#somebody had Toulouse

[benjaminsblog]

Super League Triathlon, Toulouse

My second SLT was a marked improvement on last week, though the show itself is still a chaotic affair! I was able to contribute a lot more than I did in London - I had ample time to acclimatise to the software, plus I had a clearer picture of what to expect.

It was another altered format of three mini-'athlons but with the three disciplines in a different order each time; each stage was roughly 15 minutes long, and athletes only had 3 minutes in between to rest/reset. I think it was debatable who felt the stress more - the athletes or team GFX! Victor and I were swamped the entire time, and even with our dedicated GFX producer Kate beside us, it was a huge relief to reach the end virtually unscathed.

Not that the trip was flat-out in its entirety; I was able to socialise a bit with Victor and the rest of the team a couple of times, and ended up not only eating at the same restaurant twice (Meet the Meat) but having the exact same meal - duck & dauphinoise washed down with a complimentary Baileys/cream shot!

Thus ends my involvement in SLT for the foreseeable future, but it was cool to add yet another sport to my repertoire, and meet another AE cousin (Victor is a lovely chap) on my travels. As difficult as the shows can be, I think I could put up with it for a few helpings of magrets des canard...

[ficsforfandoms]

The Rest Of My Life

Prompt - ‘I’d like to laugh with her for the rest of my life.’ 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Christian, any fool who took a single glance at him could sum him up quite as easily as somebody who had known him since he was just a small boy. They would tell you he was a man in love, in love with what nobody could ever guess. There was never a woman in his life, Christian had no experience with love and yet his whole life seemed to revolve around love.

Christian himself would tell you how beautiful love was, how it was all one needed to be happy. He was content to sit at his typewriter for hours on end, his fingers dancing quickly across the keys in a desperate attempt to keep up with each new thought and idea that came to him.

Love was beautiful. It was breathtaking. It made the world a better place. Christian could spend the rest of his life waxing the most adoring words to describe the feeling of being loved and being in love.

He might never have been in love but oh how he had dreamed of it. The feeling of his lover curled into his chest, his fingers trailing through soft hair, caressing her cheek before feeling her lips against his, the words he wrote suddenly having a new meaning because they were all about her.

Christian wanted to be in love more than anything.

It was perhaps for that reason that Christian hadn’t protested so much when Toulouse insisted he joined them at the Moulin Rouge that evening, a place he would never usually have frequented but he knew he wouldn’t find love sitting in his room. It was one of the reasons he had left London, he needed to put himself out there, he needed to find her.

So he went to the Moulin Rouge and he stared in wide eyed wonderment at the sights, there were so many different types of people, lights and jewels shone around the room, Christian wasn’t able to take everything in fast enough before the girls were singing and his attention was pulled to the front of the room.

He was quick to join in on the festivities as Toulouse pulled him along with a giant grin on his face, the music loud and the drink in his hand cold, Christian was singing and dancing along with the rest of the crowd in no time.

You were the first to spot him, watching as he laughed with his group of friends, looking so happy and carefree, like there was nothing bad in the world. He was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but there was something about him beyond his beauty that seemed to pull you to him.

You stayed where you were though, despite wanting to make your way over to him, choosing instead to just observe him. You were quick to look away when he turned your way, focusing on the near empty drink in your head and hoping when you turned back he hadn’t disappeared from view.

Christian was enchanted in a second of seeing you. Alone at the bar, bringing a glass to your lips, Christian couldn’t look away if he tried. The flood of people separating you seemed to vanish from view for Christian, the songs and the dancing suddenly not all that interesting to him anymore. Of course how could they be when compared to you?

“Toulouse,” Christian said, not looking away from you as he called his friend's attention, “she’s beautiful.”

“So go and talk to her.” Toulouse encouraged and if only it could be that simple, for him to simply walk across the room and close the distance between the two of you.

“Oh I couldn’t!” Christian insisted, finally pulling his gaze from you to look at Toulouse with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t know what to say, what to do! She looks like a woman I could only dream about, what chance would a penniless nobody like me have with a woman like that?”

“Christian, it is easy, just tell her you think she’s beautiful and go from there. Don’t you think she should have a say in whether she wants to be with you?” Toulouse asked, smirking when Christian didn’t immediately shoot him down but instead turned back to you.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Christian said absentmindedly, his attention solely on you again. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Good luck!” Toulouse’s call was muffled as Christian made his way through the crowd, people moving this way and that, causing him to stumble his way through the sea of people before he finally made his way to where you sat alone at the bar, hands wrapped around an empty glass.

“Excuse me?” Christian started and you couldn’t help but smile at the soft voice to your right, glancing over when you saw the man from across the room standing nervously at your side. “If you wouldn’t mind the company, I’d quite like to join you.”

Your smile widened and Christian was mesmerised. He could sit and stare at you all day, already he had hundreds of words running through his head that he was desperate to type out, finally having real inspiration for his poems.

“Please do take a seat.” You told him, gesturing to the seat next to you and Christian had to control his smile at your voice, you sounded as beautiful as you looked, a voice he’d quite like to listen to for the rest of his life.

“Could I buy you another drink?” Christian offered as he gestured down to your empty glass.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

It wasn’t long before the two of you had drinks in front of you, Christian unable to look away from you for even a single moment whereas you kept glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, thankful that he seemed as captivated by you as you were for him.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Christian.” He introduced himself, a pink flush spreading across his check that you could help but giggle softly at, a sound that had Christian’s heart speeding up.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You told him with a smile and Christian wanted you to always smile at him like that.

“You truly are beautiful, Y/N.” Christian said, the words falling from his lips seemingly without his permission if his wide eyes and startled look was anything to go by but you just laughed again and the sound alone seemed to calm him.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” You asked him and watched as his eyebrows knitted together before he shook his head. “I figured, most men don’t speak to any women here quite so nicely.”

“That’s ridiculous! Surely somebody else must have noticed your beauty? One look from across the room and I knew I just had to know you!” Christian exclaimed, baffled at your words.

“You’re a romantic sort, aren’t you? I’ve never heard anyone speak quite like you do.” You told him with a soft smile, glad he had come to join you.

“Oh yes! I love everything about love, there’s no better feeling, nothing better in the whole world than love!” Christian told you enthusiastically and you couldn’t help but smile along with him.

Christian felt himself blush under your smile, knowing how he could get when the subject of love was brought up. Suddenly, here before you, it felt like everything he had known about love was wrong, it was so much more consuming than he could have ever thought it would be.

“I wish I believed in love half as much as you seem to.” You told him wistfully, glancing down into your drink and missing Christian’s wide eyed look of horror.

“You don’t believe in love?” He exclaimed and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love, of course it’s real,” You said before sighing, “It’s just that, I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if I was ever made to be loved like that.”

“Of course you were.” Christian said once the words were out of your mouth and you turned to look at him in confusion, he debated whether he should carry on before deciding it was worth it. “Of course you were made to be loved, I knew the moment I saw you that you were put here, right here in Montmartre, here on this very night in the Moulin Rouge, to be loved!”

“You can’t possibly mean that, Christian.” You brushed him off with a huff of a laugh but continued looking at him, the determined look on his face had you doubting your own words.

“But I do.” He insisted. “You see, I’m a poet, I write about love and never have I met anybody in my whole life who gives my words meaning. Suddenly everything I have ever written about faceless people seems dreadfully dull when compared to what I want to write about you!”

“I’ve never been loved before.” You told him softly.

“I’ve never been in love before.” He admitted, his voice just as quiet as yours and the two of you remained that way for several moments, the noises of the Moulin Rouge muted around you.

“You hardly know me.” You finally said, not sure if it was an attempt to stop whatever seemed to be occurring or an invitation for him to accept.

“I’d like to though, more than anything in the whole world.” He told you, everything about him radiated sincerity. “I quite think I’d like to spend the rest of my life getting to know you.”

You were silent again, left speechless as you stared at the man who gave you a sheepish smile, reaching up to push his hair back nervously as he waited for you to say something. You weren’t quite sure you could find any words though at the moment so instead just nodded, strangely taken with the young man and wanting to know him as much as he did you.

“Would you like to leave? We could go anywhere you like.” Christian asked and you nodded again, allowing him to take your hand and lead you away from the bright lights.

The two of you stayed that way, walking alongside each other long after the music and singing coming from the Moulin Rouge had faded, hands entwined as you both filled the silence. Christian told you about why he had come to Paris, leaving behind a life in London in exchange for a chance to make a new one, one filled with love and poetry. You told him about your life too, telling him of the adventures that you had that had led you all the way to Paris and the Moulin Rouge.

The two of you wandered the streets for hours, barely noticing the time pass as you traded secrets and stories. It wasn’t until yawns started to interrupt your conversations that you both realised that hours had passed since you’d left the Moulin Rouge.

“I don’t want this night to end.” Christian told you, looking at you with a sad, regretful look. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a night like this one.”

“I can say the same thing myself. I’ve rather liked getting to know you, Christian.” You said and watched as his expression morphed into a smile.

“We will do this again, won’t we? Oh, please say we will, Y/N!” Christian exclaimed, causing you to laugh, smiling brightly at him and Christian found himself returning the gesture without a second thought.

Your smile truly was contagious.

“I’d like nothing more.” You told him truthfully, giggling again as his smile spread impossibly wider as he pulled you closer to him.

“Can I walk you home?” He asked and you immediately agreed, even after spending so long together tonight you wanted to stay with him a little while longer.

The walk home consisted of much softer spoken conversation, the both of you knowing that in a matter of minutes you’d have to part ways. When your building came into sight you sighed softly and turned to Christian.

“I can’t wait to see you again.” Christian said as he reached over to brush a strand of hair away before his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

He gave you plenty of time to pull away but instead you leaned forward, meeting him halfway. Christian suddenly understood every word he had ever read, he realised every cliche was real when he felt your lips against his, the world around him forgotten as he kissed you back until you were both breathless and forced to pull away.

“Goodnight Christian.” You murmured, leaning up to place a lingering kiss against his lips before stepping back to memorise the dazed look on Christian’s face.

“Goodnight Y/N.” Christian whispered, keeping his gaze on you until you’d disappeared behind the closed door of your apartment building.

He stayed where he was for a few moments longer, just smiling to himself with the memory of your lips against his running through his head. You were truly unlike anybody he had ever met before, someone he knew he had to know, had to keep in his life.

Christian walked home with his smile firmly in place and let himself into his own rooms, shrugging his coat off before taking a seat at the table, his trusty typewriter already waiting for him.

Tonight I met her, the girl who gives meaning to every word of love, each line sounds beautiful and new because of her. Suddenly I know what love is, an all-encompassing feeling that I will treasure for the rest of my life, a life I hope to share with her. She’s beautiful, not just in the way she looks but in the way she talks, in the way she laughs. I laughed more tonight than I ever have in my life. I think…no I know I’d like to laugh with her for the rest of my life.

[al-val-meadow]

FEBRUARY FRIDAY WEEK 3 Space/Universe City/Radio

Uh oh I forgot about this. (In case you couldn’t tell the man is Daniel) @februaryfridayevents

UNIVERSE CITY

THE MAN FROM THE SKYS

EPISODE 469

Radio: Hello, I hope somebody is listening. Something… interesting happened today. Toulouse still out exploring and I believed I’d be quite lonely for a while. But… a man came out of the sky. Space. 

I was just tying my hair up as it happened. It had grown from chin length to partly down my back. I haven’t had access to scissors since Universe City has banned them. Universe City has been banning many things lately. Like puppies. How could you ban puppies? Very upsetting.

Anyways, a man came from space. Hard to explain but he did. He was firing through space as he went down. Sleeping. Very peacefully I must say. It’s unfortunate the violent crash awoke him. 

The man looked… nice? Well put together at least for someone who just shot out the sky. His brown eyes were dreary. Very tired indeed. 

As he noticed me he stood up to my level. He was slightly taller then me. A couple inches. Just a few inches taller. 

He looked confused and asked:

???: Who are you? Where am I?

Radio: I’m Radio Silence and you’re in Universe City. 

Of course that’s not what I actually said as my real name isn’t Radio. 

The man began to mutter under his breath

???: Radio radio radio. 

Radio: He kept whispering this under his breath until I interrupted him with asking for his name.

???: Dormir. I’m here for a reason and I’m not sure why? Your name sounds very familiar.

Radio: That’s odd I’m sure I’d remember a man who fell from the sky. 

Dormir: No… we’ve never met. 

Radio: He closed his dreary eyes for a good while. I even thought he might’ve fallen asleep again. As I was about to shake him he burst his eyes open.

Dormir: February! 

Radio: He passed out. I’ll have to get Toulouse to help me figure out what’s happening with Dormir.

[derekklenadaily]

Dani’s Review/Synopsis of ‘Moulin Rouge’

Moulin Rouge on Broadway - May 21, 2022

I had opportunity to go to see Derek as Christian and Ashley Loren as Satine on Saturday night. As the audience was settling their velvet seats, all around the stage - we see elegant of tying into the French culture and the rich and vibrant colors of red and blue, not only that they had big pieces on each side such as the elephant and the iconic windmill. Across the stage, the outlines of the letters of "Moulin Rouge" is being displayed so brightly. Before the show starts, we see the ensembles walking around the stage in their respective costumes; men wearing suit/skirts with black top hat and women in their corsets, long skirts that had bustle and stockings. They were interacting with several audience members, it's like we are inside of their club. Then the lights dim into this blue hue and from stage right, we see Derek as Christian strolling along the walkway in between the can-can seating area and the orchestra seats, on his face - we see this expression of wonder and nostalgic of him coming back to 'Moulin Rouge'. As he reaches to stage left, he turns slightly to the audience and on the beat; he raises his arms up in sort of motion to raise the "Moulin Rouge" lights up to begin the show.

From there, we were greeted with several ensembles with an iconic medley of "Lady Marmalade" (remember that MTV music video with Pink, Christina Aguilera, Mya and Lil' Kim back in the early 2000s??) and "So Fresh, So Clean/ Money (That's What I Want)/Let's Dance/Burning Down The House/Because We Can"). It was raunchy, sexy, playful, fun. It truly felt like we as audience were brought back much more into 1890s era and being in the women's entertainment club.

Then we see how Christian becomes involved with working at 'Moulin Rouge', he meets two men Toulouse and Santiago (who needed help with its writing and songs for the play). There were really cute moments of Christian impressing them by his musical and songwriting talents by singing various songs from "Hills are Alive With The Sound of Music" by Rodgers and Hammerstein, "I Don't Want To Wait" by Paula Cole, "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, and "Never Gonna Give You Up" Rick Astley). From this sequence to where they go to Moulin Rouge; you see Toulouse, Santiago and the men bonding with Christian and taking him in with their wings. You see the fun and brotherly chemistry in between Derek, Sahr and Julius! They are loud, boastful, encouraging.  

Ashley's entrance to the stage was absolutely magical, and definitely an ode to the original movie where she descended from the ceiling, sitting on a swing. She was adorned in a black shiny/sparkly skirt, top hat and in several amounts of jewelry. She sings a medley of "Diamonds Are Forever'/'Girl's Best Friend'/Single Ladies" . She completely wows the audience by her performance, especially having such a quick amount of time with costume changes onstage! Her voice is absolutely stunning and powerful. Throughout this particular scene, both the Duke and Christian are entranced by Satine.

