#mr edmond sir I love you so much
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
the only compliments yakumo gives out without a hint of shyness is any compliment he can give through praise.
he loves being praised and, as it turns out, he loves praising others. he sees the good in everyone, and he knows how happy being praised makes him, so he wants to return the favour.
and he’s genuinely such a sweetheart, he can look on the bright side of almost any situation. you tripped and fell and embarrassed yourself quite thoroughly?? yakumo doesn’t see it that way. yakumo just admires the way you managed to keep your cool and recover from said embarrassment.
it can be.. almost too much sometimes, like if it were anyone else you’d almost think he’s being sarcastic. but it’s yakumo. sweet, darling yakumo who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. all of his compliments and praises are 100% genuine no matter how fake they may seem.
the other clan members are more than a bit caught off guard when they overhear yakumo telling edmond “sir edmond, you’re so graceful and elegant when you swing your sword like that! you’re the best sword fighter i know!” with stars shining in his eyes, or when he acknowledges that quincy always has just the thing that’s needed at that moment by saying “that’s mr quincy for you! dependable and helpful as always!” but they quickly learn that yakumo’s just.. like that.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
when you’re soft for an f/o but you can’t post a pic and gush because they’re an oc and you don’t want to draw so there really aren’t any pictures of them
#obligatory dont rb#ok yes there are pictures but not ones I am comfortable sharing#even if I was comfortable it wouldnt fit the mood since they're all memes#me watching movies set in the time period this bitch is from; oh I am. soft.#mr edmond sir I love you so much#I actually self ship in like a weird isekai theme thats#''Character from the Past is randomly sent to the present and now Other Character helps them get used to modern life#and then they fall in love''#but I also have an au thats actually set in the time period of the original story#none of my stories have proper names so my friend and I usually just call them [character name or nickname] hell and anyway I call this one#''dark shirp hell'' which is like three inside jokes in one and i'm sorry#and honestly its probably my favorite of my stories and probably the one i'd feel most comfortable actually putting it out there#can't believe it was thought of and finished within four days#anyway the goode protagonist who eventually turns into awful boy antagonist won my heart#its okay if you cannot cope and recover from horrific events... its okay if you form a contract with a demon in order to make things right..#its okay if this new power drives you mad and now you're evil...#its okay if you are ultimately defeated and left to die by your demon ''friend''#its ok if there is an au where you do not make a contract and move on with your life#and end up meeting a certain young woman who is definitely me and who you will definitely fall in love with#sorry i'm going on and on#don't ask about the doc I made actually detailing this story while it was like 4am#and don't ask about the joke goanimate I made thats still hilarious tbh
0 notes
Text
unedited not proofred yakumo x edmond filth written on my phone
warning : heavy mentions of oviposition/breeding kink, roughness, feminization(?) of edmond, yakumo uses his snakes during sex, and also yakumo is pent up and edmond pushes his buttons, they're in love, background morvay x eiden
______________________________________
yakumo isn't sure how much longer he can last with things being the way that they were.
it's nothing to do with anything sir edmond has done; quite the opposite, yakumo greatly appreciates the company of someone less... abrasive and loud and touchy, while he cooks dinner for everyone in the mansion, but...
well that's just it--he doesn't know. eiden has tried to tell him more times than he can count that his crush on the vice captain-and, to a lesser degree, his lust over him-wasn't exactly a secret. the vice captain himself was probably the only one unaware, which... could explain why edmond felt comfortable enough to be bending over like that as he helped wipe up some flour yakumo had gotten in the ground.
stop staring, stop staring, stop staring--no matter how many times he says it ti himself, he keeps looking back over. it's not his fault sir edmond has... hips, like that, that he could stuff so full of eggs and cum and--
"wh-uwah-!!" just in time for the stew in front of him not to boil over, he was rushing to reach out and lower the heat, breathing out all shaky and relieved. really, he can't take much more of this. his only hope at this point was that edmond wouldn't notice how rock hard he was as he stood in front of the stove.
"...? yakumo? you seem tense. ... were the others picking on you again?" ... edmond's always been so kind, soft, with him-and yakumo can't ever understand why, but it only makes his heart swell and his cock throb harder.
"n-no!! no, no, it's-i-it's nothing, sir edmond, i'm just, ahh, oh-um-i'm a little tired today!"
whether he accepts the answer or not-edmond doesn't press further, just watches yakumo's actions, wary that he might hurt himself-but he's never been the type to outright show his worry for someone, so yakumo would be none the wiser either way.
and another comfortable silence falls over them as yakumo works. well... comfortable on edmond's end, probably not so much yakumo's. every time he moves he remembers how tight is pants are and every few seconds he can't help but look over at edmond and--
"that looks painful, yakumo. shall i... go alert that fraud in the dining room that you have an, issue that needs tending to?"
yakumo's immediate reaction is a shameful one, he grimaces and shames his head over and over and gets legitimately teary eyed, "oh-ah, that's-sir edmond i'm so sorry-i just, you were-and i shouldn't have stared at you like that, i-i'm such a, gross pervert, i'm sorry--"
"... i, i had thought you might be thinking of, h-him, not, myself,"
yakumo wants to flee the kitchen and never leave his room again. of course sir edmond didn't know-and now of course yakumo had messed that up too.
and he starts to-he shuts the stove off completely and turns to scurry off with his head down like a baby, but he's not expecting the the gloved hand suddenly wrapping around his wrist.
"... yakumo-"
"s-sir edmond i'm so very sorry, th-this is so, i'm so gross, i-i'm a pervert, i know, i, ah, perhaps you could, get mr. eiden to come finish cooking, i-"
"yakumo-"
"i-i didn't mean to be disrespectful, i-i didn't even mean to stare when you were bending over!! i-i shouldn't have, i should have looked away, i should-"
"your snakes, yakumo."
yakumo yelped as the sound of hissing finally hit his ears, finally registering the dark mist swirling all around him, the snakes slithering out in midair over his shoulders and around his waist, orange eyes glowing and sinister as ever. goodness, he can't stand himself-even with mr. eiden's help in regulating his essence, he still couldn't ever control himself for more than ten minutes.
... but, before he can even try to start forcing himself to calm down all on his own, the gloved hand wrapped around his wrist trails up to his face, and then edmond brings his other hand up to hd the other side, and... yakumo can't handle it, the gentle way edmond always looks at him-him and eiden both were so very kind to him, and for what, when he was such a disaster, he never understood.
"you are not gross. nor are you a pervert. please refrain from saying such things about yourself in the future."
"..." yakumo has to reluctantly turn his head away from edmond's hands so as to not sully his gloves with tears, "... i-i'm, i'm sorry sir edmond,"
"it's not," edmond's face started to get all flushed, "... it's not, th-the, worst... thing, yakumo. you're much nicer about these things than that charlatan getting his dick sucked in the dining room."
yakumo wants to pout about edmond bullying mr. eiden--but he listened silently for several seconds and... unmistakably, he could hear his and mr. morvay's ah... voices. noises, rather-faintly, but, he can. "... o-oh,"
... it feels pathetic, but that was all he could get out. now that he's settled down a little, he just feels... awkward. he's still painfully hard as he stand there after all, and he doesn't want fo trouble sir edmond with this when he knows his work as vice captain must have already been stressful enough, and...
and, edmond's lips feel so soft and--
yakumo startles at the realization that in some ditch effort to pull him out of his thoughts, edmond had kissed him. the vice captain's lips are so... gentle, and he tastes like vanilla, and yakumo feels like he's on fire the longer the kiss goes on, the longer he returns it. he needs... well, he actually doesn't know. does he just want to kiss him? does he actually want to bend him back over and pump him full of eggs and cum until he needs to be carried around the mansion?
it's quite the dilemma. yakumo would be happy to carry him around and have someone so strong and cool and collected depend on him like that, on one hand--
"y-you don't need to think so much, yakumo," ... edmond's so horribly embarrassed, but even someone as anxious as yakumo can see that he's eager, too, "... you're an animal, are you not? i'm not made of glass. we both know the, w-way you look at me, so... just... d-do, do whatever you..."
he can't get the rest of it out, but-yakumo can take the hint, for once in his life.
... sort of.
as much as he nods at what edmond said, and insinuated, he... couldn't move. neither of them seemed able to until they just did.
there's a flash of hands undoing zippers and fiddling with buttons and pushing apart robes--one minute they're clothed and the next they simply aren't, skin warm to the touch as yakumo unwittingly backs edmond up into the counter.
and yakumo's so sweet, so considerate, even as his mind grows ever hazy, gentle as he rushes down to seal their lips together and tangle his forked tongue with edmond's normal one, busying one of his hands with reaching down between their bodies and trying to seek out edmond's hole, which--
... feels, stretched, already.
"... that, the, the fraud came and, bothered me at work," edmond mumbles, a grumble against yakumo's lips, "so, you... needn't, um, bother with your fingers, yakumo. i'm sure you don't want to. please, don't restrain yourself right now, i-i don't, i want you to, release yourself. unless i should really go and join those two at the table to, fulfill my--"
edmond cuts himself off with a squeak as one of his legs is hiked up nearly to his chest, scrambling to find balance against the counter behind him in time for yakumo deliciously long cock to start greedily, frantically pushing its way inside of him.
"i already-have to share mr. eiden with everyone else in the house, i won't share mr. edmond too-" yakumo can't tell if he's speaking to himself or to edmond as he starts fucking into him with completely reckless and wanton abandon, hardly even caring to quiet himself when he knows mr. eiden is just in the other room getting his own cock serviced anyway.
and it's not like edmond can help himself either-try as he might to bite onto his finger in some feeble attempt at holding back, a snake comes over yakumo's shoulder and darts forward to coil around his wrist and pull it away from his mouth. with yakumo grabbing his other free hand just to hold it, edmond is left powerless and only able to scream as yakumo, the sweet man that he usually is, the man that would cry if he bumped into someone, absolutely bullies his cock up into his ass and his guts, over and over and over and over.
"mr-mr. edmond is-not-allowed-to-be with-anyone--else-"
it's as if the more riled up yakumo gets himself, the more snakes appear out of the shadowy essence resonating from his back-and all of them are striking at edmond's bare skin, littering him with amazingly painful bites and marks that edmond just knows will last forever, the only way it'd get any better was if his uniform wouldn't inevitably cover them all.
... that thought was an embarrassing one-he was vice captain of the knights, he shouldn't want to show that off, but alas.
"not-even-the fraud?" edmond finds it in himself to quip that much back at him, and he's thusly rewarded by an especially sharp thrust of yakumo's hips and even sharper slap against his thigh.
"stop--thinking about anyone else besides me!! i'm the one fucking you, edmond!!"
it's shocking to hear yakumo... not addressing him with the utmost politeness and respect that he usually does. not to mention he's never snapped at anyone like that, let alone... him.
it makes edmond's cock throb like you wouldn't believe.
delirious with need as he is, edmond decides he'll push yakumo's buttons even further, "you're the one-nhh, god-fucking me? and-and exactly what else are you going to do? is that really it? that's a bit pathetic, don't you--"
... yakumo pulls out, and for the brief second that he stands there, empty, hole closing around nothing, edmond thinks he might cry.
but then he's being positively manhandled, dragged and yanked away from the counter to instead be pushed up onto the kitchen island instead. it's horribly cold against his heated skin, but yakumo is clearly in no mood to seek out a bed for them, as he clambers his way to get back up on top of them. the island is made from stone, granite-not that they were worried anyway, but it was in no danger of budging under their combined weight anyway.
and then edmond finds himself being folded. his knees touch his chest and yakumo's cock shoves its way back inside of him and now, at this angle, in this position, he's all but forced to watch as it creates a bulge in his stomach, clear as day as yakumo makes short work of continuing to rearrange his insides.
"i'm-going to make you-carry around my eggs--" yakumo's feral and hissing at him at this point, drooling down onto his chest, "you'll be so, so full that you'll need me to carry you around, and then, then--then even mr. eiden will never get to you-only me-me--"
there's knocking at the kitchen door. neither of them are in any state to care.
"... just clean up when you're done, jeez..."
eiden's voice is the last thing yakumo even wants to think about, let alone hear. he does wait, though, for his footsteps to retreat away from the kitchen before something akin to a snarl is tearing its way out of his throat.
"can't-let him-see you like this-you're, you, i-you-"
"spit it out already," edmond manages, somehow, "say it, please, say it-"
"you're mine."
the first time yakumo says it, he's hesitant about it. as much as he's implied it, actually speaking it seems like he's crossing some kind of boundary.
but underneath him, edmond keens, head thrown back, and he nods, over and over and over like it's all he's ever wanted to hear his whole life, and that does it.
"you're mine, you're mine, you're mine," yakumo chants it, once more, twice, three more times, "edmond-sir edmond is-all mine-not even mr. eiden can have him anymore, i won't, i won't allow it, i won't allow it, i need sir edmond all to, m-myself, n-no one else could carry my eggs like he could, no one, no one,"
now he's just rambling, but he's not even aware of it, nor does he care to be. he lets everything there is out of his system, words laced with absolute filth dripping from his forked tongue about how deeply he desires for edmond to be his, his wife, his mate, his whore, his... everything, anything, just as long as he's his.
it's to the point where yakumo can't even hear anymore, only feel, and ever greedy, he wants to feel more and more and more, nails scraping the surface of the nice granite counter beneath them as he watches edmond writhe and twist and scream underneath him, watches him paint his own chest and stomach with cum. everything else was already too much, too intoxicating, and now yakumo's nose is filling with the smell of him and his essence?
the onslaught of it all jumbling together and assaulting the senses yakumo still has about him makes him let out a raspy, pitched scream of his own as he forces himself as deep into edmond's ass as he can get, eyes fixated on the bulge in his stomach as he shudders and twitches and... cums. heavens, does he ever cum-the already present bulge in edmond's stomach only grows and swells more.
though... it's in the proceeding moments, as they stay like that, that either of them start to regain any consciousness.
"... ahhh..."
yakumo takes a moment to assess the... damage, so to speak. edmond's covered in teeth marks, all over his neck and chest, his wrist bruised from the unrelenting grip of the snake that'd been wrapped around it before.
but edmond looks so contented, sated, almost happy, even, blissful.
"is... is what, j-just happened, a-alright, sir edmond...?" yakumo gulps, "i-i'm terribly sorry if i've offended or hurt you in any way--"
... this time, when edmond shuts him up with a kiss, yakumo actually obeys.
#nu: carnival#nu carnival#nu: carnival edmond#nu: carnival yakumo#edmond x yakumo#nu: carnival smut#nu carnival smut#edmond smut#yakumo smut
228 notes
·
View notes
Text
The government inspector is a a middle-aged Dom in his late forties, perhaps a few years older than Brian. He has grey hair and is dressed in a smart suit, clutching a clipboard to his chest.
“Mr Brian Harold May?” the Dom says with a smile.
“Yes,” Brian replies, and Andy has to applaud how confident and calm he appears.
“Good morning. I’m Mr Thomas Edmonds. I’m here today to conduct your household inspection. Can you please confirm that you are the head of this household?”
“Yes I am.” Brian forces a smile. “Please come in.”
The inspector glances at Andy as he enters, giving him a curious look.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Brian says, “but my step-son, Andrew, will be shadowing me for the inspection today. He is the second oldest Dom in the household and turns eighteen in just a few months, so I thought it might be useful for him to see how this works and to understand how to run a good household.”
The inspector beams. “Not at all! It’s always encouraging to see young Doms taking an interest in the duties they’ll be expected to carry out as adults. A pleasure to meet you, Andrew.”
“And you,” Andrew lies.
The inspector turns to face the rest of the family, smiling at the Dom children stood to one side, the sub children stood to the other side, and John and Roger on their knees in the middle.
