himself. Max knows exactly how many are on his payroll and he ponders to himself if Lena had even a clue that the two guards in the room had already agreed to help him escape if things went awry.

"What a relief it is to see that you finally grasp how we can help one another," he replies back just as sarcastic as she had been. "Think on it. You would never have to worry about another thing for the rest of your life. The means to monetary happiness could be yours, and all you have to do, is keep your friends out of my personal life."