The scene where Satine brings Christian forward, mistaking him as the Duke while Toulouse and Santiago distract Harold Zidler, (Shut Up And Dance/Raise Your Glass/I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)). I could definitely see that Derek and Ashley along with the cast are just having a blast on stage! Just letting go of the reins and being themselves!

When Ashley sings Katy Perry’s "Firework", it comes off as a heartfelt ballad but it's so powerful at the same time because she reflecting on her life and trials. She tries to stay strong for her fellow performers, but also knows she will struggle more with each day with her declining health with consumption or tuberculosis (coughing up blood from the lungs - which we do see through the show).

Derek and Ashley's chemistry on stage was absolutely lovely to see! Derek brought the idea of Christian being so incredibly smitten with Satine, especially the very first glance he sees her arriving to the stage and had really cute moments of him trying to make her laugh and smile in a couple scenes. Ashley's Satine was more endearing and protective towards Christian than the movie's version with Nicole Kidman. "Your Song" was absolutely STUNNING. I have heard Derek sing this part of the song several times at his previous solo concerts. And seeing him sing this song on Broadway was heartwarming because he had some ties with this song with his personal life and career life as well.

When the Duke suddenly interrupts them; Christian and Satine claim they were practicing lines for a new show, "Bohemian Rhapsody". With Zidler's help, Christian, Satine, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Santiago pitch the show to the Duke ("So Exciting! (The Pitch Song)"), which is very similar to the original movie with a slight change with the lyrics but we wind up with a comedic moment at the end of the song!

When Satine and Duke got together after that scene, I just had the feeling that this relationship in between them isn't going to end up well especially Christian is going to be added in the mix, and even falling hard for Satine within first glance which leads me to this scene where Toulouse and Christian talks about Satine and how they both feel about her. Sahr Ngaujah's "Nature Boy" is absolutely gorgeous, which evidently describes the show perfectly and paralleling with Christian’s character. Toulouse’s recent history with her, he encourages Christian to fight for Satine.

That's where the iconic "Elephant Medley" comes in, Christian sneaks back to Satine to convince her that they should be together despite the difference of classes/work as the "Sparkling Diamond" and the "writer". Derek and Ashley's chemistry becomes way, way more vibrant and undeniable in this scene. It makes us audience to root them on.

Beginning of Act Two - we see Christian coming back onto the stage, walking down the pathway in between the can-can seats and the orchestra seats. He narrates what happened in the past two months since Christian and Satine got together.

Throughout the "rehearsal process" of the show 'Bohemian Rhapsody' we see moments of Satine and Christian's relationship evolving more than we see in the first act. We definitely see several highs and lows moments of being in Moulin Rouge. Especially Satine struggling to keep her secret about her illness from anyone she knows, the Duke's infatuation with her and keeping 'Moulin Rouge' cabaret club thriving.

I really loved the scene of "Come What May"! Oh my goodness, the scene transition from Christian's apartment to the dreamy atmosphere of Paris/Moulin Rouge was just stunningly gorgeous and how it really paid an another nod to the original film with so many sparkles coming down from the ceiling, Christian holding the pink umbrella and waltzing with Satine. (And I wonder if the mini eiffel tower prop set piece came from 'Anastasia' when they were doing out of town run before coming to Broadway?) I couldn't believe how magical this scene was! Not only this scene, but almost every scene in the show, there was a set change, like there were multiple facades coming in and out from each side of the stage, several beautifully painted backdrops coming down from top or pulled up to the ceiling. It was like I was going through such an amazing pop-up book.

Jessica Lee Goldyn is absolutely incredible as Nini! Wow! She's so fierce! She shares her fiery moment with Santiago ("Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga) as they fall in love as well. I love how she is protective of Satine and warns her about the Duke.

**I want to note on here that they had several replacements; like Julius Anthony Rubio as Santiago and Bobby Daye as Harold Zidler that were placed in at the last minute in the middle of the show due to illnesses such as laryngitis and covid related. I wouldn't never known that swings and understudies joined in, because the show was running so smoothly!**

The Green Fairy scene (”Chandelier”) was so mystifying and interesting! Especially there were so many different lights (strobe lights and green spotlights - I loved how they did the light-up bottle!) to showcase the weird effects of drinking absinthe. Throughout the scene, there were more of ballet-sque movement across the stage from Christian and the ensembles as Christian hallucinates Satine as the Green Fairy. It was really cool to see more of that dance technique come out of Derek. He does it so incredibly beautifully and gracefully even though it was a weird scene.

Declan Bennett played the Duke. He was absolutely amazing! He definitely reminded me of Cal from 'Titanic'. He is a very possessive, ruthless, cunning, and dangerous man. He truly wants everything like in his specific way with money, clothing or just interjecting orders out of nowhere. Also, he acts like he owns Satine as a prized possession and wants to keep her in the high society with him (living in a lavish castle). Especially there was a "lovers" triangle moment in the show, where the Duke, Christian and Satine are in one room together. It was a very heartbreaking to see how this scene went.

When Derek sang "Roxanne", my mind was literally blown and with no complete words could come out of my mouth, well I should say that my jaw was dropped to the floor - unable to be picked up until the following scene with Satine at her vanity which led me into tears. But seriously, Derek had shown how Christian felt. He was so angry, sad, and so desperate to fight for love towards Satine in all one facial movement throughout the song. It was so incredible that I wanted to give him a standing ovation or even throw all the awards at him right at the end of the song!

I absolutely loved the little moment in between Satine and Toulouse towards the end of the show, despite the difference of how their relationship went and the history in between them in the show but they remain close like a supportive brother and sister. Throughout the scene, the more conflicts with Satine's health and strains of Christian and Satine's relationship.

The final scene was slightly different from the film, they sing their song "Your Song" (Reprise) together (whereas in the film we see McGregor and Kidman sing "Come What May (Reprise) on stage together. But there's this moment in between Christian and Satine that was so beautiful, haunting, heartbreaking. And I really loved how they staged this scene; the big light only on Christian and Satine on the floor and we see only the silhouettes of the ensembles behind them. Christian finished the show by singing "Come What May" (Reprise).

Then for the encore/curtain call, the show brings back this feeling of vibrancy. The ensembles came back out onstage, reprising their dances - entertaining the audience once more as if the club was back and thriving. Derek and Ashley returns to the stage again, the crowd becomes like a huge concert with its loud cheering and screaming as we rise to our feet to give them a standing ovation. They take their respective bows and the cast comes together to do the can-can dance. The ensemble men shoots the colorful confetti up the air from their cane, letting it snow on us audience. What a way to end the show! Wow!

For me to see Moulin Rouge for the first time, was absolutely amazing. It's slightly different from the movie for sure. I loved the way the ensembles and each of the characters in the show; it's like they swooped you with their arms and jumped into each page of the story from start to finish. Especially when Christian narrates in the beginning, the middle and the end of the show. It's so incredibly breathtaking! I'm so incredibly that Derek had an opportunity to step in as Christian, right after Aaron Tveit left (he was the original principal of the show). 

Around the announcement when he was going to be in the show, I saw few tweets like saying "Oh Derek will be Dmitry all over again with the red cravat and going back to Paris again". I have to say no to this. Derek was absolutely NOTHING like Dmitry's character. He brings the idea of Christian's character more of a smitten, endearing, charming, and witty while being around with Satine whereas in 'Anastasia', Dmitry was sort of butting heads with Anya upon meeting her then throughout the show, he lets his guard down a tiny bit and falls in love with her, (like friends to lovers for example). Derek really steps up to the next level of his acting, singing and dancing especially only being in the show for two weeks. I truly believe this is role is the one of the best and top roles that he has ever done than the previous roles that he has done in the past. His voice has grown so much more mature over the past two years and his dancing skills in the show are off the charts. I'm so glad that he gets to let out more of his dancing in the show than the previous shows in the past and we know how much he loves to dance off stage. He's just so damn good! I cannot wait how much he will grow and evolve with the character of Christian as his run goes on! And his chemistry with Ashley.. *inserts chef's kiss*  They are truly superstars! To the rest of the cast, I can’t say enough words on how amazing they were especially holding up the show despite the challenging times of COVID. I completely urge everyone to go see Derek, Ashley and the cast in 'Moulin Rouge'! You will leave the show, wanting to see it more and more.

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 80 - The Librarian

Leitner: English was always my first language. I used to adopt an accent sometimes when meeting people, a sort of personal joke, but truth be told, my Norwegian is terrible.

This is obviously an attempt to avoid the inevitable "You said Leitner has an accent but the voice actor doesn't at all!" so it is a little clumsy but about as non-clumsy as you could get, trying to retcon that. Better than Johnny's dad attempting to put on a bad Norwegian accent!

Leitner: The arrow, however, was not mine. The ‘Not!Sasha’ had come down several times.

I'd totally forgotten that the arrows were the Not!Sasha's work, specifically.

Leitner: Three years ago, I made the mistake of spending a full night outside my safehouses. I was almost beaten to death by an angry goth.

I'm sorry but the description of Gerard as 'an angry goth' and the incensed tone in which Leitner says it is hilarious - like the experience would somehow have been less upsetting if the person beating him within an inch of his life had had a more mainstream style of dress or something.

Leitner: I was born the heir to great wealth.

Yeah, he would've been - he sounds exactly like the sort of arrogant arse who has been told he's better than other people since birth and who fully believes it despite never actually proving it in any way. He also burns up other "lesser" people to light his own way with little to no remorse whatsoever.

Leitner: It was shortly afterwards I hired my first assistant. A dour man, by the name of Albert Stross. He barely lasted a fortnight.

He sounds so fucking BORED about it, too.

Leitner: And these people, they were… wrong somehow. They didn’t move as people should move, and their cadence was very strange when they spoke. They almost always forgot to blink.

So agents of the Stranger, presumably? Some more John Doe-s?

Thomas McMann was stabbed through the throat by something with too many teeth and limbs like knives. Mary Johnson was pulled into a cavernous maw that opened beneath her. Gregory Todd ran into a door that shouldn’t have been there. A great hand reached down through the roof and plucked away Leandra Toulouse. And there was one other assistant, whose… whose name I don’t recall, but the last I saw of him, he was being pulled into a great, pulsating pile of meat.

Okay, let's analyse this. The first avatar could be the Hunt or the Slaughter, maybe? The second one sounds a little like that Flesh maw that is mentioned in multiple episodes BUT there's already another avatar of the Flesh here and there's no mention of glistening or teeth or what-not so I'm thinking the Buried? The third one is obviously our dear Distortion, so the Spiral. The great hand could be the Vast, can't really think of anything else it might be. And the final avatar is very obviously of the Flesh. So between that and the presumed Stranger avatars above, we've got at least avatars from 6 different Entities working together to destroy Leitner's library.

Perhaps I was sensible enough to steer clear of the rooms that had fallen into darkness, or burned with a fire that seemed to leave the books untouched.

And here we have the Dark and the Desolation, so that brings it to 8 different entities. And the Eye very well could have been involved cause somebody figured out what Leitner was doing, even though he was trying very hard to keep it under wraps (but that could easily just have been Leitner fucking up somewhere along the way).

Jon: Like a… a, a muscle, spasming on reflex? Leitner: Yes, that’s actually rather good. Jon: It would explain Michael’s identity issues.

Oooh no, there's so much more to it than that...

Jon: Gertrude was going to destroy the Archives?

Now, that was a "Wait ... WHAT?" moment on the first go!

Jon: This place belongs to one of them, doesn't it? (...) Jon: And I ... Leitner: You belong to it too. Jon: I… Uh… I… I think I need some air.

Yeah, fair enough! That's a hell of a revelation to have about oneself!

Leitner: I’m not sure you would have liked him, you know. He’s paranoid enough. But I don’t think he’s got the stomach for it.

Yeah, unlike Gertrude, Jon is definitely not eager to sacrifice others, even "for the greater good".

Elias: How much have you told him? Leitner: Enough. Elias: About Gertrude? Leitner: No. No, I didn’t have time.

How does Leitner lie to Elias with such ease? Is it the power of one of the books?

Tim: Any sign of the woman? Martin: I don’t think so. We should have helped her.

They saw Helen, didn't they?

My impression of this episode

This episode is a little on the info-dumpy side but at the time of my first listen I had been looking forward to finally understanding what the Entities were and what was going on (because, yeah, I had been a little spoiled but had avoided extensive spoilers) that I didn't really mind. The worldbuilding of TMA was (and still is!) interesting enough on its own to hold my attention, even if it was perhaps a bit much to reveal this amount in a single episode. And there's ... well, there's a whole lot going on aside from that, not least the murder of Jurgen Leitner by Elias.

[labellerose-acheron]

Opal started to cry and all Belle could do was stand there. She felt like all the song and all the feeling had dried up inside of her. She didn't know what she could do. She didn't know what she had done to make Opal hate her so much. The spell hadn't shown her that. Opal had still been so small when Hades had left.

Was that all? Did Opal simply blame Belle for all of it? And if that was the case--what could she possibly do for this girl whom she hadn't raised? That she didn't know all the hurt of? It felt impossible, more impossible than anything.

And yet, when she ran--Belle wanted to run too. Right after her. She took a step forward but someone grabbed her hand. Turning sharply, she looked over her shoulder to see Toulouse there, his face soft.

Tears filled her eyes and with it: song.

"Well, can you see me? I cannot see you Everything I thought I knew has fallen out of view In this blindness I'm condemned to Well, can you hear me? I cannot hear you Every song I thought I knew, I've been deafened to And there's no one left to sing to."

Toulouse nodded, not letting go of her hand.

"No one around me knows Who I am, what I'm on Who I've hurt and where they've gone I know that I've done some wrong But I'm trying to make it right to the one I love bring me around get me out right now."

His lips pressed together. She could see a flash of frustration behind his eyes.

Her head tilted.

"Build love, build God, build provinces Build calluses, break promises 'Cause I could never hold a perfect thing And not demolish it What am I thinking? What does this mean? How could somebody ever love me? Talk to your man, tell him he's got bad news coming."

Toulouse turned slightly towards Hades, dropping Belle's hand. The expression on his face was hard to read, but for some reason: it reminded her of the same one on Opal's face not a moment ago. Hurt, anger, confusion, and most of all--reluctance, even as the words ripped themselves from him.

"I'll never know If there's danger in confession or it's memory that presses like a blade against my throat Another word and I could choke."

Here: Belle tried to help--she wanted to help. Despite herself, she couldn't help it. Not when looking at the utter devastation on Toulouse's face. She had loved him at one point, loved him still, despite it all.

"And there will be no grand choirs to sing No chorus will come in No ballad will be written It will be entirely forgotten And if tomorrow it's all over At least we had it for a moment Oh darling things seem so unstable But for a moment we were able to be still..."

"But what's worse? Telling you my feelings or to die without revealing That you crawled inside my head and set a fire there, instead Letting all my insecurity Devour me with certainty That love is just a currency, so take my pockets Take me whole Take my life and take my soul, wrap me in a wedding ring You know I swear I'd give you anything."