“What a lovely family,” the inspector says with a smile. “Quite a big family too! I can see from my notes that you’re a blended family- very noble of you to take in another sub and his children, Mr May. I also just want to take this opportunity to reassure you that I am completely independent- I am aware of course of who you are, but I don’t know too much about Queen myself. With celebrities we always like to make sure that we assign an inspector who isn’t going to be biased.”
“That’s good to know,” Brian says weakly.
“Now, I’ve got a list of the members of your household here, but I’d be grateful if you could please introduce them to me.”
“Of course.” Brian gestures at Roger and John. “My submissives. Roger is my claimed submissive, and I’m John’s nominated Dom. You’ll probably be aware that his Dom passed away nearly two years ago, and he’s under my care now.”
Roger and John bow their heads respectfully at the inspector, keeping their eyes lowered to the floor.
“Beautiful,” the inspector says softly. “Just beautiful. And I suppose they’ve had their annual medical exams this year? Are they still fertile?”
Andy clenches his fists, trying to restrain himself as he watches the discomfort return to his mother’s face.
“Yes, they’re all up to date with their medical exams,” Brian says firmly, “and both are still fertile. Perhaps we can save the details for our interview later? I’d prefer not to discuss this in front of the children.”
“Yes, of course. We can discuss this more later. Would you care to introduce me to your Dominant children?”
Brian nods and gestures to the right. “My Dominant son, Liam, and Dominant daughters, Sophie and Charlotte. And this is Nathan, my Dominant step-son.”
The inspector gives them all a smile. “Very healthy looking children.” He focuses on Nate. “Hello, young man.”
Nate looks up at the inspector with panic in his eyes, clearly unsure of how to respond. Andy tries to catch his eye, but in his panic Nate breaks ranks and rushes over to John, gripping on to his mother and burying his face in John’s sleeve.
“I’m sorry, sir,” John says softly, stroking Nate’s hair and pulling him in for a hug. “He’s a bit shy.”
“Not to worry,” the inspector chuckles. “I’m sure his Dominant side will come out a bit more as he gets older. And your submissive children, Mr May?”
Brian gestures to the left. “My submissive son, James, and my submissive step-son, George.”
The inspector makes a note on his clipboard. “Excellent. They both look as though they’ll bloom into fine submissive beauties.”
George makes a mock vomiting face when the inspector turns his back, and Andy shoots him a pleading look.
The inspector seems content enough for the time being, and with the easy part over, they proceed to the interviews. The interviews take place in the dining room, and the inspector insists on speaking to everyone in three groups. Brian and Andy are allowed to be present for each of them.
The Dom children are interviewed first, and they all manage to stick to the script. They talk about how Brian is a good role model for them, and how he maintains discipline in the house. Liam and Sophie do most of the talking, which is a relief because Nate still looks nervous.
George and James’s interview is also fairly straightforward. They tell some believable lies about how Brian is already introducing them to some potential eligible Doms, and how they’re looking forward to one day supporting their own Doms with running a household.
It’s the interview with Roger and Andy’s mother that makes Andy the most uncomfortable.
One of the things that really annoys him is that the inspector directs most of the questions to Brian.
“Are you pleased with them?” the inspector asks, scribbling down notes. “Do they satisfy your needs?”
John blushes, and Andy clenches his hands in his lap.
“Very pleased,” Brian says, barely hesitating. “I couldn’t ask for better submissives.”
“Lovely. And are they obedient? Do they submit to you completely?”
“Yes. They do as they’re told. They are very respectful to me as their Dominant.”
The inspector gestures at John’s neck. “Are you planning on claiming John at some point? Does it upset you that he has another Dom’s collar around his neck?”
“Not at all,” Brian says immediately. “I respect John’s status as a widowed sub and his decision not to want to be claimed by me. His devotion to his previous Dom is no reflection of his devotion to me.”
The inspector nods. “Alright then. I think I have most of what I need. I’ll just need to carry out a more thorough inspection of your submissives and their obedience. Is there somewhere private we can go? One of the bedrooms perhaps?”
John’s face pales as Roger reaches over to squeeze his hand, and had Andy not been prepared for this moment, he might have lost his temper.
“You can’t do that,” Andy interrupts before Brian can respond. “You can’t carry out an intimate inspection without a warrant. And you can only file for one of those if we fail the main inspection.”
Everyone at the table frowns at him.
“It’s true,” Andy adds. “I read about it. It’s the law.”
The inspector looks as though he’s trying to hide his annoyance. “Ah yes. Right you are. Looks like you’ve got a budding lawyer here, Mr May.”
“Looks like I have,” Brian says, giving Andy a proud grin.
Luckily all that’s left is the house inspection, and thanks to a family effort every room is absolutely spotless. The inspector can find no fault. He spends rather a long time looking through the master bedroom, and Andy has to bite his tongue as the inspector rifles through his mother’s underwear drawer. Andy has to leave the room when the inspector starts pulling out a series of paddles and other items from the wardrobe.
But ten minutes later, the inspector makes his final notes on his clipboard and leaves, satisfied.
The tension noticeably dissolves once he’s gone, and Andy finds himself being pulled into a hug by Brian.
“We did it,” Brian grins, “all thanks to you. I’m proud of you, Andy.”
Andy smiles bashfully. “Yeah. We did it.”
25 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Chapter 3: Disruption
The Fall Charity Festival was in full swing on main street. Loads of food placed on tables for all to consume from all ranges of flavors, music playing loudly from a band on a small stage and people dancing to their heart's content in the plaza or just socializing in general.
Edmond had only been to the Charity Festivals maybe only five times in his life. It was usually due to work that he couldn't attend, save the occasions Mr. Roberts decided to just shut down the manufactory for the day due to no one showing up. The following years of demand for his goods though kept this from happening often.
They happened at least 4 times a year in accordance to the seasons so there was always a chance he could go if he had time but it wasn't really something of his concern at the moment or something he really cared for in general.
Edmond glanced at the festival, spotting some of his co-workers enjoying the festivities. Some dancing, some socializing, some just enjoying the free food and some who clearly had too much from the spirits table and were stumbling around like fools, singing out key to the songs the band was playing.
He chuckled, seeing Emmett among them. The man was laughing as he was playing with two young boys with dark black hair, one of them riding on his shoulders and the other hanging onto one of his legs. His nephews, if Edmond recognized them correctly.
Edmond shook his head, turning his focus back onto heading to work. He was never really one for parties. It just wasn't something he found interesting since he would rather be at home tinkering or catching up on a book one of his favorite authors published or listening to music. With all the energy he spent at work, he didn't exactly have the energy for a party.
Not to say the times he had gone to the festivals were all bad.
He smiled a bit, thinking about one of those times. He shook the memory from his mind as he clocked in at the manufactory. He had work to and had to stay focused. He quickly slipped into his work uniform and went straight to work at his station.
As he worked on the parts in front of him, the memory started to flood his mind again.
It was the Spring Charity Festival. The manufactory was closed for the day and Emmett had somehow talked Edmond into going, despite the man's protests of wanting to go home and tinker to relax.
"Come on! It'll be good for you!" Emmett said as he dragged the man along. "I won't make you stay but at least stay for a few minutes. Get some food, socialize, dance and most importantly, unhermit for a bit. Staying cooped up all day isn't good for you."
"Emmett, I had a long day yesterday, your idea of loosening up is not the same as mine."
"I know, but it's my job as your friend to get you out of that comfort zone of yours."
Emmett shoved Edmond in front of him, the man stumbling into the food serving area.
"I'll be keeping an eye on the clock here on main street. You are required to stay for ten minutes. If you're bored out of your mind and want to go home by the time those minutes are up then you may leave. Deal?"
Edmond sighed, groaning a bit.
"Deal…"
"Good! Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a sister to harass."
Emmett ran off without another word, leaving Edmond to his own devices. He contemplated about leaving immediately but he didn't want to break his deal with Emmett. While he wasn't happy with the circumstances, Edmond wanted to keep his reputation of being a man of his word. Also, he knew Emmett would never let him live it down.
Edmond sighed as he looked at the food around him, deciding it wouldn't hurt to partake in some of it. He knew it was good, if his memories the previous times he had gone as a young adolescent and child recalled correctly. Not to mention the times he remembered his parents bringing home this particular food for them to eat in quiet rather than staying at the party.
Edmond picked up a few slices of garlic bread, biting into one of them as he walked over to a lamp post to lean against. He let his eyes wander around the festival, taking in all the sights of the activities. It was a happy event to see. People enjoying themselves as they danced, socialized or were enjoying the food.
He had to chuckle a bit at the upper class people he could see hanging around the sidelines, not wanting to associate with the "riff raff" that was the working class. They had looks of disgust as they observed others of their class who had no qualms of doing so.
Edmond glanced towards the clock, sighing as he saw only one minute had gone by yet it felt like it had already been an hour.
I just want to go home.
He finished the last of his garlic bread before he turned his attention to the dance floor, seeing a slow waltz had begun in accordance to the music the band was now playing. It was nice and calm and the movements of the couples were quite mesmerizing. Like something out of a dream.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Edmond jumped, seeing a woman was standing next to him. She had dark brown hair that was tied in a side braid, hanging over her right shoulder. Her skin was a beautiful tan color and her eyes were golden brown. She was dressed in a light purple shirt that had suspenders and a corset worn over it, attaching to dark purple skirt with gold accents that hung above her ankles, showing off her detailed boots. To top it all off, on her head was a bowler hat that had lilacs adorning it.
"U-Um…" Edmond cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Are you by yourself?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Sort of." Edmond rubbed the back of his neck. "A friend brought me here but went to go be with his family. I don't mind it though. I usually prefer keeping to myself. I'll actually be leaving in a few minutes."
"I see." the woman smiled sweetly. "Well, since you still have time before then, would you like to dance with me?"
Edmond got a stunned look on his face.
"W-What?"
The woman giggled.
"You don't have to if you don't want to but I love getting to know strangers through dancing."
"W-Well I um…" Edmond's cheeks were turning pink. "I just… I would be honored but thing is I uh… I don't know how to dance."
The woman grinned before taking his hands, pulling him onto the dance floor.
"Then I'll lead."
Edmond gulped as he got into position with the woman. He was stumbling, keeping his eyes on the ground as the woman lead him through the steps. He couldn't stop shaking nor could he manage to look at her.
"Hey."
They stopped moving, the woman tilting his chin up.
"Relax." she smiled. "Just keep your eyes on me. Don't look at your feet."
Edmond gulped, nodding, doing as told as they began again. This time, he didn't stumble as much, his feet getting used to the movements. Soon enough, the two were gliding along the dance floor and instead of the woman leading, it was now Edmond.
"See?" the woman giggled. "You got it."
Edmond blushed, smiling a bit himself.
"T-Thank you. Ms…?"
"Bridget. Bridget Martel."
"P-Pleased to meet you Ms. Martel. E-Edmond Wilkinson at your service."
"Edmond. Such a nice name." Bridget giggled again. "And please, just Bridget will do."
"A-Alright um… So, uh…"
"What do you do for a living, Edmond?"
"I work at the manufactory in town but I eventually want to open my own shop to sell my inventions."
Bridget's eyes lit up with wonder.
"What kind of inventions?"
"Well, a variety of things from household tools to toys for children to play with. I admit I'm a jack of all trades when it comes to my craftsmanship but household tools and toys are my favorite to make."
"That's incredible." Bridget smiled warmly. "I'll definitely want to see your shop when you open it."
Edmond blushed, a huge grin on his face.
"T-Thank you. What about you Ms.- uh Bridget? What do you do?"
"I dance." Bridget giggled. "I'm part of one of the troupes here in town."
"I see. Which one?"
"The Forces of Nature. I'm the Fire Dancer."
They stopped as Edmond felt the air leave him as he realized who he was dancing with.
"You… You're thee…" He pulled back, bowing as fast he could. "Ms. Bridget Martel it is a huge honor to meet you."
Bridget blushed, playing with her braid a little.
"So, you've heard of me?"
"Heard of you? I've seen you perform. Goodness, how did I not recognize you?" Edmond was bright red. "You and your troupe are amazing but your dance number in particular is just graceful and dream like that I can't tear my eyes away and you're beautiful-" He clamped his hands over his mouth, backing away a little.
Oh goodness, what am I even saying!?
"So, you're amazing in every way shape and form."
Edmond froze up as he felt an arm come around his shoulders. That arm belonging to that of Emmett, who had a huge grin on his face.
"He really is a huge fan of the dancers here, especially The Forces of Nature. Doesn't help you guys use classical music for your dances, which, by the way he is a huge sucker for."
Edmond just wanted to sink into the ground at this rate.
"Emmett. Stop. Please."
"What? I'm just helping you out here."
Edmond hesitated before looking up at Bridget, seeing she was blushing madly, a stunned look on her face.
"I… Um…" Edmond started fumbling with his fingers. "You… You really are amazing. I just…" He lowered his head. "Sorry. I stepped out of line."
Bridget's look softened as she went over to him, tipping his chin up.
"I'm flattered by your compliments. I usually don't get many so I am honored that you like my dance in particular, Edmond."
Edmond perked up, relaxing.
"Y-You're welcome, Bridget."
Bridget smiled, before offering a hand to him.
"Would you do me the honor and dance with me again? I want to finish this time and… I'd like to get to know you better."
Edmond nodded, taking her hand.
"I-If you're sure."
"I am." Bridget brought him into position, smiling softly. "After all, I only dance with gentlemen."
The memory faded as the break whistle sounded off, snapping Edmond back to reality. Had it been that long already?
He looked down at his work, seeing he had barely even started on the gears he was supposed to be making. He brought a hand to his face.
Perfect. Juuuuuust perfect.
He sighed, setting down his work, grabbing his lunch and book before heading out to his usual spot. He sat down, running a hand through his hair. He opened his book, looking at Bridget's picture. He knew he missed her but he never got this distracted before while at work. Usually it was because of her he worked so hard and got plenty done in a day.
He frowned, thinking about what Jack had told him and the gossip he had heard the other day. Maybe that's why he couldn't stop thinking about her. It was worry of what he might lose. He felt his blood go cold at the thought of Bridget possibly disappearing. Never being heard from or seen again. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought from his mind.
No. No. She's fine. Bridget is a strong young woman who can hold her own. She'll be fine. She'll be home soon. No one is going to kidnap her. She'll be fine. She'll be fine.
Edmond ate what he could of his lunch, though admittedly he wasn't hungry after being haunted with such terrible thoughts in regards to Bridget. When it was time to go back to his station, he was hoping to drown all the thoughts out with work but the thoughts still lingered. Images of Bridget being taken away from him by some stranger as she screamed helplessly, Edmond unable to do anything.
Edmond shook his head.
Focus… FOCUS.
Work felt longer with these thoughts swirling in his mind. He was glad when it was finally over. He needed to go home and clear his head. Maybe a nice warm bath or something.
He was soon in the locker room, changing back into his casual attire. The last thing to come out of his locker was the brooch Bridget had given him. He stared at it for a moment before clasping his hand around it, holding it close to his heart.
Please, come home safe.
He pinned the brooch to his tie, grabbing his bag and hat before heading out of the locker room. He about to head out the door when he heard an alarm bell sound off.
That sounds like it's coming from one of the generator rooms!
Edmond hurried to the source of the alarm. There, he saw a man dismantling one of the power generators, quickly packing away parts in his rucksack.
"Hey!" Edmond shouted, producing a wrench from his bag, ready to charge. "Stop what you're doing!"
The man looked to him, annoyance in their eyes.
"No. I won't stop. I need the parts and what can you possibly do to make me stop?"
Edmond was shaking but he did his best to keep his composure calm.
"I-I'm not afraid to use this wrench. I-I'll call security-"
"Security is fast asleep." the man grinned, showing a tranquilizer gun that was attached to his belt. "As is your boss and anyone else I could find who would still be here even with the festival going on. So, you're all alone."
Edmond swallowed hard.
"I-I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid to use force!"
"Show me then." The man snickered.
Edmond took a deep breath before charging, raising his wrench.
