lazarecarnot

[lazarecarnot]

The office door suddenly opened, letting in a slight draft that stirred some papers scattered haphazardly in a corner of the desk.

Carnot looked up, meeting Lindet's stern, expressionless gaze as he strode quickly toward his colleague, holding a heavy folder in his arms.

“Has knocking gone out of fashion?” asked Carnot irritably, who did not like being interrupted so abruptly while he was working.

Lindet snorted, carelessly placing the huge bundle of documents on the desk. “The records of arms production in Paris factories over the last five months.” Noticing a certain disappointment in Carnot's expression, he asked: “Wasn't this what you requested?”

“Yes, the day before yesterday. This morning, what I needed... But why am I talking? Everyone here does what they want.”

“Look who's talking,” Lindet exclaimed sarcastically. “Prieur is in charge of supervising weapons production; what did you need these documents for?”

“What do you care?” replied the other, raising his voice.

“I care because there's someone here who enjoys meddling in things that don't concern him a little too much. There's a reason we divided up the tasks.”

Perhaps it was fatigue, Lindet's inexplicably arrogant attitude, or a combination of the two, but Carnot finally lost his temper. He jumped up, hastily leafed through the folder, irreparably compromising Lindet's meticulous work of organizing all those documents; finally reaching the month of March, Carnot pulled out four letters.

His colleague was horrified. “What the hell are you doing!?”

“Your job, you imbecile!” he shouted, leaving the room; Lindet's insults echoed his quick, nervous footsteps.

"Idiot! Moron...! Just like those other two we just sent on a mission! Why do I have to work with people like this?" he thought as he headed for Prieur's office. He was so busy mentally ranting against his colleagues that he didn't notice he had just bumped into someone: Carnot continued on as if nothing had happened, until he felt his arm being violently jerked.

“Hey, you...!” a shrill young voice addressed him.

[@bonbonrobespierre]

[lazarecarnot]

Many years have indeed passed, but your beauty and grace has remained unchanged.

...And they keep inspiring me every day.

When I see such words being penned I can't help but think of you, mon trésor.

@demoiselle-dupont ❤️

[lazarecarnot]

@demoiselle-dupont ❤️

[lazarecarnot]

Les moments passés avec toi, mon cher ami, sont parmi les seules belles mémoires que j'ai des années où j'étais au Comité❤️

Commission I've done for @aedislumen !!

Thank you very much for commissioning me 🫶

[lazarecarnot]

Mh, it certainly does but, although the Queen of Science is always fascinating, no matter the formalism used, I will always be attracted by order and beauty when it comes to that.

[lazarecarnot]

“But not with a military saber,” I can only ponder what she means by this?

She was referring to my dueling saber, the one I use for all entertainment-related purposes. It's not sharp, but study enough to left a mark.

Theresa, do not forget me. Do not forget that I saved you. Why did you abandon me? I did so much for you. 💔 Jean Lambert Tallien

My esteemed friend, I am deeply grateful for your past service and, believe my truthfulness, you may be assured of my deepest sympathy.

However, I no longer feel any desire to talk to you or even see your hangdog look. The reason is simple: I don't love you anymore. I think you're a pathetic, spineless coward, devoid of the slightest political intelligence, and I deserve a lot better than your tiresome constant whining.

Nor have I forgotten the role you played in Quiberon, which permanently disgusted me of the mere thought of you.

Please do not write to me again, let alone try to approach me. If you do, I have instructed @lazarecarnot to skewer you on the spot (but not with a military saber, you don't deserve such an honor).

Farewell,

Thérésa Cabarrus

[lazarecarnot]

Ugh.

Occasionally, I still have nightmares about the kind of hideous polynomials that Monge gave us to solve...

@lazarecarnot

[lazarecarnot]

Still to this day, I fail to understand what a sophisticated and elegant woman like you found in that good-for-nothing of Tallien.

Don't worry, by the way: he will have a taste of my saber if he bothers you.

Theresa, do not forget me. Do not forget that I saved you. Why did you abandon me? I did so much for you. 💔 Jean Lambert Tallien

My esteemed friend, I am deeply grateful for your past service and, believe my truthfulness, you may be assured of my deepest sympathy.