And with that, Toulouse stumbled off too, looking wild and angry. He disappeared into the house. Belle thought about following--but the music was gone from her again. Instead, she just looked at Hades across the divide, feeling even more hurt and hopeless than before.

Love From The Other Side || Loud Bell

[berezina]

In 1885, a 22-year-old Dutch woman named Johanna Bonger met Theo van Gogh, the younger brother of the artist, who was then making a name for himself as an art dealer in Paris. History knows Theo as the steadier of the van Gogh brothers, the archetypal emotional anchor, who selflessly managed Vincent's erratic path through life, but he had his share of impetuosity. He asked her to marry him after only two meetings.

Jo, as she called herself, was raised in a sober, middle-class family. Her father, the editor of a shipping newspaper that reported on things like the trade in coffee and spices from the Far East, imposed a code of propriety and emotional aloofness on his children. There is a Dutch maxim, 'The tallest nail gets hammered down,' that the Bonger family seems to have taken as gospel. Jo had set herself up in a safely unexciting career as an English teacher in Amsterdam. She wasn't inclined to impulsiveness. Besides, she was already dating somebody. She said no.

But Theo persisted. He was attractive in a soulful kind of way — a thinner, paler version of his brother. Beyond that, she had a taste for culture, a desire to be in the company of artists and intellectuals, which he could certainly provide. Eventually he won her over. In 1888, a year and a half after his proposal, she agreed to marry him. After that, a new life opened up for her. It was Paris in the belle epoque: art, theater, intellectuals, the streets of their Pigalle neighborhood raucous with cafes and brothels. Theo was not just any art dealer. He was at the forefront, specializing in the breed of young artists who were defying the stony realism imposed by the Académie des Beaux-Arts. Most dealers wouldn't touch the Impressionists, but they were Theo van Gogh's clients and heroes. And here they came, Gauguin and Pissarro and Toulouse-Lautrec, the young men of the avant-garde, marching through her life with the exotic ferocity of zoo creatures.

Jo realized that she was in the midst of a movement, that she was witnessing a change in the direction of things. At home, too, she was feeling fully alive. On their marriage night, which she described as 'blissful,' her husband thrilled her by whispering into her ear, 'Wouldn't you like to have a baby, my baby?' She was powerfully in love: with Theo, with Paris, with life.

~Russell Shorto [source]

[ber-bonfamille-lyons]

It’s Not Christmas Till Somebody Cries || The Bonfamilles-Lyons

Summary: Ber tells his father the truth at Christmas. It goes.......... as well as you can expect. So, badly. 

@simba-bonfamille-lyons

@lou-bonfightme

@marie-a-bonfamille

tw: anxiety, panic attacks 

BERLIOZ: 

Christmas was nearly over. 

All in all, it wasn’t a horrible one. He’d had worst Christmases-- the first few one with his parents divorced sprang to mind, when the fights were fresh and it was always a war to figure out who would get the children for the longest. At least there was only one parent to deal with this year, and Pere was, honestly, the low maintenance parent. If he were to ever had someone stay at the cabin, it should be Pere. And he’d been a respectful guest, though Berlioz had never gotten over waking up and coming down to his father sitting at the table, legs crossed, paper in hand, coffee steaming in one of his and Simba’s novelty mugs. He didn’t look like the same man on the television. Like the man in the paper. Like the man in the crisp suits who missed more birthdays than he had ever made. 

Sitting at Berlioz and Simba’s table, he almost looked like a real father.

And so maybe that was why Ber had put off the whole reason for this visit. He thought about telling him at breakfast, and then telling him at dinners. He considered Christmas Eve, then chickened out and thought, yes, he’d wait until after the holidays entirely-- until December 26, in the last few hours before they had to take Hector to the train station so he might catch his flight home. 

And so Christmas came--  The Bonfamille-Lyons house bustled with people-- Marie and Lou and Nounou, Sarabi, Kiara, Ashlee. They ate cinnamon rolls and exchanged gifts. They lit a fire in the fireplace. Berlioz tried to help out for Christmas dinner and he was soon sent away, to drink whiskey with Pere and Lou on the front porch. They ate again. Ashlee left to go see her friends, and the sky grew dark. 

Now they gathered around the table for the third time in one day (so much bloody eating at Christmas) as Simba made to cut the pies, plural, because of course Simba had made many, many different pies. 

“You know, I realized,” mentioned Pere as he put down his small cup of black coffee on its saucer. “I don’t think your mother called today, oui? Did you talk to her last night?” He addressed all three of the Bonfamille children, his eyes darting from one to the next.

Berlioz slouched a little in his chair. 

MARIE:

Marie had been sort of dreading this Christmas, if she was being honest.

On the one hand, she could be at home, with no responsibilities. She could simply enjoy the season, take part in the festivities, and spend the day lounging around in her designer Christmas jumper, sipping wine and eating one sweet treat after the next. 

But then, see, the running away from her coronation had happened. And the divorce. The scandal. Marie was quite sure that eyes would be on her, and not in the way that she liked them to be.

But as the day had crept closer, Marie had had another revelation entirely: with Maman gone, and Papa spending the holidays with them instead, the focus would not be on her, but on Berlioz — even if Papa didn’t realise it. Marie was very talented at putting her foot in her mouth; her worry about any negative attention she might garner was now replaced with worry about ruining the entire day for her (half) brother.

She had done her best to relax, and for the most part, she had — she had spent the day lounging, drinking and eating much as she had planned to. It only came to a screeching halt the very second she thought they had got away with it. When Papa asked if they had heard from their mother at all.

Berlioz slouched, but Marie sat bolt upright, sipping at her glass of Coteaux du Layon. “I spoke to her last night,” she confirmed, smiling a little too brightly, speaking a little too quickly. “She told me to let her know how we liked our gifts — I’ll have to text her.” 

TOULOUSE:

This was an incredibly bad idea.

Toulouse had told Berlioz this. The holidays were not the time to reveal familial secrets long ago buried. It was the one time of year where everyone, by the power of something higher, had to actually act decently to one another. Even Hector and Adelaide, after a few years, could only stand to be in the same room with one another during the holidays. And before their marriage had fissured irreparably, it was the only time where they managed to keep the fighting to a minimum and their house became a ceasefire, no-man’s-land. For just a fortnight or so--the Bonfamille manor would be peaceful. The holiday--enjoyable. 

It was Toulouse’s favorite time of year for that reason. Also, because he adored buying gifts for his family and Christmas was when he really was able to show off his skill (and how much he cared.) Though, he’d been a bit behind this year, considering he’d spent most of December sleeping on a couch and waking up every two hours when a baby cried. 

He was exhausted and he could see the storm brewing on the horizon. Lou just wanted to go back to the Acheron’s and curl up by the fire. At least there the only electric energy was everyone’s bone-tired, waiting in the stillness for the next baby to start crying. 

That was a much better stillness than the stillness that followed Hector’s question.

Toulouse’s brain was sluggish, so he was not quick to jump in with an excuse. However, Berlioz was going to be utterly useless and Marie looked as if she was just about ready to jump out of her skin. He sighed, watching their father for a moment, before answering himself.

“She told us she would be busy most of the day, with Claude and Grandpere and Grandmere, I rang her earlier this morning before coming over here.” He had not, but as dutiful eldest son, he would have usually--and it was an easy lie,  considering he had not come by until later in the morning.

“She said to say hello and happy Christmas to you.” 

BERLIOZ: 

His siblings lied for him. 

Well, he actually had no idea if Marie’s was a lie at all. He had not told anyone to shun Maman the same way that he was shunning her. They didn’t have to as far as he was concerned; she hadn’t lied to them about their father’s identity for over twenty years of their lives. But he had also known that as soon as Lou found out that the fissure in their family would widen, Lou jumping to Berlioz’s side at once. There’d only been a few seconds where he’d been unsure. Where he thought, maybe, Lou, who loved their mother so dearly, might try to make an appeal. 

There were times over the past months where he almost wished he had. What would have been different? Maybe Berlioz would listen. He listened to Lou the most out of anyone. (Not that he listened all that much.)

But too late now. He heard Lou’s lie and couldn’t help but look at Pere while he said it, the jumpiness suddenly alive in Berlioz’s skin. His hands fidgeted under the table. He thought about reaching for Simba, but his husband had both hands up, one of which was shoveling a generous helping of pie into his own mouth. 

And so he rubbed at his knees and stared at Pere, who didn’t look at Ber at all. 

“Ah yes, le petite Claude,” said Pere, humming for a few moments, flashing a loose smile at the mention of their cousin who had, of course, no relation to Pere at all. “I was surprised about her plans until I remembered about Claude. She means to make him her next project, I’m sure.” He chuckled a little at his own joke, which was not a joke, because his parents were very good at saying exactly what they wanted to say. 

“She’s actually spent quite a lot of this year in Paris, hasn’t she? As if he were her own son! I was surprised she did not fly home after news of the coronation. My apologies on her behalf, mon petit coeur.” Hector reached over to pet Marie’s hand. 

Berlioz felt himself sink just a little more. 

MARIE:

Marie looked at Lou, and took another sip of her wine. So perhaps her answer hadn’t been the best, but at least Toulouse was there to set things straight (ish), and she had at least done better than Berlioz, who apparently found the tabletop extremely interesting. 

It shouldn’t be so difficult to talk to her dear Papa — Marie was a daddy’s girl and she always had been, and usually conversation was fairly easy even though, admittedly, she maybe didn’t talk to him as much as she should. This year had just been so busy, and Hector was always fully booked anyhow. Part of what Marie liked about their relationship was that her father wasn’t overbearing, and showed his affection by buying her gifts.

She looked up when Hector reached over to pat her hand, smiling back at him, her thoughts momentarily shifted away from not putting her foot in her mouth. It was probably a good thing that Maman had not flown home after all; she would only have had to book a flight straight back.

Marie wondered if this was what she should do. That is, shift the focus from their Maman to herself, because Marie was very good at stealing the spotlight from her siblings usually, and maybe this time it would actually be appreciated. 

“Well, it’s alright, given how things went....” Her gaze flicked from Ber to Lou, and then back to her father. She was very much making a martyr of herself here, she hoped they could appreciate that. “I know she would’ve made a big fuss, and that wasn’t what I wanted, after all that. Myself and Toulouse have been getting along quite well — with NouNou’s help, of course.”

TOULOUSE:

Toulouse’s expression pinched as his father laughed.

See, Hector and Adelaide were very good at putting on faces. They were, after all, the people who had taught Lou the same thing. Hector was better at concealing than his mother, but Adelaide was better at manipulating--using her emotions like the flash of feathers on a bird of paradise, to draw someone in. 

Hector’s jokes did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. If anything, everything became more tense. Perhaps it was only Lou who felt it, but he also felt Marie’s gaze darting about like a startled starling. And Berlioz was so stiff that Lou was afraid he was suddenly going to snap entirely in half. And Lou, too, merely pushed his pie about on his plate (it was far too sweet for him anyhow). His shoulders were tense. Despite the potential truth to his father’s words and Lou’s own anger at his mother, that old protectiveness flared up in his chest. 

For Hector should know that when it came to it, Lou took his mother’s side in most things. Historically, in almost every argument and disagreement, because Lou was not immune to his mother’s flashy feathers and crystal tears. Especially when the only way his father showed true emotion was in thunderclaps of anger. He preferred his mother’s soft heartbreak. It was easier to stomach than his father’s rage.

“Yes, Marie handled the whole thing beautifully,” Lou complimented his sister, raising his wine glass towards her before taking a small sip. “Maman has been dealing with so much the last year, besides.” And in this, Lou’s words were truer than he meant and they reflected back to him in a way that made him feel rather uncomfortable--suddenly worried about betraying his mother.

But no, she had betrayed them all first.

BERLIOZ:

As Marie began talking, Berlioz relaxed, if just a little. He sat up again, picked up his fork, cut off a piece of his pie. He didn’t really eat it though, just kinda pushed it around his plate as some of the apples escaped. Couldn’t get them all on his fork at once. He kept trying anyway, an expert in turning the most mundane tasks-- checking his phone, fixing his coat zipper, even eating-- into something of a production. He’d mastered this form of invisible performance as a child. Though his father used to complain about it-- don’t play with your food, he’d say. Or, stop fidgeting, Berlioz. Or, pay attention, Berlioz.

But Pere wasn’t looking at him anymore. This was fine. He’d just get through dessert, and right after, he’d nip into the study maybe and tell him then… 

And then Lou said what he said.

Ber’s head jerked up, eyes widening just a little. His brother had not meant it; he either thought it was innocent enough or… maybe he was actually trying to tell Pere to fuck off, that he didn’t know waht he was talking about, except for the fact that Pere was still Pere, and like a shark smelling blood in the water…

Ber watched his father raise a curious eyebrow. His eyes glinted. 

“Dealing, has she? And what is taking up all her time this year, eh? Another fundraiser for the London Philharmonic?” He laughed mockingly. Maman’s little passions always paled in comparison to Pere’s, according to Pere. 

“Is that why she emailed me about you, Berlioz? You’ve been dodging her charity too?” 

Ber stiffened. His fork clattered to his plate. “She emailed you?” 

“Yes. She wanted to know if I’d heard from you. I figure she was trying to rope you into something, eh? Playing a gala for her friends? She never learns.” 

“No, uh…” 

“Good on you for not humouring her.” 

And much like Lou, those words poked something sensitive in Berlioz-- that tender place that used to run to Maman, that once played the piano in hopes of earning her kisses and compliments. “It’s not like that at all,” he said too sharply. “She just didn’t want me talking to you.” 

The mocking smile on Pere’s face faded. “Excuse me? And why not? What the hell have I done to that woman now?” 

And Berlioz could say anything now. Or he could say nothing. He could shrug and let the rest of his family chime in-- let Lou defend Maman instead, or let Marie disengage the situation with a compliment or a graceful shift back to her. Even Simba might jump in, if Ber gave him space, tell Hector to shut up or offer him whiskey or something. 

And so when Berlioz spoke, he didn’t know why he did. If it was revenge against Pere for his spite. Or if it was revenge against Maman. Maybe it was both those things, and six months of holding, and waiting, and sinking, and he was tired of being the one to squirm when it was everyone else’s fault but his. He’d just been born. So -- yeah. Fuck this bullshit game of his parents’ he’d been forced to play for his entire life. 

“She didn’t want me to tell you she cheated on you twenty-three years ago,” blurted Berlioz. “And that I’m not your son.” 

Quiet. 

Berlioz watched his father’s smooth, practiced face, waited for it to break the way that he knew it could break. But the first crack happened in his knuckles instead, as they tightened around his utensils. Then, very slowly, as if that beautiful silver was made of glass, he set both knife and fork down. 

“Is that a joke?” 

“Yes,” Berlioz said, then automatically: “I mean, no. It’s just kind of a joke that neither of us knew all this time, so. Yeah, it’s-- it is kinda funny, isn’t it?” His mouth was just moving now. “I think it’s really funny.” 

Pere’s eyes jerked away from Berlioz to his other two children. “What is he talking about? Did you know about this?” 

“I’m talking about being a bastard son,” said Berlioz. Wow, he could not shut up. This had never happened to him before. He felt kinda giddy. Was he having a panic attack? Was this a new, fun way to have a panic attack, like, with his mouth only? 