It was only a split moment before the wind was knocked out of him by a bullet that hit his right shoulder. He fell to the ground, holding his shoulder tightly, trying not to cry out in pain.
The man chuckled as he blew the smoke off his pistol, finishing what he had started on the generator.
"You'll most likely bleed to death before someone finds you." He said, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. He walked over to Edmond, stepping on his wounded shoulder, pointing his pistol at his head. "I wonder if I should grant you mercy and just kill you now."
Edmond looked up at him, fear in his deep blue eyes.
"No… No, please…" Tears were streaming down his face. "Please don't…"
The man hummed in thought, his finger twitching at the trigger. He laughed before taking his foot off Edmond's shoulder, putting his pistol back into its holder on his belt.
"You know what? You deserve a slow death for trying to stop me and even if you do live, you get to lose that arm thanks to where I shot you. Which is a shame for you considering that's your dominant hand if I had to guess from how you were holding that wrench. So, you'll be out of a job too." The man laughed again before kicking Edmond in the stomach, knocking the wind out him. "So, a slow death or a long miserable life. Heh, I think I like both those outcomes better than killing you on the spot."
Edmond couldn't move, paralyzed by the pain in his shoulder.
The man took his wrench, putting it in his rucksack.
"I'll keep this as a reminder of you." the man said to Edmond before starting to head out of the room. "I can give you this, you were at least braver than the others who tried to stop me before I tranqed them. Reason I gave you the real gun."
Edmond was alone now. The alarm had ceased to ring, having been silenced by a single bullet. It was quiet all around save for the steam engines that were still running the manufactory.
He couldn't move and the world around him was starting to go dark. His right arm felt numb and his body was starting to go cold. He was trying to fight the urge to sleep but his body was growing weaker by the minute.
He slowly brought his left hand to his brooch, gripping it with whatever strength he had left as his eyes began to slide shut.
"Bridget… I'm sorry…"
#don't make deals with demons#edmond wilkinson#emmett barlow#bridget martel#original characters#original story#story preview#story#aileen rose#yellow rose productions
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Similarities between TBL’s Red and Mr. Rochester, a.k.a. A Classic Byronic Hero
Several in the Blacklist fandom, myself included, have compared our protagonist “Raymond (Red) Reddington” (James Spader’s character) to the likes of Edmond Dantes and Mr. Rochester.
The reasoning behind this, other than sharing some parallel plot points (such as being a sailor, being labeled a criminal by his government, going into exile, wanting revenge and/or relief, etc.) … Red shares a lot of the traits of a Byronic hero.
According to the Wikipedia entry for the Byronic hero, various iterations of the character-type are described as:
“a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow, and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection …a solitary figure, resigned to suffering … the “fallen angel” … [with a] violent temper and [capable of] seduction … [has] occasional outbreaks of remorse [that] reveal a tortured character, echoing a Byronic remorse … a remarkable blend of both villain and hero, and exploration of both sides of the Byronic character.”
Here are some other slides I found that give descriptions and examples of Byronic heroes. I take no credit for any of these slides:
Now, obviously, the Byronic hero is a bit fluid, meaning that not every single example of one fits every single characteristic in each description. But, I truly see Red as a Byronic hero. (I bolded all the traits in the description that I think fit him.) The Byronic hero is sometimes seen as the predecessor or primogenitor or at least the “cousin” of the modern-day anti-hero, which Red DEFINITELY falls into. He’s by all accounts a “bad guy” and yet we love him and we want him to win.
But in a recent post, I used the similarities between Red and a very early example of a Byronic hero, Mr. Rochester of “Jane Eyre,” as evidence for why I think Red is the romantic lead in our story, and why he and Liz getting together in some form or fashion (a.k.a. Lizzington) is the endgame.
Looking at it more closely, if we assume that Liz is Red’s love interest, as Jane is Rochester’s, more similarities and parallels become evident:
His love interest works for him in some regard
He is about twice her age
He sees her as his “second chance,” etc. (we’ll dive into that more in a second)
In comparison to the female protagonist and the other characters, he is considered to be very worldly and well-traveled
He travels, in part, to escape both his inner and outer demons
He was previously married and had several trysts and relationships with various women until meeting the protagonist
(Seemingly) flirts with his female acquaintances to make the protagonist jealous
Once meeting her, he becomes completely devoted to the protagonist, and has eyes for no other woman
One thing that has always struck me about Red on TBL is that, while we do get references to him being in relationships and having sex with women in the past, we REALLY don’t see Red engaging in relationships or trysts since meeting Liz in the pilot. Maybe he does it off-screen, and there is that shot of Luli in 1x05 where she walks through the room in one of Red’s shirts… but, other than that, NOTHING! Yes, he flirts. Yes, he makes sexy comments and allusions. Yes, he dances with Madeline seductively and closely in 1x14. But, for a man who admits that he views sex as a drug, and his FAVORITE AND GO-TO DRUG at that, he has been relatively chaste on-screen.
The show clearly has no problem showing couples hooking up so long as its “family-friendly”. They showed Ressler and Samar getting together. They’ve shown Liz and Tom having sexy times on several occasions. They insinuated sexual activity between Aram and his shitty girlfriend. …So, why have James Spader, who once played a character that said “Everything is sex,” be relatively celibate and not get in on the action???
If the show wanted to quell the whole “Lizzington” uproar, all the showrunners would have to do is have Red tell Liz he’s her dad or relative or father-figure or whatever, and then give him a nice, steady, likable love interest. Piece of cake.
Anyway, back to the Byronic hero.
While their backstories differ greatly, Red FEELS and SOUNDS a lot like Mr. Rochester, or other Byronic heroes in general. Like Dantes, he seems to have some kind of elaborate “long-game” of revenge that targets the people who did him wrong but who are also legitimately evil and are doing the world harm; while at the same time, he’s intent on protecting the lives of the innocent. Like Dantes, maybe Red has or soon will become too wrapped up in his mission of revenge and will need others to show him the light.
But, as for his similarities to Mr. Rochester, as I pointed out in the other post, Red has these long, grand monologues about what he has become, who he used to be, and who he wants (Liz to help him) to be again.
(EDIT: I previously had tried to embed videos before, but they didn’t come up on either mobile or desktop, so I’ve just added links to the YouTube videos instead.)
Examples include:
The Ugly Fish monologue in 2x09
The North Star monologue in 3x02
He also tends to wax philosophical about the guilt he feels, and how he is making or has tried to make amends, and how the life he leads has caused him to feel less-than-human, etc.
Examples include:
The “…just a nice gesture” monologue in 2x16
The “I’m a violent man” monologue in 3x12
And because of all this, he feels very much like a wandering, tortured soul… as we learn very vividly from the infamous “Parable of the Farmer” in 1x04.
All of these is, of course, very much like Mr. Rochester from “Jane Eyre.”
Here are some passages from “Jane Eyre” where Mr. Rochester is talking about the woman he loves. At the time, Jane is in love with him, but she believes he is in love with someone else (Blanche Ingram). In reality, though, Mr. Rochester has been in love with Jane since he first met her, and decided that jealousy would be the best way to 1) see whether Jane loved him, and 2) if she did, to make that love grow and become more apparent.
(BTW, just gonna put these two completely random pictures here:)
Here’s the first one, in which Rochester is talking to Jane after she saved him from a fire in his bedroom.
(BTW, the narration is written from Jane’s first-person perspective.)
[Rochester:] “But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life!—snatched me from a horrible and excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers! At least shake hands.”
He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in both his own.
“You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but you: it is different;—I feel your benefits no burden, Jane.”
He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,—but his voice was checked.
“Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation, in the case.”
“I knew,” he continued, “you would do me good in some way, at some time;—I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not”—(again he stopped)—“did not” (he proceeded hastily) “strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!”
And, now, in this second passage … this is after Rochester has been (sort of) “courting” Blanche in front of Jane, and Jane and he are sharing a quiet, peaceful moment together after a very strange and stressful night.
Here, Rochester starts talking VERY VAGUELY about the shitty things that have happened to him, how he’s tried to find solace in worldy things and ultimately, only now, has he found happiness and peace with the woman he loves. Jane ~assumes~ he’s talking about Blanche, when in reality he’s talking about Jane:
“Well then, Jane, call to aid your fancy:—suppose you were no longer a girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged from childhood upwards; imagine yourself in a remote foreign land; conceive that you there commit a capital error, no matter of what nature or from what motives, but one whose consequences must follow you through life and taint all your existence. Mind, I don’t say a crime; I am not speaking of shedding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make the perpetrator amenable to the law: my word is error. The results of what you have done become in time to you utterly insupportable; you take measures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor culpable. Still you are miserable; for hope has quitted you on the very confines of life: your sun at noon darkens in an eclipse, which you feel will not leave it till the time of setting. Bitter and base associations have become the sole food of your memory: you wander here and there, seeking rest in exile: happiness in pleasure—I mean in heartless, sensual pleasure—such as dulls intellect and blights feeling. Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary banishment: you make a new acquaintance—how or where no matter: you find in this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you have sought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are all fresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives, regenerates: you feel better days come back—higher wishes, purer feelings; you desire to recommence your life, and to spend what remains to you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom—a mere conventional impediment which neither your conscience sanctifies nor your judgment approves?…
“Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”
“Sir,” I answered, “a wanderer’s repose or a sinner’s reformation should never depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die; philosophers falter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any one you know has suffered and erred, let him look higher than his equals for strength to amend and solace to heal.”
“But the instrument—the instrument! God, who does the work, ordains the instrument. I have myself—I tell it you without parable—been a worldly, dissipated, restless man; and I believe I have found the instrument for my cure in—”
He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling. I almost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch the suspended revelation; but they would have had to wait many minutes—so long was the silence protracted. At last I looked up at the tardy speaker: he was looking eagerly at me.
“Little friend,” said he, in quite a changed tone—while his face changed too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh and sarcastic—“you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don’t you think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?”
Now…
(SPOILER WARNING FOR JANE EYRE)
What Rochester is ACTUALLY talking about, in reference to what he experienced as a young man, was – about 20 years before the events of the novel – he traveled from England to the West Indies and was convinced by his family and others into marrying a woman whom he later discovered was clinically insane. He tried to live with her initially, but later brought her back to England and paid a servant to watch her and not tell anyone about it, never told any of his friends or other servants he was married, and then runs off and roams about the world for 20-ish years having trysts and trying to find solace where he could. And then – after he meets Jane – he tries to marry her without informing her that he’s already married.
So, after Jane finds out during the ceremony – through the providence of someone outing Rochester for his treachery – the two have a discussion about where their relationship will go from here. Rochester wants to “marry” her or at least have her live with him, away from people; but, she’s not down for it. This is what he says as part of his long-ass explanation as to why he did what he did:
“Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. … After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel. I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”
Just in these four phrases I bolded from Rochester’s monologue to Jane about what he did, I saw parallels to four very notable Red quotes: (in order) when he tells Fitch “you cannot possibly fathom how deep that well of my truly goes” in reference to his desire to protect the things and people he loves in 1x20; the “I have you” in 1x03; his description of Liz to Sam in 1x08; and the “love is having no control” moment in 2x08.
(End of Spoiler Warning)
This is all a very long way of saying that I have no idea whether the writers intended for Red to have parallels to the Byronic hero or to Mr. Rochester specifically.
But, he does.
Red is clearly keeping secrets from Liz the way Rochester kept them from Jane. We’re not yet sure what these secrets are (many, including myself, believe it’s that he stole the identity of Raymond Reddington, who is Liz’s biological father).
And, despite a very large age gap, these two have been set-up as the romantic couple of our show, as Rochester and Jane were. Right now (in S5a), Liz believes Red to be her dad; and, in Jane Eyre, Rochester remarks to Jane how he’s old enough to be her father. (He’s like 40 and she’s around 18-20.)
And, just as with Rochester, Red is hoping to find some kind of re-humanization with Liz... that she will restore him to what he once was. People don’t say things like that to friends or family members, so it becomes very strong evidence that Red and Liz are meant to be our end-game.
Another quick thing I’d like to point out is that, in the novel, Jane has very few friends, and as of S5a, the only friends Liz has ever had on the show… consistently … are people from work. (And I guess you could count Tom.) She’s an orphan, like Jane. She doesn’t really have anyone to call “family” or “home.” (Other than Tom, but he’s dead now.) In S1 through S2a, we saw how alone and isolated and tricked and manipulated she felt, just as Jane does throughout various points in the novel.
Now, obviously, there are PLENTY of differences. This is a crime-drama procedural after all. Liz is a full-grown woman with a child of her own. She’s not an 18-20 year old governess who has never gone beyond her schoolhouse and childhood home. She’s not completely naive; she’s not completely without family and friends. When compared to Jane, she’s seen and done plenty.
But the fact that Red and Liz have these strong individual parallels to Rochester and Jane, respectively, and the fact that there are so many parallels between them as couples – ie, he’s keeping secrets from her; he’s besotted with her and sees her as his redemption, etc. – makes me wonder whether this WAS intentional to some degree.
Even while many TBL fans have been watching and screaming at the screen, “JUST SAY HE’S HER DAD ALREADY!” and then breathed a long sigh of exasperation and annoyance when the question was finally answered in 4x22... I’ve been sitting over here with these weirdly intertwined images stuck in my head:
#mr. rochester#rochester#jane eyre#raymond reddington#elizabeth keen#masha rostova#red reddington#james spader#byronic hero#megan boone#the blacklist#nbc the blacklist#charlotte bronte
111 notes
·
View notes
Text
Set Her Free (Pirate!AU)
#beth writing#pirate au#ask bloge pirates#mcgillicuddy sunshine#ghosty blogging#ghosty beth#skeleton uncle#Esther#johnny bosteau
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alchemy: Tiny Steps
Chapters: 28/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series. Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ
"That's the thing… I went through all the reports, letters, documents, findings that all concerns Drachma… it all looks… fabricated!" Sheska exploded out, papers scattering around her, piles of books falling over, and her guests took several steps back to avoid being hit. One of said guest let out a yelp when a pencil lunched towards them and stab itself into the wall right next to their head. "It all looks to convenient. The timeline I created just seems… to easy! I am missing something, if I find out that something then I'll find out what that something is!"
Mustang snatched on of the papers that flew into the air and scanned through it. Written in the Private's clear handwriting, appears to be an old version of maps of Amestris during it's time of expansion. It showed that a huge chunk of the North Area and some of the West. Along with that, it showed older towns and villages that are gone or replaced with new ones. He folded the paper and placed into his uniform's coat.
"It looks like a setup! You may not believe me, but it clearly shows it is a complete set up! Where's that book! I know I left it around here somewhere…?"
-.-
"How did he leave the grounds?" Alphonse whispered out hysterically.
"Ah… We left him in the Medical Wing due to the fact he hit his head… again. Poppy was in her office and when she when to check up on him… He was gone. Heheh…heh…"
Alphonse ran his hands through his hair in disbelief, even without Alchemy, Edward could still manage to cause chaos and mass confusion wherever. There is no way Ed could leave Hogwarts without some sort of help. Severus is currently checking the towers and roof tops, Pomona is looking around the grounds with Hagrid and Rolanda is flying around to see if she could spot Edward. Dumbledore is at the Ministry dealing with business and McGonagall is making sure the students don't panic due to the disappearance of the Alchemy Professor. Filius is telling Alphonse of the recent disappearance of his brother.
"Who could possibly help him out of the school?"
"House-elves, ask the House-elves."
Alphonse and Filius turned to see Edmond, Fred, George, and Terrence head's peeking through the open doors of the Medical Wing. "What?"
"Ask the Elves, they like Mr. Elric." Fred and George replied in unison.
-.-
"Work, work, WORK DAMMIT!" Edward seethed out at the telephone, his voice was muffled out due to the fact he was in a closed phone booth. The phone wasn't working, or it wasn't getting through to the right people. He got the runaround when trying to call Winry and General Useless, people kept putting him on hold. It is heavily noted that whenever he mentions who he was, panic filled their voices before putting him on hold. "Someone talk to me!"
