#your-dandy-king

— @your-dandy-king

(Hello, Marshal Soult! How are you? I am… Goodsir… a man… a surgeon, you know… who comes with a very important message from Marshal Bessières. I am really sorry for any previous confusion and… I don’t want to disturb… just wondering if I can speak with you for a moment?)

(from @your-dandy-king, but not really)

In French, Soult icily tells his ADC,

... Brun, take this man and find out what he wants. Throw him out if he can't come up with a decent explanation in less than five minutes.

Brun: Entendu, Monsieur le Maréchal.

... Bonjour, Monsieur Goodsir.

Brun is going to speak his French very slowly.

I must begin this letter with an apology for its impertinence. You and I have never met face to face. However, I know that you were instrumental in the occurrence in my domain in which I was indisposed. For that, you have my gratitude.

As you may be aware, General Duroc and I are parents to a daughter, Helene, and I am seeking someone who may be able to supplement her education. I would like to speak with you at some point about your talents, and at a place and time of your choosing.

Attached to this letter is a small sachet of dried lavender from my gardens as a token of my appreciation. May it bring you pleasant dreams.

- J.B. Bessières, Duc d'Istrie, on @your-dandy-king's stationary

Now this is an occasion she had been looking forward to, despite being a little nervous about it. She isn't completely sure what parts of the truth of their mission she is free to share - honestly, she regrets not asking Murat for the specifics of what knowledge might harm his beloved while she had the chance. But her curiosity, in this case, is stronger than her worries.

To the Duke of Istria,

Do not worry, I do not find the act of sending a letter too forward from you, nor do I take the slightest offense. It is often the case here, after all, that one receives a note from a complete stranger and we already have several common acquaintances! (Well, acquaintances to me, your relationships with them are far more substantial...)

I am honoured that you consider me a good potential tutor for little Helene and I would be delighted to answer any questions you might have for me. As for the time and place, I suppose tomorrow morning is as good a time as any - and while I would gladly invite you here, I'm afraid the less-than-solid nature of some parts of my realm might not exactly be the pinnacle of comfort and safety, so I would suggest meeting in the vicinity of the Cathedral of Cahors in @your-dandy-king's domain, if that suits you. Luckily, I am quite able to find my way there.

I wish you and your family the best and I am looking forward to our meeting!

Sincerely,

Lydia B.

P.S.

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The whispers around Briel are dying down, as some soldiers and carpenters rush over to see if he's okay.

???: He s͙a̻͢y̫̐s he's͕ goin' to mak̩e us in̢to fightinͧ' sͩhape? Hah! ???: Villene̷uͅve was n̲ev̈́er a҉ fighting a͢dmiral.ͪ ???: I hear͢d h̀è f̡͢͞ą̶̨i̶͏̕l̛҉͟e̸̴̕d̶̀҉̹.̧̛͜ H҉̸̨e̡͏͢ ć̴̢ò́̕ú̷͏l̵̛̀d̵̜́͠ h̸̛͢ą̴̕v̛͢͢e͏̸̕ b̸̡ͧ́e͏̴͢e̢̞͢͞n̵̢͞ ļ̵͞i̷̵҉ḱ͘̕è̷͢ t̀͏̀h̀͟͞a̡̕̕t̵̛͏ █̴͠͠█̛̀͝█̡̨͢█̸̴̛̻ i̴̸͜f̸̛͜ ḩ́̕é͘͝ w̸̷͜a̶̵͟s̴̶̡ ş̷̀t̸̛͠r̸̨̛o̸̷͘n̢҉̨g͞͞͏ȩ̀͠r̵̕͜.̷̶͠ B̨͘͜ų́͘t̸͢͢ ẃ͘͝█̧͏̕ █̷̢̕█̵͟͠█̵͝͏█͠͏̷█͞͝͏ █̢̨͢█́͢͢█҉͏̕.̵̸͠.̸̴̕.̷҉́

And then they are gone. For now, there are no more incidents like that- perhaps tools go missing, perhaps brand new wood suddenly dissipates in rot, but nothing as vicious as that... for now.

Vɪʟʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠ̬ᴇ:̂ I sent... a letter to him? No, that's not right. He's dead. I attended his funeral. How can he strike at us when he is already dead?

Villeneuve stares down at the not-food, blinking slowly, confused, afraid- and then, suddenly, he jerks his head up in a tempestuous shake, and stares directly at Murat.

Vɪʟ͒ʟ̖ᴇɴᴇᴜ̮ᴠᴇ: Hͭᴇ ɪꜱ҉ ʙᴜꜱʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ͠ ᴜ̧ᴘ ᴏᴠ̳ᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ̃ Vɪᴄᴛᴏʀʏ! Dᴏᴇꜱ ʜᴇ ᴇᴠ͎ᴇɴ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜰʟ̎ᴇᴇᴛ? Wᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇͤ ᴏ͆ᴜʀꜱ͈, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʟ'Aʟɢᴇͯꜱɪʀᴀꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀ͞ᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴜꜱ!

