Happy Birthday Francis!
anonymous
July 14 2009, 15:20:18 UTC
In honor of Bastille Day/ Francis's birthday, Francis/Marianne. Marianne is the female personnification of France, created around the time of the French Revolution and pops up in offical French memos, street signs, celebrations, etc.
Bonus: They sing patriotic French songs. La Marsaillaise, Ca Ira, etc. :D
Full of Grace [pt 1/??]
anonymous
July 18 2009, 17:20:51 UTC
DawnHe first saw her during the Reign of Terror, the young woman who haunted the edges of his fevered vision, the sole smiling face to be found in the midst of the shouting, suffering masses. From the tip of her scarlet cap to the heels of her worn out leather boots, she was the embodiment of defiance and self-assured enlightenment, all swaggering hips, boldness defined. Though he could barely keep himself together through the clouds of paranoia and pantaloon-soiling terror, he thought of the woman fondly, and wished to discover her name so that he could refer to her as something other than ‘that troublesome bitch
( ... )
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?”
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
( ... )
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. =]
Bonus: They sing patriotic French songs. La Marsaillaise, Ca Ira, etc. :D
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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