#Such and Elusive Look: Percy Blakeney

[youryurigoddess]

The stuff dreams are made of, or the interesting case of Anthony J. Crowley

We’ve talked a bit about Crowley’s trauma and his way of reclaiming the narrative in the past, but it’s time for some deep dive into the story he’s trying to tell. A story that meanders through the fabric of time and space, slightly changing with the human fashion trends, but slowly and surely bringing the demon closer to a certain angel like the red thread of fate.

1793

Some stories start in a garden, some even Before the Beginning, but this one starts with an Arrangement. Or, to be precise, a little bit after that.

See, most of the iterations of Crowley we saw throughout the history until then didn’t delve too deep into human cultural tropes. If anything, they were the inspirations behind more or less prominent biblical figures, maybe some nameless villains matching his demonic provenance and role assigned to him by his employers.

But in the hustle and bustle of the revolutionary Paris, Crowley emerges as a prototype of the Scarlet Pimpernel — a chivalrous Englishman who rescues aristocrats before they are sent to the guillotine. Stan Lee famously called him “the first character who could be called a superhero”.

Sir Percy Blakeney, the main character of the novel and the West End play under the same title, leads a double life. Appearing as nothing more than a wealthy fop, in reality he’s a formidable swordsman, a quick-thinking master of disguise and an escape artist. Even his own wife, Marguerite, has no idea.

Unfortunately Marguerite is being blackmailed with her brother’s life to find and expose the wanted Pimpernel. She regrets betraying her husband the moment she's forced to do it and spends the rest of the plot working to save him. She does, they make up, and return together to England.

In Aziraphale and Crowley’s case there was just a short stop for crêpes. But what seems to be an inspiration of a specific scene might as well come up later in the wider perspective of the show, so keep in mind those fragments of the musical’s libretto:

We all are caught in the middle

of one long treacherous riddle.

Can I trust you?

Should you trust me too?...

We shamble on through this hell

taking on more secrets to sell

'til there comes a day

when we sell our souls away.

We seek him here, we seek him there,

Those Frenchies seek him everywhere!

Is he in heaven? Is he in hell?

Where is that damn elusive Pimpernel!

1941

The London Blitz is when we see a full-fledged iteration of the superhero Crowley performing dashing and heroic deeds under the literal cover of darkness and air bomb smoke. In a bespoke double-breasted suit and a fedora — still free from the unfortunate modern connotations from the internet culture — he’s clearly channeling Humphrey Bogart as a private investigator Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon (1941) now.

It all starts with a woman and a simple plan gone wrong: Spade’s partner is shot dead, just like the man he was supposed to be tailing upon the request of a mysterious Miss Wonderly. And when a very soft-looking, sweet-scented man named Joel Cairo appears in his office willing to pay a hefty price for a "black figure of a bird", Spade starts not only a new job, but also his own quest for truth.

On the surface, The Maltese Falcon ends happily: the killer gets caught, and the hero winds up with the Falcon. But Spade's victory is completely hollow. The Falcon itself, originally meant as a symbol of loyalty, transforms into a symbol of a corrupting, futile, and self-destructive greed that makes people betray their own loyalties.

The treasure is just a worthless forgery and he’s fallen in love with the criminal — one of the first femmes fatales on screen. Despite his feelings for her and a kiss, Spade gives her up and submits the statuette as evidence, describing it as "the stuff that dreams are made of".

Remember the eagle lectern? The eagle was believed to be flying highest in the sky and therefore closest to heaven, symbolizing the carrying of the word of God to the four corners of the world. Aziraphale in the 1941 church scene is the closest to Heaven we’ve seen him on Earth. Just look at him: dressed in a smart, well-fitted coat with peaked lapels, symbolizing his Heavenly allegiance, and doing good this time not as a work assignment, but of his own accord. Being the closest to Heaven means the furthest and most unattainable for a demon like Crowley.

The Maltese Falcon is a metaphor for unattainability — things out of reach to desire and fight for, although never truly possess. It’s “the stuff that dreams are made of”. But Crowley secured the original — made of gold and encrusted with jewels, but hiding its real value under black enamel — eerily reminiscent of the demon himself and the unending kindness behind his inappropriately tight black clothing.

Quoting Michael Ralph — the production mastermind behind Good Omens — from the S01E04 “Saturday Morning Funtime” DVD commentary, “We wanted to tip our hat to the Maltese Falcon as being a precious object that no-one thought really exists but it does”. So we can safely assume that Crowley can and will achieve his dream in the future.

1967

Do you know what else happens in 1941 in Scotland? Ian Fleming, a British naval intelligence agent, meets with the famous occultist Aleister Crowley and asks him to lead the interrogation of newly imprisoned Rudolf Hess — a leading member of the Nazi Party in Nazi Germany appointed Deputy Führer — given the two men’s shared enthusiasm for the occult.

This meeting has a significant impact on Fleming’s work as a writer; Aleister Crowley becomes the inspiration for his first villain Le Chiffre and creates a blueprint for most of the James Bond’s franchise ever since 1953, the publication date of the novel Casino Royale.

Meanwhile our Anthony J. Crowley believes in himself not being the villain he’s usually and sometimes forcefully painted as, but a superhero in disguise. The character of James Bond in particular inspires him so much that he buys petrol to get the limited You Only Live Twice (1967) window decals for his Bentley, dons his own tactical turtleneck, and sets off to organize a heist like no other. Sean Connery style.

Like a typical superhero, Crowley’s once again both saved and betrayed by his love interest. Aziraphale leaves him with a thermos of Holy Water, a faint smile, and a hope that they’ll soon match their speeds to meet halfway at the Ritz. The cancelled heist is not an ending, but a promise of a new beginning. And the fact that UK decriminalizes homosexual acts in the very same year is more than telling in this regard.

2019

An exceptional situation calls for exceptional solutions, and what’s more important than the impending Apocalypse? Demon Crowley does his best to put the arsenal of his 20th century film inspirations to good use.

"Ask yourself, do you feel lucky?" Crowley drawls, clearly imitating (although slightly misquoting) the titular Dirty Harry (1971). He’s hoping to be menacing and making the point of being the one on the right side of the law and history.

Some situations require more than quoting action heroes is not everything though. He knows what to do:

A jeep was heading purposefully towards the gate, and it looked as though it was crowded with people who were about to shout questions and fire guns and not worry about which order they did this in.

[Crowley] brightened up. This was more what you might call his area of competence.

He took his hands out of his pockets and he raised them like Bruce Lee and then he smiled like Lee Van Cleef.

'Ah,' he said, 'here comes transport.'

When in doubt, Crowley acts. He transforms into a combination of a stoic martial arts phenomenon and a sardonic, menacing character. His smile alone — even on Aziraphale’s angelic face, as seen in one of the final cut scenes — seems to be enough to ward off evil spirits, angels, and humans alike.

But we all know that even as breathtaking performances as those can’t protect anyone from the cogs of the Heavenly machine and its plans.

2023

No wonder that Crowley’s tactical turtleneck comes back in style after mere four years of retirement with a self-introduction “Former Demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”. Something has changed during this time; he’s more mature now, not playing pretend by hiding behind the usual veneer of sarcasm and movie quotes anymore. Finally comfortable with the fact that this is his own story and there’s no need to become anyone else than himself.

The bookshop fire and the Heavenly trial still seem to haunt the demon in a way that makes him realize what all humans know: that every hero is his own biggest enemy. His ultimate dream might effortlessly change into his greatest nightmare any moment now, and the only thing he can do about it is hover in a two-minute distance from the epicenter of his feelings. But Crowley has no time to work on it when a new mission appears, to protect his angel from Gabriel and the combined powers of Heaven and Hell. Even if this — rather ostentatiously — is the last thing he wants to think about at the moment.

Crowley tries to plan ahead, while his story slowly warps into a different genre due to Aziraphale’s interruptions. He eventually changes back into his usual Henley shirt after agreeing to swap places and guarding the bookshop while the angel is off to Edinburgh, collecting more clues. Did he finish his personal quest off-screen? Did he just give up on it in the whirlwind of matchmaking shenanigans? Remains to be seen.

In the S2 finale our master of disguise in yet another turtleneck proves that he can successfully infiltrate even the universe’s back office. We don’t know where he drives off in the end, but one thing is certain — he’s got a plan. And a world (and his dream) to save, like a superhero he is.

#a turtleneck kind of day #crowley is a superhero #and a master spy #with a plan #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #go2 meta #ineffable husbands #crowley #turtleneck crowley #yuri is doing her thing

[abyssal-ali]

Writing Patterns Game

Rules: Post the first sentence of your last 10 posted or updated fics and see if there are any similarities.

Tagged by @river9noble <3

10. forever is the sweetest con (Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng)

“Jump in!”

9. summer's a knife (it's a cruel summer) (Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng)

The neon lights of the vending machine cast a colourful glow on the person in front of it, probably a male based on height and body type.

8. her own elusive pimpernel (Percy Blakeney x Marguerite St. Just)

Percy stared blankly into the mirror in front of him, overcome with disgust at the news the Baron had just delivered.

7. i knew you'd linger (like a tattoo kiss) (Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng)

Marinette squeezed Jason’s hand in hers, her grip painful if the look on his face was any indication.

6. held together, our hands became a map (Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown)

Dearest Reader, 

As you may know, the belle of the season is Miss Adelia Elliot, who broke onto the scene with a high compliment from the queen of Gotham herself, Selina Wayne.

(idk, does the 'dearest reader' count as its own separate sentence? it doesn't end with a period)

5. it was all by design ('cause I'm a mastermind) (Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng)

The crisp October breeze caressed the curls around the girl’s head, softly brushing them across her face with a cool kiss.

4. 5 + 1 Times the Justice League Realized Something About Red Hood (Jason Todd & Justice League members)

“Call Gotham,” said Wonder Woman over her shoulder to Flash, crouching in front of a kid.

3. Tinder AU (Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown)

hmm this is a SMAU so I'm not sure what's the first sentence. The first text says:

Please tell me you're not the Stephanie Brown I know and that you're just committing ID fraud

First written line says:

Thursday evening, Steph knocked on the door of the address Jason had sent her.

2. who you are is not where you've been (you're still an innocent) (Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng)

Marinette rolled over and reluctantly opened her eyes to the kwami tugging on her hair.

1. Glitterally 2: JaySteph Boogaloo (Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown)

Steph let the door close on her foot, keeping it cracked open so she wouldn’t get locked outside; her boots were thick enough that the pressure barely registered.