Vɪʟʟ͏ᴇɴᴇ̯ᴜᴠᴇ: Wͣʜʏ ᴅ͆ᴏ ʏᴏ̪ᴜ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴍ̡ᴜ̐ᴄʜ̙? Yᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴋͤᴇᴘ̞ᴛ ᴀ ᴄʟᴏ͜ꜱᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇ ᴏɴ ʜ̐ᴇʀ! Ÿᴏᴜ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜ̕ᴇ ᴛʜ̜ʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴏ͟ꜰ Nᴇʟꜱᴏɴ ʙᴜᴛ ʏ̵ᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ̻ ʙʟɪ̉ɴ̟ᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇ̲ᴀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴏꜱ̾ᴇ ʏᴏᴜ̺ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! Wʜ̕ʏ ᴅᴏ̪ ʏᴏ͑ᴜ ᴄᴀʀᴇ? Wʜ̗ᴏ̜̓̀ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ?

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Félicitations ! The stars of the evening have chosen you as dance and conversational partners for the waltz and/or quadrille. This thread is for you two to at least talk to each other and either get along or don't get along in an entertaining way.

The entrance to the ball may be found here, with more information and activities to partake in.

We would suggest describing your mask and greeting as a good starting point. Bonne chance !

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Villeneuve watches, wringing his hands, knowing that he logically is reassured by the genuine skill of this man, knowing that this is the real deal, knowing that rationally he should... what? Was any of this rational? He could be still standing in the storm, lying to himself that he was watching everything shatter when, in fact, it had already fallen apart. He could still be drowning in that sunless waterless land, too hesitant to take that final step to... Ţʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇͦᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ... Should stop that, even if the Emperor wants us to move right now.

Vɪ̋ʟͣʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠᴇ: How do I feel?

What kind of question is that? It still hurts. But he still wants to be of use, even if he can't bring himself to- to- which order should he obey? What should he do? Logically, this is right. This is just an answer to his letters. Maybe. And then the strange visual effects around will simmer down as another presence barges in and speaks.

Vɪʟʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠᴇ: Sᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀ̸ᴅᴀ ᴍᴀʀꜱᴇɪʟʟᴀ̍ɪꜱ͕ ʙᴀᴠᴀʀᴅ ʜᴀ̴ͧꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴍ̏ᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ! Wᴇ ᴡɪʟʟͭ ᴀʟʟᴏ́ᴡ ʏᴏͨᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ͙̍ ʏ͌ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʀᴀ̢ꜰᴛ,̨ ᴛʜ̨ᴇɴ.̪ Wᴇ̳ ᴡɪʟʟ̛ ᴀ͙ʟʟ͕ᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏ͛ʀ̪ᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋ͆ɪʟʟ ᴜꜱ̩́! Bᴜᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ̥ ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ̸ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀ͞, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡͪɪ̵ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠ̳ᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪx-

And then the form of the broken admiral will start coughing. He grabs for a hankerchief and holds it up to his mouth, but it can be plainly seen that he is, in fact, coughing up splinters of wood and little pinpricks of white light. As he coughs, the afterimages and blurriness of the ship around flare up, in time to each gasping breath.

Vɪʟʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠᴇ: Ah, excuse me. My apologies. Do you require payment, Monsieur Briel? Or is this paid for by the Ministry?

Colonel Musquinet: I believe that this is free, Admiral. For you.

Vɪʟʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠᴇ: Surely not..?

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((@your-dandy-king)) prev

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The sea today is a gentle swell, to and fro, painted in curious shades of amaranth and amaryllis. The lost vice-admiral of a broken fleet watches as a rowboat approaches his ship, one driftwood eye sparkling with static emptiness. He does not know how he quite feels about this… female marshal, who claims to represent the Ministre de la Marine, who claims to be the famed horseman Murat, who claims to offer so much in exchange for so little. But then again, he is unsure of so many things.

Vɪʟʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠᴇ: Bienvenue, Maréchale. Please, let me aid you- the steps can be slippery.

O̬ꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛ̊͘ʀᴜ̢ꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ. Bᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴅ̫ᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴜ͠ꜱ? The tower’s light in the distance continues to flicker on and off.

—·— ( 1 ) @your-dandy-king @le-brave-des-braves —·—

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Soult: Thank you. Let us move to my tent.

Soult speaks without much emotion, cold and focused, and perhaps someone could fault him for such an uncaring demeanour - but he knows the horror and the despair that Bessières must be feeling. And so Soult will lead the two marshals to the other tent. As he enters, there is a flicker, and a shadow will again disappear into the corners. Petiet will stand up and salute at their entrance. Soult will kneel down, to face Hélène, and ask-

Soult: Mademoiselle Hélène, I am going to ask you some questions. You are not in trouble for these questions. Could you tell us about a "dog knight" that you have met, if you would please?

The shadows in the corners spike and flare.