"Sir, we should. Someone must of notice us gone." A shaky voice filled the booth, it made Edward paused mid-rant. The Alchemy Teacher took in a deep breath to calm himself down before looking down to see a small House-elf wearing a dirtied and ratty flowery flour sack that was sewn into a misshapen dress. Large doe like eyes looked up at him, bottom lip quivering at the thought of getting punished for being out but knew she had to help Mr. Elric.
"I am sorry, Tac. I'll call one more time, if I don't talk to anyone then we will go back to Hogwarts." Edward replied softly, he took in a deep breath through his nose and let it out from his mouth. He took out some coins from his pocket and inserted into the payphone. "Hello? This is Colonel Edward Elric, Code: 1899-165-26… I need to get in contact with General Roy Mustang… Havoc? Is this you? Finally, someone I know! I need to talk to General Useless… Yes. It's about that… I need information, Alphonse isn't telling me everything… Ah… what…? Damn… This is… Oh Truth… All I need is the assurance that Winry will be safe… I understand why I can't go back now… I am not going back yet… I've learned my lessons to not run head long into fights… Don't look at me like that, Tac… Wasn't talking to you, I was talking to someone else… Can you get in contact with Winry and tell her to write me what is actually going on? Me sending her a letter won't do it… thanks. Tell Mustang to get in contact with me… No… I am not leaving for Amestris, but I will if it means bringing Winry with me if things get very bad… tell Elicia to keep studying and ask her what she wants me to send her for her birthday… Thanks Havoc…"
"Is Mr. Elric done talking into the box?" Tac squeaked out.
"Yes, I am done. Let's get to the school."
-.-
"He's in muggle London? Don't tell me he is going back to Amestris?"
"There's a huge possibility that could happen… this is what I wanted to avoid."
"We should have chained to the bed…"
The search party all ended up with nothing, and the whereabouts of Edward Elric. Alphonse and Filius talked to the House-elves and they all said that Mr. Elric needed help to get to Muggle London. He needed to make a phone-call, whatever that is.
Alphonse and Severus went to Muggle London while Filius relayed the information to everyone else. Minerva is currently trying to get in contact with Dumbledore to get his help but so far… all we get from that is the Headmaster is getting the Ministry to hunt him down too.
"We better get to him soon, last thing we all need is him getting him ever more than now." Poppy huffed out, evidently peeved at the fact a patient was able to sneak away on her watch.
-.-
"I've checked everywhere, and no one had seen him. We can confirm he's not getting on a ship but knowing him… he'll find a way." Alphonse paced around the empty alleyway, with Severus listening to him ranting. The Head of Slytherin kept looking out of the entrance of the alleyway to see if he could see Edward. The area they are currently in, is the area where Edward had primarily stayed whenever he stayed at in Great Britain. The coffee shop is just down the street along with that hotel. There's a hope he might be there.
"At this rate… we'll never find him." Severus muttered, mixed fillings filled within him. It wasn't the worry that his home country could possibly go into war, it was his love one getting caught in the middle of it. From the time he had known Edward, the few times he ever mentions his fiancé, his eyes would soften, his voice filled with compassion and his main goal is to make her happy. (Or looks of complete fear, horror and terror due to being punished by the Wrench of Doom.) He is someone that will move mountains, go up against anyone to anything for her and now it appears Edward will follow with it. "Have you contact anyone back home?"
"I got the runaround. No one knows anything." Alphonse replied with clear frustration.
Unbeknownst to either of them, when they looked away from the semi-busy street, they missed Edward exited the café with a bag of food. He pulled something out of the bag and inconspicuously dropped it, looking closely one would have seen that it disappeared before it even went down towards his knees. Edward whistled out an old Amestrian tune and walked towards the phone booth that will lead him to the Ministry of Magic. Tac will get him there and leave him there for her to get back to Hogwarts and inform every one of his location.
Edward needed to talk to Minister Bones to see if there is a Magical Government in Drachma. Perhaps they could be talked to if their Non-Magical Government isn't saying anything to Amestris.
-.-
"…He escaped… Hogwarts… with an House-elf… I am more surprised this hasn't happened at an earlier time." Minister Bones just received news that Mr. Elric had managed to leave Hogwarts with the help of an House-elf. To makes things worse, he should be on bed rest due to all the times he hit his head. At this rate, she's surprised no one figured out how thick skulled he is. One would wonder how no one has been able to figure that out. "Don't bother sending anyone out after him. This will cause a mass panic and result with him being extra difficult. With the House-Elf… their magic is something that surpasses ours. Keep an eye out on all muggle forms of transportation. He wouldn't use the elf to transport him directly to Amestris, that would take too much energy out of them."
"Do you believe he will leave the country?" Shacklebolt asked the Minister with a raised eyebrow.
"No. He may be rash, but not completely stupid. From what we were told, Amestris is currently dealing with a neighboring country that is trying to provoke them into a war of sorts. Major General Armstrong suspects they want something, just does not know what." Bones shook her head at the thought of Elric getting on a muggle transportation… thing and leave. He cares for his students and will not give up any opportunity to shove it into anyone's faces. Plus, she was given strict orders to not let Mr. Elric to leave, given by Fuhrer Grumman. "If anything, he just wants to be ensured Miss. Winry Rockbell is safe and in good hands."
Shacklebolt took note at how Bones eyes went soft when she saw a photo of her niece on her desk. One of the many things the Minister did once she moved into her new office, was to ensure she had the same photographs from her previous office to her new office. Pictures of her family, friends and in the middle of it, is one of her last living relative, young Susan Bones. Which reminds Shacklebolt. "How many bodyguards has Susan gone through already?"
"Ugh… Grayson checked himself into St. Mungo's."
"Grayson? I thought Carlton was in charge of her?"
"No, no. It was Carlton, Mason, Carter then Grayson."
The two conversed about all the bodyguards Susan had went through recently and it stopped when frantic knocking reverberated from the main entrance of the office.
Bones and Shacklebolt went on guard as loud crashes sounded out from outside of the office, years of training kicked in. They took out their wands and headed towards the door.
"Minister Bones! Minister Bones! We have a problem!"
Both former Aurors looked at each other wondering what is happening at the other side of the door. "What's going on out there?"
"MADAM BONES! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!"
"Is that Mr. Elric?"
"Oh dear… I believe we found him…"
0 notes
Text
Dorimène, Le Mariage forcé (théâtre.documentation)
Le Mariage forcé
Les Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée (The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island), Versailles
Molière’s contribution
a comédie-ballet
Molière and Lully’s Le Mariage forcé (The Forced Marriage), is a farce and a comédie-ballet, in prose. It was first performed on 29 January 1664 in the Queen Mother’s apartments, at the Louvre. On 15 February 1664, it was performed at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, where it proved less popular. It closed after 12 performances. It was performed again on 12 May 1664 during festivities known as Les Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée, The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island. Louis XIV wanted to show Versailles at an early date. He had hired architect Louis Le Vau, landscape architect André le Nôtre, and the painter-decorator Charles Le Brun. These gentlemen had built Nicolas Fouquet‘s castle at Vaux-le-Vicomte. Molière’s La Princesse d’Élide and Tartuffe also premièred during Les Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée, on 8 May 1664. In its original form, The Forced Marriage was a three-act comédie-ballet, by Molière and Lully It did not use figures from a mythology in which it differed from earlier comédies-ballets. At Versailles, King Louis XIV and other aristocrats performed in the comedy. In 1664, Louis was very much in love with Louise de La Vallière who lived at Versailles, in the small castle used as a hunting-lodge by the very private Louis XIII.
Molière transformed Le Mariage forcé into a one-act play in 1668, which is Le Mariage forcé as we know it. However, it was reborn as a comédie-ballet in 1672. Lully having broken with Molière, the music was composed by Marc-Antoine Charpentier.
In his Preface to the Forced Marriage, Henri van Laun provides information concerning the posterity of the play. Sganarelle is Sir Toby Doubtful in Love’s Contrivance, a play by Mrs. Carroll, born Susanna Centlivre (c. 1667–1670 – 1 December 1723).
Panurge by Albrecht Dürer (BnF)
Origins
other
Gallic
Rabelais
pedants & philosophy: Aristotle and Pyrrho (doubt)
Although Molière drew some of his material from Spanish author Lope de Vega’s Intermède du sacristain [sacristan] Soguizo, and Giordano Bruno’s[1] Candelaio, or The Candle Bearer, entitled Boniface et le Pédant in French, Le Mariage forcé belongs mainly to a French tradition.
The Forced Marriage is rooted primarily in Rabelais‘ Gargantua and Pantagruel, the Third of Five Books [EBook #1200]. Molière’s Sganarelle reminds us of Panurge, as featured in Chapter Three of the Third Book (of Five) of Gargantua and Pantagruel.
How Panurge asketh counsel of Pantagruel whether he should marry, yea, or no.
Affinities between Molière and Rabelais leap off the page, and so does Pantagruel’s advice to Panurge. Pantagruel urges Panurge not to marry, which is Géronimo’s initial response, until he learns that Sganarelle has obtained permission to marry Dorimène from Alcantor, her father. In the Third Book, Panurge has decided to marry, but revisits his decision. In Rabelais’ Third Book, Panurge also seeks the advice of Trouillogan, the model for Molière’s Marphurius, a Pyrrhonian philosopher, and a pedant. He prefigures The Learned Ladies, or Femmes savantes‘ Trissotin and Vadius. The mouton de Panurge is featured in the fourth of five books constituting Pantagruel and Gargantua. A mouton de Panurge, “describes an individual that will blindly follow others regardless of the consequences.” (See Panurge, Wiki2.org.) We cannot exclude Sganarelle.
Molière’s Mariage Forcé also has affinities with Guez de Balzac’s Socrate chrétien. Théophile de Viau’s Fragments d’une histoire comique, Dorimond’s L’École des cocus (the School for Cuckolds), and Charles Sorel’s Polyandre (see polyandry, Wiki2.org). These are 17th-century French authors.[2]
Gravure Lalauze (théâtre.documention)
Le Mariage forcé (théâtre.documentation)
Gravure Edmond Hédouin
Moreau le Jeune
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SGANARELLE. (Molière) GÉRONIMO. ALCANTOR, father to Dorimène. ALCIDAS, brother to Dorimène. LYCASTE, in love with Dorimène. PANCRACE, an Aristotelian Philosopher. MARPHURIUS, a Pyrrhonian Philosopher. DORIMÈNE, a young coquette betrothed to Sganarelle. Two GIPSIES. The Scene is in a Public Place.
The Plot
Dorimène surprises us
la race des Sganarelles
Scene One of Le Mariage Forcé, Sganarelle, Molière’s mask, wants to know from his friend Géronimo whether he should marry. Sganarelle has already sought and obtained from Dorimène’s father, Alcantor, permission to marry Dorimène. Alcantor has agreed. In his mind, the mind of a pater familias, le Seigneur Sganarelle, a well-to-do 53-year-old gentleman, is a perfect match for his daughter.
However, Dorimène surprises us. One would expect her to oppose her tyrannical father, but she differs from other ingénues, forced to marry or be thrown in a convent. Young Dorimène is une mondaine who thinks a marriage to Sganarelle will allow her to escape her father. When she and Sganarelle meet in Scene II, she makes it clear that she wishes to be free. In fact, as we will see later, she has a lover, Lycaste, who cannot understand why she is marrying Sganarelle. She reassures Lycaste. Sganarelle is an older gentleman who has no more than six months “in his belly.” She wants to be a widow, the privileged women of 17th-century France. Widows were free to marry whom they pleased, or not to marry. Le Misanthrope‘s Célimène is a widow.
Yet, although arrangements are being made for Dorimène to marry Sganarelle that very day, Sganarelle would like to discuss marriage with his friend Géronimo, which should have happened earlier. When Géronimo learns that the bride-to-be is the lovely Dorimène and that she is not opposing Alcantor, her father, Géronimo has little left to do than exclaim:
Mariez-vous promptement; je ne dis plus rien. Géronimo to Sganarelle (Scene I, p. 9) [Make haste and get married.] Géronimo to Sganarelle (Scene Four, p. 227)
The most amusing lines of Scene One are Sganarelle’s:
Outre la joie que j’aurai de posséder une belle femme, qui me fera mille caresses; qui me dorlotera, et me viendra frotter, lorsque je serai las; outre cette joie, dis-je, je considère, qu’en demeurant comme je suis, je laisse périr dans le monde la race [3] des Sganarelles; et qu’en me mariant, je pourrai me voir revivre en d’autres moi-mêmes… [4] Sganarelle à Géronimo (Scene I, p. 8) [Besides the pleasures I shall have in possessing a wife to fondle me when I am tired; besides this pleasure, I consider that, by remaining as I am, I suffer the race of the Sganarelles to become extinct ; whilst, by marrying, I may see myself reproduced, and shall have the joy of seeing children sprung from me… Sganarelle to Géronimo (Scene Two, p. 226)
Marriage and Marriage
Matters change. Sganarelle believed he would own Dorimène:
Hé bien, ma belle, c’est maintenant que nous allons être heureux l’un et l’autre. Vous ne serez plus en droit de me rien refuser; … Sganarelle à Dorimène (Scène II, pp. 9-10) [Well, my dear, both of us are going to be happy now. You will no longer have a right to refuse me anything; and I can do with you just as I please, without any one being shocked. You will be mine from head to foot, and I shall be master of everything, of your little sparkling eyes, your little roguish nose, your tempting lips, your lovely ears, your pretty little chin, your little round breasts, your … ] Sganarelle to Dorimène (Scene Four, pp. 227-228)
Dorimène, however, wants to escape her father’s tyranny and would not accept to marry a tyrannical Sganarelle’s. Two contrary discourses are juxtaposed. The second all be erases the first. Sganarelle realizes that he has made a mistake.
Tout à fait aise, je vous jure: car enfin la sévérité de mon père m’a tenue jusques ici dans une sujétion la plus fâcheuse du monde. Il y a je ne sais combien que j’enrage du peu de liberté, qu’il me donne; et j’ai cent fois souhaité qu’il me mariât, pour sortir promptement de la contrainte, où j’étais avec lui, et me voir en état de faire ce que je voudrai. Dorimène à Sganarelle (Scene II, p. 10) [Immensely glad, I assure you. For, indeed, my father’s severity has kept me hitherto in the most grievous subjection. I have been raging, I do not know how long, at the scanty liberty he allows me ; I have wished a hundred times that he would get me a husband, so that I might quickly escape from the durance in which I have been kept by him, and be able to do as I pleased. Dorimène to Sganarelle (Scene Four, pp. 228-229)
The Dream
In Scene Three (FR), Géronimo returns. He has found a jeweler who has a beautiful diamond for sale. Sganarelle is no longer so eager to marry. He would like to confide that he has had a dream:
Avant que de passer plus avant, je voudrais bien agiter à fond cette matière; et que l’on m’expliquât un songe que j’ai fait cette nuit, et qui vient tout à l’heure de me revenir dans l’esprit. Sganarelle à Géronimo (Scene III, p. 11) [Before going farther I wish to sift this matter to the bottom, and to have interpreted to me a dream which I had last night, and which just recurred to me.] Sganarelle to Géronimo (Scene Five, p. 229)
Dreams are mentioned in Rabelais.
Trouillogan by Gustave Doré (BnF)
Pancrace and Marphurius (Trouillogan)
Parbleu, de la langue que j’ai dans la bouche; je crois que je n’irai pas emprunter celle de mon voisin. Sganarelle à Pancrace (Scene IV, p. 15) [Zounds! The tongue I have in my mouth.] Sganarelle to Pancrace (Scene Six, p. 232)
So, as of “Zounds,” matters truly deteriorate. Sganarelle leaves. (I am not discussing the quotations in Latin.)
