#;robespierre

If there is one thing in this world that Robespierre feels for Camille Deschamps, it is certainly pity. When killing her didn't work, they threw her into prison to rot for--well, god knows how long. He didn't approve, of course not. How could they do that to France? The revolution is supposed to be for her betterment, not whatever this is. He certainly believes that this will all culminate into something good, but things are...complicated. More complicated than he likes.

"I am going to speak at the Convention today. I will try to convince them to release you," is what he says after a few moments of silence. Robespierre looks utterly uncomfortable down here, and he certainly sticks out like a sore thumb. "I don't think this is the true and right thing to do. If this is how we treat the living, breathing embodiment of France, then what will become of everyone else?"

"Hm, what exactly were we agreeing on?"

Robespierre looks up from where he sits, waiting for everyone else to file out of the assembly before he even attempts to leave. It's not unusual for people to catch him as he's going, either, so he figures it best to linger. To be honest, he speaks to so many people every single day that he has begun to lose track. He could pick a face out of crowd, but names...

"Ah--that is to say, I don't quite recall the last time I spoke to you. What's your name again? I do apologize.." He trails off for a moment and clears his throat, standing to properly speak to Leon. "You'll forgive me. Sometimes it feels as if I have a million things going through my mind every single second. Everything is so fast paced, I hardly have time to breathe!" Robespierre absently pushes his glasses up his nose, then holds his hand out.

Putting Louis to death was no light decision, Robespierre knows. He despises it, the death penalty. Often he recalls his brief stint as a judge in Arras, how he threw up on the side of the road after sentencing a man to death. Do people deserve to die because others call for it? For smaller offenses, surely not, but this...well, it's different. You cut the head off of the snake to try and make a better life for the things it torments, but half of him wonders if the monarchy was a snake or a hydra...

Only time will tell, he supposes.

As he ponders this, making his way out of the assembly, he almost trips over Charlotte. He doesn't know much about her, other than that she is the physical embodiment of the country they're very much trying to save. "Citoyenne, Charlotte, come on, let's get up," he mutters, at least putting her into a sitting position against the wall so she wouldn't be trampled upon.

Robespierre does not often lose control of his dog. In fact, he prides himself on how well Brount is trained, but...sometimes things are not always so perfect, and a Great Dane will always have advantage over his small stature. Besides, he hadn't been paying attention, and before he knows it, Brount has yanked himself out of Robespierre's hands, sprinting down the street at something that's caught his attention.

He curses, yelling after him as he runs as fast as his legs will carry him, but it's not very fast comparably. The streets of Paris are bad enough to try and wade through without chasing a dog, and it must be a sight, Maximilien Robespierre, chasing after his gigantic dog.