“Berlioz!” Pere snapped at him to shut up. Ah, there it was. The yelling. But Berlioz wasn’t scared at all, had expected this, and so he leaned back and shrugged. 

TOULOUSE:

Toulouse had not meant his misstep to be so grievous as it was. There had been a part of him that was frustrated and wanted to push back at his father. Besides, Toulouse was right. It had barely been over a year since Tantine had died. Their mother’s only sibling. Despite himself, Lou felt the pity for his mother deeply where Tantine was concerned and he worried about his mother. It had always been Lou’s job to worry about his mother. Even when he had been young, he would sometimes catch her in the kitchen late at night, staring into her drink, in her warm, fluffy robes. And even before he’d been old enough to articulate it, he had known his mother was sad. So, he would crawl into her lap and let her stroke his hair and kiss his head.

His father had never been so vulnerable. Even now, he was more stone than man to Toulouse. He had learned much of his own statuesque personality from his father, though, he liked to think that he did it better. Could maintain it for longer.

And he never yelled.

As soon as Berlioz snapped, Lou saw the rest of this playing out, as if Berlioz was their mother and Lou was a child again. Sometimes, the dishes would rattle first, signaling the Earth’s unsteadiness. He was thrust so suddenly backwards that for several precious seconds, he lost control of his tongue. A part of his brain said that he should intervene, say something—help.

By the time he’d sorted himself out, he’d heard Simba—who he frankly forgot was sitting there—say Berlioz’s name very quietly.

His father shouted, like a whip cracked across the dining room table. Lou stiffened and his eyes cut towards his father, his expression stone. He looked very much like his father, the two of them mirrors of each other in anger.

“Hector,” Simba hedged but Lou cut him off. He didn’t turn his attention to Simba, but the tone of his voice made it clear that Simba should have no part in this conversation.

“Yes, I knew.” He purposefully did not confirm that Marie had known. Hopefully, Hector would assume, as was often the case—that Marie had had no idea. “It has not been long. Maman kept it from all of us.”

 MARIE:

Marie had to pick her jaw up off the floor. Not literally, of course, but she did find herself sat with her mouth hanging open, and she had to close it with a reminder that it was not ladylike to gawp. She almost felt justified this time, though. Berlioz had really lost it. Well and truly.

Marie did feel a little bit sorry for her dear Papa, though. It wasn’t his fault that their mother had done what she did (well, perhaps it was, but Marie was not delving too deep into the complications of the matter), and this perhaps wasn’t the best way to tell him, but it was too late. It was out there now. And Berlioz just kept on talking, words spilling out of his mouth, more than Marie thought she’d ever heard him say in one go before. 

Her father’s shout made her flinch, ever so slightly. Took the shine off of Berlioz’s outburst.

And Marie did so consider sitting there quietly, minding her own business, admitting nothing — she did so hate to upset her father. But the fact of the matter was that she had known. And she hadn’t said anything, because it had not been her place to do so. For once, Marie had minded her own business.

“I knew too,” she admitted quietly, when she felt her father’s gaze trip over her brothers and land squarely on her. “But — not for long.” She echoed Lou’s words, her eyes flitting over to him, and away again. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

BERLIOZ:

Berlioz was waiting for his terror to find him. 

Usually his terror was the first thing, slinking in like a kind of helpful bogeyman-- reminding Berlioz to hide, whether it meant sinking under the table (like he used to do as a kid) or simply locking up tight. With the anger sharp and cold in his father’s bright eyes, he figured any second now, the terror would pound like a headache. He’d realize what he’d just done. He’d done exactly what he hadn’t wanted to do: make a scene, ruin Christmas, cause a fight. 

But his terror didn’t come. He glanced from Lou, who was calm and stubborn, and Marie, who was small and awkward. That was strange for her-- he felt bad about it, actually, but still his terror didn’t rush in. 

He hardly even heard Simba. He wasn’t worried about Simba, anyway. Maybe he should be. Maybe he should be at least a little worried about what the fuck he had just done. 

“How long?” Pere demanded. 

“A couple of months.” Ber said. 

“Months?!” 

“I dunno,” he said. “I think.” 

“You should have told me. You should have told me first--merde.” The chair scraped against the floor as Pere pushed it back, up onto his feet at once. His entire face twisted, the lines on his forehead carved deep. And for the first time now-- now Ber tensed. His hand flew out and grabbed at the table, like he could stop Pere from ripping off the tablecloth. 

Instead, Pere grabbed the back of the chair and knocked it to the ground with another curse. Berlioz flinched. Slowly, the white noise began to fill his ears, like Pere was twisting the volume on a television, louder and louder. 

TOULOUSE:

Toulouse’s gaze snapped to Marie as she spoke and he felt something uncomfortable twist in his stomach. His wolf was twitching its nose and flicking its tail inside of Lou’s chest. These days, Lou found the wolf comforting most of the time. It was a gentle thing, unless it had a reason not to be and he trusted those reasons, listened to the wolf. He found it easier to listen to it than to not. There was a respect that he had for it and its instincts. Except in moments where human emotion was too trite and complicated for the wolf to comprehend. 

The wolf saw his father’s twisted face and thought only: danger. It made Lou’s heart rate tick up slightly and he wanted to get up himself, to cross over toward Marie and stand in front of her. The wolf wanted to let out a rumble of a growl. 

Objectively, Lou knew that his father would not hurt anyone. That he was all hot air. The Bonfamille temper had a bark that was far worse than its bite. 

All the wolf saw was the bite. 

Hector’s chair scraped against the floor and Lou’s followed. He stood, the wolf looking through his eyes at the man on the other side of the table, calculating. Too far for the human to reach, but an easy leap for the wolf. 

Across from Lou, Simba had also risen as Hector did and now the three of them stood, the perfect points of a triangle. 

Someone’s silverware clattered to the floor but otherwise the air was tense and suspended. Perhaps they could all fold these emotions and memories back. They were all adults now. Hector was on the same plane as Toulouse, as Berlioz, as men. The Bonfamille children were no longer that. With just one breath they could all sit back in their chairs and resume their dessert. 

The sound of the chair slamming on the floor shattered the illusion of containment. It cracked through the dining room and echoed against the high ceilings. Despite himself, Lou flinched, feeling himself shrink slightly. It had been so long since Lou had had to confront his father’s twisted anger. He had forgotten that to face it, one had to be as still and strong as a wavebreaker against the ocean. 

Simba, however, did not shrink back. Instead, he seemed to get bigger as he took a step, almost behind Berlioz’s chair now. The movement caught Lou’s eye and he turned his head slightly to stare at this new element to the equation, uncertain of what it meant. 

“Hector,” Simba said again. He didn’t raise his voice, but the word was as firm as stone. “Sit down.”

“Simba,” Lou breathed out, but cleared his throat slightly when his brother’s husband turned to look at him. “This isn’t your concern.” 

“It bloody well is, Lou,” Simba told him harshly. “This is my house. Now, everyone just--sit down.” 

MARIE:

Everyone was up on their feet, the whole room seemingly poised for some kind of fight, and Marie herself hit with two very distinct, and very different urges. The first was to get to her own feet, to try and make herself heard above the bickering from Lou and Simba and her fathers shouting; she could go up to her papa now and remind him that it was Christmas, to ask politely that he not ruin this day for her. The second was to sit quietly, like a lady would do, and step in only when the time was right; not to make a spectacle of herself, or lower herself to their level, but to take the higher ground and keep her cool.

(A third instinct might have been to hide behind her eldest brother, as she had so often done when she was younger, just a little girl, and family functions had gone south. But Marie was not so little now, and she had her own head on her shoulders. Even if her papa’s shouting did frighten her, just a tad, she would not cower.)

In the end, she favoured the second option, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as her brothers snapped at each other. “Simba’s right,” she said, looking to Lou, begging him not to make things worse with her gaze. “Lets all just— calm down.” It wasn’t often she played peacekeeper, and the words felt a little clunky coming from her mouth. “Papa, s’il te plaît,” she addresses Hector, smiling sweetly in the way that usually got her exactly what she wanted. “Your chair,” she gestured to the spot where it had once been. “We can talk — can’t we?” She looked between her brothers, dragging them along with her.

BERLIOZ: 

Simba and Lou both stood up at practically the same time. Berlioz, meanwhile, rocked forward, his elbows hitting the table as he dragged both his hands over his face and then through his messy curls, simply messing them up further. He knew where this was gonna go though: downhill. The chair was the first crack in the dam, and now the pressure would grow until it was too much. And then it would all fall down. 

Berlioz didn’t think he’d expected anything different. Maybe that was why he just blurted it out in the end. He could blame his delivery when Pere sneered at Berlioz and abandoned him here at the table. It would not hurt so much as waiting until that perfect moment-- to sit down with Pere and explain it all in-depth, not only how he found out but how difficult it had been to even gather enough courage to tell other people. How scared he was. When had he ever shared that kinda thing with his father anyway? 

This followed the script. It was better. He’d prepared for rejection, and here rejection was. 

Berlioz lifted his eyes, that white-noise feeling in his hands. He rolled his fingers into fists and put them under the table. 

But Hector wasn’t looking at Berlioz at all. 

“Calm down?!” he spat and then switched into French effortlessly, probably in an attempt to leave Simba behind. “I learn all three of my children are keeping secrets behind my back and you expect me to be calm?”

“It’s not their fault,” Berlioz said in French, quietly.

“Of course not! It’s Adelaide’s!” Hector snarled. And finally he looked at Berlioz and he jabbed a finger toward him again--

Berlioz flinched, pushing back into his chair so it slid on the tile. 

“And don’t you worry! I will make her pay for this. She will pay for every single year she hid this, forced us all to live this lie.” He barked a laugh out of nowhere; a manic thing. His hand scraped through his receding pepper hair. “Oh, the news will love to hear this! It will be a celebration in the  Libération offices! I will make it so she will not step foot in any of her precious theatres, her galas. She will not have a friend left in all of France when we are through.” 

Berlioz’s jaw dropped a little, a different horror dawning slowly, but dawning nonetheless. He’d miscalculated. He’d actually been-- too self-absorbed. To think that his father would think this news was about Ber at all. 

“Pere, I….I...please, I--I don’t want anyone to know--” 

“Oh, they will know! They have to know, after all this time.” 

TOULOUSE:

Toulouse had done what he did best when his father went off like this--he turned to stone. He felt the gates around his heart close up tight, his whole chest restricted, shutting down everything but essential functioning. It made it easier to bear the brunt. And Toulouse was used to bearing the brunt. He did it on purpose. He bore it so his siblings didn’t have to. 

Only this time, his tactic did not work, because there was nothing that Lou could say to protect his little brother from their father’s ire. It was not Lou that was the bastard, though he wished--if only to take the burden from Ber. He could shoulder it better, he believed. And even if he couldn’t, it wouldn’t matter, if he could keep the pain of it from Ber. If he could keep their father’s twisted betrayal and revenge from Ber…

But his jaw was locked shut. He was terrified to speak. Would he make it worse for his brother if he did? Was it worse not to say anything at all?

He watched as Simba batted Hector’s hand away from Ber, like a cat. Not that Hector noticed, he was already moving it to his hair, laughing. And in that moment, Lou saw a reflection of himself that made him queasy enough to reach out and grab the back of his chair. 

It was Simba’s voice--Simba, the one factor here that hadn’t  been accounted for, that couldn’t be accounted for. He was an enigma to the Bonfamille argument formula. Just enough so that it cracked part of Lou’s hard outer shell. 

“Who--who will know, what?” Simba asked and when Lou looked at him, he found his brother-in-law’s gaze on him. 

“My father intends to tell the tabloids about Berlioz’s lineage,” Lou informed him bluntly and concisely. He felt his father’s gaze flick towards him.

“What? Hector,” Simba said sharply. “That’s entirely uncalled for. Think about your son. And what that will do to him.” 

MARIE:

Marie’s eyes widened, staring at her father like he’d grown a second head. Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise that he would threaten to tell the press back home. As ridiculous as it might seem to anyone else, to any other family, the Bonfamilles were well aware of what the press could do to you, how they could affect your everyday life.

 Marie saw it going like this: Hector would tell whichever tabloid he decided to give the best exclusive to, and with their father’s and their mother’s reputations combined, it would sell. Soon the whole of France, or at least, those who concerned themselves with this sort of gossip, would know the truth. Adelaide would flee, Marie thought. She wouldn’t turn to face the music. Wasn’t it a Bonfamille prerogative to take flight? She would not come back to Swynlake, either, she would go somewhere else, and her children would be left without her for even longer.

And then there was Berlioz. Poor, sweet Berlioz, who would never be able to hold the weight of all those eyes on him, holding their magnifying glasses over his head. Marie had done it before, Lou too, but…

“Papa, please,” Marie interjected, only now feeling the urge to get to her feet, to run to her father’s side and take his hand like she always did. She could convince him, she thought, she was his little girl— but she had a feeling this would not help her now. “Simba’s right, it isn’t fair to Berlioz. Can’t you just… just talk to Maman?”

BERLIOZ: 

“Like she talked to me?!” Hector snapped, drawing his hand from his daughter’s. “No. This is not a lie she can hide from, not anymore. I am-- I’m sorry, Berlioz, I am.” And his father’s voice had evened out, though it was still firm, the voice he used to discipline. “But this is not just about you. This is about doing the right thing, and I will not live under her pretenses.” 

Meanwhile, the static feedback grew louder, filling in any crack inside of Berlioz that he’d normally use to hide. But static noise was its own kind of blanket, its own kind of shield. He should fight against it. He had his exercises lined up in his brain, the sort of thing he’d been working on for years now and gettin’ rather good at it too. Breathing, counting, reframing. But right now there was only one thing that Berlioz wanted to do-- 

Sink. Disappear. And yes, flee. In this moment, Berlioz understood his mother better than he ever had before. She would run from this news, and so would Berlioz. Where, he wondered? Would Swynlake be far enough? Should he go south, find someplace sunny, be one of those rich kids who rented a yacht and drank until the ship sank? What shore would he wash up on then? Would Simba come with him? Couldn’t ask, could he-- think of Ashlee, think of Kion…

These new people in his life used to feel like pillars, but now they were anchors, keeping him in a place he did not want to be.

His brain settled there: I do not want to be here. 

Berlioz stood up. “Yeah, okay.” He licked his lips. Shifted from foot to foot, like a rocking boat about to turn over. He felt Simba next to him but couldn’t hear him. Instead, there were just--everyone’s eyes. 

“Okay, you do that then.” 

And he left the table, moving swiftly toward the porch as quickly as he could.

“Berlioz!” called his pere, but Berlioz’s hand was already on the door. The sound of it twisting was like a gunshot, aimed behind him. He shut the door hard. 

