Full of Grace [pt 2/??]
anonymous
July 18 2009, 17:34:38 UTC
Noon
Several years later, they ran into each other on the road, he in full officer dress and riding a magnificent stallion, she holding a basket of fruit to sell in the market. For a few seconds, they could only stare in shock, having lost track of each other during the desperate rally to set things right after the chaos of the revolution.
Then she threw a tomato at him. It splattered over his spotless uniform jacket, quickly staining the gold braid red.
“That was a waste of food, Marianne. Children are starving… somewhere.”
“Ungrateful wretch! A more arrogant Judas I have yet to see! I hope you burn in the agony of mysterious diseases you’ve contracted from foreign prostitutes!” She paused to take a breath and continued in a slightly calmer tone. “You’ve risen so fast, France, simpering at the feet of your little emperor. Your liberté, egalité, fraternité - tossed aside for a man who treats Europe like a game to be won. Have you forgotten about me, Marianne, who helped you when you thought you were going to die?”
“Mon couer, I could not forget about you even if I tried,” France said diplomatically.
“I know what you really mean, bastard, I’m the same as you, remember?” She seemed to be working herself back up into a fine temper and was reining it back with difficulty. Sighing deeply, she said in an otherwise reasonable tone. “France… you have gone mad…”
He nodded in agreement - after all, he was talking to a female version of himself, even England could not come up with a more original way to act insane and that one talked to fairies. “On the other hand, most mad people do not believe they are mad.”
“You will lose everything we have fought for.” Despite the rash of incredible victories, the emperor would not be able to maintain his empire. They both knew this, with sickening certainty.
“At least I shall lose fashionably.”
She threw a tomato at him as a parting gift, this time rotten, so as to not waste the good tomatoes. He rode off to rejoin the legion with her curses still ringing in his ears.
Afternoon
“Well… France is technically not an empire anymore…” “No.” “But you are still angry with me?” “Correct.”
Dusk
When Marianne next rose to influence, it was only for a brief while. But he could rest now, after the terror that infected the whole of the continent and brought the shadow of death over his fellow nations.
He loved the sight of Marianne then, she had never looked so beautiful, so awe-inspiring. She stood tall and regal, the Phrygian cap bright against her black hair, one breast bared for some reason he could not fathom but which he entirely approved of, the red and white and blue flag streaming in the wind behind her impressive silhouette. Her expression was serious, as if recognizing the pain and turmoil that her birth had wrought, but her eyes glowed with a passionate love for les citoyens, her children.
Though the second empire would put her underground in just a few years, her presence was now deeply engrained into the minds of the people, and what she symbolized a (nearly) universally recognized right.
She would not die so easily, and he would not either.
[anon apologizes for the fail!history, hopes op doesn't mind? orz]
Full of Grace [pt 3/??]
anonymous
July 21 2009, 01:11:07 UTC
Evening
Sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, France watched Marianne arrange her hair, admiring her shapely image in the full-length mirror. Because it was a very important, very stubborn person she would be courting tonight, her colors glowed more vividly than ever, full lips a vibrant crimson, eyes glittering like gold-flecked tourmalines, an excited flush staining her cheeks. Marianne would stun him, seduce him, win him over before the first hour of their meeting passed. She must, if they were to survive.
Right now she was wearing only a silk chemise that barely covered her hips, creamy round shoulders left exposed to kisses, and he got up to promptly indulge himself to those, breathing in the musky scent of her perfume. The republic giggled and leaned back against him with a sigh that would fell any young man caught staring at her bosom.
“Do you find me irresistible?” she asked, batting long eyelashes at his reflection.
“Of course, I do, ma cherie. But then again, you are me.” France leaned forward to press his lips against her cheek, one hand sliding across her thighs, squeezing with the slightest bit of pressure and causing her to squeal girlishly. He chuckled, soft and indulgent, and glanced at the figures mirroring their actions. How ravishing the two of them looked together, his sunlight hair tangling into her midnight waves, her luscious curves contrasting with the spare clean lines of his limbs.