Conclusion:

I prefer to start with some action. In story writing/plotting terms, in the rising action, instead of at the climax. I do like setting a stage but I think I've been getting better at dropping details throughout a story instead of infodumping in the first few paragraphs. This was a nice chance to actively analyze my writing :)

Tagging @ anyone who wants to play, my brain is blank now >.<

#ali answers

[fictionturnedherbrain]

I hardly post anything original on this blog but I found my first review of The Scarlet Pimpernel (BBC 1998) and my outrage amuses me so here goes! (I had ... issues ... with this adaptation, let's just say. Now I feel like I have to go back and rewatch, many many years later!) Apologies to fans of the actors involved!

Putting the whole thing under the cut because long.

Scarlet Pimpernel (1999)

Starring Richard E. Grant, Elizabeth McGovern, Martin Shaw

Style

Characters/Actors

Dialogue

Original Content

There are two main things wrong with this production of the Baroness Orczy’s novel: the actors and the phrase ‘modern interpretation’. Richard E. Grant is superficially a negative copy of Sir Percy, in every sense of the word. He’s too dark, too slight, too short, and puts forward smug and sneering where I presume he intends foppish and cunning. In style, the director may have believed that Grant can ‘act differently’ enough to portray the ‘foppish persona’ of Sir Percy and the ‘dashing persona’ of the Scarlet Pimpernel but he doesn’t convince me. His dandy routine is either bawdy or malicious, and as the mysterious hero, he’s just plain violent. Elizabeth McGovern is not an ugly actress, but her Marguerite looks frumpy, common, but above all, ordinary, and she is outshone by Beth Goddard as Suzanne de Tournay and Emilia Fox as Minette. Martin Shaw’s Chauvelin is around the right age, but the writer has tried to ‘sex up’ the role, which doesn’t work. Which leads onto the 1990’s interpretation.

What’s wrong with romance, and merely implying what follows? Why is a high body count necessary to update an historical drama? In the ‘making of’ extra, shivers ran down my spine when I heard what was planned for the adaptation of the ‘classic film of the thirties’ (no mention of the 1982 version): to make a ‘family/action series’, using characters and a story that ‘still hold good’, but making it ‘exciting’, with a ‘slightly sexy feel’. Above all, the Scarlet Pimpernel would be modernised to make it appeal to ‘today’s audience’. Though there are still kernels of Orczy’s writing in the 1999 series – drawing on Eldorado and The Elusive Pimpernel, as well as the main novel – the characters are lost beneath smutty dialogue, violence and special effects, losing the romance of the original story.

Style

What’s Good

The credits are initially very stylish, with red transparencies of objects which symbolise the story, including a pistol and a red eye mask. That is of course until clips from the film are included. Richard E. Grant’s smug face should be regarded as a warning to ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’.

          The setting is perhaps the best out of the (now) three main Scarlet Pimpernel films (1934, 1982, and this attempt): the production was filmed in Prague, for its semblance to eighteenth century Paris (although I’m not sure all the tricolour flags, rosettes, ribbons and bunting were necessary to identify the intended setting). But surely this advance is to be expected of the latest adaptation, with considerably more money available, and more time spent filming (£5.5 million budget, and 18 weeks on location) Sir Percy’s mansion, now termed ‘Blakeney Hall’, is actually Wrotham Park, Barnet, outside London, and includes many lavish interior scenes filmed on location. The stunts and effects are more professional because experts were on hand to work with (and often replace) the actors for tricky scenes. And yet Richard E. Grant still looks uncomfortable on horseback, or even driving a carriage, as opposed to Anthony Andrews in the 1982 film. And the duel scene between Sir Percy and Chauvelin, introduced into the story in the Andrews version, is edited to pieces, and finishes as a fistfight.

What’s Not So Good

The modernisation. The deaths of Marguerite’s parents at the hands of St. Cyr replace the previous explanation of St. Cyr having had Armand beaten for falling in love with his daughter, because this makes Marguerite’s actions more palatable. This ‘eye for an eye’ philosophy is presented in the rather theatrical opening flashback scene, with a heavily powdered St. Cyr exclaiming ‘Learn from this!’ and Marguerite’s mother echoing, ‘Marquis de St Cyr, my children will remember!’ The following representation of Paris, 1793, is just as affected, with children dancing, faces lit by flame, and rebel rousing in the streets (filmed at night for heavy-handed symbolism). With the Prague scenery, it brings to mind the animated film A Nightmare Before Christmas rather than mid-Revolutionary Paris.

          Unnecessary characters. The dwarf that leads the League members to where Danby is being tortured. Mazarini, the Scottish-Italian portrait forger and his orgy. The female Republican soldier. And Minette, the distortion of Jeanne Lange from Eldorado. The name change is one thing – Jeanne became Louise in the 1982 version – but the exaggeration of Marguerite’s understudy and Armand’s lover into a double agent between the Scarlet Pimpernel and Chauvelin is quite another! Was it to introduce a bit of female sex appeal into the film, or to give Emilia Fox something to work with?

          Confusion! The plot manages to twist in and out of three Pimpernel stories, without successfully identifying the strongest drama in any of them: Marguerite’s betrayal of Percy in the main novel is lost to Minette; Armand is captured in a cross between the events of the main novel and Eldorado, and yet he completely disappears from the action until the end (as Sir Percy says, “Very good to see you again, Armand”!); and even after the Chauvelin/Marguerite confrontation of Elusive is followed by the prison reunion of Eldorado, Grant and McGovern still can’t convey the romance between the Blakeneys! Grant loves his witty fop persona too much to let go, and McGovern is uniformly tepid throughout.

Characters/ Actors

What’s Good

Very little. Chauvelin. I mention Martin Shaw’s character first because I object to him the least. Though not as wizened as Orczy’s character – perhaps Richard E. Grant is in the wrong role – Shaw is in the right age bracket (or looks to be) and is well-spoken enough to portray the diplomatic ex-Ambassador. That the screenwriter then includes a post-coital bed scene with the Minette character that is totally wrong for Chauvelin (who has morphed into a hybrid of Amadeus and the Marquis de Sade) is not his fault. In fact, screenwriter Richard Carpenter completely misunderstands Chauvelin’s motives. The dialogue tries to make the French agent (again called Paul and not Armand) sound ruthless – “Glad to see you haven’t lost your tongue along with your toenails” – but then Shaw states in the making of commentary that what attracts about the character is that he’s ‘not an obvious bad guy’ and is ‘capable of love’. Chauvelin’s love, however, is for his country and the Republic, not Marguerite. If there must exist some previous romantic entanglement between Chauvelin and Marguerite – another creation of the 1982 version – then it should at least be shown that Chauvelin only uses Marguerite to trap the Scarlet Pimpernel. He doesn’t get all human and protective of her at the last minute, trying to save her from death! The speech that Shaw gives before Robespierre at Marguerite’s trial is completely ridiculous in its uncharacteristic presentation of Orczy’s dedicated republican agent: “The Committee bases its judgements on facts. We are accustomed to anonymous denunciations, and I find many of them to be false, motivated by revenge or greed –” Not only does Chauvelin suddenly condemn the government he has been actively supporting in a fit of hypocrisy, but Robespierre lets him live after he’s said it! And Ronan Vibert is actually very good as the sober, calculating, well-dressed dictator, impressing the few scenes he features in with the importance of his character.

What’s Bad

Richard E. Grant. Not to say he’s a bad actor, he’s just very miscast in this role. To start with, he doesn’t look anything like how Orczy described her hero. Notwithstanding trivialities like hair – fair, not dark, and certainly not receding – the Scarlet Pimpernel is 6’3” tall, with broad shoulders and a well-built physique. He’s the traditional romantic hero – strong, masculine, protective, and commanding authority. The imagery just doesn’t work with Grant in the main role, who would  have made a better Chauvelin than Shaw! Once again, the actor playing Sir Andrew Ffoulkes – Anthony Green – should have been Sir Percy, and the chosen lead, as with Leslie Howard back in 1934. Physical drawbacks aside, Grant just can’t pull off the dual character role. He has two personalities to aim for, and misses the mark with both:

          The Fop. Howard and Andrews may have been slightly irritating as the drawling, inane Sir Percy, obsessed with the cut of a coat and the tying of cravats, but that is the point. That’s Sir Percy’s disguise, and his disguise is used against everyone, including Marguerite. By trying to make the story and the character more ‘modern’, Grant seems to tone down this side of Sir Percy. Some of his lines are funny – the ‘carriage wit’ comment – but he’s too dramatic, replacing the character’s affected tones with a lot of mincing and arm flailing. Sir Percy wouldn’t expend the energy. Nor would Orczy’s character be so cruel and sarcastic, as during the ballroom scene with Angèle St. Cyr (apparently the only St. Cyr family member to apparently escape execution): “Take the lady away, Sir, take the lady away!” Grant’s Sir Percy is also much too saucy, with the “kiss where we please” toast and the “wooden leg” joke, especially whilst in the company of ladies. This is still supposed to be eighteenth century aristocratic England, and Sir Percy is nothing if not courteous and polite. Grant takes it all too far, making Percy hurtful instead of playful. When Percy tries to push Marguerite into singing for everybody’s entertainment, his guests look embarrassed to be witnessing such mental cruelty, and Sir Andrew tries to excuse himself and leave (or perhaps it is the irony of Percy’s line, “We all know how truly your voice mirrors your beauty”, which makes them cringe!)

          The Scarlet Pimpernel. An earnest, dedicated, determined leader of nineteen loyal men. A calculating, unflappable, master tactician, risking his life to save others. How does Grant put this across? He scowls and gets to run people through with a sword. The Baroness’ Sir Percy occasionally had to cosh people over the head, in order to assume their identity, but he didn’t kill anybody, because then, really, that would have brought him down to their level. Here, during the Pimpernel’s escape from prison (apparently during the September massacre of 1792, despite an earlier caption claiming it’s the year later), he breaks one guard’s neck, stabs another in the back, and kills three people just to get up a flight of stairs! There’s also very little difference between Richard E. Grant’s Sir Percy and his Scarlet Pimpernel, aside from the ridiculous masks that the League now don, replacing the disguises that took Sir Percy and his men into the heart of the mob, allowing them to blend in. Fearing that rather obvious latex appendages and dressing up as an old hag would get them laughed at, Carpenter obviously decided that he would abandon the central concept of the story, and have the League just wear masks, large hats and cloaks. Or rather, abandon the central concept of Orczy’s story, and take up The Mark of Zorro instead. The ingenuity of Orczy’s character is replaced by violence, and – pathetically – early Bond-style gadgets. Sir Percy becomes a well-prepared Houdini after Chauvelin locks him up in a cell, producing a pick from his quizzing glass, skeleton keys from his collar, and a blade from his boot (wasn’t he searched?)