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 26 May 1838

8

12 ¼

fine morning F61 ½° at 8 ½ am A- went to the cathedral about 8 or after to sketch the interior and returned at 9 35 – I sat writing till 10 – then breakfast – changed our room – from the small one to the next adjoining a large very good room and breakfasting and moving our things till 12 – our garçon Paul Voisin a nice civil good countenanced unmarried aetatis 31 man from Lyons – does not like here – would be glad to be in a private house again – would be glad to go with us – lived 15 years with la marquise de Montague – was then in the army – then not getting a good place at Lyons came to Paris and from there here – in bed at 12 or 2 and up at 4 – so hard a place, nobody could stay long – he makes 800fr. a year – but would rather have less in a different place – had 350 fr. a year with the marquise de M- and livery – she lived in the r. de la université, but is not now in Paris – lives in the country – A- and I out at 12 35 – took a commissionaire to shew us the way, and then sent him home – Mr. Mumm or somebody, a very civil young man, protestant it seemed, and speaking English very fairly – a German shewed us over the cellars, and afterwards shewed us into a large good salon, and gave us champagne and biscuits – the wine Mousseux and very fair but not so good as Moets’ of Epernay in 1833. should I have as good of Moet at 3/. a bottle? ordered a dozen of his 1ere qualité at 4/50 per bottle to be sent off on Monday and would be in Paris on Tuesday or Wednesday to my address rue St. Victor n° 27 à Paris – thought we might get this dozen over to England for Lady Stuart – en petite cadeau – about an hour at the cellars (at Mr. Mumms’) underground and above – 3 stories of cellars to the depth of 36 to 40 ft. ventilated by grates communicating from the bottom cellar to the top – each story divided into separate vaults perhaps the loftiest 7 or 8ft. high in the centre – perhaps 4 or 5 yards wide and 20+ long – in the lowest story 3 men corking – one filling up the bottles – another putting in the cork, and driving it down with a machine (has only had it about 15 months) on the principle of a corn or button-stamping machine, and the 3rd man tying down the corks, (the tightness gained by a small steel thing round which the string is turned and held fast while the other end is pulled tight) – It is not long since everybody left off gaudon (rosin) and covered the corks with lead-paper – a great improvement

Monday 28 May 1838. no good wine in champagne says our landlord of the Ecu at Epernay since the year 1834.

asked for champagne tranquille – cannot have it now – not till next year – not ripe enough now – that of 1834 will not be ripe till next year – taken with the double-incline clearing racks  the bottles ranged in an angle = about 25°? require turning twice a day for 2 or 3 weeks till all the sediment has sunk down to the cork – then the cork taken out (a difficult operation saw it done) and with the cork out gushes the sediment in the froth that escapes and the bottle being refilled is immediately re-corked – vintage in October – wine remains in cash till April May or June – about 6 months – Mr. Mumm has no vineyards of his own – buys the grapes – shewed us his great ton = 19,000 bottles = 70 such casks as we saw lying about – sends wine to America in boxes containing 12 bottles and 50 ditto has a house in London, Francfort and Cologne – Inquired respecting the ventilation of cellars – he said wine should have good pure air – Madeira should be kept warm and may do without air, but good air cannot do it any harm if the temperature be attended to – the breakage of champagne = 50p.c. the time of year now coming on – best to order champagne for a years’ consumption – should not be kept too long – he owned that the Bordeaux wines (Claret) for the English market were mixed with hermitage and brandy – on leaving Mr. Mumms’ at 1 55 sauntered in the little Jardin des Plantes – nothing particular in it – 2 or 3 little  serres, not much in them – then to the Cours the very nice shaded promenades – then Champs Elysées of Rheims – very pretty cool and pleasant (hot and very fine sun today) sat there writing in pencil in my rough note book all the above of today till now 2 ¾ - and then to the cemetery close by – i.e. close by the Porte de Mars leading to Flanders (the gate by which we entered yesterday) and the ‘Mission’ i.e. croix de la mission erected in 1825, and now turned to a monument to the memory of the brave who died fighting for the liberty of France (viz. the revolutions of the 3 days of July 1830) – sometime in the cemetery spite of boiling sun – among the tombeaux and epitaphs one of the latter by a father to the memory of his daughter, Marie Antoniette Sophie l’Inglois decêdée Thursday 5 December 1822 dans sa 21me année – after 10 foregoing lines ends thus

‘ô mon chere enfant, attends en paix

ce père malheureux ! attends-le sous cette terre

Qui d’après un homme religieux et sensible,

‘n’est que la cendre des morts pétrie avec les larmes

de vivans’ pretty idea  

not aware at this moment that the ancien porte de Mars (arc de triomphe of the Romans) was so near

from the cemetery thro’ the streets and marché to the palais archiépiscopale

the archbishop M. le cardinal de Couci set off to Paris a day or 2 before the outburst of the revolution of July 1830, and has never been here since – at Goritz with the ex-royal family – the bishop of Numidie does the duties of the archbishop – the archbishop much regretted – a very good man – did a great deal of good –the palais worth seeing the grande salle surrounded by the pictures of the king crowned here from Clavis downwards very handsome – pity that damp is spoiling some of the pictures e.g. Louis XVI. at the end of  the salle – Charles X. taken away – the picture still in the palais but his place in the salle vacant, and several fleurs de lis here and there defaced – (as also the fleurs de lis on the shield of Louis 15 in the Place royale – how puerile!) – the grande salle 130x36 pieds and height = about 36 pieds up to the square – ceiling domed – large poutres (beams) across the room partly gilt with 2 rings in each beam towards the side of the room for suspending 2 chandeliers – 4 windows on each side the great entrance door by flight of steps from without – 4 doors on the opposite side of the room – the great fire-place at the end of the room and over it St. Remy crowning Clovis – shewn into what Charles x intended turning into the chapel – the painted glass windows put in – but all stopt by the revolution – this place was the palais de justice after the revolution of 1789 and 3 stories of prisonniers were in this very spot – the duke of Orelans was lately at our hotel (the Lyon d’or) but did not see the Palace – no! said I, he is still a Bourbon, and the sight could not be agreeable – from here went home at 4 ½ for A- to have wine and biscuit and then out again at 4 52 and off to the church of St. Remy – a 20 minutes walk and there at 5 ¼ - under repair – expected to be done in 2 years from this time – very curious old church – the whole of the nave boarded off – had been new roofed and now full of workmen – 2 stories of double aisle round the apsis and choir and a narrow gallery above the upper story immediately under the painted windows – do not remember to have seen this sort of 2 storied double-aisle – went up to the upper story – same dimensions apparently even as high as the story below – the vitreaux – (painted glass) – very ancient – date not known – supposed to be as old as the church – evidently very ancient – all the ceilings of aisles and choir stone-work plastered and painted in imitation of brick-work – the new vaulting (new roof of the nave) done in wood – the old stone roof too heavy on the walls – the 2 stories of double aisle run all round the nave too – see as we return, that the new roof is not quite so steep as the old one – as seen from the old walls of the town the eves are all in one line but the ridge of the old roof of the choir is about 3ft. higher than the ridge of the new roof of the nave – just peeped into the nave after having seen the high altar and chasse containing the relies of St. Remy – the chasse of solid silver before the revolution of 1789 – now of cuivre argenté – the relies exposed to the faithful

SH:7/ML/E/21/0110

for 9 days in October every year – the figures round the high altar not finished sculptured at the back because stood originally against a wall – done under the orders of a cardinal of Lorraine 300 or 400 years ago – interesting as representing in marble statues the 6 ecclesiastical and 6 lay paises de France and their officers who assisted at the sacres (coronations) of the kings of France – looking towards the altar

the left

‘Duke de Bourgogne’ holding the crown

D. de Normandie – a standard

D. de Aquitaine – a standard

Comte ‘de champagne’ – a standard

C. de Flandre – the sword

C. de Toulouse – the spurs

the right

archduke de Rheims holding sa croix

Ev. duke de Laon – a crosier et l’ampoule

Ev. d. de Langres – a crosier et containing the oil and sceptre

Ev. comte de Beauvais – a crosier

Ev. c. de Chalons – a crosier and the ring

Ev. c. de Noyon – a crosier et la selle the kings’s saddle

immediately at the back of the altar in the space between the last Evêque and last court is a St. Remy seated in his archiepiscopal robes and mitre teaching Clovis kneeling at his feel and a Diacre or assistant holding the cosier and an open book – Left the church (much interested) at 6 20 – sauntered back along the  boulevard very lately planted with young elms – cart road in the middle and 2 allées (promenades) (old rampart) the Vesle river running close along its foot on the other side the old wall – on our right towards the town, great deal of garden ground – pépinières and sale vegetable gardens – delighted with our walk back – nowhere such good views of the exterior of the cathedral – too short – too lumping as a whole – wants the lantern tower the lengthiness of York minster, and its freedom from flying buttresses at the east end which look like steps to graduate the high roof gently down to the ground – the effect of this is bad – as if the building could not support its height at that end – never travel without a view of York minster – take it all in all, has it an equal in the world? when very near our hotel at 7 the light so beautiful on the cathedral turned into a courtyard for a better view – the gentleman of the house civilly asked us in and the wife shewed us in the garden – she said the effect would be still better in about an hour – she regretted the great numeros of pigeons jackdaws, crows etc that inhabited the exterior of the building – to us these birds give life to the scene and improve the picturesque – she said the crows assembled on the wire all along the ridge of the roof so as sometimes to form an almost continuous line from end to end, and all regularly flew away to les champs at 9pm – as good as a clock for 9pm we inquired about Mr. Mumm as to the street in which he lived – she did not know the name – supposed we had seen the cellars of Mr. Muller or Mr. Roeder (a German we said he spoke English well and was a protestant) – asked who was really the most renommé négociant en vins in Reims – Madame Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin- I said the town was full of dyers – yes! but only 6 or 7 great dyers in the town – It turned out her husband was a dyer and also a wine merchant – she said we ought to see les filatures en laine (woollen spinning mills) – it seems they have power looms here – she says trade has been very bad, but is now reviving or revived and pretty goof again – Had ordered dinner at 7 – not in till 7 ½ - dinner immediately but the lateness an excuse for a bad dinner – no épinards – nothing left – I sent for one mutton cutlet for I had literally nothing but cold fish not eating the bit of beef or the little redone overdone poulet or asparagus – sat over dinner and dessert till 10 – then wrote till 11 – very fine day – F67° at 11 pm

[notrehistoire]

Satine turned away for a moment as soon as she realized just how long she had been staring at Christian. At least the Duke was distracted, agitated by somebody else―Toulouse, of course. The sound of a soft spoken voice then made her skip a beat. Her eyes widened a bit as she turned to see Christian close by, speaking to her.

❝I told you to not speak to me in rehearsal.❞ She whispered, her eyes met his his ocean blue ones, she swallowed a lump in her throat. She glanced around their surroundings, everyone seemed occupied with their own thing. She quickly grabbed a sheet music and leaned in closer to him, to mimic as if they were looking over a new set of music.

She took a deep breath. ❝I care for you. And everyone in the club. Which is why we cannot mess anything up with him. He must be happy with myself and the show. You k͟n͟o͟w͟ this, Christian.❞ She spoke in a quiet and calm tone. ❝Do you really think all that about me? I thought you loved me for me, not for what I pretend to be.❞

Her expression fell a bit, she looked back to spy what the others were doing. She sighed, ❝I am sorry I keep messing up, I am a little rattled. Maybe we should go rehearse privately.❞

@comewhat---may

Two months had passed, in which Satine had found herself in a strange new place―madly in love for the first time. No matter how many times she attempted to push those strong emotions away from her heart, she could not neglect that she had fallen deeply in love with the composer. She only managed to push her pride and walls down when it came to Christian, the star-eyed lover who she had gotten to know and slowly let him in her locked heart.

With her new love for the poor composer, came an outside threat. The current owner of the club, the Duke, who Satine needed to keep content and satisfy for her safety and the others. Since the aristocrat had arrived to the Moulin Rouge, he kept everyone on their toes―one wrong move, and he could tear their work in a snap. This meant, of course, that Satine had to keep her feelings for Christian on the low.

A wave of fear hit the courtesan on the daily, she wished she could be as carefree as Christian and let her dreams lead her life. She envied his free and easy soul, she could not remember the last time she had been able to make decisions for herself. She tended to be the one to remind him about her responsibility, and she only wished that he listened and understood.

That night, she snuck after her show to the bohemians' flat, the usual spot she would meet Christian. She was greeted by Toulouse, their close friend and her lover's roommate, with a slight concern in the artiste's eyes for her. She was quick to remind him that everything was fine and she was simply tired and wished to see Christian. As soon as her eyes met the composer's, Satine felt weak and her heart sunk a bit. Before they could greet each other, she brought her hands up, ❝may we speak?❞

[katiemcgrath]

I know it's so late but a reason to also dislike the French is: my cousin's are french and I went to visit them and I had these certain tights that were patterned like and a short dress and my aunt said "we don't dress like this in France we wouldn't be able to wear this out in town" (they live near Toulouse) and then we did go out and one oldwr man STROKED my 13 yr old cousin as we went past and also one person did licking motions at us and people shouted at us like wtf. 🤮 Also I was in more "modest" outfit as well, not that it should even matter. I don't get this where I live in England (also on the south coast actually).

Also one time.we got on a train and we were talking to each other like normal volume in English and this woman turned round and loudly and rudely said "SHHH!" And then turned back to her phone and started shouting down it (in french!) So most interactions with actual french people have been not great tbh 😔

...........Whaaaaaaaaaaat the fuck? Damn, I’m sorry you and your cousin went through that! That sounds horrific. Fucking men, man. A man said some creepy shit to me when I was 11 and I still think about it. 

I think it is just etiquette to be quiet on trains but I think the difference between the French and English is that they will turn around and tell you to shut the fuck up whilst here, somebody could be playing really loud and rather offensive music really loudly on the tube at 6pm when everyone’s tryna go home and we’d just roll out eyes and tut [lived experience]. I kinda admire the bluntness a little. That was very rude of her though. As long as you weren’t yelling, then it’s absolutely fine for you to talk. Fuck her. 

[toulouse-magnifique]

After a busy week of work, Toulouse was ready for a few days off. He loved his job, and he loved the arts, but some weeks were just more stressful than others. This weekend he had purposely left the laptop with all his work on at his office. Whatever had to be done could wait until Monday. Parking outside his favourite junk food restaurant, Toulouse climbed off his motorbike with his phone in his hand, texting to see what was going on on the island tonight. Unaware of his surroundings, he only looked up when he accidentally bumped into somebody. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t-” He stopped, and looked up at the person he bumped into, his smile softening a little. “Oh, hey, Joy. Are you, I’m sorry, are you ok?”  @joyfcl​

[vgckwb]

ML: Are They Worthy? Chapter 1: A New Student!/Receiver Deceiver

Marinette arrived at school to her Adrien talking with Alya. She looked on, too nervous to go up and say anything. Adrien saw her and called out to her. “Hey Marinette!” he said.

Marinette smiled, and then rushed up, only to trip on her way there. When she got there she said “Hey Adrien. What’s up?”

“Well, Alya and I were just talking, and-” before Adrien could finish what he was saying, an unfamiliar car pulled up to the school. It caught the attention of the three, rendering them. It was a white limo. An assistant walked out of the front of the car to open the back door.

A student around their age stepped out of the limo. He had blond, downward spiky hair, red eyes, a purple button up shirt, a brown zip up hoodie that was completely unzipped, a ring on his right middle finger that has an extended section on the outside so it goes up the finger narrowing to a point, black jeans, and black shoes. As he steps out, he looks up. His eyes light up and he calls out “ADRIEN!”