That repressed little island was as good as theirs.
So before the end of the night, the papers were signed, the terms hammered out, past differences almost but not quite resolved. Both France and England, under the shadow of a greater threat to the east, had agreed to not immediately fight at the slightest provocation, ending nearly a thousand years of enmity and war.
“Jolly good,” England muttered, his face reddening as he tried his best to not look at Marianne’s practically bare breasts or even worse, France’s triumphant smirk.
Oh, England had protested at first, called them depraved, indecent, sex-obsessed, refused to even take off his hat once they cornered him in the lavish suite with the intent of “sealing” their secret alliance, to make sure he would not change his mind later. But France was not one to give up, at least not in this area, and between the two of them, they soon had England naked and tangled in the sheets, cursing and begging and screaming until he was hoarse. Jolly good indeed.
“Wasn’t this a wonderful idea?” she murmured, after England had drifted off to sleep, his cheek pillowed against her breasts. In the light of their mutual afterglow, she looked gorgeous, and he envied his fellow nation very much at that moment.
“Oui, of course,” he agreed softly, combing through England’s hair with his fingers, like he used to do when they were children, so very long ago. “Thank you for your assistance, Marianne. I may not have succeeded so thoroughly without your unfailing logic.”
She smiled at him, though her eyes remained serious. “You know I would do anything for you, dear France,” she whispered. “I would sleep with anyone. I’d lie or beg or steal or even kill, if I had to, in order to save the republic.”
He regarded her pensively, knowing she had killed before and would not hesitate to do so again. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do any of that. It is not a woman’s place to risk her life, or to take one.”
“But I am no ordinary woman, and I am not fighting for an ordinary purpose.”
France buried his nose into England’s thick hair to hide his smile, causing the other to hunch his shoulder involuntarily. “No, you are right, Marianne.”
Drowsily, England told them to shut up and find something else to do with their mouths. The two of them obeyed at once, and much to his regret, he enjoyed it exceedingly.
[please ignore grammar mistakes above, and any fail!history.]
Re: Full of Grace [pt 3/??]
anonymous
July 21 2009, 04:16:07 UTC
Once again anon is blown away by your writings. France's concern for Marianne, yet knowing she is much more than that. Plus, you threw England into the mix. =]
Several years later, they ran into each other on the road, he in full officer dress and riding a magnificent stallion, she holding a basket of fruit to sell in the market. For a few seconds, they could only stare in shock, having lost track of each other during the desperate rally to set things right after the chaos of the revolution.
Then she threw a tomato at him. It splattered over his spotless uniform jacket, quickly staining the gold braid red.
“That was a waste of food, Marianne. Children are starving… somewhere.”
“Ungrateful wretch! A more arrogant Judas I have yet to see! I hope you burn in the agony of mysterious diseases you’ve contracted from foreign prostitutes!” She paused to take a breath and continued in a slightly calmer tone. “You’ve risen so fast, France, simpering at the feet of your little emperor. Your liberté, egalité, fraternité - tossed aside for a man who treats Europe like a game to be won. Have you forgotten about me, Marianne, who helped you when you thought you were going to die?”
“Mon couer, I could not forget about you even if I tried,” France said diplomatically.
“I know what you really mean, bastard, I’m the same as you, remember?” She seemed to be working herself back up into a fine temper and was reining it back with difficulty. Sighing deeply, she said in an otherwise reasonable tone. “France… you have gone mad…”
He nodded in agreement - after all, he was talking to a female version of himself, even England could not come up with a more original way to act insane and that one talked to fairies. “On the other hand, most mad people do not believe they are mad.”
“You will lose everything we have fought for.” Despite the rash of incredible victories, the emperor would not be able to maintain his empire. They both knew this, with sickening certainty.
“At least I shall lose fashionably.”
She threw a tomato at him as a parting gift, this time rotten, so as to not waste the good tomatoes. He rode off to rejoin the legion with her curses still ringing in his ears.
Afternoon
“Well… France is technically not an empire anymore…”
“No.”
“But you are still angry with me?”