However, I no longer feel any desire to talk to you or even see your hangdog look. The reason is simple: I don't love you anymore. I think you're a pathetic, spineless coward, devoid of the slightest political intelligence, and I deserve a lot better than your tiresome constant whining.

Nor have I forgotten the role you played in Quiberon, which permanently disgusted me of the mere thought of you.

Please do not write to me again, let alone try to approach me. If you do, I have instructed @lazarecarnot to skewer you on the spot (but not with a military saber, you don't deserve such an honor).

Farewell,

Thérésa Cabarrus

[lazarecarnot]

[Flashback 8 September 1796]

After getting out of the carriage, Carnot looked around, feeling a little lost. How much Versailles had changed since he last visited! Although it had retained its distinctive elegance, the city conveyed a sense of decadence, perceptible not only in the streets and half-empty shops, but above all in the dull, resigned eyes of passers-by.

It was quite hot that day; the temptation to take off his coat and remain in his linen shirt was strong, but Carnot could not afford the risk of being discovered, even though his current attire made him unrecognizable. However, one could never be too cautious. Sighing, he wiped a drop of sweat from his shirt cuff. He hated the sultry weather and, above all, the damp, sticky feeling of sweat on his skin.

After walking for about ten minutes, the Director found himself in the rather crowded market square. Trying not to attract attention, he took an old map of the city out of his pocket. His eyes focused on a reddish ink mark scribbled between the folds of the paper.

“Petit-Montreuil… It's not that far from where I am now,” he thought, trying to work out the shortest route that would take him to Félix Lepeletier.

Making his way between the stalls, he wondered why he was risking so much. His last meetings with the brother of the famous Martyr had been characterised only by heated discussions, which had ended in nothing. Félix had seemed unyielding and faithful to the utopia that the Constitution of '93 had instilled in the minds of some disillusioned dreamers. Carnot would never have expected that among them there could be someone as rational and intelligent as Lepeletier. And yet…

Suddenly, he felt a blow to his left side and heard a faint groan: a young boy had bumped into him while running and stumbled, falling to the ground. The boy turned and met the Director's eyes.

“F-Forgive me, sir... I... I...” he sobbed, clearly fearing some kind of repercussion.

Carnot held his hand to help him up, then asked, “Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head, wiping away his tears; his gaze immediately turned to the ground, to a basket whose contents—plain bread—had spilled into a puddle.

“Damn...” he exclaimed, bending down to pick up what he could salvage. “My mother will be furious.”

“Over such a small thing? Come on...”

“You don't know my mother, sir. You don't know what she's capable of when she's angry,” he said agitatedly. “And then... It means we won't have any bread this week...”

Carnot looked at him in amazement. “What? What do you mean...?”

“I mean, sir, that the money I spent on those loaves of bread a few minutes ago was the last money we had,” confessed the boy, looking down as if ashamed. My mother will receive her salary in seven days."

At those words, the Director felt a twinge in his stomach: he felt sick at the thought of leaving that boy—practically a child—in poverty. He approached him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen... I need to go to the Petit-Montreuil neighborhood to visit a friend. I'm not from around here, I'm from Paris, and I can't find my way around,” he said, pulling a couple of coins out of his coat pocket. “If you show me the way, these are yours.”

The young man's eyes lit up, then, turning to Carnot, he said, “Oh sir, I don't... Petit-Montreuil? That's where I work, I can take you there if you like!” Full of enthusiasm, he took the director by the hand and led him down a narrow, cobbled street.

Once they reached their destination, Carnot thanked the boy and gave him the coins. The latter, delighted, took the trouble to ask if he needed help finding the right house, but there was no need, as Grisel had been quite clear during his last meeting with the Director: a low house with pale yellow walls and a bluish-tiled roof, near the intersection with the main road. Carnot turned to the right and saw it a few meters away.

Once in front of the door, he knocked decisively, without fear, hoping that Félix was home and, above all, that he would open the door.

[@lepeletier]

[lazarecarnot]

🌹

Ah, a red rose! They are my favourite ones!

Thank you, dear friend. Such presents are always appreciated.

((This ask made me think of this song...))

[lazarecarnot]

[widens his eyes, then slightly smiles]

Quite a witty and brilliant way to express your doctrine!

Good job, Marquis. I'm impressed!

>be me, f(x) = (x)/(|x|)(x-e)

>A non-continuous function intersects my discontinuity at x = e

>what are you doing, step function?