Sganarelle then visits another neighbour, a Pyrrhonian skeptic. This character reflects Sganarelle’s uncertainty and adds to his distress. Doubt has entered Sganarelle’s mind. correct Sganarelle. “[I]t seems to me,” (il me semble que) says Sganarelle, but “me” expresses uncertainty. “Nous devons douter de tout” (we must doubt everything), says Marphurius. Sganarelle is so frustrated that he ends up hitting Marphurius with a stick. Marphurius is defenceless. Sganarelle turns himself into a skeptic, mocking Marphurius:
Corrigez, s’il vous plaît, cette manière de parler. Il faut douter de toutes choses; et vous ne devez pas dire que je vous ai battu; mais qu’il vous semble que je vous ai battu. Sganarelle à Marphurius (Scène V, p. 22) [Pray, correct this manner of speaking. We are to doubt everything; and you ought not to say that I have beaten you, but that it seems I have beaten you.] Sganarelle to Marphurius (Scene Ten, p. 238)
Marphurius is Rabelais’ Trouillogan. He doubts everything (Chapter 3.XXXV)
How the philosopher Trouillogan handleth the difficulty of marriage.
Le Mariage Forcé was a comédie-ballet, with music by Jean-Baptiste Lully. Unlike other comédies-ballets, Le Mariage forcé did not use characters inhabiting mythologies. In Scene Twelve, Sganarelle asks three Égyptiennes (Gypsies) whether he will be cuckolded.
Cuckoldry and Widowhood
In Scene Twelve, Lycaste, who loves Dorimène, wonders why she is marrying Sganarelle. She reassures him. Not only will she be free, but she expects Sganarelle to die within a few months. She looks forward to widowhood. In 17th-century France, widowhood freed women who have married against their will.
Je vous le garantis défunt dans le temps que je dis; et je n’aurai pas longuement à demander pour moi au Ciel, l’heureux état de veuve. Dorimène à Lycaste (Scene XII, p. 25) [I guarantee that he is dead in the time I say. I shall not long have to pray Heaven for the happy state of widowhood.] Dorimène to Lycaste (Scene Twelve, p. 240)
Sganarelle has heard everything. Lycaste gets away as does Dom Juan. Dom Juan invites his father to sit down and Lycaste’s politeness leaves Sganarelle speechless. It is formulaic.
Agréez, Monsieur, que je vous félicite de votre mariage, et vous présente en même temps mes très humbles services. Je vous assure que vous épousez là une très honnête personne. Lycaste à Sganarelle (Scene VII, p. 25) [Allow me, sir, to congratulate you on your marriage, and at the same time to offer you my most humble services. Let me tell you that the lady, whom you are marrying, possesses great merits…] Lycaste to Sganarelle (Scene Twelve, p. 240)
Lycaste then goes away, having silenced Sganarelle.
A Forced Marriage
The remaining scenes feature Dorimène’s family. Alcantor will not allow Sganarelle to roll back his promise to marry Dorimène.
Seigneur Alcantor, j’ai demandé votre fille en mariage, il est vrai; et vous me l’avez accordée: mais je me trouve un peu avancé en âge pour elle; et je considère que je ne suis point du tout son fait. Sganarelle à Alcantor (Scene VIII, p. 27) [Mr. Alcantor, it is true I asked your daughter in marriage, and you granted my request; but I find that I am rather old ; I think that I am by no means a proper match for her.] Sganarelle to Alcantor (Scene Fourteen, p. 241) Vous vous êtes engagé avec moi, pour épouser ma fille; et tout est préparé pour cela. Mais puisque vous voulez retirer votre parole, je vais voir ce qu’il y a à faire; et vous aurez bientôt de mes nouvelles. Alcantor à Sganarelle (Scene VIII, p. 28) [You gave me your word that you would marry my daughter, and everything is prepared for the wedding; but since you wish to withdraw, I shall go and see what can be done in the matter; you shall hear from me presently.] Alcantor to Sganarelle (Scene Fourteen, p. 242)
During Scene IX, Sganarelle refuses to fight Alcidas, Dorimène’s brother, who has brought swords. In the end, Sganarelle is compelled to marry.
Hé bien! j’épouserai, j’épouserai… Sganarelle à Alcidas (Scene IX, p. 30) Well then, I will marry, I will marry! Sganarelle to Alcidas (Scene Fourteen, p. 244)
Sganarelle (www.cosmovisions.coms.com)
Sganarelle (Wikipedia)
Conclusion
The Forced Marriage turns matters upside down. We are therefore reminded of Mikhail Bakhtin Rabelais and His World: carnival and grotesque. We are also reminded of the comic playwrights. However, we are not dealing with Rabelais’ giants, except metaphorically.
Sganarelle makes wedding arrangements before seeking advice from Géronimo, or taking matters into consideration.
An older gentleman is forced to marry.
Dorimène is pleased to marry a senex iratus. She will be a widow.
Sganarelle is a cocu (cuckolded) before he marries.
Our philosophers have long left reality. Molière has created Les Femmes savantes‘ Trissotin and Vadius.
However, floating just below the surface of this play is the farcical trompeur trompé, the deceiver deceived. How can Lycaste ever trust Dorimène? The extremely polite manner he uses to greet Sganarelle could be read as a criticism of Dorimène’s ploy. It is “affected.” As for Dorimène, she is her own senex iratus and will not change. Besides, destiny rules. She should be prepared to love the husband she has married and to give birth to a petit Sganarelle.
The play also features pedants. Pancrace’s pursuit of a correct term, forme or figure, for the shape of hats is trivial. As for Marphurius, he is Rabelais Trouillogan (See Chapter 3, XXXVI) in Gutenberg’s [EBook #1200])
I am leaving behind the comédie-ballet, as written and composed in 1664. This post is already too long. But it is interesting to know that at Versailles, the King and aristocrats played roles in the comédie-ballet.
Sources and Resources
Le Mariage forcé is a toutmolière.net publication
Le Mariage forcé, Notice, toutmolière.net
The Forced Marriage is an Internet Archive publication
Pantagruel and his son Gargantua is Gutenberg’s [EBook #1200]
Trouillogan is featured in Chapter 3, XXXVI in Gutenberg’s [EBook #1200]
Molière21
Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and his World (1965)
____________________
[1] Giordano Bruno was tortured and burned at the stake by the Inquisition. Among other notions, Bruno perceived the plurality of worlds, as would French philosophe Fontenelle, a century later. [2] Maurice Rat, ed., Œuvres complètes de Molière (Paris: Gallimard, collection La Pléiade, 1956), pp. 878-884. [3] In the French language race means race, breed, and, occasionally, line. [4] Cf. Rabelais.
Love to everyone 💕 I apologize for spending a rather long time writing this post.
Baroque Music – Bourrée du Mariage Forcé (Jean-Baptiste Lully)
youtube
youtube
Bibliothèque nationale de France
© Micheline Walker 5 July 2019 WordPress
Molière’s “Forced Marriage,” “Le Mariage forcé” Le Mariage forcé Les Plaisirs de l'Île enchantée (The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island),
#Carnivalesque#François Rabelais#Le Mariage forcé#Les Plaisirs de l&039;Île enchantée#Lully#Molière#Panurge#Sganarelle#The Forced Marriage#Widowhood
0 notes
Text
A Hint of Vesperan Ethical Intuition: Chapter 4
Chapter Summary:
Ceres fights a robber, intimidates the other passengers and helps restart a train.
Léandre negotiates with the robbers, conspires with the other passengers and re-aggravates his deep-seated traumas.
Albaer tests his magic on the robbers, argues with the police and learns why Léandre covers his eye with his hair and covers his hair with a hood.
You can read it here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417432/chapters/36443373
Or you can read it under the cut:
19 Herba 1690 The roof of La Flèche Rouge 7:33 a.m.
Ceres dashed forward from the dent she made in the roof. She had a feeling the sharp-eyed man could dodge it. He stood mere feet away from the impact, mouth open.
"What in the Wildwood are you–"
She stomped on his foot, earning a yowl, struck her palm towards his stomach–
The man caught her hand and yanked her toward the edge of the roof. The moment Ceres tipped forward, she dug her remaining foot into the roof and pivoted on the spot, jutting out an elbow. He skirted as far away from the blow as he could before she bolted in his direction and took a shallow leap, aiming the swing of her leg at his face. He blocked the blow with a raised forearm, the force of her kick sending her backwards. Landing on both feet, Ceres charged at him, aiming low to his shin. When the man swung his other leg towards her, she slid forward on one knee, leaned back and raised her other foot. Ignoring the sting of her scraped knee, she glided between his legs and hammered her heel down onto his hooked rope belt buckle.
Before she could slip off the roof, Ceres grabbed the edge, pushed herself back up and pivoted in place with an extended leg. The man caught her kick again and the fight continued. She didn't intend to move him anywhere, so they moved in whichever direction their fight took them until her opponent used the right time to change the flow. Ceres wasn't able to keep her guard up forever, and the unbroken movement strained her energy.
One false move –in this case, a fist aimed at his jaw– was all the sharp-eyed man needed.
He moved to his left, swerved behind her, aimed a solid chop to the back of her neck, and then the world blurred. She wasn't able to see the next attack coming –a kick to her back that sent her off the roof– but was able to grab the edge again. As soon as her mind righted itself, she pushed herself up in the air and landed back on top. The man waited for her to land with a fist. Without pausing to think, Ceres moved her head to the side, grabbed the extended limb with enough force to break it and fell backwards off the train.
She heard him let out a pained shout as he turned on his side in midair and threw his wire from his broken belt. He tried to swing his damaged arm to pry her off of him, to no avail. He moved his head towards hers in what would be a head-butt. But before he could go through with it, their combined weight prompted the rope holding them up to swing back towards the train. Broken glass tinkled, accompanying a series of thumps from the tumble of their impact, the various pains of their landing, and the hurried footsteps, screams and other surprised sounds of unfamiliar people.
Somehow, her opponent had turned around and positioned himself above her on the carpeted floor of wherever they ended up. Judging by the overturned tables and broken dishes, she was in the dining car. Ceres stared at the man in front of her. His smile showed more teeth than the smiles she normally saw. Why did he think he had her trapped just because his legs were on either side of hers? His still functional arm was also planted on her forearm. She heard muffled gasps and shouts from behind her. Looking up as far back as she could, Ceres saw passengers from first and second class peering through the window of a door, staring at her with covered mouths.
He growled, squeezing her arm. "About time I pay you back for my arm, Freak!"
Resisting the urge to wince at the sharp pain, Ceres lifted up her knee to impact his stomach.
More gasps sounded off as she pushed the groaning pained body off of her, lifted him over her head and tossed him at some tables in the far corner of the dining cart. It resulted in broken tables and the crashing and clattering of broken plates. The noise settled and the man still hadn't gotten up. Taking it as a sign of unconsciousness, Ceres approached her opponent. He still hadn't moved when she placed her arms under his legs and back and lifted him like one of those limp long pillows she once saw in a storefront display. She needed to tie this man up.
Stepping around the mess, she reached the door with the window that opened for her. Beyond the door was the first class car where the crowding passengers waited a fair distance away from her. They never stopped watching her as she squeezed the man through the doorway and silence reigned. At least they weren't screaming at her or running away. This was a step up, she reminded herself as she asked them what she needed.
"Excuse me," she began. Léandre always reminded her to be polite. Don't give them any reason to single you out any more than they already do, he'd always say. "Do any of you have rope?"
Unblinking eyes answered her.
"Does anyone know where I can find rope?"
A shift of clothes, then a large man in the back spoke up. "How about you put that fellow down first, little miss? I'd like you to answer some questions of mine. Then we'll see what we can do about getting some rope around here."
Ceres nodded and placed the unconscious man on one of the huge poofy seats. The large man from the back edged closer to her. The crowd's attention turned to him.
"May I ask your name, my dear?"
"Ceres Bellamy, sir. May I ask yours?"
"Rufus Arca, the driver of this old Flèche Rouge. Are you responsible for the dent in the second class car?" She nodded. Ceres made sure not to pierce a hole in the roof. "Would you happen to know a red-haired Magia boy from third class? Says he's not from around here?"
She nodded again. "My brother and I are helping Albaer get back home. He accidentally transported himself here from Rozen."
Satisfied with her answer, Mr. Arca faced the crowd. "These upstanding children have done us a service. Albaer saved my life from a masked madman, and is no doubt trying to stop the train robbers as we speak."
The mention of Albaer resulted in small bright bursts within her, like little sparklers. He was okay and he was helping.
"This young Miss Bellamy," he continued, "as you've seen, has thoroughly disarmed one of them. It is my wish –no, my duty– to repay them by getting this train moving again. And it is yours as well. If these children hadn't risked their lives, we would have been robbed and possibly much worse. We must repay this debt, and the best way to do that is to help me restart the train. Who will volunteer?"
Stillness. Silence. The train driver frowned, his shoulders slumping slightly.
She understood why no one wanted to. Everyone was too busy making sure they and their loved ones survived. Luckily for her, the people she cared for were already doing their part to help. If Léandre didn't have a plan to save the train passengers already, he would. A long time ago, Léandre told her that Mother used to always tell him to "Use every power you have to help others in dire need. Only use your abilities to help yourself when your life is threatened." Léandre might say and do things that suggest he forgot those words, but she didn't. Mr. Arca needed help, like Albaer did. And helping him would help Albaer get home too.
So Ceres stood and raised her hand. "I will volunteer."
This pulled stares back to her.
"Oh no, little miss, I think you've done enough for one day." Mr. Arca placed a hand on her shoulder.
She shook her head, staring at him intently. "Please sir, let me help. I'm not hurt and I can carry heavy things."
He met her gaze, studying her for a moment before giving her a tired smile and ruffling her hair. "Very well, Miss Bellamy. Many could learn a thing or two from you."
"Let me help too!" an unfamiliar voice burst out from the back. A black-haired young man dressed in a suit marched to them, followed by a harried older woman who tried to pull him back. He resisted her grip and glared at her. "Let me go, Mother! Mr. Arca is right! I can't sit down and pretend that nothing is happening while this girl does all the work!"
"But Edmond–"
"But nothing! That man showed no hesitation to the idea of crushing the arm of a child. A little girl, no less! And we stood by. Have we no shame? Have any of you?" No one answered him. None of them would look at her now. The young man named Edmond turned to the train driver who seemed much happier. "Sir, just tell me what to do."
"...And me!" said an older man.
"Me too!" a woman piped up.
"Don't forget me!" another said – another young man this time.
As they beamed with eagerness at Mr. Arca, an almost excited grin spread onto his face. "Volunteers, follow me. Everyone else, please be seated and be ready. This Flèche Rouge will not start slowly."
Mr. Arca led them to what he called the firebox, telling Ceres of how Albaer used magic to throw the robbers against the car's walls and stopped the masked man from "carving me up like a pig!" Edmond also mentioned that he'd caught a glimpse of the masked man escaping through one of the windows while Mr. Arca fended off the other robbers in the doorway leading to second class. All the other volunteers looked at each other and frowned at the news, agreeing that if the masked man left, it was for the best they didn't try to track him down.
Soon after, they came across rope in the mail car, where the original crew were laid out in a row, white tablecloths over their bodies. Mr. Arca asked the woman –Olivier, she called herself– to go back to the first class car and tie up the sharp-eyed man. She reluctantly but solemnly complied.
Mr. Arca explained he didn't have time to heat the boiler properly, and had already lit the flames in the firebox at full power prior to asking the passengers for assistance. When they reached their destination, a cramped, hot room with a large steel box sitting in the back and piles of coal in smaller open boxes on the sides, he handed each of them a shovel and a bandana.