“Correct.”
Dusk
When Marianne next rose to influence, it was only for a brief while. But he could rest now, after the terror that infected the whole of the continent and brought the shadow of death over his fellow nations.
He loved the sight of Marianne then, she had never looked so beautiful, so awe-inspiring. She stood tall and regal, the Phrygian cap bright against her black hair, one breast bared for some reason he could not fathom but which he entirely approved of, the red and white and blue flag streaming in the wind behind her impressive silhouette. Her expression was serious, as if recognizing the pain and turmoil that her birth had wrought, but her eyes glowed with a passionate love for les citoyens, her children.
Though the second empire would put her underground in just a few years, her presence was now deeply engrained into the minds of the people, and what she symbolized a (nearly) universally recognized right.
She would not die so easily, and he would not either.
[anon apologizes for the fail!history, hopes op doesn't mind? orz]
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Sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, France watched Marianne arrange her hair, admiring her shapely image in the full-length mirror. Because it was a very important, very stubborn person she would be courting tonight, her colors glowed more vividly than ever, full lips a vibrant crimson, eyes glittering like gold-flecked tourmalines, an excited flush staining her cheeks. Marianne would stun him, seduce him, win him over before the first hour of their meeting passed. She must, if they were to survive.
Right now she was wearing only a silk chemise that barely covered her hips, creamy round shoulders left exposed to kisses, and he got up to promptly indulge himself to those, breathing in the musky scent of her perfume. The republic giggled and leaned back against him with a sigh that would fell any young man caught staring at her bosom.
“Do you find me irresistible?” she asked, batting long eyelashes at his reflection.
“Of course, I do, ma cherie. But then again, you are me.” France leaned forward to press his lips against her cheek, one hand sliding across her thighs, squeezing with the slightest bit of pressure and causing her to squeal girlishly. He chuckled, soft and indulgent, and glanced at the figures mirroring their actions. How ravishing the two of them looked together, his sunlight hair tangling into her midnight waves, her luscious curves contrasting with the spare clean lines of his limbs.
That repressed little island was as good as theirs.
So before the end of the night, the papers were signed, the terms hammered out, past differences almost but not quite resolved. Both France and England, under the shadow of a greater threat to the east, had agreed to not immediately fight at the slightest provocation, ending nearly a thousand years of enmity and war.
“Jolly good,” England muttered, his face reddening as he tried his best to not look at Marianne’s practically bare breasts or even worse, France’s triumphant smirk.
Oh, England had protested at first, called them depraved, indecent, sex-obsessed, refused to even take off his hat once they cornered him in the lavish suite with the intent of “sealing” their secret alliance, to make sure he would not change his mind later. But France was not one to give up, at least not in this area, and between the two of them, they soon had England naked and tangled in the sheets, cursing and begging and screaming until he was hoarse. Jolly good indeed.
“Wasn’t this a wonderful idea?” she murmured, after England had drifted off to sleep, his cheek pillowed against her breasts. In the light of their mutual afterglow, she looked gorgeous, and he envied his fellow nation very much at that moment.
“Oui, of course,” he agreed softly, combing through England’s hair with his fingers, like he used to do when they were children, so very long ago. “Thank you for your assistance, Marianne. I may not have succeeded so thoroughly without your unfailing logic.”
She smiled at him, though her eyes remained serious. “You know I would do anything for you, dear France,” she whispered. “I would sleep with anyone. I’d lie or beg or steal or even kill, if I had to, in order to save the republic.”
He regarded her pensively, knowing she had killed before and would not hesitate to do so again. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do any of that. It is not a woman’s place to risk her life, or to take one.”
“But I am no ordinary woman, and I am not fighting for an ordinary purpose.”
France buried his nose into England’s thick hair to hide his smile, causing the other to hunch his shoulder involuntarily. “No, you are right, Marianne.”
Drowsily, England told them to shut up and find something else to do with their mouths. The two of them obeyed at once, and much to his regret, he enjoyed it exceedingly.
[please ignore grammar mistakes above, and any fail!history.]
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