Elizabeth McGovern. As an American, McGovern carries an English accent quite well (apart from when she says ‘Percy’ as ‘Passy’, rolls the ‘r’ in ‘Carlton’, and declares that “over a thousand people have been ‘mardered’”). Unfortunately, her earthy pronunciation only adds to her overall image, and creates the most ungraceful, ordinary Marguerite St. Just on film to date. Merle Oberon of the 1934 film, Jane Seymour of the 1982 version, and Elizabeth McGovern have all broken away from the Marguerite of Orczy’s stories: not one is blonde (or auburn, depending on which chapter of which book is referred to), and I think only Elizabeth McGovern has blue eyes. But then, Marguerite is supposed to be a French woman, of Gallic extraction, and therefore Orczy’s ‘childlike’ angel-haired, Anglicized hero was perhaps stretching the romantic licence of the book a little too far. However, McGovern doesn’t even carry herself well as the character. Oberon was delicate with a stunning beauty; Seymour is classically beautiful and elegant. The bad wig and heavy make-up do absolutely nothing for Elizabeth McGovern, who seems to shed about ten years after her forced haircut towards the end of the film. For most of the time, she appears bloated and her face rubbery, and as neither she nor Grant are very good at showing the suppressed love that is supposed to exist between the Blakeneys, the audience is left thinking that not even physical attraction could have brought them together. As Chauvelin says, “It’s too good to be true – like the performance you’re giving now.” And instead of Marguerite’s inner fire and strength, the modern version looks as though she could just wrestle you to the ground and sit on you. Character-wise, Marguerite is as confused as the plot: the young, inexperienced wife, once an actress of the Comédie Française, becomes a tired, matronly ex-singer of the Theatre des Arts, who slept with Chauvelin even though she didn’t love him (“You were always out of reach, even when you were lying in my arms”). Marguerite’s whole status is lowered: from bourgeois Parisian to provincial farmer’s daughter; King’s Player at the Comédie to bawdy chanteuse at the Théatre; naïve maiden to cynical tramp (“And sometimes you were willing – very willing”). Trying to present Marguerite as a strong woman by modern standards only succeeds in making her common and unappealing as Percy’s wife, and the monotone delivery of McGovern, who was obviously focusing on her pronunciation, means that even her lines lack the necessary emotion. Marguerite is supposed to be an intelligent, impulsive young woman of twenty-five, who has left behind the excitement of the Paris stage for life as an English gentlewoman, hoping to find romance and an escape from the Revolution. McGovern’s Marguerite is technically still twenty-five (her parents were killed when she was twelve, in 1780) – but her first scene makes her look more like a disillusioned middle-aged wife, stumping around a ballroom and smiling pathetically at her equally life-weary husband. When Marguerite turns to demand of Chauvelin, “What do you mean?” (after he cryptically enquires about her brother), she sounds like a gruff fish-wife! Kindly comments I’ve read about McGovern’s performance – ‘grown-up’, ‘stoic’ and ‘serene’ – obviously translate as ‘old’, ‘wooden’ and ‘expressionless’. True, she portrays Marguerite’s confusion well, but forgets to slip out of her depressed state of grudging acceptance, even when she and Percy are reunited.

Dialogue

The humour is the main attraction of this adaptation of the Scarlet Pimpernel. It mostly consists of innuendo – an infusion of ‘sexiness’ at Carry On level – and a bit of slapstick (the wheels of Chauvelin’s carriage being pulled off) but is still quite funny and well delivered. There’s a dig at one speech-impaired League member by Chauvelin (“I would ssso like to meet him”), and a couple of mocking notes from the Scarlet Pimpernel (“There are some excellent wines in the cellar.”) Most of the laughs are in the snappy banter between the lead characters – apart from the forced, clichéd retorts that are fired between Percy and Marguerite, which sound like those lines written in books but never actually spoken (“What is a wife but inexplicability in petticoats?”) – and the droll delivery of the odd one-liner: “But it don’t rhyme, Shuffle-on, and it ain’t a proper poem if it don’t rhyme.” Richard E. Grant is certainly very good at throwaway snide remarks, and at curling his lip whilst he’s speaking. There are a couple of clever asides from Sir Percy whilst paying a visit to the undercover tailor: when asked if Dewhurst, recently ‘deflowered’ at Mazarini’s orgy, got any sleep the previous night, Percy replies, “I don’t think they let him”, and he quips over a mannequin bearing Robespierre’s new coat, “No head, Citizen? I trust that’s not an omen.” However, Percy’s speeches about cravats and cricket are too long, too luvvie, and not in character enough for him to score against his enemy in a verbal duel, in the tradition of Howard and Andrews – Chauvelin’s withering contempt, and the boredom of the extras in the background, is soon felt by the viewer. Lady Blakeney’s ‘witty ripostes’, meant to score points off her husband, are delivered as though McGovern is memorising lines from Shakespeare – just getting them in the right place is obviously enough (“The time when an Englishman most resembles a lover ..”) But then, as she later confirms, “I am not the oh so witty Lady Blakeney”.

Original Material

Evidence that somebody at least glanced at Orczy’s books, and didn’t just memorise details from the 1934 film, comes with the occasional character or detail from the original source. Angèle St. Cyr, miraculous escape from her family’s fate aside, is actually a character name taken from the first novel. The challenge to a duel that follows is also in the book, although it is the Vicomte de Tournay who challenges Percy on behalf of his mother. There is also a mechanical device portraying the guillotine and playing ‘Ca Ira’, similar to the carnival attraction used by Desirèe Candeille in Orczy’s The Elusive Pimpernel, plus a mirror image of the scene from the same book where Marguerite is given an ultimatum by Chauvelin in the Boulogne prison. Marguerite is told that Sir Percy will have to choose between “his honour or his wife”, but unfortunately for Chauvelin’s bargain, there is no evidence that Sir Percy would care one way or another about Marguerite going to the guillotine!

Painfully, the infamous Richmond ‘garden scene’ is also skirted around, but the mask of pride, the sexual tension, the repressed love, and the near breaking of Sir Percy’s iron will, are all sadly lacking. Marguerite doesn’t try to appeal to Percy with reminiscences, she just mumbles “I thought you loved me”. Instead, it’s the odd quote from the book (“I swore to you my life was yours”), and questions answered with questions. Later, Marguerite tries to explain why she denounced the Marquis St. Cyr and comes close to Orczy’s story with method (“I heard, almost by chance, that the Marquis was plotting with Austria”), but not, of course, with why she did it. If avenging the murder of her parents is more noble than payback for her brother, why has Marguerite hidden the truth for a year? And when Percy, rather harshly, refuses to use his court influence to help Armand, Marguerite screams like a harpy at her husband, but her fear for her brother’s life is unconvincing – perhaps because Armand has been completely forgotten about by this point (“We write to each other awften”, Marguerite tells Suzanne, but an emotional bond between brother and sister is not conveyed). Similarly absent is Percy’s torment over not being able to trust Marguerite enough to comfort her in her distress – far from kissing the ground she walks on, Grant doesn’t even turn in his chair to watch her flee the room in tears.

One fact the film gets wrong is Marguerite’s discovery of her husband’s alias. Following the book is not the issue, it’s how the new twist isn’t very well thought out. Chauvelin tells Marguerite that he “shot and wounded” the Scarlet Pimpernel during their last encounter, which he tells her might prove useful on her forced quest to ‘unmask’ (unfortunately now literally) the mysterious hero. This sets the cogs whirring, and Marguerite instantly demands that Percy’s valet open his master’s study. We are supposed to presume that Marguerite has seen Percy’s wound, but how, when they supposedly estranged? Eighteenth century aristocratic married couples would have had separate bed chambers anyway, so why would Percy and Marguerite intentionally flout that distance when they obviously can’t stand each other? There is also the earlier mention of Percy “disturbing [Marguerite’s] slumbers” on leaving early for France. Why would they be sleeping together? Marguerite’s sudden powers of deduction aside, her confirmation is the discovery of a secret drawer in Percy’s desk – not locked, marked with a Pimpernel flower handle, and containing maps of France (and presumably a bundle of forged papers, allowing Marguerite to journey into France after Percy). Not exactly subtle.

Another mistake is allowing League members to be sacrificed for modern bloodlust. The story is set during the Revolution, but what sort of romantic hero would Sir Percy be if he allowed any of his nineteen followers to die? Danby opens the action by being tortured, and later dying of his wounds (Gasping “Don’t trust her” on his deathbed – trust who?) He is, incredibly, followed into martyrdom by Lord Tony! A main League member! Not only is one of Sir Percy’s best friends shot whilst struggling with Fumier, but he is then kicked whilst down, and shot again – in the head, by Chauvelin, out of sheer frustration. Nor does the deeply layered Sir Percy of Richard E. Grant’s creation seem to care very much: “He knew the risks” becomes Tony’s epitaph, making the whole incident futile with regards to the plot, as there is no emotional consequence.

Although the ‘making of’ extra reports that this remake is based on the 1934 film, there are more instances of scenes ‘inspired’ by the later 1982 television movie with Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour. Two of these ‘references’ typically involve bedroom action (or are twisted to include suggestive dialogue): Armand is once again seen enjoying the company of Louise Lange, AKA Minette; and Marguerite and Chauvelin again spar over their past relationship (“You rise early” – “You have a short memory”). The tradition that now closes three films – the boat scene, with Sir Percy and Marguerite reunited and sailing home to England aboard the Day Dream – becomes a bed scene, with the final kiss replaced by a roll around under the covers. The main scene in the prison cell, where originally Chauvelin allows Marguerite to visit Sir Percy, in order to try and emotionally blackmail the ‘Scarlet Pimpernel’ into telling him what he has done with the Dauphin. This film is typically contrary and has Percy visiting Marguerite. But the dialogue is familiar, with Marguerite’s cry of “Percy!” and the demand that they be left alone. However, the manipulation of the storyline leaves Grant and McGovern slightly confused – here is where husband and wife break down their barriers and admit their love for each other. Marguerite begs his forgiveness for betraying him, and Percy hers, for not trusting her. But Marguerite’s betrayal isn’t as active as Orczy penned: instead of telling Chauvelin of the meeting in the library at one o’ clock, Marguerite merely pacifies him with a snippet of information about a house (seemingly the only house) used by the League in Paris. Chauvelin actually seems to learn the Scarlet Pimpernel’s identity through Minette, the double agent. So suddenly both characters have to realise a love that hasn’t even been subtly hinted at throughout, and spout lines like “I can’t live without you!” (or, as it’s McGovern’s line, ‘yeeou’). Marguerite tells Percy that she betrayed him (although I’m not sure how), and then adds, “Why didn’t you tell me, Percy? Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?” Chauvelin actually gave her the answer to this earlier – “He never trusted you – his French republican wife” – but it’s quite possible she wasn’t alert enough to remember. Lips are unromantically mashed together, after Grant rather unconvincingly tells her that “You’re my life and nothing can come between us”, and then Chauvelin takes him away and locks him up. The words are there, the contact is there, but there’s no passion, and no sense that Grant as Percy cares one way or another – his smug expression doesn’t change, his delivery doesn’t soften, and he doesn’t look at all concerned that the wife he has just confessed his love for is in prison because of him. And as Marguerite says, “We’re alone, there’s no-one to play to”! It’s as if Percy’s marriage is an awkward detail that the screenwriter just didn’t dare completely erase, instead of being the main thread of what is essentially a romance. Grant certainly acts as though he’s racing through his scenes with McGovern to get to more violent action as the Pimpernel.