"Now," he said sharply as they tied the bandanas over their noses, "it is your job to put the coal in whenever the box opens, and when I tell you to. Only those times. Don't try to take any initiative. It may sound simple, but the opening of the firebox ensures that this takes timing and it will tire you out easily. Which is why you will take ten minute shifts, no more, no less. When Miss Olivier returns, she will time your shifts. Edmond will go first, then Todd, then Évariste, and finally, Ceres. Keep the bandanas on at all times, and don't panic when the coal gets jammed. I will handle it. Any questions?"
"W-will anything go wrong?" the young brown-haired boy named Todd asked, shaking like a small wet dog. "And what do we do if it does?"
"Mr. Lister," the train driver said with a grim laugh. "We're in a hurry and we've lost all of our skilled firemen – of course something will go wrong. But I was our Chief fireman's partner for years and I do know how to fix most beginner's mistakes by now. Brave men and women, you've chosen to do your part to save the people on this train despite your fears and reservations. Remember that. Have faith in the others for choosing the same. Believe that you can work together to bring everyone home, to safety, to wherever their destination may be. Are you ready?"
Everyone nodded.
"Very well, then. We begin..." Mr. Arca grinned once more as he stood at his station and pushed one of many levers. "Now!"
The firebox opened, Olivier focused on her watch, and Edmond already stood at the ready by the opening mouth with a shovel full of coal. He successfully placed the coal in until the fifth time the firebox opened and closed before he could reach it. He cursed out loud, stopping to cough at the smoke, but Mr. Arca snapped at him to forget it and not to lose face. Edmond continued the pace as best he could for his ten minutes, only missing the opening two more times before his shift ended. Todd missed the opening during the transition that Olivier signalled. It took the brunet three failed openings until he got used to the smoke and got a feel for the speed, and it was at that moment when Mr. Arca burst into raucous laughter.
"Well done, Todd Lister!" The bulky train driver pulled another set of levers. "Keep up the pace and hold your ground, because we're ready to go!"
With those words, the train pushed forward like a rock in a slingshot.
Third Class cars 8:11 a.m.
The moment Léandre finished counting, three things happened at once.
The train restarted with just as abrupt a forward lurch as it did when it stopped, pushing people about in the chaos he would associate all trains with from now on. It seemed the train driver refused to waste time restarting the engines safely, which was fine by him. Anything to leave these cornfields.
Lamont raised his hands and brilliant streams of flames cascaded from them onto Fedora and Beard. Tree Trunk swerved to the side to take Lamont head on, absorbed the flames with his gun and pulled his lackeys away by the backs of their shirts at the last moment. The forward movement of the train pulled Beard and Fedora way back, but didn't meddle enough in Tree Trunk's actions.
And lastly, the tangle of lights, heat and movement from this event positioned Léandre to fall in the direction of the robbers. He twisted his body so he would fall on his back rather than his side. Better that he did, otherwise the bag of valuables and paper he held close to his chest would've fell out of his grip. The moment Léandre's back made contact with the ground, he used his free hand to push himself up onto his feet, dashed into the gaggle of fallen passengers and away from the fight breaking out at the front.
Plan in shambles, Léandre breathed heavily. Of all the people he could have been saddled with, why did it have to be someone so moronic as to set a fire in a third class train carriage? His dimwitted saboteur, to his credit, stopped the flames once he realized that Tree Trunk's gun was absorbing it –seriously, what was that thing even made of?– and Tree Trunk, now having discarded his too-hot-to-hold gun, grabbed Lamont’s wrists. Léandre once again questioned his mental stability, as he was the tiniest bit satisfied that Lamont couldn't quite evade the oncoming attack and was pinned to the ground.
Instead of pursuing Léandre as he predicted, Beard and Fedora helped their leader, understandably livid at what Lamont almost did to them. The train turned right, and he heard a telltale clink. He searched for the source of the sound.
Some of the passengers had the other bags of valuables hidden behind their backs.
Well, he did leave the door to the last car open during his confrontation. Anyone with half a brain would've taken advantage of it. You won't like what'll happen if you take your stuff back now, he hoped to convey to them with his arched eyebrow. Some of them motioned their hands like a rolling wheel while others frantically pointed at the robbers. Very descriptive. He knew exactly what they were trying to get at. Disregarding his apprehension of their shaky charades, he followed their motions towards the train robbers.
Tree Trunk and Beard had Lamont held down while Fedora –now in possession of Mrs. Slicer, somehow– had the weapon positioned on his throat.
Léandre felt his hands stuff the paper into his already bloated bag.
"Hey, boys!" he heard himself say. What in the Wildwood did his body think it was doing?
The robbers turned their attention to him as he held the bag outside of an open window. "That hiding spot where I put all the expensive stuff? It's here, in this bag. The paper is in here too, if you're still interested."
"Oh, we're interested," Fedora said with a forming sneer. "And we've got a nice bargaining chip now, haven't we?" He made a light cut on Lamont's neck.
Léandre considered his options: give them the bag or let them kill Lamont.
Giving them the bag wouldn't guarantee anyone's safety.
Damn it, why couldn't Léandre just let them kill Lamont? Ceres would understand the circumstances if Lamont died here. And he did deserve it for setting off a fire that could've killed everyone.
But Léandre didn't want Lamont to die.
He put wondering why aside for later.
Right now, he needed another option.
This was the third time today that parts of Albaer that weren't his shoes made contact with the train floor, and of those three times, his face in particular connected with the floor so hard that it would bruise in two separate places. Which was to say that he was so far from pleased that he suspected he left it behind at Baskerville Station. It wasn't the main reason why he was beyond furious, but it was certainly a contributing factor.
Most of the anger came from his inability to protect himself and, what was coming to be a trend, Bellamy. Sure, confront the gang of robbers like he did with the card players. It's not like they have weapons or anything! And if that weren't enough, he seriously intended to let those criminals get away with what they wanted! Never mind what they didn't do, Albaer wanted to yell, they should be arrested for killing the train workers! But he knew Bellamy wouldn't listen to him, so he took it into his own hands to do what he thought was right.
Then there was the whole issue about not being able to defend himself. Albaer could sprout fire and other odd magical forces, but that was only if he could put himself in a certain mindset that he hadn't quite figured out yet. All the previous instances involved anger and an unshakable determination to accomplish a goal. He certainly felt that when he decided to stop the robbers in his own way. And what did he get for his efforts? A bruise and a knife at his throat!
Now he lost all of that fiery determination and exchanged it for outrage, an irritating amount of fear at the possibility of his death and the subsequent frustration at not being able to quell it.
Bellamy bounced the bag outside of the window like it contained confetti and not the most valuable items on the train. "He doesn't really qualify as a bargaining chip if we just met yesterday."
The callous phrase unexpectedly stung. Exactly what Albaer needed to add to his already miserable pile of emotions.
"Would everybody stop referring to me as a bargaining chip?!" Snapping didn't make him feel any better, and even angered him more when his jerk of an escort spoke as if he didn't say anything.
"So go ahead, kill him." Bellamy shrugged. "It's his own fault for getting himself into this mess."
"Maybe it wouldn't have been such a mess if you helped from the beginning instead of–"
"Though I will warn you–" Bellamy aimed the slightest nod at someone behind him. "He may be enough of a stranger for me to let you kill him, but when you do, I will get irked enough to flip this bag over and watch as everything, including your freedom ticket, scatters in the wind at high speeds."
Albaer couldn't tell how the robbers holding him down reacted, but their sweaty grip under his chin and on his arms tensed. The hat-wearing robber's expression was stony as sweat dripped along the side of his head. But he still hadn't put the knife down.
As for Bellamy, Albaer had no idea what to think of him. Was he trying to rile him up on purpose, or did he really not care whether or not Albaer died? He searched his face for answers, but instead found a practiced lack of expression. Then it became a smirk and a quick wink in his direction when Bellamy shrugged and said, "What can I say? He made an impression. So where does that leave us?"
"You wouldn't–"
"I don't think you understand how much of a sore loser I am, Tree Trunk." There he went again, wearing that smug cheating-at-cards smile. "See, if you kill my new friend over there, I'll have lost this game and throw a tantrum that ensures if I can't win, no one wins. And the people of this establishment, despite my new friend's display of a talent they fear, will not take his death well either. He was one of the only few to defend them, after all. I'm not saying they'll go to all-out war for him, but they might just make sure you don't get anything you want."
At that, Bellamy nodded in a more pronounced way at something behind him again, and Albaer turned his head back as best as he could from his position. The mother passenger from earlier held a sack out of another window in a fashion similar to Bellamy. And judging by the unmistakable jingle of the other bags, there must have been more passengers standing by windows doing the same.
"So give it up. If you give your document to the authorities, you at least have the chance to be tried as free men."
The men holding him down froze.
The rickety train was the sole thing he heard.
Bellamy and the mother passenger's unwavering expressions tensed, unmoving.
The pressure lifted off of Albaer as his captors lowered the knife and released him from their grip.
He stood up and dusted himself off, despite knowing how futile it was until he had a proper bath, a smile growing at the sight of the mother he saved throwing the masked man's knife out the window and three robbers on their knees near the door to the second class carriages. Bellamy stood nearby as passengers passed his bag around to retrieve their possessions. He gave Albaer an expectant expression when he approached him.
"I can't believe you told them to kill me." Albaer was still unsure of what to think of Bellamy. He did save his life. On top of what he'd already done for him, that just made it more difficult to feel mad about the way he did it.
"I can't believe you nearly set the train on fire." Bellamy accepted his shabby bag from one of the less worn out children and peered into it. "But we'll argue about that later. What I said was the only thing that would've distracted them from the other passengers." He passed a contrite frown to Albaer. Or maybe he was imagining it.
Albaer passed a pointed gaze back to him. "And it was payback for the fire thing."
"...Maybe." He would have called him out on it, especially with the way he avoided making eye contact afterwards, but refrained and asked a question.
"How does telling them to kill me distract them from the other passengers?"
"They saw me as your accomplice, Magic Boy." Bellamy sat on a bench in front of the defeated train robbers. Albaer had no illusions that Bellamy wasn't keeping an eye on them as they talked. "Effectively convincing them otherwise gave everyone else the chance to open the windows without the added risk of having you killed for it. They already used me as a distraction beforehand to get the valuables from the next car anyway."
"But would you have let them do it?" Albaer stared into his mismatched eyes. Bellamy broke eye contact first, turning his head to the window. He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by yet another one of the train's abrupt stops. Everyone shoved forward again, much like the first time.
Bellamy fell towards the hat-wearing robber sitting directly in front of him.
Said robber already had another knife targeted at Bellamy's midsection.
Albaer didn't want Bellamy to die.
That all-too familiar surge roared in agreement as he fell forward and extended his hand to them.
The same invisible energy from earlier pushed the hat-wearing thief, and inadvertently, the two robbers beside him, into the window next to them.
Albaer and Bellamy's faces smacked into the wall beside the door and the robbers made another pileup by the window, now broken because of the impact. Albaer stood up first, dreading the bruise that would inevitably form on his forehead to add to the big dirty one on the side of his face, and tended to Bellamy, once again pulling him up by the arm. He too rubbed his sore forehead with a wince.
"Did you do that?"
"Yes, I used my magic to stop the train like I wanted, just like every time I've used it," Albaer replied in a deadpan.
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Magic Boy." Bellamy moved the gun far away from the robbers.
"One of them was going to stab you, commoner," he retorted. The other boy shot a long, wide-eyed stare at him. "W-what?"
"Thank you, then," Bellamy said weakly, still looking at Albaer with bafflement.
It was so honest a reaction from the other boy that Albaer couldn't help but flush. It didn't help that this was the first time anyone had ever thanked him so earnestly either.
Albaer turned his head away from him. "I was returning the favour."
Before the moment could get any more awkward, the side doors to the car opened with a bang, and in ran a team of purple-uniformed men. The ones that came in from the back side door tended to the other passengers. The ones that came in from the front had solid red M's on their faces and pointed what looked like wands at them.
Albaer refrained from groaning, but he almost didn't.
"Oi! You again, you lyin' piece of whitehead shit!"
Whitehead shit, whitehead scum, whitehead bastard, why is it that every cretin we encounter is a colour blind fool?
Now he understood why no one in third class liked the police – the self-proclaimed Magia Taskforce.
Upon their arrival, the first thing they did was point their wands at them –and that was how Vesperans performed magic? That was so...lacklustre compared to the magic-users from Rozen– and accuse Bellamy of being the train robbers' accomplice. Bellamy, in between his denial of his involvement in the crime, asked them why they bothered blaming him if they could never get an accusation to stick before. Before what, Albaer didn't know. Clearly, they knew each other. Albaer demanded to hear their reasoning for their arrest, and was rudely told that their (clearly incompetent) undercover investigator fed them information via communication mirrors during the robbery.
"Let us see this blockhead, and we'll tell you if we saw him at the third class car or if he was playing Renan Whispers from the first class cars!" Albaer moved in front of an unnaturally pale Bellamy.
"Who'd believe anythin' you say, you stupid little twit?" The stick-like purple uniformed policeman sneered, stretching that gods-awful M on his face. But he refused to be intimidated by it.
"The robbers, Bellamy, everyone here in this car!" he retorted. "What kind of country is this to accuse children of crimes they haven't committed?"
"You can scream at me all you want, but that don't change the fact that Bellamy's half-whitehead scum who joined those freaks to get back at those kids from the orphanage!"
"That doesn't even make any sense, you witless numbskull! You're making baseless accusations!"
"You really are dumb shit, aren't you? He's Renan, or at least half – the white hair and red eye prove it! And our undercover source says he speaks Renan too!"
A flash of fear appeared on Bellamy's face, and it didn't go away even after he brushed his hair over his eye. It was an interesting eye too, Albaer admitted to himself. It was nothing like his brown eye, a ruby red. He'd asked Bellamy before about what was under his bangs, and now he knew.
What he also knew was that Bellamy got quiet fast and his visible eye wildly searched for an escape route.
Bellamy, who smirked at idiotic gangsters and murderous robbers, spat in the face of the wealthy and powerful, and had a quip that got them out of every mess they were pulled into so far, lurked behind him from an increasingly moronic bunch of policemen. For what reason?
Albaer's voice trembled as it grew louder with every word. "Renan or not, he saved these people from those robbers, did your so-called inspector's job and this is how you repay him?! You're even less than dimwits, you're a...a complete bunch of bastards! And you're blind, because in any other part of the world except this miserable hovel will tell you that he's blond, not a whitehead insert-derogative-noun-here! This kid, this idiot who's younger than I am can not only speak Renan. I've heard him speak fluent Rozenite too, and I bet if given the chance, he can recite Undinan tongue twisters in his sleep because that's the kind of frustrating guy he is!"
"That proves he's a spy!" The stick man snatched Albaer's arm. Apparently the Vesperan police force was deaf too. "Willis, book him and this pathetic upstart!"
Albaer cursed as the men closed in on them. He tried to pry the man's grip away from his arm. Another two of them stood on either side of Bellamy and held his arms in a similar fashion, except Bellamy's struggle to escape looked more frantic than he'd ever seen him. And that set off a ping of fear in Albaer. What would happen to them now? Wand-bearing police force or not, the image of those slaves with the M's burned on their faces floated to the surface of his mind. He gritted his teeth, ready to choose death over being like them–
The grip on his arm loosened. Shouts of protest burst all around him. Various objects flew through the air. Albaer turned around. The passengers closed in from either end of the train, both from the third and second class cars, throwing their valuables at the police. None of it was paper money. It was high-heeled shoes and pointy metallic jewelry and heavy paperweights that they threw at them in protest. As the crowd surrounded the purple-clad men, Albaer could make out what the overlapping voices shouted as he manoeuvred through the crowd to find Bellamy.
"–if you lay another hand on those children, so help me gods–"
"–let them go, you big ugly yam heads–"
"–as the scion of the Cartier Family, I will ensure you never get a job again–"
"–Albaer, this way!"
A small hand found itself around his and led him out of the crowd, past the doors of the train and onto the station platform. The other smaller hand belonged to Ceres, who led him into another crowd around the operator's box where a hooded Bellamy waited, looking a little less pale. He stared at him though, and he didn't say anything. It was kind of creepy, so Albaer broke the silence between them.