“Vlad?” said Adrien, confused, which in turn confused the two girls.

Vlad ran up the stairs and gave him a hug. “Man, it’s so good to see you again.”

“Adrien, aren’t you going to tell us who your BFF is here? I’m sure Nino will be jealous” said Alya.

“Sorry” said Adrien, breaking the hug. “This is Vlad. A fellow model. He’s from Toulouse, so I don’t get to see him terribly often. Just at high-end events. But, what are you doing here?”

Vlad smirked. “My family moved” he said. “We live here now, and I go to school here now. Isn’t it great? I didn’t expect to go to the same school as you. What are the chances?”

Adrien was shocked, but then he smiled and said “That’s great Vlad. Don’t hesitate to ask me anything. Or Marinette here, for that matter” he gestured towards her. “She’s the class rep.”

“Is that so?” said Vlad, looking at Marinette.

“Come on” said Adrien. “We better get to class before the bell rings.” The four walked over to class.

At the beginning of class, Ms. Bustier introduces Vald. “This is Vlad Brodeur. He just moved here from Toulouse, and he’s joining our class today.” The class gives applause. “Since there’s no other room,” siad Ms. Bustier, “why don’t you sit next to Lila?”

Adrien grew worried. “Wait!” he said, surprising everyone else. “Um, it’s just that I think Vlad might benefit from being up front. So, I’ll move to the back.”

Marinette scowled at the thought of Adrien sitting next to Lila, but Vlad smiled. “It’s OK Adrien” he said. “I’ll be fine back there, trust me. Besides, if anything happens,” he said, turning to Ms. Bustier, “I’ll take full responsibility for it.”

“Well, I don’t see a problem then” said Ms. Bustier. “Please take your seat, and we’ll get started.” Vlad walked to his seat, while Adrien looked concerned. Marinette, meanwhile, is confused by all of this.

Later, at the start of a free period, Marinette is leaves the classroom and rushes to the library. Meanwhile, Lila begins talking with Vlad. “So, what was that about earlier with Adrien?”

“Oh, it’s nothing” said Vlad. “Adrien and I go back, so he knows me well. He thought I might have a problem sitting next to you.”

“What a silly thing to say,” said Lila, trying to hide her rage.

“Don’t worry about it. Adrien’s just a bit over overprotective. Which is odd, considering his dad.”

“Yeah, well you know what they say. ‘Like father, like son’” said Lila. “So, why was Adrien concerned?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” said Vlad. Lila nodded. “Well, I’m not the easiest person to get along with. And from what Adrien tells me, neither are you.” Lila was shocked, while Vlad continued to smirk. “Anyway, I gotta go. I need to talk with Marinette. Adrien says that within seconds of getting to know her we’ll be fast friends. I wanna see if that’s true” Lila grew furious as Vlad left.

Marinette was in the library, looking at fashion magazines and articles about Vlad. “Whatcha doin’ Marinette?” said Alya. This shocked Marinette, as she flung her materials about. Alya picked one up and said “Don’t tell me a third boy has caught your attention. Pretty soon, you’ll have your own ‘reverse harem’, as Nathaniel calls it.”

“Very funny” said Marinette. “It’s not that. Ever since Adrien was concerned about Vlad sitting next to Lila, I got curious.”

“Yeah, that was super weird” said Alya.

“So, I’m doing research on Vlad. I’m trying to figure out what the problem is. Maybe I could fix it” said Marinette. “I doubt it” she said under her breath.

“Why do you get it straight from the source?” said Vlad, showing up to meet them.

“Well, I, uh” said Marinette, flustered.

“It’s fine” said Vlad. “Miss, Alya was it?” Alya nodded. “Would you mind leaving the two of us alone?”

“No way! Marinette’s my friend! If you have something to say to her, you can say it to me” said Alya.

“It’s fine” said Marinette. “I’m sure Vlad would just like some privacy on the matter. It’s OK. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if he’s as troublesome as you think, you run away and give me a call right away!” said Alya.

Alya left. Vlad sat down across from Marinette. “A lot of overprotective people today” he said.

“Well, when something’s worth protecting, you want to keep it safe” said Marinette.

“You mean that much to her? I like that” said Vlad.

“So, why was Adrien concerned about you sitting in the back?” Marinette asked.

“I’m going to be real” said Vlad. “I’m a bit rough around the edges sometimes. Adrien told me that Lila is a chronic liar. I just can’t stand people like that.”

“Oh” said Marinette, surprised by Vlad’s directness.

“Of course, it’s a little deeper than that,” said Vlad. “I’m not one who trusts people easily. I need to get to know them. Adrien has spoken highly of you-”

“Adrien spoke of me?!” said a giddy Marinette.

Vlad looked at this and laughed to himself. “But I want to hear from you. Why should I trust you as class rep?”

Marinette was taken aback by this question. She was confused on how to answer for a second, but then she thought to answer Vlad’s honesty with her own. “The truth is, if you got to know me, I don’t know how much you would trust me. I’m clumsy, and I’m prone to mistakes. But I love my class. I will fight for them, and do whatever it takes to make them happy. Or keep them safe…”

“Has the need for that arisen before?” Vlad asked.

“Well, yeah” said Marinette. “Before I became class rep, a villain attack our class. I somehow managed to organize everyone to keep them safe as long as I could before Ladybug and Cat Noir showed up.”

While Marinette was explaining the Dark Blade attack, a small yawn came from Vlad’s hoodie pocket. Then came the sniffing. A mysterious small creature kept to the shadows, and rose to Vlad’s head to whisper something in his ear. Vlad nodded to the creature. The creature then returned to Vlad’s pocket.

“So, basically, that’s what happened” said Marinette.

“Wow. Adrien was right about you” Vlad said. Marinette grew nervous. What did Adrien think about her? What did he tell Vlad? “You are easy to get along with. I’m sure we’ll become good friends.” Marinette sighed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, Adrien was chatting with Nino before Lila approached him. “Adrien. A word.”

“Sorry Nino” he said, before getting dragged off. Once they were alone, Adrien asked “Is this about Vlad?”

“What do you think?” Lila hissed.

“Look, Vald’s a nice guy, but he can be a bit forward sometimes” said Adrien. “I’m sure whatever he said, you can take it with a grain of salt.”

“He told me you told him I’m not the easiest person to get along with!” Lila howled. Adrien was shocked, and then determined.

Back in the library, Vlad gets a call. He checks his phone before answering. “It’s Adrien” he says. “Hey, do you want to listen in?”

“Ummmmmm” said Marinette.

“It’ll be fine” said Vlad. He puts the phone on speaker, and sets it on the table. “Hey Adrien. What’s up?” He gestures to Marinette to keep quiet.

“Did you tell Lila I said she wasn’t easy to get along with?” said Adrien

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you told me?” Vlad asked.

“I didn’t say that” said Adrien.

“You told me she lies a lot” said Vlad. “I don’t see the difference.”

Adrien looked at Lila, and covered his mouth. “Just because she lies doesn’t mean she’s not easy to get along with. I think that if we can show her kindness, she’ll change her ways.”

“Look Adrien, you know I love you and all, but you gotta stop giving people the benefit of the doubt” said Vlad.

“Maybe you should trust people more” said Adrien.

“Tomato, to-mah-to” said Vlad. “But I will say, you were right about Marinette.”

“Huh? You spoke to her?” said Adrien.

“Yeah. She’s with me now” said Vlad. “Say hi Marinette.”

“Uhhhhhh, hi?” said Marinette.

“See? We’re the best of friends” said Vlad.

“Yeah, well, don’t go around telling people I said things I didn’t say” said Adrien, hanging up. “Well, I just talked with him, and as I suspected it was a misunderstanding.”

“‘Misunderstanding’?” said Lila. “You told him something unflattering about me behind my back!”

“Well, uh, nobody’s perfect?” said Adrien.

Lila stormed off. “You’re going to regret this!” She entered the bathroom and made sure no one was there. She took out her phone and gave a call.

At the Agreste Manor, Gabriel receives a phone call. He answers it “Gabriel Agreste.”

“Akumatize me!” demanded Lila.

Gabriel smiled. “I thought I felt a vengeful presence.” He hangs up and goes into the elevator.

In Hawkmoth’s lair, the window opens and Hawkmoth monologues to himself. “I feel the presence of someone who just found out that people were talking about her behind her back.” He enfuses his energy into a butterfly. “Fly away my little Akuma, and evilize this poor soul!” The Akuma flies off. It arrives at Françoise Dupont High School, enters the girl’s restroom, and fuses with Lila’s phone.

“Receiver Deceiver! I am Hawkmoth. Somebody said something bad about you in an online message? Well, don’t worry. You’re not alone. And with your powers, you will be able to expose it all. All I ask for in return is Ladybug and Cat Noir’s miraculous!”

“It’s as good as done” said Lila. A purple-black aura forms around her. When it dissipates, we see a figure with blue boot, a jumpsuit that was orange on the sides and white in the middle, blue gloves, a blue ring on one hand, a blue phone in the other hand, and a blue cell phone screen where the head should be. The screen lights up to reveal an orange light and Lila’s face on the screen. She looks at her phone and gives it a call.

Class is starting and everyone takes their seats. Sabrina’s phone goes off. “Sabrina, why isn’t you phone silenced?” Ms. Bustier asked.

“It was,” said Sabrina. She took out her phone to see what was up. The screen flashed, and then Receiver Deceiver appeared out of it. The class gasped.

“I am Receiver Deceiver!” she said. “And I’m going to make you regret everything you say in secret! Starting with this!” Receiver Deceiver had a piece of mail in her hand. She opened it up, changed Lila’s face for Sabrina’s, and started reading it in Sabrina’s voice. “‘Thanks dad. After spending time with Chloe, I could use some ice cream. I mean, Chloe’s great and all, but today she’s just being meaner than usual. Maybe she’ll be nicer tomorrow. Love you!’”

Chloe was shocked at what she had heard. “Chloe, I-” said Sabrina.

“How COULD YOU?!” Chloe screamed. Receiver Deceiver then aimed her ring at Chloe and hit her with a beam Chloe’s eyes turned red. “YOU THINK I’M MEAN?! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD!” She charged at Sabrina, while Sabrina ran away from her.

“Too easy” said Receiver Deceiver.

Marinette looked stunned at what was happening. Alya had her phone out. “Alya?! What are you doing?!”

“I’m filming this for the Ladyblog! Ladybug is bound to show up soon” said Alya.

Receiver Deceiver saw this, and called Alya’s phone. She disappeared from where she was and was now hovering by Alya and Marinette. She had another piece of mail. She opened it, changed to Alya’s face, and started reading it in Alya’s voice. “‘Honestly Nino, what did you expect? I’m sure if Marinette were here on time, she’d trip over her own feet and drop the sweets. I  love her and all, but that girl is clumsy.” Alya looked at Marinette in disbelief.

“Alya…” said Marinette.

Vlad saw Receiver Deceiver ready her ring and aim it at Marinette. He got up from his seat and ran over. “LOOK OUT!”  he said, as he charged at Receiver Deceiver, who had fired her beam. Vlad was quick enough so that the beam hit him and that he tackled Receiver Deceiver. Since the message wasn’t about him, he wasn’t put under her control.

“What are you doing?” Receiver Deceiver asked.

“If you want to air some dirty laundry, why don’t we start with that ridiculous getup” said Vlad.

Marinette was shocked at what had just happened. She then looked at the class and came up with an idea. “EVERYONE! TURN OFF YOUR PHONES!” she yelled. Everyone looked toward her. “She might not be able to access a device that is off!” Vlad smiled. Everyone listened to Marinette and turned off their phone.

Receiver Deceiver grew angry. “Look at that, your plan worked Marinette” said Vlad.

“Don’t think you’re so lucky!” said Receiver Deceiver. She raced into the computer on Ms. Bustier’s desk.

“She got away” said Alya.

“Come on, we gotta warn the school!” said Marinette.

“Right. To the principal's office!” said Ms. Bustier. Everyone left the room. The last person to leave was Sabrina, who closed the door on Chloe. Chloe then glared at Sabrina once she got back up.

The students and Ms. Bustier ran to Mr. Damocles’s office. However, before they could open the door, Mr. Damocles rampaged out. “‘Childish?! Immature?! Not a good way to teach?!’ I’ll have you Ms. Bustier that Knightowl taught me countless valuable lessons as a kid. They are extremely applicable in teaching children!” Ms. Bustier was being confronted by Mr. Damocles.

The class saw Receiver Deceiver behind him. “Oops” she said, before disappearing into her phone.

“It’s no use, we can’t warn the school like this” said Alya.

“Uh, I think we’d be too late anyway” said Nino, looking down. Everyone else looked over to see a bunch of people with glowing red eyes congregating in the courtyard.

“We have to leave! It our only way of being safe” said Marinette.

“How are we going to get through them all?” Adrien asked.

“SABRINA!” growled Chloe. She was right in front of them now, and Mr. Damocles was on the other side.

Vlad got an idea. “Adrien! Orleans!” Adrien nodded in agreement, took off his white button up shirt, and gave it to Vlad. Vlad took off his own jacket and started tying the two together.

“Everyone, give your excess clothing to Vlad!” Adrien shouted. Marinette took off her jacket. Alya took off her button up shirt. Nathanial took off his jacket. Mylene took off her sweatshirt. Kim took off his sweatshirt. Ms. Bustier took off her button up shirt. Finally, Sabrina took off her sweater vest. Vlad tied them all together in a rope as quickly as possible. He tied it to a pole and let it down. “Alright, climb down!” he said. Ms. Bustier went first, and soon the whole class was down by the entrance. The last person to come down was Vlad. Once he was down, he whipped the makeshift rope and freed it from the pole. He untied everything and gave it back to everyone just as fast as he had tied it. “Now let’s go!” he said. The entire class was running out the door. Eventually, they spread out. Marinette was hiding behind the street pole sign. She made sure no one was looking and then called out “Tikki! Spots On!” She then transformed into Ladybug. She lept into action.

But someone was watching. Not too far from her was Vlad, who saw everything. “Aren’t you going to help her?” said the small creature, still encased in shadows.

“Not yet” said Vlad. “I wanna see how she does as Ladybug.”

Meanwhile, Adrien was hiding behind the stairs. “We gotta do something” he said, letting Plagg out. “Plagg! Claws Out!” Adrien then transformed into Cat Noir. Cat Noir also jumped into the fray.

Ladybug and Cat Noir met each other in front of the school. “Good to see you, M’Lady” said Cat Noir. “Shall we?”

“Of course” said Ladybug. They both entered the school. “Alright Receiver Deceiver! Show yourself!”

Receiver Deceiver popped out of a student’s phone with a piece of mail. Her screen had changed to the face of that student, and she began reading in their voice. “Honestly, why does Cat Noir need to be there? Ladybug is the only person whose powers are actually useful. Cat Noir just gets in the way.” Cat Noir’s jaw dropped. Receiver Deceiver aimed her ring at Cat Noir and fired, but Ladybug blocked the beam with her yo-yo.

“Cat Noir! You know that’s not true, right? You’re just as important to the team” said Ladybug.

Cat Noir snapped out of it. “Of course, M’Lady. Your opinion is the only one that matters to me.”