#the scarlet pimpernel #the scarlet pimpernel 1998 #richard e grant #elizabeth mcgovern #martin shaw #sir percy blakeney #marguerite blakeney #chauvelin #patrick lau #retro reviews!

[professor-of-predators]

@walkingshcdow continued from here! 

He’s silent for long enough that she almost believes this is another one of his stupid, useless jokes. Almost. Until he finally conceded defeat and she sees exactly why he needs her. 

“Oh, fuck.'' The gun is ignored in favor of reaching out to see the extent of the burns. Jane doesn’t know much about fairy medicine, but she’d been through enough lab accidents for some sort of emergency procedure to fill in the gaps. 

“How long have you been waiting?” It wasn’t really a question. Remove the substance. Flush and clean the wound, bandage, get to a hospital. “Here, give me your hands.” She didn’t wait for his consent. The words were more to inform him as she reached for his hands and inspected the burns for any lingering metals. “C’mon” Jane knew aproximately where the faucets were, and she had no qualms with dragging Percy to one of them, preferably before he lost any use of his fingers.  

It wasn’t as thorough as a chemical shower, but it would do the job. Jane kicked on the cold water and rather forcibly guided Percy’s hands underneath. “Ten minutes. Let me know if it feels worse, okay?” The adrenaline that had been fueling her finally began to ebb away, to be replaced with predictable frustration. She sighed, trying to get it under control, but there was still a little sting in her voice when she finally asked him the questions that had been plaguing her. “Are you alright? How long have you had that thing? Where the hell did you even get that gun?”

#V: We Have an Accord #Such and Elusive Look: Percy Blakeney

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 6: THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL (1905)

1. The Introduction

Hello, dearest Citizens! I’m back after a rather unfortunate delay with a new review fresh out of my notes!

Now, this book has been on my radar for a while now because I read in a post of Citizen @theravenclawrevolutionary (also known as @sketches-of-stories ) how bad in terms of propaganda it was in her opinion. Seeing as this user is a good friend of mine (and does some amazing art so please check her out and give her support in her writing endeavor), I became curious, morbidly so.

But I must admit that I have heard of The Scarlet Pimpernel before while researching novels about the French Revolution. It’s a series of novels and some have even been translated into Russian but today I will only tackle the very first novel.

Written by Baroness Orczy and published in 1905, this book has since become quite popular, especially in England, and a multitude of adaptations and sequels have been spawned from its success.

It’s in public domain now and can be obtained in English on Project Gutenberg, which is how I downloaded this book.

But is it worth reading? Time to find out.

2. The Summary

Set in 1792, the book tells a story about the eponymous masked hero - the elusive Scarlet Pimpernel who has a league of allies and saves aristocratic families from the guillotine before helping them find refuge in England.

The nickname of the hero comes from a red English flower he draws on his calling cards and nobody knows his true name.

Basically, we have a classic masked avenger story and the premise, while already reeling from propaganda, sounds promising.

Let’s take a closer look at the elements of the book to find out how the execution of said premise went down.

3. The Story

In all honesty, Citizens, I find the idea of a masked avenger in the Frev setting intriguing and something that can have a lot of potential. In fact, one of my own original characters was created specifically thanks to this idea (@theravenclawrevolutionary knows which OC it is as she has my permission to use her in a story).

That being said, the premise suffers from the fact that Pimpernel helps the aristocrats - the privileged minority. I don’t know about you but I personally would prefer to read about a hero of the poor, not the champion of mostly corrupt four or so percent of the population.

However, given the fact that the author is a noble, I’m not surprised in the slightest that she wrote about a hero who only helps her own kind.

That said, she apparently did try to balance it out by making Pimpernel prioritize families with innocent women and children but for me it was still hard to empathize with the protagonist and root for him.

Also, it’s important to point out that the identity of the Pimpernel is actually obvious pretty early on to the modern reader because we have seen such stories before already, even in modern comics like Batman.

(Spoiler alert!)

Of course the masked avenger pretends to be a rich stupid dandy who is plainer than oatmeal on the surface! Of course it’s Sir Percy Blakeney and of course he will prevail in the end!

Unfortunately, the bulk of the story relies on the mystery behind the Pimpernel’s true identity so I doubt it will be that exciting to modern audiences.

It’s also one of those stories where trouble would’ve been avoided with a couple of minutes of the characters honestly talking to each other, which is a pet peeve of mine. Misunderstandings are hard to write convincingly and are generally quite annoying.

For the aforementioned reasons, I found it really hard to enjoy the book and had an urge to drop it altogether. Believe me, usually it’s hard to get me to drop an adventure novel so that’s saying something.

Although, I must give credit where credit is due and admit that some of the protagonist’s antics were entertaining so there’s that.

Before we proceed to the next part of my review, however, allow me to warn you that in a chapter titled “The Jew” there’s a plethora of extremely offensive anti Semitic stereotypes on display that made me uncomfortable (my family has some Jewish roots) so you’ve been warned.

Alright, let’s continue the review.

4. The Characters

Sir Percy Blakeney, the main character, is basically your standard “rich fop by day, hero by night” trope embodied by a character. Granted, he is the predecessor of most classic versions of the trope so it makes sense for him to be more archetypal and cliché than other similar characters who would be created later.

However, what ticks me off is that Sir Percy is insufferably stubborn and keeps up his cold mask even with his own wife so he almost plays a part in the entire marriage falling apart.

Lady Blakeney, aka Marguerite de St. Just, is no better. Although she is described as “the cleverest woman in Europe” and a stunning beauty, she too suffers from stubbornness and isn’t entirely honest with her husband either, causing misunderstandings that could’ve ruined them both and causing her to be completely blind that the Pimpernel she admires and the husband she is tired of are the same person. These spouses basically deserve each other in this regard.

Marguerite also seems to have zero regard for consequences as she is genuinely surprised when said consequences hit her.

(Spoiler alert!)

Prior to the story, Marguerite ratted out a noble, Marquis St. Cyr, to the the revolutionaries because said Marquis wouldn’t allow Marguerite’s brother to marry his daughter. St. Cyr, predictably so, got executed yet Marguerite is surprised when his relatives utterly despise her.

Is this supposed to be the smartest woman in Europe? What did you expect, Marguerite?!

Anyway, I really dislike snitches and characters who can’t simply talk to each other and cause misunderstandings so I didn’t like Marguerite much. The fact that she also becomes the archetypal damsel in distress later doesn’t help matters either.

If your problems can be solved by talking to a trusted person, do everyone a favor and just talk, dear Citizens. Trust me, it’s worth it and you are more likely to resolve issues that way.

Last but not least, let’s talk about the villain, Chauvelin.

He spends the majority of the story playing Inspector Javert pursuing the Pimpernel at any cost. He is not above manipulating and blackmailing Marguerite in the process, using their prior history (which to me seems to be an implied romance so they might be exes) to his advantage.

Of course, like most villains in these stories, he will lose in the end. No surprise here.

As for historical characters, Robespierre and Danton are mentioned in passing. Robespierre is described as a tyrant who enjoys bloodshed and condones all the atrocities and Danton gets described that way too. So far, however, other revolutionaries haven’t shown up but maybe they will in the sequels.

Either way, layers upon layers of propaganda.

On to the next point, dear Citizens!

5. The Setting

“Classic Thermidorian version of the Revolution” is the only way to describe the setting, although the author does a pretty good job of describing it and the text doesn’t stink of English nationalism like “In the Reign of Terror” by Henty did.

Here we can see bloodshed everywhere on the daily and tricoteuses, old women who in this universe drive carts with prisoners and knit on the scaffold besides the guillotine while the executions are happening. Well, that’s one way to dye your clothes red.

I don’t know if the tricoteuses were a propaganda piece before the novel though, so I have no idea how Orczy came up with the idea.

The descriptions of locations in England are much more pleasant to read though and in any case the images conveyed by the author are vivid and balanced with the narrative.

6. The Language

The book is written in slightly old fashioned English but is still quite easy to understand for native speakers and those who are fluent in the language.

However, I have a complaint about a problem that’s clear as day in the image below:

This tiny tidbit of text is in French and isn’t translated into English, which is bad because not everyone can understand French.

For the curious, the French text says something along the lines of “I bore myself, my friend”.

Citizens, allow me to advise you to always include translations if you have to use foreign languages in writing in order to spare your readers from having to translate things themselves.

Not understanding what the characters say can be quite annoying and prevent a reader from immersing themselves in a story. Trust me, this is exactly what happened to me while I was reading “Shōgun” by James Clavell so I have personal experience with this issue as a reader.

7. The Conclusion

All in all, the book really is as bad as people claim it is so I don’t recommend it.

Aside from being smeared in propaganda like a used diaper with poop, the story has quite unlikeable characters, is predictable to modern audiences and perpetuates extremely unfortunate stereotypes about the revolution, as well as stereotypes against Jewish people (as the author does nothing to point out that these stereotypes are wrong and offensive) so I really doubt that it will be enjoyable for you, dearest readers.

The fact that this story is so popular even today is honestly sad, given the fact that it only perpetuates Thermidorian propaganda and wrong impressions of the French Revolution so I highly recommend to just skip it unless you want to get this wrong image drilled into your heads or bore yourselves to death.

Of course, the choice to read it or skip it is yours and I’m in no position to shove my opinion down your throats but I hope this review has been enjoyable and helpful.

With that, let us conclude the sixth meeting of the Jacobin Fiction Convention.

