Citoyen Robespierre

And what even is a "lesbian" ?

Your hair is quite light and healthy, flowers look objectively good on you.

…David should paint you like that.

Ah... Thank you, Maxime...

(Blushes and fumbles for words.)

I heard you all... made flower crowns at the Rosatis, did you...? Or am I confused? Do you still... know how... to make them?

@davidnmarat any input?

“We mostly wrote very mediocre poems, believing ourselves to be the new Boileaus and Malherbes… and it was common practice to pick roses and hang them on our buttons.

But to make crowns under our Republic? I will have to consult our legal texts to see if this is allowed.”

His rather relaxed attitude showed that the last sentences were humor, or rather an attempt. He wasn't very good at it.

Your hair is quite light and healthy, flowers look objectively good on you.

…David should paint you like that.

The banging on the door rudely awakens Maxime from his slumber. He woke up with a jolt over to his desk, where he has fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable position, in the middle of writing a letter now ruined by ink spots. He blinks, presses his hands against his face and lets out a sigh as he thinks about how much he needs a vacation, and his problems are far from over. As he glances at his deplorable appearance in the mirror and puts his wig back on correctly, Augustin's voice echoes outside. Immediately, he understands that something is wrong. His brother's voice is erratic, strangely high-pitched, and... Wait, Hyères? Was he not supposed to go there in two weeks?

Forgetting his exhaustion, he scrambles to his feet and nearly falls out of his chair. He rushes to open the door, worried that Augustin might actually decide to leave on a whim before he's had a chance to talk to him. Outside, where Maxime can finally see him, he's even more surprised to see his brother looking completely disheveled, his eyes looking red, as if he'd been crying.

What in the Supreme Being was happening?!

Immediately, Maxime's brain spirals out of control and he begins to contemplate the worst: what if he'd heard bad news? What if the English and Spanish fleets had finally succeeded in invading France through the Provence region? The Convention absolutely had to know!

“You want to go to Hyères now, looking like this?” He inspected his brother doubtfully. “You haven't packed any luggage, clothes or food...” He then glanced behind him. “...nor a horse suitable for the journey...” And his gaze returned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “...And I suppose you didn't tell anyone you were leaving. This is not the way we do things, and you know it. And if you were to be replaced, I would know about it.”

He opened the door wider and nodded, inviting Augustin to follow him inside. Or rather, obliging him. He then indicated a chair for Augustin to sit on and left for a moment to ask citizeness Duplay to prepare some coffee. He didn't turn back to Augustin until they were alone again.

“You are in panic as if the Austrians were already invading Paris, have you received bad news from the Army of Italy? Tell me what's going on. I want to help you, but I can't if you run off like a thief, leaving me in the dark.”

In the end, he was forced to choose between France and one of his best friends ;_;

(this is a redraw of my favourite illustration from Rose of Versailles, here's the original under the cut- I just love that tragic pose!)

Surely, you would not deny me the simple pleasure of watching you hypothetically at the altar, trembling like a maiden, while Danton hypothetically weeps into his waistcoat?

A hypothetical wedding is a time for joy, is it not? A time for forgiveness? Would it not be ungracious—nay, unseemly—to bear a grudge on such a hypothetically happy occasion? At the very least, do hypothetically save me a piece of cake, won’t you?

Well, I will probably never get married, and certainly not to Danton.

And if I don't count you among the guests of this hypothetical wedding, it is simply because I'm afraid you'll spend the evening feeling bored and, consequently, bothering all my guests asking for money or romantic advances.

I heard there was a party here reuniting all of the illustrious members of the Grand Committee of Public Safety and I, their most distinguished, most remarkable, most legendary colleagur of them all, had NOT been invited yet?! Egad! like the English would say!

Well, well, well! Fear not, for am I here now to speak of all my tales of woe and heroism!

I cannot wait to greet my cherished colleagues once more in our venerable green room! :')

How dare you leave me out of this you back-stabbing fiends?! @thespianprosecutings @claude-antoine-prieur @lazarecarnot @tribundupeuple @aristidecouthon @louis-antoine-leon-saint-just @heraultsechelles

Welcome, citizen Barère.

I don't think my advice will be heeded, but I will give it to you anyway: be careful not to exaggerate too much, or you risk being compelled to lie, especially when it comes to the army's successes.

I will see you at the next Committee session.

Compelled to lie? When has this ever happened, dear Maximilien?

I'm not saying that you're doing it on purpose, because I think you're speaking in good faith and with your heart open. But the passion that carries you up in your lyrical flights shouldn't cloud your judgment and blur the line between what you read on the reports and what you alter to make the news less morose, more pompous.

The Convention must not be afraid of the truth, and neither should you.

Oh Augustin, did you come back to Paris, in front of my office's door, to be able to hear me rambling about trigonometry? Without formal instructions from the Committee?