Receiver Deceiver scowled. “Grrrrrrrrr. GET THEM!” she called to her minions. The crowd that had been taken under control of Receiver Deceiver started charging toward Ladybug and Cat Noir.

“The Akuma must be in the phone” said Ladybug.

“Then I suggest we get it before the bell tolls for us” said Cat Noir. Ladybug and Cat Noir kept avoiding the crowd and charged ahead to get to Receiver Deceiver. Before Cat Noir and Ladybug could get to her though, she disappeared into her phone.

“Well, that’s not fair,” said Cat Noir. “Talk about a bad reception.”

The deceived horde came after Ladybug and Cat Noir again. “Cat Noir, the roof!” said Ladybug.

“Good thinking” said Cat Noir. They both hopped to the roof. “So, now they can’t get us, but we can’t get close to Receiver Deceiver because she’ll keep running away.”

“We need to make her come to us,” said Ladybug. She called out her power. “Lucky Charm!” A flash drive appeared. “A flash drive?”

“Do you need to download something maybe?” said Cat Noir.

“Maybe” said Ladybug. “Let’s head to the library and see what’s on it.”

“Got it!” said Cat Noir. Ladybug and Cat Noir hopped down to head to the library, defending themselves against the horde. They made it to the library and Ladybug checked the flash drive. “Empty” she said. However, she looks at the files on the computer, then her yo-yo, then the flash drive, then the modem in the library, and finally Cat Noir. “Of course!” She started to load the files onto the flash drive. Once she had all the files, she moved to the next computer to load those files, and so on.

Meanwhile, Receiver Deceiver was going around town putting people under her spell. Between appearances, she was traveling through an electrified tunnel filled with all sorts of messages. She would grab one, and then read it hoping to provoke a response. However, on the way to her next victim, Receiver Deceiver was suddenly flooded with incoming messages. There were too many to keep track of, and they were burying the older messages. Receiver Deceiver grabbed a message. She found that it was filled with a bunch of operating jargon. She saw that the other messages were similarly filled with reports, ebooks, or other operating jargon. She looked, and it was all coming from one source. She fled to the source and appeared in the library, out of Ladybug’s yo-yo phone.

“About time” said Ladybug, taking the flash drive out of her yo-yo. “Cat Noir! Now!”

“Cataclysm!” he called out. He touched the library’s modem, which black out the internet in the entire library. “We’ve got your number now!” said Cat Noir.

“You can’t run away any more” said Ladybug.

“I can still fight!” said Receiver Deceiver, as she threw a punch at Ladybug. Ladybug blocked it. She and Ladybug got locked into combat, giving ample time for Cat Noir to steal her phone out of her hand. He jumped, grabbed the phone, did a flip, and then sent the phone hurtling toward the ground, smashing it. “See kitty? What did I tell you?” said Ladybug. “You’re an important part of the team, and you know it.”

“Never doubted it for a second,” said Cat Noir.

Receiver Deceiver froze in her tracks.The Akuma flew out of the phone. “No more evil doing for you, little Akuma” said Ladybug, readying her yo-yo to capture the Akuma. She catches it and says “Gotcha. Bye-bye little butterfly” she said, releasing the butterfly. She threw up the flash drive and called out “Miraculous Ladybug!” The magic ladybugs flew all over, fixing the damage caused by Receiver Deceiver.

The purple-black aura surrounded Receiver Deceiver and changed her back to Lila. “Ugh, what happened?” said Lila.

“Pound it!” said Ladybug and Cat Noir. Their jewelry then started to flash.

“Uh, gotta go” said Ladybug. “Are you OK here by yourself?”

Lila nodded. “Yes” she said.

“Then bug out!” she said, leaving, with Cat Noir leaving in a different direction.

At Hawkmoth’s lair, the super villain was cursing his latest attempt. “I’ll soon figure out who you really are Ladybug and Cat Noir. Then the public will know too. Then everyone will be talking about it!”

Meanwhile, afternoon classes are about to start, and Ms. Bustier’s class is getting seated. Lila walks into the room solemnly. “I just want to say...I’m sorry,” she said, in a tone she hoped would garner sympathy.

“What do you have to apologize for?” said Vlad. Everyone looked at him confused.

“Um, did you not see that she turned into a freakish super villain with access to our phones?” said Alya.

“Of course” said Vlad. “But I also stated at the beginning of the day that if something were to happen, I’d take the blame for it. Something happened. So I’m taking the blame for it. It’s all my fault everyone.”

Everyone was confused, but impressed. “That’s Vlad for you,” said Adrien. “Vlad, you don’t need to do this. It’s just as much my fault.”

“Adrien. Always too nice for your own good” said Vlad. “But nah, it’s my fault. You tried warning me, but I insisted, and all of this happened.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also partially my fault too” said Adrien. “Lila, I should have been more honest with you about how I feel.”

“Well THAT we can agree on” said Vlad. “In fact, I think if today’s taught us anything, it’s that we should be more honest with each other. Or else people will think you hate them for no reason.” Everyone clapped, but Lila was low-key angry.

“You say that, but I doubt you like anyone here” said Adrien.

“For the last time Adrien, I like people, I just don’t trust people” said Vlad. “At least, not until I get to know them better.” Vlad looked at Marinette and gave her a wink.

Later, Marinette and Alya were talking, when Adrien stepped up to them. “Hey Marinette. I gotta say, getting Vlad to trust someone he just met is not an easy feet. Whatever you said to him to get him to trust you, I’m sure it was great.”

“Ummmmmmm, thank you…” said Marinette, embarrassed. Alya nudged her. “So, um….”

“Ahem” said Lila.

“Sorry Marinette, I gotta go explain myself” said Adrien, walking off.

Marinette got angry and jealous of Lila. “Easy girl” said Alya. “You’ll have you chance.”

“Yeah” said Marinette, dejected. “But speaking of explaining themselves…” Marinette pointed to Alya.

Alya was slightly surprised. “Listen girl, you know I love you. But you have to admit that you have some faults.”

“I know” said Marinette. “I just didn’t expect to hear it so bluntly.”

“Yeah” said Alya. “I didn’t expect to hear it like that either. Friends?”

“Friends” said Marinette, as they both hugged.

Vlad was observing this scene. He looked around and saw others making up from the chaos caused by Receiver Deceiver. He smiled and left.

Later that night, outside of Marinette’s home Vlad stands and stares at the building. “Are you ready?” said the small creature, who is now revealed to be a kwami. The kwami was grey, had wolf ears, a wolf snout, a wolf-like mane, red eyes, and a bushy wolf tail.

“Of course Beyyo” said Vlad. “But remember, just because we think alike doesn’t mean we’re the same. I might give her the seal of approval, but you may not.”

“Duly noted” said Beyyo.

Vlad held out his right hand. “Beyyo! Fangs Sharpen!” Beyyo flew into Vlad’s ring and Vlad began to transform. Vlad transformed into a figure who was wearing a grey cloak. The cloak was joined in the middle, but flew open near his feet in the front. The torso of the cloak was a darker shade of grey than the rest of the cloak. His arms and legs were covered in a black material that clung to his body. He had a belt going across his chest that held a holster for a sword on the back. He had his hood up, which covered his face, except for his piercing red eyes, and it had wolf ears on top. “Alright Ladybug” said the figure. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.”

[half-explored]

surfing at dawn for any characters!

Toulouse had always wanted to be able to feel safe and loved by somebody. Fair enough, he's an orphan after all. And Jude would love to dance as the principal ballerina in Sleeping Beauty.

Thank you for the question! It was a tricky one :D

[imjustthemechanic]

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals Part 16/? - The Stark Gallery

They landed at LaGuardia, where they had a quick (and expensive) lunch, and visited a kiosk to get Peggy and Howard a second set of cell phones before catching a train into the city.  Peggy’s impression of twenty-first century London had been of the city she remembered but somehow more so, bigger and brighter and busier than ever before.  Manhattan was, if anything, an even more extreme example.  The streets were teeming with cars, dogs, and people.  New, shiny buildings stood side-by-side with ones nearly a hundred years old.  And like the familiar buildings in London, it hadn’t aged particularly well.  Plaster was peeling and pavement was cracked, as if the entire island were crumbling away under the weight of all this human activity.

In the midst of all that, it was a bit unbalancing to find that the Fifth Avenue façade of Howard’s old mansion hadn’t changed a bit.  It looked exactly as it had during the brief time Peggy and Angie had lived there – a mix of Georgian and Neoclassical architecture that probably looked refined to anybody who didn’t know the difference between the two.  The magnolia trees had grown but they’d been lovingly pruned, and there were different flowers in the garden but the beds were in the same place.  It looked as if Peggy could move right back in.

Except, of course, for the giant banner advertising a new exhibit of Jackson Pollock, and the massive queue of people waiting to get in.  Those were very definitely new.

“That’s a hell of a thing to see,” Howard muttered, as they got in line.  “A hundred people just waiting to get into your house.”

“Are you telling me that’s never happened before?” Peggy asked, skeptical.

“Those were reporters,” Howard told her.  “Not members of the public.”

Peggy looked at the crowd of people waiting, and then at Toulouse herself, with blue and green locks falling out from under her knitted cap.  It would be silly to keep Toulouse and Kevin out when all these other civilians were coming in, and Toulouse herself looked determined.  Peggy had a feeling if she told her no, there’d be a fight.

“Not now,” she decided, “but this is just a scouting-out trip.  Once we have a plan for what to do next, we may ask you to leave.”  They probably wouldn’t have to worry about anything more dangerous than security guards, but Peggy wasn’t going to take that for granted.  HYDRA might be able to find this place, too.  They might even have followed them here.

“Let me know if I can help,” said Toulouse firmly.

While the main façade faced Fifth Avenue, the actual entrance to the mansion was on East Seventieth Street.  Toulouse paid admission for four and then stepped into the main foyer, where Peggy discovered that Toulouse had not been joking about the interior having been preserved with its original décor.  Even the wallpaper was, while not exactly what she remembered, certainly a very close replica.  The coat check and small gift shop were on the right, and on the wall across from them was a large framed photograph of a family posing in the portico.

“Son of a bitch,” Howard said under his breath, and walked towards it.

The photo was in colour, and printed very large – nearly three feet tall, which rendered the image a little grainy up close.  Even so, there was no mistaking the identity of the largest figure.  It could only possibly be Howard himself.

Peggy came closer, too, to see how her friend had changed over the years.  He definitely looked older, thinner, and more tired.  His mustache was a little bushier and his hair had gone gray, and he looked more deathly serious than she could ever remember seeing him.  Standing on his right and smiling gently was an attractive blonde woman, at least twenty years younger than he.  Her hair fell long around her shoulders and she was dressed in a dark skirt suit and pearls.  Between the adults was a little boy, three or four years old.  He had a mop of dark hair and serious brown eyes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable in his little suit and tie.

There was a brass plaque below the picture.  It said, Howard, Maria, and Anthony Stark, September 1973.

“So that’s them, eh?” Howard murmured.

“So it is,” Peggy agreed.

It was a strange thing to see, she thought.  Toulouse had mentioned that Howard would get married, but here was the proof, staring back at them across forty years.  His wife, Maria, was very much Howard’s type – a petite blonde with a pretty face and a charming smile.  Peggy wondered what was different about this one.  What had made Howard decided that out of all those little blondes, this was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

Howard must have been thinking the same thing.  “I wonder what she was like,” he said.  “I wonder where I met her.”

“It might say on your Wikipedia article,” Toulouse suggested from behind him.

“Yeah,” Howard said distantly, and Peggy could tell that he wasn’t going to look.  He didn’t want to know.  Why would he?  Who wanted to know that here was the love of their lives, forever beyond their reach?

Peggy knew that feeling all too well.  It still came over her every so often, usually in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep.  She’d told herself again and again that she was over Steve, that she couldn’t dwell on what might have been – she’d told Jason that, and it had been good advice for him as it was for her, but there was a part of her heart that just wasn’t willing to take it.  Daniel had asked Peggy if she still loved him and she’d had to say yes, she always would.  She knew better than to let it interfere with the rest of her life and relationships, but she was very much still in love with Steve Rogers.

Kevin and Toulouse were hanging back now, not wanting to interrupt.  Peggy herself was of two minds about it.  If they stayed here staring for two long, somebody might wonder why, but Howard was having to contemplate an entire life he could never live.  A wife he would never meet, a son he would never hug… he would need time to cope with that.  Peggy hoped they had that time.

Finally, Howard tore himself away, with honest pain in his face that he couldn’t quite hide by forcing himself to smile.  “Okay,” he said.  “The vault entrance will be in the library.”

“Wasn’t it in the music room?” asked Peggy with a frown.  Howard had used the library.  The music room was only there because fancy houses were supposed to have one.

“It was, but when I decided to hide it better I planned to move the door,” he explained.  “If I got on with that, it’ll be in the library.”

The music room was circular, and was now used as an exhibit of antique instruments, including an eighteenth-century cello and a white-lacquered grand piano.  They looked like the sort of things Howard would collect just because rich people were supposed to collect things.  A doorway from there led into the library, which was where most of the crowd was.  Not only was it home to several rare books, but the featured exhibit of three paintings by Pollock were hanging on the far wall.  These were not particularly impressive as far as Peggy could tell.  They all looked like they’d been made by simply throwing paint at a canvas.

Howard took no interest in the art at all.  He turned immediately to the right, where the library shared a wall with the music room – the fact that the latter was round left a wedge-shaped space between them.  A large Indian rug was hung there, with a plastic panel in front of it so that people couldn’t touch.

“Is this the place?” Peggy asked.  Based on her memory of the music room entrance, it did seem right.

“Should be,” Howard said.  “Looks like they re-wallpapered, or maybe I did that.  Either way, hides the entrance completely.  If I can just find the seam in the plaster…” he reached to touch the wall.

“Sir,” a security guard stepped forward.  “You’re not allowed to touch that.”

Howard looked at the man and began drawing himself up to his full height, and a horrible mental picture flashed through Peggy’s head.  He’d forgotten the situation, and was about to tell the guard that he could touch whatever he wanted in his own house.  She grabbed his arm to drag him away.

“There’s a sign right there, Honey,” she said, in an American accent.  “I know it’d look nice in your study, but I’m sure it’s not for sale.  Right?”  She smiled at the guard.

“That’s correct, Ma’am,” the guard told her.

Howard deflated as he remembered where and when they were.  “Yeah, okay.  Sorry,” he said.

There was a little café in the museum courtyard.  The food there was even more shockingly expensive than at the airport, but they ordered some coffee with steamed milk and some Danish pastries, and sat down to talk about their next move.  Howard continued to be uncharacteristically quiet.  The fact that this house no longer belonged to him was apparently as difficult for him as knowing he would never meet the woman in the photograph.

“I suppose we could always come up through the sewers, like the last people who robbed that vault,” Peggy observed.

Howard shook his head.  “I filled in the hole and reinforced it.  It’d take a bomb to get it out again.  We’ll just chip off the plaster and go in through the door.”

“And how do we get back into the house after closing?” Peggy wanted to know.  She didn’t doubt Howard knew how to do it, she only wanted to remind him that he hadn’t told her.

“Why would we leave?”  Howard started to smile again.  “You really think I built myself a house with only one secret room?”