Stay tuned for updates on my next review, Citizens, and please stay safe.

- Citizen Green Pixel

#french revolution #frev #history #maximilien robespierre #jacobin fiction convention #robespierre #the scarlet pimpernel #review #frev literature #georges danton

[ryfkah]

I collected this series of hilariously thirsty Chauvelin internal monologue quotes from the second Scarlet Pimpernel sequel (The Elusive Pimpernel) for the DW booklog, and they’re still making me laugh, so Tumblr gets them too. You’re welcome!

Even now, as [Chauvelin] gazed with grudging admiration at the massive, well-knit figure of his arch-enemy, noted the thin nervy hands and square jaw, the low, broad forehead and deep-set, half-veiled eyes, he knew that in this matter wherein Percy Blakeney was obviously playing with his very life, the only emotion that really swayed him at this moment was his passionate love of adventure. In a moment Chauvelin was on his feet and with eyes dilated, lips parted in awed bewilderment, he was gazing towards the open window, where astride upon the sill, one leg inside the room, the other out, and with the moon shining full on his suit of delicate-coloured cloth, his wide caped coat and elegant chapeau-bras, sat the imperturbable Sir Percy. He had seen that self-possessed man of the world, that dainty and fastidious dandy, in the throes of an overmastering passion. He had very nearly paid with his life for the joy of having roused that supercilious and dormant lion. In fact he was ready to welcome any insults from Sir Percy Blakeney now, since these would be only additional evidences that the Englishman's temper was not yet under control. Already in imagination, Chauvelin saw his impudent enemy, the bold and daring adventurer, standing there beside that table and putting his name to the consummation of his own infamy. The mental picture thus evoked brought a gleam of cruel satisfaction and of satiated lust into the keen, ferret-like face, and a smile of intense joy lit up the narrow, pale-coloured eyes. Chauvelin went up to the bedstead and looked down upon the reclining figure of the man who had oft been called the most dangerous enemy of Republican France. Of a truth, a fine figure of a man, Chauvelin was ready enough to admit that; the long, hard limbs, the wide chest, and slender, white hands, all bespoke the man of birth, breeding and energy: the face too looked strong and clearly-cut in repose, now that the perpetually inane smile did not play round the firm lips, nor the lazy, indolent expression mar the seriousness of the straight brow.

i could link to the kate beaton ‘nemesis’ comic as a kicker here but at this point it seems pretty redundant

#the scarlet pimpernel #the elusive pimpernel #that supercilious and dormant lion

[tsundokutouched-blog]

Book Review: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy

Score: 6/10

[Instagram]

I first read the book when I was 12 years old. The abridged version. And I loved it. I loved it so much that 10 years later I sought out the unabridged version of the same book to reread it. I remember the book being absolutely thrilling and adventurous, packed with suspense, romance and action. However, as a 22 year old my experience reading this book completely changed. To the point that I was massively disappointed not only by the story itself but disappointed to have been disappointed by one of my childhood favourites.

The story takes place during the French Revolution more specifically during the Reign of Terror when massive general uprising was cruelly bringing down and putting to death all aristocrats of the then French society. The story never goes into or even hints why the uprising happened in the first place and the cruelty and ignorance of the aristocrats pre-revolution. Baroness Orczy, herself was of aristocratic origin and from her writing it can be clear that she sympathized with the ruling class and hence painted a very one-sided picture with her story.

Amidst this chaos during the revolution when aristocrat after aristocrat were losing their heads to the guillotine, a certain Englishman going by the pseudonym of the Scarlet Pimpernel was cunningly helping them escape their fate by smuggling them into English soil. This Englishman, though obviously the leader, was not working alone and had a group of faithful men at his service. They called themselves the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

The story itself is told through the eyes of Marguerite St. Juste/Blakeney - a beautiful, witty French woman who is married to a somewhat boring, yet handsome, and rich Englishman named Sir Percy Blakeney, and who took the English society by storm with her beauty and fashion. Don't get me wrong the story is still very enjoyable and the suspense and mystery about the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel is well written by Baroness Orczy. However, the character of Marguerite Blakeney though full of potential still left a lot to be desired.  She was brave and clever, however her bravery and cleverness was of no use to the plot after the end of the story. 

[Spoilers below the cut]

She was brave enough go into the enemy land to look save the man she loved but her going there and her bravery was absolutely needless since the man ended up saving her and doing everything else he had gone to France to do. To be perfectly honest, she was more of a hindrance to his plans than anything. I don’t know how much to credit her character for just being brave.

Furthermore, even though the writer tried very hard to not make Marguerite’s character shallow, she failed to do so in certain instances. Marguerite was married to Sir Percy Blakeney and it was said over and over again that she married for love and not his wealth. However, after the disclosure of certain events the marriage was slowly becoming quite loveless. And Marguerite and Percy were both stubborn individuals and refused to talk about their issues. But here’s why Marguerite’s character seemed shallow to me. Before finding out that her otherwise boring husband Sir Percy was actually the Scarlet Pimpernel she was slowly falling out of love with him because he didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt regarding some “atrocious” things she did back in France. However, finding out that her husband was in fact the Scarlet Pimpernel did not change that perception that Percy had of her in her mind. Yet she instantly fell in crazy love with him again just because she found out he was not only brave but renowned in both countries for his bravery and forgot all about the previous hurt that Percy had inflicted upon her with his behavior. Suddenly, just after this revelation Sir Percy Blakeney transformed in her eyes from a man she detested to a man she worshipped. Go figure.

The second reason as to why she seemed shallow concerns her elder brother Armand, who was secretly working for the Scarlet Pimpernel. Armand was more than just a brother to her - he was the parent she never had. He brought her up after the death of their parents and showered her with love and affection. Yes she did do things, even illegal and immoral things for the wellbeing of her brother but in an instance when it came down to saving her brother, who had always loved and protected her and her husband who routinely tried to ignore her, she chose her husband just because he was the Scarlet Pimpernel and I guess the notion of her husband being the elusive, brave English hero was just really sexy to her. 

[End Spoilers]

I wouldn't recommend this book very strongly, especially not to the female younglings who are looking for role models in life because reading about a brave and clever woman who is still a damsel in distress, to be, at the end of the day, saved by a strong and handsome man is everything that they don't need to read to become confident women in society.  However for adults, if you want a soft romance, suspense and mystery story please do pick up this book because it was an enjoyable story if you could ignore and look past the drawbacks.

Perception really does change a whole lot in 10 years.  

Happy reading!

#The Scarlet Pimpernel #baroness orczy #superheros #book reviews #booklr #classics #romance #mystery #french revolution #history #suspense

[abyssal-ali]

her own elusive pimpernel

| Pairing: Percy Blakeney x Marguerite St Just | Rating: M | WC: 5.5k | Ao3 | Summary: Somewhat of an exploration between Marguerite and Percy after their wedding, when all the angst begins, to after the ending, where the fluff begins. |

Spring 1791

Percy stared blankly into the mirror in front of him, overcome with disgust at the news the Baron had just delivered.. 

“From this moment on, she must never be trusted,” he whispered to Tony. “I only pray that I might be able to hide my horror at her actions.”

The musicians began a dance tune, and Percy slipped from the Scarlet Pimpernel, scourge of the Revolution, to Sir Percy Blakeney, idiotic sweetheart of London. Marguerite approached him, a small smile on her lips.

He swallowed down the disgust, fixing a smile onto his own and taking his new wife’s offered hand.

~~~

Marguerite received the nod from the musician, alerting her to the couple’s dance coming up. She crossed the room to find her new husband, talking with his friend, Lord Dewhurst. 

He looked at her strangely, delaying in taking her hand with an unusual restraint. Their dance was perfectly smooth, but he was stiffer than she’d ever felt, keeping his hands and body in their regimented places, not even stroking her with his thumb as he had done before when they danced. Why was he being so stiff, she wondered. She hoped it was only post-wedding jitters. 

She herself was smiling brilliantly, not giving away her nerves at the thought of the upcoming wedding night. Did bridegrooms get nerves too, or was it only the brides? 

The dance ended and they paid their courtesies to each other. Percy stepped away as soon as he could, greeting some friend or another of his. She didn’t even miss his warmth–she hadn’t felt it at all.

Was Percy coming down with a cold? That could explain his strange behaviour and unusual lack of warmth. 

Marguerite turned to greet the guest who had called her name, with one last glance at her husband.

~~~

The carriage was readied to take them to the inn at the port, where they would board Percy’s yacht the next day to take them to his estate in England. Marguerite waved her goodbyes and climbed in, accepting Percy’s hand. 

He settled on the seat opposite her, even though there was plenty of space for the two of them on her side, even with the yards of fabric making up her wedding gown. She hid the hurt that caused her. Perhaps he did not want to be teased by his friends, who were still gathered on the portico outside.

The carriage started with a jerk, and she grasped the edge of the seat for balance. Percy did not glance at her, staring out the window. What he could see in the darkness outside, she did not know. He didn’t even bring his habitual quizzing glass up to his eye.

She was starting to think that he was ignoring her.

Dieu, she’d heard from other women that men liked the thrill of the chase, that they grew bored once they’d trapped their wives into marriage, but surely it did not happen the moment the ring was on her finger.

She recalled the moment from only a few short hours ago. No, he had looked at her with such passion in his eyes. She was the best actress in Europe–she knew when others were acting. That had been no pretense. So what had happened to make him so cold towards her?

Marguerite cleared her throat. 

Her husband continued to look out the window. 

“Percy.”

Finally, he deigned to look at her. 

“Yes, m’dear?”

She bit back a sigh at his flippant query. He was certainly a simpleton in her eyes at times, but never to the extent that he showed the public. He had promised she would find out what lay behind those guileless brown eyes once they were wed!