>someone plots their parent function, who intersects my other discontinuity!

[lazarecarnot]

I'm glad Saint-Just is dead: at least, he's spared from seeing what one of his generals has become.

I was a fool to think there was something redeemable in you. You are rotten inside, as much as all the members of that wretched club you ended up belonging to.

Bon débarrass.

Why did you keep refusing to see me and all my invitations? We could have sorted things out: you wouldn't have been proscribed, I wouldn't have been proscribed... Today you would be seen as a hero, showered with the glory and praise that you deserve for your feats and not as some loathsome royalist traitor.

- @lazarecarnot

Well, simply...

I don't like you. Never have...

Now leave me be, Citizen Director... .I have a woman to pursue.

[lazarecarnot]

I’m flirting with Antonelle too — simply because I’ve praised his hearty good looks (which, I must admit, have won hearts more than once—just like mine), even though I consider him a brother.

Eh, I wouldn't be surprised...

And honestly? It warms my heart to see Carnot taking such good care of his appearance. It suits him marvelously — and I’m all for encouraging a little republican charm wherever it flourishes.

Your words flatter me, cher ami.

Are you flirting with Lepelletier now?

"Flirting"...

God forbid a man to praise the look of another one!

Why are you people from the 21th century like this? Sometimes I fail to understand you.

I think Félix is quite handsome and I have no issue in admitting it, nor I see why there should be any issue with that in the first place.

[lazarecarnot]

“Damn…”

Carnot wrung his hands. Only a few hours had passed and he already had someone on his tail. With a quick movement of his arm, he moved the curtain, covering the window completely; then he slowly turned toward Sophie. Looking up and meeting her eyes was difficult, especially knowing what awaited them in the immediate future.

He moved his lips slowly, searching for the right words, but nothing came out of his mouth for several minutes. A faint moan coming from the next room—his and Sophie's bedroom—shook him out of his stupor.

“Sadi…!”

“I want… I want to see our son…” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I'll explain everything, but…” But first let me see him…"

He knew that Sadi was often ill and that, according to the doctor, it was not good for him to be in contact with too many people, even if they were part of the family. The child needed a peaceful environment, away from chaos and too many stimuli; Carnot's condition could upset that delicate balance. But he had missed Sadi so much in those weeks, as much as he had missed his wife. He longed to see him again, to hold him in his arms, especially considering that this could be his last chance ever.

Carnot gently took Sophie's hands, looked up, and met her worried eyes with a pleading look. "Please, my love..."

[@demoiselle-dupont]

[RP flashback] 18 fructidor an V. Saint-Omer, 6.30 p.m

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Adieu projet ; adieu serment ; Autant en emporte le vent

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The piercing sound of the detuned piano keys and the singing of a delicate female voice were scarcely enough to cover the roar of the torrential downpour hitting the manor's large windows. Outside, heaps of grey clouds had precipitated the onset of nightfall. Sophie lit herself with a few candles, shivering in a woollen Kashmir shawl and an indoor coat that belonged to her husband and had been carelessly forgotten in his wardrobe before he left for Paris. Much to her dismay, the garment no longer carried his fragrance, already overlaid by the sour scent of the ointments and concoctions that Sophie had to apply to her body every day to fight the sickness that afflicted her.

It had already been several days since Lazare had urged her to leave Paris and its stale air for the calm, peaceful countryside of their home in Saint-Omer. Sophie still felt weak and exhausted, but the atmosphere was starting to feel gloomy in this too-big, too-empty house where Sophie lived as a recluse with some of her domestic staff, her son and her mother, who had come to lend a helping hand. Under the quivering lights of a few candles, the pretty brunette with exhausted grey eyes took the liberty of ending the silence with a tune of folk music and chant.

Je veux aller en France Où le Roi m'a mandé Mis la main sur la bride Le pied dans l'étrier Que maudite soit la guerre Le pied dans l'étrier

Suddenly, she stopped humming and her finger skidded against a white key, sounding a false note. Sitting in an armchair near Sophie, with the nose immersed in crocheting what appeared to be socks for Sadi, Sophie's mother startled at this unexpected sound.

“Sophie? Is everything all right?

- He coughed. I heard him.”