“Oh, of course.”  Peggy shook her head.  “How very silly of me!”

“How can I help?” asked Toulouse.

The humour melted out of the conversation as Peggy and Howard exchanged a glance.  Neither of them wanted Toulouse getting hurt, and the chances of them triggering some kind of alarm while doing this were very good.  A technology that could create those multi-use mobile phones could do all kinds of things with surveillance.

“You can wait outside,” Peggy decided, “and let us know if the police are coming.”

Toulouse sighed.  “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

“You’ve already been a great help,” Peggy assured her.  “We couldn’t have come this far without you.”

“I know,” said Toulouse.  She had a spoon in her hand, and was playing with the foam on her coffee, piling it up in to a mound that slowly collapsed again.  “Daddy would agree with you.  He’s all about paying to save the world, but he never goes to any of these places himself.  I guess he’s afraid he’ll end up like Junior.”

Peggy had slept through the part of the conversation on the plane when Toulouse had said how her brother died.  She wondered now if it might be important, but Toulouse didn’t look as if she wanted to talk about it and Peggy didn’t want to sound like she was prying.  “Well, perhaps that’s a very good reason,” she said.

“I agree with them, for what that’s worth,” said Kevin.  “I’m just sticking around to make sure somebody’s trying to avoid Yellowstone blowing up under me.  I don’t actually want to have to fight a supervillain if I don’t have to.”

“Daddy isn’t a supervillain!” Toulouse protested.

“He kind of is,” said Kevin.  “I mean, he wants to set off a volcano on purpose.  That’s some top-tier supervillainy.”

“He is not a supervillain,” Toulouse told him.  “Supervillains are like… are like Loki, or Ultron.  They’ve got powers and stuff.  Daddy isn’t a supervillain.  I figure there’s got to be a reason why him and Cass are mixed up in this,” she went on.  Now she was gesturing with the spoon, rather than scooping foam.  “Maybe somebody’s using them.  Remember I said Daddy did the investigation when HYDRA was exposed in the UK?  Maybe somebody promised him something and he didn’t realize it was going to lead to this!  I wish I’d been able to say something to Cass.”

Peggy wondered if she ought to be worried.  It was possible that Toulouse was right, and if she told her father and brother what was going on, they’d put a stop to it.  It was also possible, however, that she was dead wrong, and that trying to say anything to them would be a disaster.  They needed more information before they could let her try.  Before she could say anything, though, Howard spoke.

“Actually, Toulouse, Kevin, I’ve got a really important job for you two.  We are going to need a distraction.”

The staircase to the second floor was between the foyer and the fountain court  There was a security guard posted there to intervene if anybody decided to duck under the rope.  Across from the staircase was a little marble table displaying an intricate silver-plated wine cooler.  Toulouse and Kevin passed by this, and Toulouse hitched her purse up her shoulder and knocked the cooler over.

“Oh my god!  I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, and went to pick it up.

“No, don’t touch it, you’ll get fingerprints on it!” Kevin told her.  He stuck out his foot to stop her, and bumped the thing again.

“Both of you get away from that!” the horrified guard exclaimed.  He went to move them away from it, and with his back turned, Peggy and Howard slipped up the red-carpeted stairs.

“That poor cooler,” Peggy remarked.

“Eh, it’s not even real Sheffield plate,” Howard said, unconcerned.

At the top of the steps was a little room where another guard was supposed to be watching a bank of television screens that showed various views of the house.  Peggy and Howard outside the door were quite clearly visible on one of them, but the guard in question was reading a comic book and not paying the slightest attention.  As they tiptoed by, Peggy noticed what was hanging on the wall next to the shelves of screens.

“Is that one of those paintings from California?” she asked.

Howard glanced over his shoulder at the portrait.  “I dated an artist there,” he said.  “She told me I was her muse.  That’s when I knew I had to leave her – I couldn’t take being anybody’s muse.  Too much pressure.”

“Mmm,” said Peggy.  “We’re lucky the staff didn’t recognize you, if they have to look at that all day.”  Then again, perhaps they had, and just dismissed it as a coincidence.

“I wonder what happened to the ones she did of me nude,” Howard said.

“If she had any sense, she burned them.”

[thetucc]

First Christmas - Blake Secret Santa

My Secret Santa giftee is @escapewithstories who asked for Jean and Lucien + fluff. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy. This is the third fic I’ve ever written, so I’m still trying to find my footing. I enjoyed learning about your Christmas traditions, and I hope you and yours have a lovely holiday season! (Also I’m on mobile so apologies for formatting.)

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It was a year of firsts for Lucien and Jean as Doctor and Mrs. Blake. Their first turn on the dance floor and their first night exploring each other in their marital bed, amongst many other firsts they would experience throughout the year. And with the Yuletide season quickly approaching, Jean and Lucien were preparing for their first Christmas together, officially melding their family traditions while creating new traditions and new memories to cherish.

Jean stood up and smoothed down her apron, grabbing the box of lights from Lucien and placing it on the floor near the tree. “I think there’s four - a box with keepsakes I collected with the boys, two boxes of decorations Thomas had, and a small box with the angel. They should all be next to where you found the lights.”

Lucien leaned in to give Jean a kiss before turning to head back towards the upstairs closet. As Lucien carried the boxes down one by one, Jean unraveled the lights and began wrapping them round the tree. Lucien placed the last box on the floor near the loveseat and came to stand behind Jean, a hand on her lower back. When the lights were at eye-level with Jean, she turned to Lucien holding up the end of the lights.

“Will you?”

“Of course, darling.”

“I’ll start unpacking the ornaments.” Jean handed the lights to Lucien and stepped away from the tree.

With the lights placed, Lucien joined Jean on the loveseat helping her to unwrap a lifetime’s worth of decorations. He reached for the first box marked ‘T. Blake’. A smile formed on his mouth once he uncovered the first ornament. Though Jean had seen all of these ornaments before, she had never seen the flashes of memory cross Lucien’s face or know the stories behind the precious mementos from Christmases past. Thomas rarely helped when Jean decorated, so she was left to wonder what memories or stories each ornament held. She was delighted to have her husband (and oh how she still hadn’t tired of calling him so) sat at her side to reminisce.

“My grand-mére brought this from Toulouse the one year she visited us for Christmas.” Lucien chuckled softly at the memory. “She hated that Christmas in Australia is warm. I think she was expecting a white Christmas. She sulked for the first half of the trip. My mother gave her a good talking to to pull her out of her mood. That seemed to do the trick, but I know she was happy to return to France after the first of the year.”

Jean smiled at Lucien and continued unpacking ornaments from her box. She pulled a delicate homemade ornament out and Lucien noticed a date etched into the corner.

“I made this for little Christopher’s first Christmas. We didn’t have a lot of money, especially in those first years on the farm. But I wanted to mark the occasion. My sister mentioned the idea to me, and I made this little bootie, covered it in tin foil, and tapped out the date and little flourishes. There’s one in there for Jack, too.”

“It’s lovely, Jean.” Lucien lightly took it from her hand and traced his thumb over the etchings. “Do you think,” Lucien hesitated a moment, a glint in his eyes, “well I’d like to commemorate our first Christmas as Mister and Missus. Do you think that we could make one together?”

Jean reached over to squeeze Lucien’s hand. “That’s a lovely idea, Lucien. Let’s get these up on the tree first.” Jean leaned over to kiss her husband on his cheek, swiping with her thumb to remove the trace of lipstick left behind. She stood up, grabbing several ornaments and walking to the tree, distributing them amongst the branches. Lucien smiled in delight before he, too, stood with ornaments in hand to help his wife.

++++++++

Over the next several days, Jean busied herself with baking and taking donations down to the Op-Shop. Lucien often found her either in the kitchen pulling some sweet morsel from the oven or at the dining table knitting a blanket for Amelia, the wireless a constant in the background with Christmas chorales or hymns as the soundtrack to his wife’s busy movements.

A few days before Christmas, Lucien came home from the morgue to join Jean for lunch before holding surgery. He stood in the passway to glance at his wife as she pulled yet another batch of gingerbread from the oven. Always aware of her husband’s presence and his eyes on her, Jean closed the oven door and turned to greet Lucien.

“Good day, darling?”

“Yes. Just running some tests with Alice. Thankfully the criminals of Ballarat seem to be taking a break this holiday season.”

“Let’s be thankful for small favors.”

Lucien walked around and into the kitchen, standing in front of Jean. He placed his hands lightly on Jean’s hips and leaned in to kiss her. “Hmmm somebody has been sampling her wares. Gingerbread today, is it, Mrs. Blake?”

Jean snapped Lucien with the oven mit held in her hand. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, then stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Cheeky man.” She kissed him again, and then turned back towards the oven. “Our lunches are in the ice box. Will you place the table while I finish this last batch?”

“Of course, darling. Who is the recipient of today’s baking endeavors?”

“I’ll take them with me to the sewing circle this afternoon. Evelyn has organized a bake sale for the orphanage.”

Jean sat at the table, passing a napkin to Lucien. She loved the bustling of the full house, their friends and lodgers coming and going, but she enjoyed these quiet moments with her husband. An opportunity to talk about their respective days, for Lucien to bounce ideas off of Jean if a case was particularly hard, or for Jean to pass on the latest update from her ventures into town.

When lunch was finished, Lucien joined Jean at the sink, helping to wash up from lunch and Jean’s earlier baking. He often was more of a hindrance, but Jean loved the effort and his insistence to always be in her presence.

Jean handed the last bowl to Lucien and dried her hands. Wrapping her arm around his waist, Jean looked up to Lucien.

“Janet Evans has invited me to attend Christmas Eve services at the Anglican Church down the road, and I’d like to attend with her.”

“St. Paul’s?”

“Mm, yes. I’ll leave well after dinner so it won’t disrupt our Christmas Eve plans.”

Lucien placed the bowl and towel on the counter and turned in Jean’s embrace. “Of course. That’s very kind of Janet.”

The months since Jean left the church had been a whirlwind - the wedding, four months away on honeymoon, and settling into being Mrs. Blake. Jean hadn’t given much thought to the church, but as the advent season hit, Jean began to miss some of the traditions and events that were tied to the church. She loved Lucien, and his love was more than enough to fill the gap the church left in her social life, and she kept the spiritual side up in her own, constantly sending up prayers as she went about her day. But she did miss assisting with the children’s choir and sewing the costumes for the nativity play. She was glad of the invite from Janet.

After dinner was put away and Alice sent home with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to see her the next day for Christmas lunch, Jean and Lucien retreated to the sitting room and sat in front of the Christmas tree, the glow from the tree giving off the only light in the room. Lucien placed an arm around Jeans’s shoulder and she leaned into his embrace.

“I’m sorry for Alice that Matthew was called out tonight.”

Lucien kissed Jean’s brow. “He’ll make it up to her tomorrow.”

After a few more moments of sitting in companionable silence, Jean patted Lucien’s leg. “I best be off. I told Janet we’d walk together.”

“Alright, love. I’ll be here when you return.” Lucien walked Jean to the door and helped her into her coat. “Have a lovely time.”

Jean kissed Lucien on the cheek and headed down the drive. She gave a wave to Matthew as he drove past and made the turn into the drive. Joining Janet further up the road, she walked to St. Paul’s for the Christmas Eve service.

Lucien waited by the door as Matthew made his way into the house. Ushering him into the kitchen, Lucien set the plate down for Matthew that Jean had made up for him earlier.

“Where’s Jean off to at this hour?”

“She’s attending services at St. Paul’s. Janet Evans invited her. She won’t say, but I think she sometimes misses the church.”

“Why the bloody hell didn’t you go with her?”

Lucien was taken aback for a moment. The thought never occurred to him to join his wife tonight. Church was always Jean’s place and he hadn’t stopped to think about what this meant for her. She left the church for him, not hesitating for a moment to put their love above the one place that had supported her and comforted her all her life.

“You make a good point, Matthew. I sure can be a thoughtless bastard sometimes.”

“You said it, Blake.”

“Right! I’m off. Christmas lunch is tomorrow at two. Alice is coming round at noon. Don’t wait up!”

Lucien patted Matthew on the back and headed out the door.

Jean settled towards the back of St. Paul’s, taking in the stained-glass windows all along the nave. She felt a sense of comfort wash over her as the congregation stood to sing a familiar Christmas hymn. Jean joined the others in song, and closed her eyes as that feeling of comfort continued to settle over her. As the congregation started on the third chorus of Joy to the World, Jean felt a hand encase her own. She registered the deep baritone of Lucien’s voice, and she turned to look up into his shimmering eyes. With a question drawn across her brows and a smile upon her lips, Jean leaned into her husband to whisper his name. Lucien looked to Jean and gave a squeeze to her hand. Jean brought Lucien’s hand to her lips for a quick kiss and joined the others in song.

After the service, Lucien and Jean walked with Janet Evans back towards Lydiard street. Jean headed towards their room while Lucien locked up the house. Jean settled under the covers as Lucien finished in the bathroom.

“That was very sweet of you to join me tonight, Lucien. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me.”

Before joining his wife in their bed, Lucien grabbed a small, wrapped box from his chest and got into bed. He leaned in and gently kissed Jean on her lips. “I’m just sorry I didn’t think to go with you sooner. It was a lovely service.”

“Lucien, what’s that in your hand? We promised we weren’t doing a big, expensive Christmas this year. Not after the honeymoon.”

“I know, darling. But I can’t be helped.” Lucien handed the gift to Jean, and she hesitantly unwrapped the gift to reveal a delicate rosary.

“I noticed on the honeymoon you were still praying the rosary. But a few weeks later you stopped. I assumed you must have lost yours. While you were giving your confession at the Vatican, I found this one in hopes it would be a suitable replacement.”

Jean ran her hands over the rosary beads in reverence. Her loving, thoughtful husband never ceased to amaze her.

Jean leaned over to caress Lucien’s cheek. “Oh Lucien, it’s beautiful! I lost mine in London. My mother gave it to me on my wedding day to Christopher, and I was devastated when I lost it. Though I left the church, there are just some aspects I couldn’t walk away from. Praying the rosary gives me peace.”

“You must pray it often after having met me.”

Jean smile through watery eyes and chuckled. “You have no idea!”

Jean placed the rosary on her bedside table and turned off the lamp. She rested her head on Lucien’s chest as he wrapped her up in his arms.

“Lucien! Your gift reminds me! Where did we store the ornaments we purchased on our honeymoon? We forgot to put them on the tree!”

“Didn’t you put them in your bureau?”

Jean quickly got out of bed and rummaged through her bureau drawers until she found the small box of ornaments, a decoration from each stop the newlyweds made on their honeymoon. Jean grabbed her dressing gown and headed for the door.

Lucien sat up. “What? You want to put them up now? Jean, it’s almost midnight.”

Lucien followed Jean into the sitting room. She turned the tree lights on and unpacked the ornaments from their trip. As Jean and Lucien took turns placing them on the tree, they shared their favorite memories from their honeymoon. After the last ornament (a lovely stained glass replica from Notre Dame) was placed on the tree next to the tin ornament with Jean and Lucien’s anniversary date, they both sat on the love seat to gaze at the tree. Lucien pulled Jean into his embrace and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Blake.”

“Merry Christmas, Doctor Blake.”