“You seem rather tired,” she said instead. “Is it long till we reach the inn?”

~~~

Marguerite breathed in the fresh sea air, tilting her neck to watch the small flock of gulls crying in the sky above. The voyage to England on the Day Dream had been pleasant so far; she had never been one for seasickness–or any illness, louange a Dieu. 

However, she was in rather an ill temper at the moment. Her darling new husband had been steadfastly avoiding her–a rather impressive feat, for having such a limited amount of space available to dodge her.

He’d also been rather stupider than normal, making an absolute mess of the ropes and lines his crew had left out in an attempt to be helpful, among other things.

Well, Marguerite would like him to stop attempting to be helpful to a crew of sailors who’d manned this yacht many a time, and would like him to instead attempt to be helpful to his wife , whom he was on his honeymoon with , and perhaps pay some attention to her instead.

The man hadn’t even tried to kiss her! She’d kissed him when he’d shown her to the privacy of her room, more spacious and holding more thought put into her comforts than she’d expected, and he’d barely even kissed her back, instead heading immediately out the door when she’d stepped back, hurt at his distance. 

His kisses before their marriage had always had a certain level of passion to them, igniting a burning in her that she was sure only he could douse. Now, nothing more than a single spark passed between them. He’d been such a gentleman during their courtship and engagement, which she’d found rather sweet, if a bit irritating at times. 

It was one of the reasons men married, non ? She would have thrown herself at him if she’d thought it would make any difference, but she instinctively knew that would not close the distance Percy had put between them. 

Shaking her head at her musings over her husband’s strangeness, she turned from the rail. They were almost at port, and she needed to change to make a good impression on her new country.

~~~

Percy released a long sigh inwardly as the walls of Blakeney Mansion appeared. Home at last. Somehow, this had been the most stressful of his visits to France that he could remember, and he’d not been close to discovery once.

The unknowing source of his distress alighted from the carriage, turning slowly to take in her new home. Percy felt himself wishing for her to be impressed by her surroundings.

“Welcome to Blakeney Manor, my dear,” he said, taking her hand. “Shall we?”

~~~

Summer 1791

Percy’s refusal to stand up for her, despite having just received the horrible news that she’d sent an entire family to Madame Guillotine, was the straw that broke the back of Marguerite’s well-restrained feelings. He hadn’t chosen the other acceptable course of action, either–comforting her upon learning that she had innocent blood on her hands. 

His cruel words to her still rang in her ears. “So, m’dear, it would seem you found a way to repay St. Cyr, after all.”

Suzanne, her dear friend, clasped her hand between hers, bringing her back to the present.

“Oh, Suzanne, what do I do? My husband does not love me, and I do not know why.” 

“Percy worships the very ground you tread,” insisted Suzanne. 

“Once, perhaps,” Marguerite said dully. Had she lost it even before she could even truly call him her husband? When had it begun, why had his disdain started? “But now he hides from me in private and in public. I sense moments when I catch some fondness in his eyes…a look, a glance…”

A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden. “Why does he no longer love me?”

~~~

Marguerite took Percy’s hand grudgingly, sweeping into the Manor with her head held high. He may not speak with her as if they were equals, anymore, but she would not let him make her feel inferior. 

He followed her up the stairs, to her room. She did not think that he truly wished to spend time with her, but perhaps– he’d simply been stunned as well to hear of St. Cyr’s death? No, the disgust in his eyes when he’d spoken to her had been all for her. 

“Good night, my dear,” he said cheerfully as she laid her hand on the doorknob. “Pleasant dreams.” He smiled, an ironic twist to his lips as if knowing she would not get any sleep that night, tossing in her bed at the thought of her bloodied hands. 

He kissed her forehead simply, and that small gesture, after weeks of his ignorance except when absolutely needed, moved her to impulsively ask him, “Stay with me tonight.”

He looked as if he might accept, for one moment, then his expression closed and he gave a yawn that, even if she had not been the best actress in Paris, she could have seen was fake. 

“No, I’m afraid I’m far too fatigued. Besides, I don’t want to disturb you…I have an early appointment in London tomorrow.”

Oh, how positively thoughtful of him. Anger beat fiercely in her chest as she opened the door, intent on shutting it in his face. Not that he’d particularly feel left out, since he hadn’t stepped foot in her chambers since she’d arrived, but it was the symbolism of the matter. 

“Your tailors, no doubt,” she snapped.

“Bootmakers, to be precise.” He waved his quizzing glass at his leather-clad feet. 

Her anger melted some, to disappointment, perhaps. “Oh, Percy. Where is the man I married?”

“Od’s fish, my dear, you’re looking at him.”

“No, what I see before me is a facade, some role you are playing; I don’t know why, but I am sure it is. You promised me that I would get to know the man behind the mask, if I married you.” 

Had anything been real? Which was the role, the fop or the actor playing the fop? She could never tell which was his true face, and which his stage face. 

No, the actor playing the fop had always been honest with her. He was still there, somewhere, even if he refused to let her see him.

“Well,” he said softly, blinking. “Perhaps there’s no more to know.”

She exhaled in frustration. “I refuse to believe that. The man I fell in love with still exists somewhere. I shall never, ever stop loving him.”

Percy looked at her, really looked at her, something she hadn’t seen from him in ages. He leaned forward slightly, and she dared to hope that he would finally shed whatever role he insisted on playing, even in private.

But then he recovered, turning away. 

She watched him walk away, heart breaking as she fled into her chambers. 

~~~

Armand was visiting, and Marguerite felt some small measure of happiness. The first man she loved was there, and still loved her, even if the second did not. 

But then her brother broke the news that he was returning to Paris, despite the dangers it held for him. She could not survive losing him as well, and she turned to her silent husband, begging for his help.

“Oh, Percy, do persuade him to stay here.”

Percy chuckled lowly, unusual for his higher, effected tones he continually used in her presence these days. “What has Armand done to be damned to matrimony?”

His words sliced through what somehow remained of her still-beating heart. Stricken, she stared at his implacable expression, before gathering her skirts and retreating to the house. 

God help her, she loved him still.

~~~

Marguerite stared at her dressing table, thoughts swirling throughout her mind. Chauvelin’s whirlwind of a visit that afternoon had completely muddled her head. 

Dear Armand was working with the Scarlet Pimpernel. She detested the added danger that her brother was in, but she herself had described the unknown hero as ‘brave, honest, and compassionate’. She could not blame her brother for wanting to work with the man, and she was certainly proud of his own bravery. 

Apparently all of London thought her to be unhappy in her marriage. Well, she certainly was not happy, but she was an actress, for heaven’s sake! Surely, her skills had not completely failed her in the few months of her marriage? 

And then the dreadful man had propositioned her! The nerve of him, in her husband’s house and after he’d maliciously implicated her in the death of the St. Cyr family! She had felt some fondness for him, once, but it paled in comparison to what she felt for Percy, even when he was being a dreadful idiot. 

Any remnant of fondness died when she discovered he was the one to send the St. Cyr family to the guillotine, naming her as informant and putting the final nail in the coffin of her love-dead marriage. Now the only feelings she had for the man were hatred and repugnance. 

The real issue tangling her thoughts was what the odious man had left her with: a proposition of the darker sort, to spy on society through her guise as Lady Blakeney, to find out the Scarlet Pimpernel’s true identity. And he had used his proof of Armand’s heroic links to blackmail her. Her brother, now the only one in her life who loved her, or the masked man saving dozens of aristos’ lives? 

She could not send any more innocents to the guillotine, purposely this time, any more than she could sacrifice her brother.

Percy’s form behind her reflected in the mirror. She looked up, an unconscious smile gracing her lips. He looked so very handsome. 

“I apologize if I startled you, my dear.”

There it was, that cold, cold ‘my dear’. That term of endearment meant nothing when he dropped it casually, the both of them knowing that he did not truly mean it.

Her smile faltered. “I was simply daydreaming.”

He smiled back at her in the mirror, gently resting his hand on her shoulder as he complimented her. 

Percy may not love her anymore, if indeed he ever had, but she still loved him, and she would treasure every kind word he gave her, if he gave them even half-sincerely.

This was why she had refused to fall in love with any other before him. The pain of love she had observed in others did not seem to outweigh the giddiness of the emotion, the desperation that would drive one to act in ways they were far too composed for, eager for any crumb of fondness from the one they had enslaved themself to. No, it was not for her. 

Then this stupid, beautiful man had come and swept her off her feet, stealing her heart with his playful clumsiness. Now, she was the one forlorn and aching for a morsel of affection, and yet she could not bring herself to regret it or give up on him.

She had meant what she said, forever loving the man she knew he was, somewhere deep beneath the mask he donned. 

~~~

The ball was in full swing when they arrived, trailing the Prince of Wales. Percy left her almost immediately, and she was approached by Chauvelin.

She still had not decided on her response, the weight of at least two lives hanging over her head, making her unable to think clearly. Percy had surely been no help, nor comfort.

Marguerite was relieved to find out that she had only to lift the letter off of Sir Ffoulkes, for the evening’s task.

Feigning faintness was nothing new, and she maneuvered Andrew into the small reception room off the ballroom. Once she had memorized the note’s contents and assuaged Andrew’s worries that she’d read it, she bit her lip in thought.

Now what was she to do? The words circled her mind as she thought of the best plan of action. 

We are leaving tonight for France. Meet me in the library at midnight for your instructions.

She had half-suspected Andrew of being the Scarlet Pimpernel, but clearly he was only in league with the man. Lord Dewhurst, then?

Her husband’s friends were certainly rather suspicious. She could not betray the hero or her husband like that. What to tell Chauvelin…

The simplest and most believable action was to simply tell the truth. With bated breath, she informed the man of the note’s contents. 

The clock said a quarter to twelve. 

As soon as Chauvelin was distracted with his dancing partner, she headed off to the library. There was no time to waste. 

The dimly lit room was quiet and still when she cautiously entered. She glanced around, but no one appeared to be there.

A board creaked and she whirled. “Who’s there?”

“You must not turn around,” a man whispered.

A small smile crossed her lips. She had reached the man in time to warn him, and she was now in his very presence.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I tricked Sir Andrew and read your note,” she confessed. “I came to warn you. Chauvelin knows that you will be here at midnight.” Because of me. 

“You told him,” the reproach was clear through his whisper.

“I had to.” For Armand. “To save my brother. He threatened to arrest him unless I aided his search to uncover your identity.”

“Why do you do this now?” he sounded wondering, hopeful almost. 

“I could never live with myself, knowing I was responsible for your death.”

“You already have the St. Cyr family to your credit, what is another life?”

“That’s a lie!” she turned her head. A curtain rustled behind her. “Chauvelin deceived me!” Telling someone, who might believe her, even if he were not her husband, was a relief she had not known she needed. 

“I turned him down for another and he maliciously used my name to arrest the man, knowing I disliked him for what he did to my brother. But I could never have sent the St. Cyrs to Madame Guillotine anymore than I can send you.”

“If that is true, you are very brave for meeting me here.”

“I am a fool,” she retorted. “If Chauvelin finds out, he could rake Armand from me”

“I will protect your brother,” swore the Pimpernel.

“Can I trust you?”

 “I give you my word.”

“I don’t even know who you are; why don’t you tell me,” she suggested. His quiet footfalls sounded closer to her now.

“A phantom, my lady.” He sounded like he was warning her away from him.

“No,” she breathed. “You are as real as life itself to me…You are so near, I can feel your warmth.” As warm as Percy had once been, before their wedding dance. 

“Touch me,” she asked.

For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then the weight of a hand was on her shoulder. The same feel as the hand that Percy had laid on her same shoulder that very night.

Her hand came up to grasp his. Could it be-

The clock struck midnight. 

“Chauvelin,” she gasped.

She turned. 

No one was there.

With one last glance around the room, she stepped out of the window. Her act here was complete; the curtain could now fall.