"I was guessing, but can you actually speak Undinan?"
"I've barely started the grammar books."
He wanted to ask Bellamy more about how he acted back there, but let it slide when he took in their current destination. For a supposed train station of the nation's capital, it seemed kind of small. "So, is this Vessalius?"
Ceres shook her head. "We're in Corona. Vessalius is three stops away from here. Mr. Arca said that we had to stop at the nearest station because we weren't experienced enough or had enough stanima..."
"Stamina," Bellamy piped up.
"Stamina, to keep the engine going for so long and so that the MTF could stop the robbers. I didn't think that stopping like we did would lead to us leaving like that."
A sour expression formed at the thought of the stick-like man and his nasally voice until something Ceres said caught his attention. "Wait, 'we'?" Albaer raised an eyebrow. "So are you saying that you were the one who restarted the train?"
"Yes, along with the driver and some volunteers from first and second class." He shouldn't have put it past her to be able to do something like that. He pressed on regardless as his thoughts led him to a hair-ripping conclusion.
"And if you had to stop the train early, does that mean..." he trailed off, dread colouring his tone.
Bellamy nodded, resigned. "We're down to five pratas, so we really don't have any choice but to stow away. Any objections, Magic Boy?"
Albaer sighed, just as resigned, so long as they didn't have to face another train theft or card game ever again. "No, not this time. Lead the way."
Bellamy patted his hands on his hood as if to check if it was still on his head, looked around at the tense crowd around him with narrowed eyes and gestured for them to stay back. He snuck around the operator's box for a few moments, listening as people hounded the operator for information about the Flèche Rouge robbery. The operator answered any questions concerning directions and ticket purchases, but refused to answer any about the aforementioned train.
Knowing it would take some time before Bellamy came back to them, Albaer turned to Ceres, who asked him what happened while she volunteered to help start the train. He filled her in as best as he could, stopping in the middle of his narrative of how her brother read the robbers' letter when Bellamy came back to where they were waiting and motioned for them to follow him.
They trailed after him as he hid behind posts and in between stands whenever he saw a flash of gaudy purple pass his field of vision. Albaer didn't know how long Bellamy led them around in circles –he suspected Bellamy was making sure no one would follow them– but eventually, they reached one end of the station where there was a set of stairs and a sign hanging over it that read, "Valerius Terminal Railways". They walked at a normal pace on the way up the stairs, but Bellamy reverted back to being coiled and nondescript as he led them into the crowd. The train closest to them, a newer blue one, pulled up beside them.
Like before, they boarded near the rear end, but as people settled into their seats, Albaer and Ceres followed Bellamy to the platform outside the last passenger car and sat low beyond the range a person could see through the door's window. The following car didn't have a door leading to it, only a set of ladder-like footrests built into it. They held onto the platform railings as the train moved forward and didn't let go until they adjusted to the speed. Albaer couldn't help but notice that Bellamy took extra pains to make sure his hood stayed on despite the wind whipping their hair around everywhere. Ten minutes after the train started moving –Ceres said so over the wind, but to him, it felt like hours– Bellamy stood up to peer through the window. He nodded at his sister before he put one foot on the platform railing and balanced himself on it before he extended his other foot to the footrests diagonally across from him.
After he climbed up to the roof, he crouched low and waited for them. Albaer tried not to choke at the sight of Ceres casually leaping up to the next car's roof from her spot beside him, skipping the footrests altogether. He took a deep breath and failed to ignore the seemingly widening distance between this car and the next, trying to imitate Bellamy's movements and pretend it was the Lamont Estate's garden wall he climbed over and not a moving vehicle. It took much more time than either sibling, no thanks to the threat of being blown off by the wind, but he reached the top in the end.
As soon as he got there though, Bellamy skipped the banter that Albaer oddly started expecting from him and walked down the car, occasionally crouching low or crawling to dodge power lines and tunnels as he inched to the other end. His steady pace made it look effortless, like playing around in a park. In reality, Albaer had to fight for every step just to stay on the train and almost didn't duck low in time to avoid a tunnel. Ceres looked back at him every now and then, holding out a hand which he politely but firmly refused, and finally they reached the end of the car.
Bellamy moved again moments later, this time over the side of the car. He climbed halfway down the footrests and used his foot to push the sliding door next to him open part way. The wind did the rest of the job, pushing it the rest of the way to reveal an empty boxcar. Bellamy descended the side of the train, edged to the side closest to the open door and placed one foot at a time onto the floor of the boxcar's interior. Ceres followed suit faster than Bellamy, and as expected, Albaer took the longest time to get inside and finally gave into Ceres' silent offers of help to pull him in. She closed the door behind him and sat across from her brother, who chose to settle in at the end of the boxcar farthest from the doors.
Albaer sat next to her, eyes adjusting to the darkness and the rest of his body getting accustomed to the rattling of the car. His backside would be sore if he stayed seated for too long, and he finally had the chance to ask Bellamy about his behaviour around the police, but he could feel the fatigue from his previous night's uncomfortable sleep creeping back and the next thing he knew...
0 notes
Text
Alchemy: Tiny Steps
Chapters: 18/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series. Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ
Alchemy Placement Exam
9/2/1990
Created By: Edward Elric
The following exam will determine if you are still capable of continuing my class. This maybe a placement exam, it will still have a say whether you will continue studying Alchemy or stop completely for one year, (Or forever, depends on your answers).
Good luck with this exam here's to hoping you improved from our last class meeting!
(Remember, do not speed through with haste. Take a deep breath and think everything through deeply. Reread the questions to ensure you understand what is needed to be done.)
…
Part I :
Critical Thinking…
Part II :
Write the following compound formula…
Part III :
Name the following Alchemic symbols…
Part IV :
Create the following Transmutation Circles…
Part V :
Write the following Laws…
Part VI :
Answer in your own words the following…
Equivalent Exchange:
Rebound:
Comprehension:
Deconstruction:
Reconstruction:
Part VII :
Decode the following…
Part VIII :
All is one, one is all.
Good luck.
Edward sat behind his desk, leaning into his chair with both legs propped on top of his desk while reading the Daily Prophet. Today's main story, Minister Amelia Bones is having old cases reviewed again. It apparently was heavily noted there was past corruption and there is a need to ensure everyone was prosecuted to the law at the fullest. The current article he is reading was about how the Minister is making dealings with Major General Armstrong and General Mustang.
Good.
The sound of papers rustling made Edward to fold his paper over to see the twelve remaining students from last year taking his placement exam.
Four Slytherin.
Terrance Higgs
Edmond Mortin
Timothy Jerkins
Wynne Rabnott
Three Ravenclaws.
Rachel McWilliams
Elfrida Hopkirk
Nathaniel Praxley
Three Hufflepuff.
Kasey State
Yaxley Prang
Emmeline Evan
Two Griffindor.
Fred Weasley
George Weasley
People (Mainly students from Griffindor) gripped about his unfair how there were more Slytherins than any other house. Others (Ravenclaw this time) went on with how Alchemy made no sense, or the exam was rigged somehow to make many fail. Something along those lines. Meh. Meh he says! Everyone that passed were rightfully given a spot in his class and if they chose to leave then it's their own damn fault. Truth knows he's been trying to get Terrance to leave his class. That kid is stubborn, that's for sure.
Don't get him wrong, Terrance is an excellent student. Not your typical Slytherin, is not bothered with blood purity or house rivalry. The only thing Edward had doubt about the young man is that… his head is primarily focused on Quidditch. The kid is a complete natural and from what Severus had told him, he caught the eye of current agents of several professional Quidditch teams. However, Terrance has to keep up with his work in order to keep everything on track. For Edward, have the kid drop Alchemy to focus on a path he knows will suit him for later in life.
No. Nope. Nada. That is not the case of Terrance Higgs. He made it a point that Alchemy will be his primary elective and will take on whatever the Alchemy Teacher throw at him. Edward respects that and couldn't help but snort. Stubborn. Terrence is going to need that to move forward to keep up with his school work and extracurricular activity.
Few other students that remained had dropped out of Quidditch or other electives to primarily focus on Alchemy. Amendable, but unnecessary. They just need to take a step back and look at the big picture. They have to ensure they don't lose themselves in the work or grow insane… Insanity is common in Alchemist… That and many other things…
Perhaps Edward should do something for those that needed to take a step back from Alchemy for a short time…
"Mr. Elric?"
Edward only blinked once as he turned his focus on Terrence, who now stood in front of his desk. "Finished?"
"Yes sir…" Terrance handed his test to the Alchemy Teacher, who took it with an eyebrow raised. He couldn't help but hold back a gulp of apprehension. Mr. Elric had previously tried to get him out of the class to focus his time in Quidditch. However, no matter how much he tried, the young Slytherin wasn't having it. He was going to stick through it and… well… insert explicit phrase here.
"You improved. Good work."
"Thank you, sir."
-.-
Alphonse sat rigidly in his seat, not touching the cup of tea that was served for him. He sat in the Headmaster's office having a meeting with the Head of Houses along with the Headmaster. The purpose of the meeting had to do with Alphonse purpose being at the school. Having to gather up information to see what could be implemented to Xing's school.
The only problem is that….
The Headmaster is making appear it should be an exact replica of Hogwarts. That would be a huge no for Alphonse. What he and Ling had in mind, having a second Hogwarts will not be a good idea. Divided houses. Prejudice towards blood and houses. Blatant favoritism to the point it is known to everyone around. Let's move forward with life and not create enemies that will last a lifetime.
Professor Sprout is going on about the possible ways the school could implement a Herbology Department. That is a good idea, with the fact Xing primarily focuses on the Healing Arts and already have a good array of necessary medicine herbs for their practices. Plus, Ling made it a point he wanted a Herbalogist and the Professor is already referring him many of her past pupils as possible candidates.
Professor McGonagall is talking about discipline, Transfiguration, and enrollment. Discipline will be dealt with the laws of the land and have to translate them into the school. Transfiguration will have to be taught, but the issue is that the complication of it crossing Alchemy and Ishvalan beliefs. Even so, it is needed and how to be implemented will be yet to be seen. Enrollment. This will be the main topic that will be a huge sore point for the elders and the entire country of Xing. Many approve for just the high class or only the fifty clans. Main issue would be the rest of Xing that do not belong in a clan who have developed magical abilities. That is an issue Alphonse, Ling, and many other's have to look deeply into.
Alphonse and Severus had spoken during the summer and had come to an agreement that the Potion's Professor will be sending over a former student that will stand in as the Potioneer Ling requested. Along with giving him contact to his suppliers and materials to start off teaching potions. Including with a past student that rank rather high in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Alphonse will have to talk to Ling in terms of the Dark arts but in all, he believes it would be a good idea. Still, better to check up with the guy in charge.
"We have one of our professors to personal hand deliver a letter to a first year with a muggle background…"
"Normally we send out letters via owl."
'Owl's aren't going to cut it…' Alphonse kept his gaze at his reflection in his tea. 'They won't stand the climate and constant sand storms. Hawks? Hm…'
-.-
Cedric Diggory stared at an announcement of an Alchemy Entrance Exam that will take place the throughout the entire week at different hours. The first exam will be given to the first years, after that will be divided by others never took the exam and the rest will be placed randomly depending on one's schedule. There was something about students that quit the class that wish to retake the class will have to take to Mr. Elric but that did not include him. Throughout the entire summer, he had been studying what he believes to help him with the exam.
Hopefully that will help him. Cedric had wanted to take the class last year but was intimidated by the entrance exam and the teacher in general. Mainly the teacher. Mr. Elric is intimidating. Very intimidating. Still, from his housemates that are taking the class tell him about random stories and what they are learning. This only motivated the Hufflepuff to study to perhaps take the exam with his head up.
"Food… Food…. Food…"
Cedric paused mid-thought to turn around to see Mr. Elric grumbling as he walked by him towards the kitchen. He swore the Alchemy Teacher looked like he is undead and completely dead to the world around him.
"I hate all nighters…"
Cedric slowly began to back away from the Alchemy Teacher before going into a full run. Perhaps he should rethink about thinking the Alchemy Exam.
Said teacher didn't pay much notice of what just happened as he gained access to the kitchen. A smile appeared on his face as the House Elves cheered at his appearance and began to bring out random treats for him. "Pie…"
-.-
"Here's to hoping we get in again." Fred paced around the Gryffindor Common Room, while his brother sat on the couch that was place in front of the fireplace.
"Stop worrying. Mr. Elric told use we are a shoe in, he just wanted to know where to place us. This is just a formality." George waved off his brother's concern.
"You know how he is. If he finds one thing, then it's over!"
"I know. Stop panicking, remember what else he said? We are to talk to him and see where we went wrong in general. If it has to do with us intellectually, then we study our way in again. The only way we are going to be kicked out if we…you know."
Fred stopped pacing to stare at the fire nervously. "I know and we must never discuss it."
"Long as we do not go down that road, we are good."
"Then let's stop talking about it, dear brother."
"Stop talking about what? I don't know what you are talking about?"
-.-
Terrence watched the captain of the Slytherin's Quidditch Team walk off after their short conversation. Well, it was more of the other guy is demanding him to continue with Quidditch and do every attempt to keep his head in the game. After discussion, the captain walked off feeling satisfied he did his job.
Terrence couldn't help but shake his head at his older housemate's demand of him. Of course he intends on continuing his Quidditch career. Professor Snape, Mr. Elric and his parents made it clear if he starts to fall behind in the sport, Alchemy is off his lift of classes. He likes Alchemy. He likes the atmosphere, likes how Mr. Elric only shows some sort of favoritism to all his students. Not once did he ever play on blood, house or anything else along those lines. So much hate could be take before it starts to make you hate oneself.
"Terrence!"
Terrance turned around to see a Rachel McWilliams, a fellow Alchemy student, running down the corridor towards him. The fourth year Ravenclaw is wearing her Hogwarts' uniform, but is wearing a pair of pants instead of a skirt, sunflower colored hair which is tied up using her tie. "McWilliams."
"Higgs. What do you think of the Placement Exam?" The Ravenclaw asked the Slytherin with worry evident in her voice. "I don't believe I did well in the decoding portion of the test. I've never scored that high in that area."
"I'm sure you did well enough." Terrance managed to get in between Rachel's sentences. The Ravenclaw is a constant worrier, always doubting herself and even questioning why she was placed in Ravenclaw. If she wasn't worrying then is talking at a hundred miles a minute about anything to everything that caught her attention. "Take a breath."
"-Then I thought about what Mr. Elric taught us back in Amestris and bam! Everything made sense! Well? How do you think you did on the test?"
"…Am I allowed to speak now?"
"Yes, I asked you a question."
"...Don't know. Don't care right now. I'm hungry and I missed breakfast to study."
"Really!? Don't you know breakfast is one of the most important meals of the day!"
-.-
"Not again… Xerxes! Give me back that paper! I need to grade it!"
"Hoot!"
"What do you mean I don't give you enough attention! You were napping all day!"
"HOOT!"
"AHHHH! Not the hair! Take the papers!"
0 notes
Text
Dorimène, Le Mariage forcé
Le Mariage forcé
Les Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée (The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island), Versailles
Molière’s contribution
a comédie-ballet
Molière and Lully’s Le Mariage forcé (The Forced Marriage), is a farce and a comédie-ballet, in prose. It was first performed on 29 January 1664 in the Queen Mother’s apartments, at the Louvre. On 15 February 1664, it was performed at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, where it proved less popular. It closed after 12 performances. It was performed again on 12 May 1664 during festivities known as Les Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée, The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island. Louis XIV wanted to show Versailles at an early date. He had hired architect Louis Le Vau, landscape architect André le Nôtre, and the painter-decorator Charles Le Brun. These gentlemen had built Nicolas Fouquet‘s castle at Vaux-le-Vicomte. Molière’s La Princesse d’Élide (8 May) and Tartuffe (8 May) also premièred during Les Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée.