Suddenly, her aching muscles, the lingering cold that wrapped around her bones, her trembling and weakened legs, none of it mattered anymore. Sadi had just coughed, and Sophie's whole body, tense with anxiety, feverish with worry, rushed to the cradle by the fireplace where he was laying. No one had heard him cough, but she, the mother, heard everything. The slightest unusual flush on this toddler's cheeks was potentially a sign of disaster. Anguish was making this poor woman even sicker with worry. She had lost her two previous babies, this one was the apple of her eye and she watched over his health and well-being with the fierce protection of a she-wolf and a lioness.

She rushed to the cradle and held him gently in her arms, as if he was made of the most fragile porcelain. Wrapped in a nacre sheet that showed only his face and tiny hands, the infant blinked with wide, grey-green eyes, and his face lit up as soon as he recognized his mother's features wrinkled with concern. He immediately reached for the little Christian cross that hung around her neck. He seemed fine, but Sophie refused to put him back down immediately. She carried him close to her, his little head resting against her shoulder, and returned to her mother, who looked at her with compassion and dared not say anything to upset or anger her.

That's when she heard it, through the clatter of raindrops.

The squealing sound of the wheels of a carriage or post-chair circling the inner courtyard to park near the stables. Sophie frowned, surprised to receive a visitor at such an hour. Surprised and a little terrified too. During the day, she had spotted several men she didn't know wandering around the house without understanding what was going on.

She didn't know that last night in Paris, the government had fallen. She didn't know the dramatic consequences that would follow. Slowed down by the torrential downpour, the newspapers reporting news from the capital hadn't yet reached the town.

So, Sophie knew nothing, for the moment. She could only observe that there were suspicious movements around her home, probably men looking for Lazare. And judging by the heavy sound of boots she could hear outside, these people had obviously decided to enter the house.

“Were we expecting someone tonight?” Sophie's mother exclaimed, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Shifting in a protective mode, she stood up and put Sadi in the old woman's arms.

“Maman, please, wait for me in the parlour. I will go and see what this is about.”

Once alone, despite the fear that was turning her guts inside out, Sophie took a deep breath and gathered her courage. She walked as calmly and quietly as possible to a mahogany cabinet and opened its drawer, revealing two pistols engraved with the Carnot family coat of arms. After a brief hesitation, she chose the smaller one. The footsteps were getting closer and closer, and her hand was trembling, but she didn't lack the necessary confidence to defend her family if need be.

However, the door opened not on a robber or a thief but on Lazare himself, who was just as surprised as she was to find himself at gunpoint in the middle of the entrance hall. Sophie dropped the pistol with a scream, mortified, both hands pressed to her mouth in shock and relief. It was only Lazare! But why hadn't he announced his arrival in a letter? Why this hasty return? Sophie began to fear the worst.

“Lazare! You scared me!”

She exclaimed, her voice muffled by her own hands still covering her face. But she soon came to her senses. The gun was still lying on the floor, forgotten. Nothing else mattered in the world but him.

“Oh dear, look at you, you're soaked! Get inside, quick! You'll catch a cold!”

Sophie closed the door behind him and relieved him of his soaked clothes without waiting for his response. He was dressed very strangely, as if he hadn't had time to get properly ready, which confused here even more. She then removed the inner coat from her own shoulders and placed it on those of her husband, who needed it far more than she did. The frenzy of her movements showed the happiness she felt at the sight of him, despite the confusion and worry.

“Is... everything all right? Why did you come back so quickly and without sending a letter?”

Hundreds of potential disaster scenarios were already polluting her poor mind, and from worry she moved swiftly to remonstrance.

“You're sick, aren't you? You're sick and you were afraid to tell me!”

[@lazarecarnot ♥]

[lazarecarnot]

omg im being mogged by you. im being mogged by a math nerd.

Uh...? What are you referring to?

[lazarecarnot]

Ce qui m'est passé par la tête au risque de m'incriminer à cause de cet imbécile d'écolier, seul le diable le sait.

Bon débarras [il rit]

[lazarecarnot]

Are you flirting with Lepelletier now?

"Flirting"...

God forbid a man to praise the look of another one!

Why are you people from the 21th century like this? Sometimes I fail to understand you.

I think Félix is quite handsome and I have no issue in admitting it, nor I see why there should be any issue with that in the first place.