~~~

“Tell her I love her. More than ever.”

As Percy strode aboard the Day Dream for his nighttime sail to France, the evening’s events traipsed through his mind, instead of his usual plans.

His dear wife had not been as vicious as he thought, sending an innocent family to the guillotine. She had been tricked, by someone she once thought was a friend. 

Now, with her darling brother’s life in peril, she had chosen to help him anyways, proving her goodness. When she had revealed her situation, he had felt a great weight lift off his heart, swelling up with love for her in its stead. 

He had never stopped loving her, but for a time his disgust at her actions had covered it. Now, he found, she was more lovely than ever, and a certain happiness filled him. When he returned, he could find more about her than before and love all that he found as well. 

But first: the Dauphin and Armand.

~~~

“Where is Percy? I must speak to him at once,” Marguerite ran into the Manor, rousing the footman by the door.

“He’s gone, my lady.”

“Where on earth would he have gone in the middle of the night?”

“There’s a note for you, in the library,” he motioned at the room. 

She snagged a candelabra and headed off. 

It was even darker than the one at Lord Granville’s, but with the light from the damped fire and the candles, she caught the letter left on the mantel for her. 

“The north country?”

Percy was eccentric, but he would never do something like this. What if his precious cravats were wrinkled because they were packed in a hurry in the dark?

“Ridiculous.” She glanced up at the portrait of one of Percy’s ancestors hanging above the mantel. The signet ring on his left hand had a strange pattern on it–not the one she’d seen on Percy’s ring.

She had seen that same pattern on the Scarlet Pimpernel’s ring–three small pimpernels.

The Blankeney coat-of-arms was scarlet pimpernels–oh, how blind she had been! 

Percy was the Scarlet Pimpernel!

It all made sense once that small missing piece had been fitted into place. His trips to France, his strange behaviour, his silly rivalry with Chauvelin, his lord friends’ suspicious acquaintances…all a cover for his identity as the Pimpernel.

Oh, that foolish, wonderful man!

With a gasp, she realized where he had gone. She had to go after him, to tell him that Chauvelin knew–

She summoned the carriage for the Ffoulkes Estate.

“You’ll have your brother back alive–once I have caught the Scarlet Pimpernel. Think twice before you interfere again,” Chauvelin had snapped as he left.

Marguerite headed for Andrew. She had thought twice, and her answer was still the same.

~~~

Andrew had taken the news that she knew of his involvement with her husband, and her husband’s secret identity, rather well.

“He gave me a message for you when he left last night, my lady. ‘Tell her I love her, more than ever’, he said.”

A tear formed in Marguerite’s eye, but she let the sea breeze blow it away. 

There were no secrets between her and Percy. She desperately hoped that they could have the marriage she’d dreamt of once they returned to England.

~~~

They arrived in Paris, and she learned that Percy had been imprisoned by Chauvelin and her brother was caught as well.

Both men were now in more danger than they’d ever been before. She demanded Chauvelin let her see Percy. Surely, he would have a plan, and she could help somehow. She still had connections, and at the very least, her acting skills and love for her husband. 

The cell Chauvelin let her into was fairly large, a thin ray of sunlight shining on Percy’s golden hair, illuminating the grey, damp space. 

He turned, adoration and horror mixed on his face. “Marguerite,” he whispered.

“You promised me alone,” she reminded Chauvelin sternly. 

He left, “two minutes” his own reminder. 

She stared at him, fitting her new version of Percy together as he stood there. Bravery and honour stood in front of her, and she felt a new surge of love for him bubbling in her veins. 

“Oh, my darling,” she cried, running into his extended arms, wrapping her own around him.

He kissed her passionately, more than he ever had, seemingly feeling as she did, relief and hope and love.

“Oh, Marguerite. I wished so desperately to see you. Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?”

He looked so heartbroken at the reminder of the time he had spent mistrusting her.

“Oh, darling, it is I who must beg your forgiveness. Chauvelin told me he will release you if you give him the Dauphin’s whereabouts.”

Percy’s gaze shifted, and her heart sank.

“Tell them what they want to know,” she begged. 

“My darling, you must not ask me.” He looked afraid…that she would refuse him after he said that. That she would turn and leave him, or implore the information from him, and he would willingly give it to her.

She took a breath. “Then we must get you out of here.”

He looked relieved as he considered her words. “I may have a way.”

~~~

Percy watched on in amusement as the plans he and Marguerite had made played out exactly as they had hoped.

The line of his men, his friends, aimed their rifles, firing at the target on the wall. 

“PERCY!” The echoes of Marguerite’s screams wiped the humour off his face. He’d debated not telling her this part, so that it would be real enough to convince Chauvelin, but ultimately decided that his brilliant wife would have no trouble with that part of the performance at all.

Still, hearing her calling his name in grief, even faked, was difficult to hear. 

“Sink me, I couldn’t agree more,” he interrupted Chauvelin’s smug victory.

His smile returned as Chauvelin’s disappeared.

~~~

Marguerite leaned into Percy’s embrace, staring ahead at the cliffs of Dover. As often as she could, she wanted to touch him, to reassure herself that he was really there, with her, unharmed. It had been terribly stressful, watching as he methodically and smugly took Chauvelin apart in their sword fight, even as it had been incredibly gratifying watching her husband play with him.

“They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven? Or is he in Hell? My own elusive Pimpernel.”

Percy stared down at her as she recited his verse back to him, a genuine smile on his face and love in his eyes. 

“Sink me, the lady’s a poet,” he breathed, and then their lips met and his breath was hers. 

~~~

The trip from the Day Dream to Blakeney Manor was much different from the first she had taken, with Percy by her side and his intelligent conversation to accompany her. 

The time was not nearly long enough for her to completely figure out what was Sir Blakeney, Baronet and Wealthiest Fop in London, and what was the Scarlet Pimpernel, Hero to the French Bourgeoisie, but he was no longer hiding anything from her, and she could not have been happier.

She told him how she had realized his identity, and he stared at her with a proud smile on his face. “The cleverest woman in Europe does not do you justice by half, my dear.”

Warmth spread through her, and she knew that Percy had meant it when he called her dear. She’d been a little too preoccupied earlier to think too hard about the ‘darling’s and ‘dear’s he’d bestowed upon her while they rendezvoused in his cell. 

“Oh, Percy, I do love you so,” she confessed, settling her head on his chest.

He wrapped his arm around her. “And I love you, Marguerite. Truly, I’m the luckiest man in Europe, to be loved by you.”

~~~

Marguerite’s maid closed the door softly behind her, leaving her alone. 

She straightened her bottles of perfume on her dressing table, thinking. Percy and she had never had their wedding night, but now, with their renewed commitment to one another…

She’d been sheltered at the convent, but overheard enough at the theatre to understand at least the basics of the act of consummation. She would be no blushing bride, and she desperately wanted her husband.

If he would not come to her, she would go to him. Mind made up, she stood, striding across her chambers to the door. 

Percy stared at her as they met in the hallway, his own door cracked open behind him.

“Marguerite. Is something the matter?”

“I was simply looking for you,” she replied, stepping closer until she was face-to-face with him. 

“Ah, what a coincidence. I was coming to find you, my lady.”

She motioned towards his rooms. “Shall we?”

~~~

As soon as he closed the door behind him, she turned, wrapping her arms behind his neck. “Kiss me, Percy.”

And he did, the sparks they had shared now an inferno, spreading throughout her body, settling at her core. 

She let her fingers trail down his neck to undo his cravat, tossing the starched cloth to the floor with an impatient flick. Her fingers continued their path to his waistcoat, undoing the buttons deftly.

His hand covered hers and he pulled away. “Marguerite-”

“I want you to make love to me, Percy.”

Her interruption caused him to swallow hard, any objections going with it. “Whatever my lady desires,” he said, bending further to kiss along her neck. 

A strange noise escaped her, spurring him on to spread his kisses across her decolletage revealed by her nightdress. 

He moved his hands off her shoulders long enough to shrug off his now-loose waistcoat, then they were back on her, skimming her side, her hip, her back.

They were everywhere and nowhere, and she felt like she was drifting away, only he was her anchor to earth. 

She managed to work his buttons on his shirt and get it off him, revealing his very pleasing muscled torso. 

She backed up, bumping into his bed, and he picked her up, setting her on the mattress. He sat beside her, bending over to take off his boots, but she slid off, kneeling in front of him, covering his hands with her own.

Her earnest gaze met his. “Let me.”

He slowly removed his hands, straightening slightly as she removed his boots for him. She reached for the buttons along the waistband of his breeches, having heard from other actresses what men enjoyed.

His hand covered hers again. 

She met his eyes steadily. “Will you help me with this?”

Slowly, he pushed his breeches down, nimbly undoing his garters and stockings as well and kicking the whole ensemble off. 

Nonplussed, Marguerite leaned forward a little, wrapping her hand around his length and gliding it up and down. She glanced up at Percy, smugly enjoying the look on his face. “I’ve heard men enjoy it when women put their mouths on them.”

“You don’t have to do anything you do not wish to, my dear.”

“But what about what you wish?” she retorted, licking curiously up the tip. 

He jerked and she felt pleased, fitting her mouth over him carefully, not wanting to accidentally bite him. As she bobbed up and down, she attempted to take a little more each time, until the back of her throat refused to let her take more in. Her fingers stroked what she did not fit in her mouth, spreading her saliva to the very base. 

Percy’s muttered praises cut off. She pulled back, glancing up to see if he was alright.

“More than fine, my darling Marguerite,” he assured her. “As to what I wish…” He helped her to her feet, then lifted her back onto the bed. “I wish to kiss my wife.”

Every touch of his lips sent tingles straight to her core, burning a path behind them as he moved over her mouth, neck, chest, breasts, even the inside of her wrists, making her gasp. 

“Allow me to return the favour, my dear.” He moved her further up the bed, staying where he was so that he could trail kisses from her ankles to her thighs. 

He shifted, lying between her legs so that his chin rested on her belly. “Are you comfortable?”

The vibrations from his vocal chords went straight through her. “Quite.”