In its original form, The Forced Marriage was a three-act comédie-ballet, by Molière and Lully It did not use figures from a mythology in which it differed from earlier comédies-ballets. At Versailles, King Louis XIV and other aristocrats performed in the comedy. In 1664, Louis was very much in love with Louise de la Vallière who lived at Versailles, in the small castle used as a hunting-lodge by the very private Louis XIII.
Molière transformed Le Mariage forcé into a one-act play in 1668, which is Le Mariage forcé as we know it. However, it was reborn as a comédie-ballet in 1672. Lully having broken with Molière, the music was composed by Marc-Antoine Charpentier.
In his Preface to the Forced Marriage, Henri van Laun provides information concerning the posterity of the play. Sganarelle is Sir Toby Doubtful in Love’s Contrivance‘s, a play by Mrs Carroll, born Susanna Centlivre (c. 1667–1670 – 1 December 1723).
Panurge by Albrecht Durer (BnF)
Origins
foreign
Gallic
Rabelais
pedants & philosophy: Aristotle and Pyrrho (doubt)
Although Molière drew some of his material from Spanish author Lope de Vega’s Intermède du sacristain [sacristan] Soguizo, and Giordano Bruno’s[1] Candelaio, or The Candle Bearer, entitled Boniface et le Pédant in French, Le Mariage forcé belongs mainly to a French tradition.
The Forced Marriage is rooted primarily in Rabelais‘ Gargantua and Pantagruel, the Third of Five Books [EBook #1200]. Molière’s Sganarelle recalls Panurge, as featured in Chapter Three of the Third Book (of Five).
How Panurge asketh counsel of Pantagruel whether he should marry, yea, or no.
Affinities between Molière and Rabelais leap off the title and so does the advice Pantagruel provides to Panurge. Pantagruel urges Panurge not to marry, which is Géronimo’s initial response, until he learns that Sganarelle has obtained permission to marry Dorimène from Alcantor, her father. In the Third Book, Panurge has decided to marry, but revisits his decision. In Rabelais’ Third Book, Panurge also seeks the advice of Trouillogan, the model for Molière’s Marphurius, a Pyrrhonian philosopher, and a pedant. He prefigures The Learned Ladies, or Femmes savantes‘ Trissotin and Vadius. The mouton de Panurge is featured in the fourth of five books constituting Pantagruel and Gargantua. A mouton de Panurge, “describes an individual that will blindly follow others regardless of the consequences.” (See Panurge, Wiki2.org.)
Molière’s Mariage Forcé also has affinities with Guez de Balzac’s Socrate chrétien. Théophile de Viau’s Fragments d’une histoire comique, Dorimond’s L’École des cocus (the School for Cuckolds) and Charles Sorel’s Polyandre (see polyandry, Wiki2.org). These are 17th-century French authors.[2]
Gravure Lalauze
Le Mariage forcé
Gravure Edmond Hédouin
Moreau le Jeune
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
SGANARELLE. (Molière) GÉRONIMO. ALCANTOR, father to Dorimène. ALCIDAS, brother to Dorimène. LYCASTE, in love with Dorimène. PANCRACE, an Aristotelian Philosopher. MARPHURIUS, a Pyrrhonian Philosopher. DORIMÈNE, a young coquette betrothed to Sganarelle. Two GIPSIES. The Scene is in a Public Place.
The Plot
In Scene One of Le Mariage Forcé, Sganarelle, Molière’s mask, wants to know from his friend Géronimo whether he should marry. Sganarelle has already sought and obtained from Dorimène’s father, Alcantor, permission to marry Dorimène. Alcantor has agreed. In his mind, the mind of a pater familias, le Seigneur Sganarelle, a well-to-do 53-year-old gentleman, is a perfect match for his daughter.
However, Dorimène surprises us. One would expect her to oppose her tyrannical father, but she differs from other ingénues, forced to marry or be thrown in a convent. Young Dorimène is une mondaine who thinks a marriage to Sganarelle will allow her to escape her father. When she and Sganarelle meet in Scene II, she makes it clear that she wishes to be free. In fact, she has a lover, Lycaste, who cannot understand why she is marrying Sganarelle. She reassures Lycaste. Sganarelle is an older gentleman who has no more than six months “in his belly.” She wants to be a widow, the privileged women of 17th-century France. Widows were free to marry whom they please, or not to marry. Le Misanthrope‘s Célimène is a widow.
Yet, although arrangements are being made for Dorimène to marry Sganarelle that very day, Sganarelle would like to discuss marriage with his friend Géronimo. When Géronimo learns that the bride-to-be is the lovely Dorimène and that she is not opposing Alcantor, her father, Géronimo has little left to say than exclaim:
Mariez-vous promptement; je ne dis plus rien. Géronimo to Sganarelle (Scene I, p. 9) [Make haste and get married.] Géronimo to Sganarelle (Scene Four, p. 227)
The most amusing lines of Scene One are Sganarelle’s:
Outre la joie que j’aurai de posséder une belle femme, qui me fera mille caresses; qui me dorlotera, et me viendra frotter, lorsque je serai las; outre cette joie, dis-je, je considère, qu’en demeurant comme je suis, je laisse périr dans le monde la race [3] des Sganarelles; et qu’en me mariant, je pourrai me voir revivre en d’autres moi-mêmes… [4] Sganarelle à Géronimo (Scene I, p. 8) [I consider that, by remaining as I am, I suffer the race of the Sganarelles to become extinct ; whilst, by marrying, I may see myself reproduced, and shall have the joy of seeing children sprung from me[.] Sganarelle to Géronimo (Scene Two, p. 226)
Marriage and Marriage
Matters change. Sganarelle believes he will own Dorimène:
Hé bien, ma belle, c’est maintenant que nous allons être heureux l’un et l’autre. Vous ne serez plus en droit de me rien refuser; … Sganarelle à Dorimène (Scène II, pp. 9-10) [Well, my dear, both of us are going to be happy now. You will no longer have a right to refuse me anything; and I can do with you just as I please, without any one being shocked. You will be mine from head to foot, and I shall be master of everything, of your little sparkling eyes, your little roguish nose, your tempting lips, your lovely ears, your pretty little chin, your little round breasts, your … ] Sganarelle to Dorimène (Scene Four, pp. 227-228)
Dorimène, however, wants to escape her father’s tyranny and would not accept to marry a tyrannical Sganarelle’s.
Tout à fait aise, je vous jure: car enfin la sévérité de mon père m’a tenue jusques ici dans une sujétion la plus fâcheuse du monde. Il y a je ne sais combien que j’enrage du peu de liberté, qu’il me donne; et j’ai cent fois souhaité qu’il me mariât, pour sortir promptement de la contrainte, où j’étais avec lui, et me voir en état de faire ce que je voudrai. Dorimène à Sganarelle (Scene II, p. 10) [Immensely glad, I assure you. For, indeed, my father’s severity has kept me hitherto in the most grievous subjection. I have been raging, I do not know how long, at the scanty liberty he allows me ; I have wished a hundred times that he would get me a husband, so that I might quickly escape from the durance in which I have been kept by him, and be able to do as I pleased. Dorimène to Sganarelle (Scene Four, pp. 228-229)
The two are in a collision course. Sganarelle realizes that he has made a mistake.
The Dream
In Scene Three (FR), Géronimo returns. He has found a jeweller who has a beautiful diamond for sale. Sganarelle is no longer so eager to marry. He would like to confide that he has had a dream:
Avant que de passer plus avant, je voudrais bien agiter à fond cette matière; et que l’on m’expliquât un songe que j’ai fait cette nuit, et qui vient tout à l’heure de me revenir dans l’esprit. Sganarelle à Géronimo (Scene III, p. 11) [Before going farther I wish to sift this matter to the bottom, and to have interpreted to me a dream which I had last night, and which just recurred to me.] Sganarelle to Géronimo (Scene Five, p. 229)
Dreams are borrowed from Rabelais.
Trouillogan by Gustave Doré (BnF)
Pancrace and Marphurius (Trouillogan)
Géronimo is too busy to discuss dreams. He tells Sganarelle to speak with his neighbours: Pancrace, an Aristotelian philosopher, and Marphurius, a Pyrrhonean philosopher. Sganarelle now fears cuckolding. but Pancrace can’t help because he is preoccupied. He wonders whether one should use the word “form” or “figure” concerning the shape of a hat. Sganarelle pressures Pancrace a little, who then asks which tongue, langue, Sganarelle wishes to use. It is, of course the tongue in his mouth:
Parbleu, de la langue que j’ai dans la bouche; je crois que je n’irai pas emprunter celle de mon voisin. Sganarelle à Pancrace (Scene IV, p. 15) [Zounds! The tongue I have in my mouth.] Sganarelle to Pancrace (Scene Six, p. 232)
So, as of “Zounds,” matters truly deteriorate. Sganarelle leaves. (I am not discussing the quotations in Latin.)
Sganarelle then visits another neighbour, a Pyrrhonian skeptic. This character reflects Sganarelle uncertainty and adds to his distress. Doubt has entered Sganarelle’s mind. He correct Sganarelle. “[I]t seems to me,” (il me semble que) says Sganarelle, but “me” expresses uncertainty. “Nous devons douter de tout” (we must doubt everything), says Marphurius. Sganarelle is so frustrated that he ends up hitting Marphurius with a stick. Marphurius is defenceless. Sganarelle turns himself into a skectic, mocking Marphurius:
Corrigez, s’il vous plaît, cette manière de parler. Il faut douter de toutes choses; et vous ne devez pas dire que je vous ai battu; mais qu’il vous semble que je vous ai battu. Sganarelle à Marphurius (Scène V, p. 22) [Pray, correct this manner of speaking. We are to doubt everything; and you ought not to say that I have beaten you, but that it seems I have beaten you.] Sganarelle to Marphurius (Scene Ten, p. 238)
Marphurius is Rabelais’ Trouillogan. (See Chapter 3.XXXV)
“ How the philosopher Trouillogan handleth the difficulty of marriage.”
Le Mariage Forcé was a comédie-ballet, with music by Jean-Baptiste Lully. Unlike other comédies-ballets, Le Mariage forcé did not use characters inhabiting mythologies. In Scene Twelve, Sganarelle asks three Égyptiennes (Gypsies) whether he will be cuckolded.
Cuckoldry and Widowhood
In Scene Twelve, Lycaste, who loves Dorimène, wonders why she is marrying Sganarelle. She reassures him. Not only will she be free, but she expects Sganarelle to die within a few months. She looks forward to widowhood. In 17th-century France, widowhood freed women who had married women who have married against their will.
Je vous le garantis défunt dans le temps que je dis; et je n’aurai pas longuement à demander pour moi au Ciel, l’heureux état de veuve. Dorimène à Lycaste (Scene XII, p. 25) [I guarantee that he is dead in the time I say. I shall not long have to pray Heaven for the happy state of widowhood.] Dorimène to Lycaste (Scene Twelve, p. 240)
Sganarelle has heard everything. Lycaste gets away as Dom Juan. Dom Juan invites his father to sit down and Lycaste’s politeness leaves Sganarelle speechless.
Agréez, Monsieur, que je vous félicite de votre mariage, et vous présente en même temps mes très humbles services. Je vous assure que vous épousez là une très honnête personne. Lycaste à Sganarelle (Scene VII, p. 25) [Allow me, sir, to congratulate you on your marriage, and at the same time to offer you my most humble services. Let me tell you that the lady, whom you are marrying, possesses great merits…] Lycaste to Sganarelle (Scene Twelve, p. 240)
Lycaste then goes away, having silenced Sganarelle.
A Forced Marriage
The remaining scenes feature Dorimène’s family. Alcantor will not allow Sganarelle to roll back his promise to marry Dorimène.
Seigneur Alcantor, j’ai demandé votre fille en mariage, il est vrai; et vous me l’avez accordée: mais je me trouve un peu avancé en âge pour elle; et je considère que je ne suis point du tout son fait. Sganarelle à Alcantor (Scene VIII, p. 27) [Mr. Alcantor, it is true I asked your daughter in marriage, and you granted my request; but I find that I am rather old ; I think that I am by no means a proper match for her.] Sganarelle to Alcantor (Scene Fourteen, p. 241) Vous vous êtes engagé avec moi, pour épouser ma fille; et tout est préparé pour cela. Mais puisque vous voulez retirer votre parole, je vais voir ce qu’il y a à faire; et vous aurez bientôt de mes nouvelles. Alcantor à Sganarelle (Scene VIII, p. 28) [You gave me your word that you would marry my daughter, and everything is prepared for the wedding; but since you wish to withdraw, I shall go and see what can be done in the matter; you shall hear from me presently.] Alcantor to Sganarelle (Scene XIV, p. 242)
During Scene IX, Sganarelle refuses to fight. Alcidas, Dorimène’s brother, has brought swords. In the end, Sganarelle is compelled to marry.
Hé bien! j’épouserai, j’épouserai… Sganarelle à Alcidas (Scene IX, p. 30) Well then, I will marry, I will marry! Sganarelle to Alcidas (Scene XIV, p. 244)
Sganarelle (www.cosmovisions.coms.com)
Sganarelle (Wikipedia)
Conclusion
The Forced Marriage turns matters upside down. We are therefore reminded of Mikhail Bakhtin Rabelais and His World: carnival and grotesque. We are also reminded of the comic playwrights. However, we are not dealing with giants.
Sganarelle makes wedding arrangements before seeking advice from Géronimo, or taking matters into consideration.
An older gentleman is forced to marry.
Dorimène is pleased to marry a senex iratus. She will be a widow.
Sganarelle is a cocu (cuckolded) before he marries.
Our philosophers have long left reality. Molière has created Les Femmes savantes‘ Trissotin and Vadius.
However, floating just below the surface of this play is the farcical trompeur trompé, the deceiver deceived. How can Lycaste ever trust Dorimène? The extremely polite manner he uses to greet Sganarelle could be read as a criticism of Dorimène’s ploy. It is “affected.” As for Dorimène, she is her own senex iratus.
The play also features pedants. Pancrace’s pursuit of a correct term, forme or figure for the shape of hats is trivial. As for Marphurius he is Rabelais Trouillogan (See Chapter 3, XXXVI) in Gutenberg’s [EBook #1200]
I am leaving behind the comédie-ballet, as written and composed in 1664. This post is already too long. But it is interesting to know that at Versailles, the King and aristocrats played roles in the comédie-ballet.
Sources and Resources
Le Mariage forcé is a toutmolière.net publication
Le Mariage forcé, Notice, toutmolière.net
The Forced Marriage is an Internet Archive publication
Pantagruel and his son Gargantua is Gutenberg’s [EBook #1200]
Trouillogan is featured in Chapter 3, XXXVI in Gutenberg’s [EBook #1200]
Molière21
Mikhail Bakhtin
____________________
[1] Giorgano Bruno was tortured and burned at the stake by the Inquisition. Among other notions, Bruno perceived the plurality of worlds, as would French philosophe Fontenelle, a century later. [2] Maurice Rat, ed., Œuvres complètes de Molière (Paris: Gallimard, collection La Pléiade, 1956), pp. 878-884. [3] In the French language race means race, breed, and, occasionally, line. [4] Cf. Rabelais.
Love to everyone 💕 I apologize for spending a rather long time writing this post.
Baroque Music – Bourrée du Mariage Forcé (Jean-Baptiste Lully)
youtube
youtube
© Micheline Walker 5 July 2019 WordPress
Molière’s “Forced Marriage,” “Le Mariage forcé” Le Mariage forcé Les Plaisirs de l'Île enchantée (The Pleasures of the Enchanted Island),
#Carnivalesque#François Rabelais#Le Mariage forcé#Les Plaisirs de l&039;Île enchantée#Lully#Molière#Panurge#Sganarelle#The Forced Marriage#Widowhood
1 note
·
View note