It seems like you don't leave us other choice... [starts drafting a decree, in which Augustin Robespierre is temporarily suspended from his position as representative of the people]

AH!! WAIT!! @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple @tribundupeuple

Despite the relative harmony that Maximilien and Lazare had been trying (and, surprisingly, succeeding) to restore between them for some time, this did not mean that everything was magically resolved. It still needed more time, their respective characters still constituted an obstacle in the way of this project.

And there were things that the Incorruptible could not tolerate. The fact that someone was making radical decisions about Augustin without informing him in advance was one of them, even if nothing was official until the whole Committee had given their vote. He arrived in his turn, quite irritated, his hands clasped around his papers to the point of crumpling them and his jaw clenched so tightly that he was in danger of breaking his teeth at any moment.

If Augustin opened his mouth to say another endless monologue to defend his case, he was immediately cut off by Maxime, who raised a finger to silence him.

‘I know. Leave it to me.’

The same hand that he had just held up slammed down against @lazarecarnot's desk. More precisely, against the decree he was writing, covering it completely with his palm, ignoring the sensation of the ink that had not yet dried and was beginning to spread. His face close to his, his gaze angry.

‘May I ask what exactly you think you are doing?’

"Checking if my quill is still working, don't you see?"

Carnot thought of that as a possible reply, but knowing that sarcasm wasn't exactly his strong point, he refrained from speaking out. Instead, he started scribbling on the decree paper some nervous, irregular circles. In a few moments, whatever there was written on it became unreadable.

"You should really say a word or two to your brother about his late conduct." he said while standing up; then, he handed Robespierre two letters from a certain Napoleone Buonaparte. "If your brother keeps behaving like it has been reported by one of our Captains, I don't see why we should continue entrusting him with such delicate tasks, worthy of only a true Representative of the people."

The mathematician gave one last enigmatic glance to his colleague before heading to the door, looking forward to leaving that suffocating place.

He withdrew his hand after a few seconds. He could feel that it was full of ink, and the cold, sticky sensation stirred his mind unpleasantly, but he did his best not to let it distract him. Carnot was now drawing doodles on his decree. If he had continued to write, Maximilien would surely have snatched the sheet out of his hand and torn it up in a fit of blood, as he had done with the file on the Catherine Théot investigation. The feeling of losing control of his own life or that of his family, whom he had sworn to protect since their father left, was simply unacceptable to him. He was the responsible one. He was the one who had to protect and eventually pay for his siblings' mistakes.

The letters found their way into his hands, and he skim through them. General Buonaparte's handwriting was barely legible, but he managed to get the gist of it by discerning certain words such as ‘gambling’, ‘bar fights’ and ‘brothels’. The last word instantly made him blush with both modesty and fury, and he looked down at the floor.

“I will believe those denonciations when solid proof will be presented. And I don't think that citizen Buonaparte has given any.”

Carnot then stood up, clearly on his way out. Maximilien was now outraged that his own techniques were being used against him. He immediately went after him. In the heat of the moment, he grabbed Carnot's arm and forced him to turn around to face him. His own action mortified him, and after freezing for a few seconds, he let go as if burned. At least now he had his full attention.

“Wait... listen to me. You're not acting for the right reasons. These letters are just an excuse, you're punishing Augustin because he made a joke that displeased you and because lately, we have been choosing his military strategies over yours.”

His hand, slightly trembling, placed his glasses back on his nose. They had slipped off when he rushed to get at him.

“When he is sent on missions, Augustin is useful. He does what he loves and what he's good at. He's not condemned to stay in my shadow like at the Convention or in our former law firms.”

His voice was close to stammering but still assertive enough to remain firm and audible.

“I promise you, he will be punished. And harshly, commensurate with the offense made to your name and your wife. But don't take that away from him.”

His gaze naturally fled eye contact, but he forced himself to anchor in his interlocutor's azure eyes. He swallowed.

“Please, Carnot.”

Surprised again by Robespierre's attitude - Carnot couldn't recall the last time he witnessed his colleague grabbing somebody's arm in such a way - the mathematician stopped.

He sighed, trying to regain his usual composure.

"I'd like to avoid all the annoyance and issues I have at work to spread into my personal life. My wife isn't interested in politics, military feats and campaigns, moreover I thought a certain degree of acquaintance was required to joke with somebody."

Words exited his mouth like an incessant stream of water; he paused for a few seconds to breathe.

"Given these premises, I don't see what Sophie and your brother have in common to discuss..."

A pale shade of red tinted Carnot's cheeks as a preamble of what he was going to say next.