With a tilt of his head, he licked at her core, one hand coming up to stroke through her folds while the other held her down, bracketing her hips. He worked his finger in her walls, then a second, rubbing until he found the spot she twitched and gasped at. The tenseness that had been building at her core released and she called out his name, pleasure suffusing throughout her body.

He grinned up at her, pleased. “Are you ready for the main event?”

She nodded, watching curiously as he entered her. It was a strange feeling at first, but made her feel so very complete, so close to Percy. She pulled him down to her by his shoulders so that she could kiss him. 

“Je t’aime , Percy Blakeney, mon amour.”

He smoothed a hair back from her face before kissing her again. “Je t’aime tellement, Lady Blakeney.”

His hand came down to stroke her where they were joined, building up the tension again as he traced circles around her nipples with his tongue. 

“Oh, Percy!” she cried, feeling a second release take over. He became boneless as well, collapsing by her side and drawing her into his. 

“You were marvelous, my dear wife,” he praised, kissing her softly. 

She returned it, throwing an arm over his waist. “As were you, my darling husband.” She kissed him again. “Let’s not stay in separate beds any longer, Percy. I quite like being here with you.”

“I, too, my love. As you wish, we will sleep together, as long as Fate lets us.”

LE FIN

#percy x marguerite #the scarlet pimpernel #perguerite #sir percy blakeney #marguerite st just #fic #ali writes

[professor-of-predators]

@walkingshcdow Continued from here!  “Can I have some more Turkish delight?” @ Percy“A dangerous thing,” Percy says, extending the green tin to Jane, “asking a Fae for food. You’ve already made it perfectly clear that you know the risks, m'dear. What’s the reward?”He cocks a brow, but he can guess. This is an experiment, one they haven’t yet tried. Affiliated with no Court, can Percy truly ensnare a human soul? He’s never wanted to. He’s never tried. He does enough “ensnaring of souls” when the League rides the winds and collects the due for the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Tedious work. But this? This is fascinating.

“The same as always.” Jane assured him as she took a small piece of the sweet. “Knowledge.” 

It was an interesting question. If Percy could ensnair a soul the way the other fae seemed able to, he was the least objectionable option. At the very least he seemed to like her. There would be a lot of perks to lighten the blow at least. The more interesting outcome would be if he couldn’t. Opening the doors to discovery was always more fun than simply confirming suspicions. 

It was orange blossom. Jane made an appreciative sound as she chewed her small sample. She’d always liked this flavor more than the cloying roses. “How should we test this? What does one usually do with a mortal captive?” 

#V: We Have an Accord #Such and Elusive Look: Percy Blakeney #walkingshcdow #[[Might need a new tag for New Fae-U

[professor-of-predators]

🌶 any other muse you wanna have Jane talk about

send 🌶 to learn what my muse thinks is hot about yours

Georgie Crusoe: “She’s so strong. I just feel like, like, she could carry me off to a castle and guard me from evil. Which is, of course, ridiculous but. Damn.”

Elizabeth Lavenza: “You have such a beautiful voice Liz. I wish you could sing me to sleep some nights.”

Masha Voronina: Jane and Masha haven’t met in Real Life yet. 

Anna Gracia: “I mean look at you! Bouncy, sleek hair, perfect eyebrows, your lips are always moisturized! I couldn’t imagine a more attractive woman if I tried. Not to mention how optemistic you are!”

Finnegan: “This is harder than you think.” She sighed, pulling her mouth to and fro as she thought. “See, as much as I like Finnegan, he’s not all that attractive to me in particular. I could say he’s fashionable, cordial, all the things everyone already knows, but the one thing that I always notice? When he gets his nails manicured. It’s so subtle! I wish I could convince Victor to get his done professionally. But don’t tell Finnegan I said that. He’ll get all self-important and smug.”

Diaval: “I’ve known him for three years now, but his accent is still as sharp as ever. It’s even more fascinating knowing that he’s had the same one since he first shifted! It’s amazing, honestly.”

Santiago Ortiz: “Don’t even say it! I’m not –I just think he’s handsome, alright? And I admire his conviction. That’s ALL.”

Erik: “Nadir was right; there’s something poweful and compelling about his hands. I know most people would say his voice –and it’s wonderful– but, watching him work or play, you really appreciate the practice and the commitment.” 

Nadir Khan: “What can I say about Nadir Khan? Nadir Khan is flawless. He has an apartment in New York and one in Paris. I hear his hair is insured for 10,000 dollars. And that he does car commercials. In Japan. One time, he punched Erik in the face. It was awesome.”  

Gleb Vaganov: “He looks absolutely wonderful if you can get his suits properly fitted. Like the perfect specimen of a human male. It’s almost distrubing, but very attractive.” 

Percy Blakeney: “It’s only when he’s being, well, honest that I can see what Marguerite sees in him. He looks so heroic then! Tall and strong and clever. I wish he would do it more often.” 

Marguerite Blakeney St. Just: “I sometimes wish I could be Marguerite. She’s so, so, … perfectly feminine. No matter what she’s wearing, no matter how clean or dirty, no matter where we are, there’s never any mistaking her for anyone else. I don’t know how she does it.” 

#Meme #Sunday Sunday Sunday! #There's too many people to tag while this is in my askbox #walkingshcdow #Such and Elusive Look: Percy Blakeney #Nadir Khan no longer has a tag #Neither does Marguerite St. Just #Erik NO #An Especially Special Bird #I Have Magic Enough on My Own: Gleb #The Great Georgie Crusoe #Gold Dust at His Feet #Elizabeth Lavenza Also Needs a New Tag #Anna Gracia does too #Masha Voronina as well #Big Damn Hero: Santiago Ortiz

[fictionturnedherbrain]

Although lately he had been so prominent a figure in fashionable English society, he had spent most of his early life abroad. His father, the late Sir Algernon Blakeney, had had the terrible misfortune of seeing an idolized young wife become hopelessly insane after two years of happy married life. Percy had just been born when the late Lady Blakeney fell prey to the terrible malady which in those days was looked upon as hopelessly incurable and nothing short of a curse of God upon the entire family. Sir Algernon took his afflicted young wife abroad, and there presumably Percy was educated, and grew up between an imbecile mother and a distracted father, until he attained his majority. The death of his parents following close upon one another left him a free man, and as Sir Algernon had led a forcibly simple and retired life, the large Blakeney fortune had increased tenfold.

I recently managed to plough my way through Pimpernel and Rosemary, one of the Baroness' many Scarlet Pimpernel sequels, where Peter is the great-great-grandson of Sir Percy and Marguerite's son, Jack, who was known as the 'Little Pimpernel' (I bet he was pleased). And in the equally problematic 'Life and Exploits of the Scarlet Pimpernel', which was written by Orczy's son ('Of course, I cannot vouch for the authenticity or accuracy of your information'), Sir Percy and Marguerite have two children, George and Violet Yvonne (yikes!)

Anyway, no matter which version is considered canon, the Blakeneys definitely have children, and this where my (over)thinking about Percy's mother started! I have always interpreted the first Lady Blakeney's 'terrible malady' to be a form of postnatal depression, starting just after Percy was born, which worsened when she was shut away abroad to stop the gossip. But that precaution obviously didn't work because everybody dismisses that 'demmed idiot' Percy because of his family's reputation and his mother's mental health ('Everyone knew that he was hopelessly stupid, but then that was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that all the Blakeneys for generations had been notoriously dull, and that his mother died an imbecile'.) Sir Percy is equally elusive (ha) about his family history, having told Marguerite only that his mother died abroad 'ailing in body and mind', and keeping her portrait locked away in his study.

So if Percy knew that his mother became 'ill' after giving birth to him, what would he think about having his own children? Would he fear for Marguerite's health and not want to take the risk? And there's the timing - Marguerite is 25 in the first novel, which starts in 1792, so she's 27 when the Revolution ends - or Percy's role as the Pimpernel ends - with Robespierre's death in 1794. That's quite late to start having children for the time, and they obviously held off starting a family while Percy was in risking his life in France, so perhaps Percy - and Marguerite - might not have wanted children at all. I mean, children would be expected of them and Percy would need an heir, but I can imagine them being content with their life together even after Percy is home for good. Perhaps that's why the Baroness only gave them one son! And Percy and Marguerite are both orphans, of course - looking after/being cared for by her brother might have nurtured an early maternal instinct in Marguerite but Percy practically raised himself, which could make him either a distant or an indulgent father, but definitely a reluctant one to begin with!

tl;dr Would Sir Percy and Marguerite make good parents?

#thinking thinky thoughts #scarlet pimpernel meta #the scarlet pimpernel #sir percy blakeney #marguerite blakeney #percy x marguerite #baroness orczy #pimpernel and rosemary #life and exploits of the scarlet pimpernel

[fictionturnedherbrain]

Eldorado, which is the fourth novel in the series, after the random I Will Repay and the soppy Elusive Pimpernel, is m favourite Scarlet Pimpernel sequel (which I recommend to everyone!)

Based on the rescue of the young Dauphin from the Temple - and the theory that the young prince's life was saved by snatching him from prison and installing a deaf-mute pauper in his place was still plausible when the Baroness was writing the story - this novel has it all: history, romance, danger, sacrifice. Armand loses his head (not literally, sadly) over an actress, Blakeney is betrayed and captured, Marguerite returns to France to save her husband, and the only way for the Pimpernel to triumph this time is to trade the life of a little boy to save his own. Actually, the resolution is hardly a shocker, but the tortured romance between Percy and Marguerite reaches the acme of intensity during the scene in Percy's cell at the Conciergerie. Kissing stone steps? Pah! That's nothing. I know the Victorians were a bit prudish about love scenes, but modern day 'romance' writers could learn a thing or two from the masters (mistresses) of subtlety: less is more.

"La! little woman," he said with enforced lightness, even whilst his voice quivered with the intensity of passion engendered by her presence, her nearness, the perfume of her hair, "how little they know you, eh? Your brave, beautiful, exquisite soul, shining now through your glorious eyes, would defy the machinations of Satan himself and his horde. Close your dear eyes, my love. I shall go mad with joy if I drink their beauty in any longer." He held her face between his two hands, and indeed it seemed as if he could not satiate his soul with looking into her eyes. In the midst of so much sorrow, such misery and such deadly fear, never had Marguerite felt quite so happy, never had she felt him so completely her own. Wow, I've nearly talked myself into reading the book again!

#the scarlet pimpernel #baroness orczy #eldorado #sir percy blakeney #marguerite blakeney #french revolution #book series #tsp 1982