#fleurs.start

[rcbespierres]

☾ — ⋆ CHARITY CONCESSIONS. / starter

As Maximilien was forced to wedge his elbows together, crammed in between two guests like boardinghouse rats, he could hardly keep his manners polished. It was plain to see all the others were habitué - tenants at Versailles as if it were Rue de Cordeliers. They knew not only the byways of the palace, but how to emulate its very spirit, stretching and dining as though the walls themselves dictated so.

To know these people were a distinct breed was one thing. To witness it in first person, still, dealt quite the blow to one’s consciousness. Had he been an essentialist, he would’ve stated only so much: that right now the fundamentals of what it meant to be Robespierre were being battered at. Distal past and light-footed present, frailties and derelictions, hours spent talking in a half-moon of candles - all were scrutinized. All were questioned.

Is that not what we labor against? The construction that these men and women stand above us, that somehow their very nature styles it so? Is that not, at the crux of things, the most perverse way ideology ingratiates? When it not only governs reality, but morphs it to serve its most immediate—. A clank rang against the thought. That convolution of phrases, so vivid in his mind and gliding across with terrifying fluidity, was brought to a halt. Startled - though he hardly looked it, hardly gave them an inch - Maximilien Robespierre turned to his diner companion. After all, one cannot hypothesize a revolution while your right-side guest nicks a crystal glass.   ‘ Beg your pardon for the lapse. Was there a toast given? ’

[lafayettcs]

* — ( OOC

/ I’m momentarily bereft of ideas for a general open (the only general ambience he can be found atm is probably a pub lmao) so like this for a personalized one?

[germaincs]

∘⡊✰ ˚⊹ — JEWELS & INDIGNITIES .

The K I T C H E N S were an unlikely cloister for one who, merely a passing hour ago, was carrying the hem to the royal gown. Diamond-sewn, velvet and organdy burrowed in its depths, Germaine could still feel that magnitude weighing down her hands. To say they still ached would be an exaggeration; but a ghost-burden lingered there. No, it was not refuge from duty she was seeking in the cooking chambers — nor was it uncommon, for a woman who had seen traveler’s dust pile on the exhibited food, to retort to lower rooms for a bite.

She had nestled in one of the exterior appendages to the main kitchen, where the trays meant to be carried upstairs stood neatly in columns. It was these she’d been nit-picking at, sampling a morsel or two with a fox-swiftness, a gluttonous vulnerability to it, when a gust of wind swept inside. Germaine’s head arched towards the open door, appetite submersed.  « With due excuse, I’m really no poison taster. Despite convincing evidence. »

[fleursdelisx]

versailles is crossed by an undercurrent of tremors ...

                in honor of the new engagement between Duc d’Orléans and Charlotte of England, in honor of the spring, the litter of stars stretching overhead, or perhaps simply the lavishness that comes nestled within existence, the ruling house of Bourbon opens its gates.

         fluttering invitations spell in obeisant letters: La Grand Fête du Charité — a name which creates maelstrom through Parisian neighborhoods. ‘ those who live below ’, as the saying has it, consider it naught but a mockery of their own wishes ; a parody of the manifestos they struggle so ardently to compose. to associate charity with what prepares to be the most prodigal excess the Bourbons have allowed themselves this year can only mean one thing. pure defiance of the people.

                    but for a king & queen to a country in debt — whose commercial alliances depend solely on the image it sells of itself — any pretext for joy is rapaciously seized. everyone is called upon to attend, all curtains cast aside; in the eyes of decadence, there is scant difference between actresses & barons. even the newest pieces on the political firmament are invited: several representatives of the Jacobin party. a gesture of peace, or an appraisal of worth ? either way, it did not quell the common people’s indignation. perhaps, at the core of things, it only offered them more claims to be incensed. word on the street is that wood pallets are pried from coffins to make enough chairs for all the guests. the same streets also say that coffins might be sooner needed.

                       at 11 sous per loaf of bread in the spring of 1785, charity is no longer just a virtue. it embodies the salvation of an entire country.

we are now officially open for interactions ! don’t forget to have a clear description of your character’s name and position, as well as a small intro somewhere on your blog. tag all starters with fleurs.start and remember you can situate them anywhere at Versailles. even those without an invitation are welcome to see the fireworks vie against the stars themselves !