"Concerning military strategy... I'm not in Piedmont so I can't have a clear picture of the situation, thus it would be pretentious from my part to "dictate" instructions. However, the revolutionary army, thanks to me and Jourdan, were victorious at Wattignies and despite having been only on the battlefield I have more experience than your brother in tactics simply because I studied and wrote about it. Augustin can't even differentiate an officer sabre from a cutlass; I highly doubt the battle plans he sent us are entirely his idea. Rather, I think it all comes from his Corsican friend, who is currently annoyed by his behaviour." He crossed his arms, concerned "If the Committee refuses my advice, at least make it so that Buonaparte can do his work in peace and bring another victory against the Coalition."

In a way, Maximilien and Augustin both had some problems when it came to socializing with others, even if it was much more obvious with the elder of the two. If the former wasn't warm and talkative enough, the latter was far too much so, to the point of sometimes overstepping the boundaries of cordiality and politeness without always realizing it. Augustin was charming, sympathetic and of good nature; he knew how to put people at ease, smile ear to ear and joke with everyone. At times, this was considered impudent or rude, and it didn't go down well. Well, today it didn't. Fortunately, Sophie Carnot had shown enough understanding and elegance not to take offense - and perhaps she also feared being at the core of such affair would damage her husband's professional reputation. Lazare, on the other hand, had chosen not to let Augustin's blunder go unpunished and demanded that he be penalized. It was his right, and he was fully justified in doing so, which put Maxime in the most delicate of situations.

“My brother and your wife... they are a different breed from us. They are bright, warm individuals, always pleasant and smiling. They attract sympathy and make friends easily. The only difference is that Augustin is very enthusiastic and treats complete strangers like old friends.”

Robespierre then remained very quiet. He listened to the words that followed, surprised to hear Lazare half-heartedly admit the idea that he might not be the most fitted man for the conquest of northern Italy, even if some of his harsh remarks made Maxime grit his teeth. Once again, it was a painful but necessary discussion. And they both had to concede something. The mathematician's conclusion made him relax his shoulders, which had previously been tense with nervousness.

“Thank you.”

He breathed softly, daring to stretch his lips slightly in a faint smile, even if his interlocutor's crossed arms, in a natural, defensive attitude of rejection, made him a little anxious. He turned away and his eyes fell randomly on a painting upon one of the room's walls. He didn't want to look at him in the eyes, knowing what he was going to say.

“Buonaparte is a military man of great talent, but you too have earned your nickname of ‘The Organizer of Victory’ in Wattignies. The price was heavy to pay and it was a difficult battle, and all of us are... very proud... of you.”

His difficulty in delivering free compliments testified to his sincerity.

“I apologize if lately you have felt pushed aside or not listened to enough during the Committee sessions. It was never my intention. I promise you there will be a significant change.”

"Organizer of victory...?" Carnot was taken aback for a moment, blinking a few times in astonishment "Is that how they call me now?"

Struggling to hide his enthusiasm, he grabbed both Robespierre's shoulders "Where... W-who have you heard calling me like that?" he asked with a tremulous voice.

Maxime was abruptly cut off in the middle of his apology by an unsolicited physical contact that surprised him so much that his sentence never came to an end and died in his mouth as he inhaled and tensed. His dazed eyes behind his glasses stared at Carnot, a little outraged but also a little amused and a little worried. Did Carnot think that his contribution to the Republic was so ill-regarded and overlooked that he seemed so happy to be called by that surname? Was he that thirsty for recognition? Oh, shit… Maxime was realizing how appallingly careless he'd been with his colleagues.

“I don't remember when it started. It came naturally, and now, by implicit agreement, it has become your nickname.”

On the face of it, he'd managed to redirect Lazare's annoyance and anger at Augustin to the point where he completely forgot about his brother. So that was rather good news. Cheeks a little red, Maxime placed his hands on Lazare's, still resting on his shoulders, with the intention of removing them from there. A firm but gentle gesture. He knew it wouldn't be perceived as rude, because everyone knew he didn't like to be touched.

Once that was done, he turned his gaze back to him. Seeing him so happy, so enthusiastic, was a rare enough sight to keep him fascinated. It made him smile wider, and whisper:

“And… it suits you.”

I heard there was a party here reuniting all of the illustrious members of the Grand Committee of Public Safety and I, their most distinguished, most remarkable, most legendary colleagur of them all, had NOT been invited yet?! Egad! like the English would say!

Well, well, well! Fear not, for am I here now to speak of all my tales of woe and heroism!

I cannot wait to greet my cherished colleagues once more in our venerable green room! :')

How dare you leave me out of this you back-stabbing fiends?! @thespianprosecutings @claude-antoine-prieur @lazarecarnot @tribundupeuple @aristidecouthon @louis-antoine-leon-saint-just @heraultsechelles

Welcome, citizen Barère.

I don't think my advice will be heeded, but I will give it to you anyway: be careful not to exaggerate too much, or you risk being compelled to lie, especially when it comes to the army's successes.

I will see you at the next Committee session.