Urgh, how do people normally start this... Fancy greetings? Right, right. Hm...
Afternoon. (That was not fancy at all.)
This is Marshal Louis Nicolas Davout writing. Or...well, typing.
I've decided to finally excuse myself from my moping session solitude and venture into unknown territory that is this strange platform. (Which I have been...observing from a distance.)
Seeing as my late colleagues have been up to some...shenanigans on this platform, I might as well find something to amuse myself with the ample time I'm given and do some...[*grimaces*]...socialising.
[*sigh*] I'm going to regret this...
So, to whoever may see this and care; you are free to send me your questions, letters, and queries regarding whichever subject you wish. I will be reading through and answering them accordingly when I am not busy tending to domestic matters around the painfully quiet estate.
However, do be mindful of the things you send. Respect goes both ways, and I do not like to squabble. With exceptions... [*cough*]
Unsavoury comments regarding my hair will swiftly be ignored and used as fuel for the fireplace.
...Don't expect me to initiate interactions much.
Regards,
L Davout.
âââââââââââą
!! This is a joke RP account run by @mbenguin, a guy who is in no way, shape, or form a bona fide historian or writerâ just really enthusiastic about balding dead nerds and French history! This is in no way meant to be accurate, analytical, or faithful 100% to reality, despite being based on actual historical facts to a certain degree. This is a fictionalised parody that is meant to be as in-character as possible to my interpretation of the man himself, and I'm doing it for shits and giggles !!
Handy list of folks participating in this madness (whose exchanges will be tagged separately!)
Events (chronological, sometimes) ââ
[[ CURRENT ARC: Nemophilist's Hunt ]]
!! Not a required read. Just taking creative liberties and putting that old man through Situationsâą !!
Birth of "Lenoir", Hell's cutest ink demon chick
Local Old Man Turned Cutest Owl Ever, More On Page 2
Princess of EckmĂŒhl(?)
âČ Swedish Home Invasion
âČ Catgirl Madness (ft. The Ass Boys)
Arc: The Ginger Rescue Expedition
âČ Lenoir took over correspondence!
âČ Party ADCs in the house tonight
Epilogue (1,2)
He's back!
Swedish Home Invasion 2 Dinner?
Waterloo 2: Electric Boogaloo
The Gasconious Wedding
Eagle sitter
Pheasant insanity
Arc: Nemophilist's Hunt
Tags ââ
#correspondance de Savigny-sur-Orge -- The marshal's replies to his letters- sent straight from his humble, lonely manor. Could both be written and spoken answers.
That isn't me, for the fucks sake. Who is painting these? Have they ever seen me? Or at least a portrait of mine? Also, what kind of uniform is this crap?
isnât today the birthday of a certain general, monsieur le marechal? ;)
Ah... [*looks at the date of the letter*] ...It is.
The letter came wrapped around an unbranded wine bottleâ and much to Davout's disappointment, it took him nowhere as he held it in his hand.
...Perhaps a brief rest won't hurt.
Perhaps I'm running a fool's errandâŠconsidering whatever omnipotent being that reigns my realm seemed hell-bent on keeping us apartâ or so I've noticed. I was truly convinced you were gone. Like them. Like her.
It's absurd. You give me hopeâ even in your absence. Just like you always have. How do you keep doing it?
Regardless, I'mâŠin no position for celebration at the moment. You'll have to forgive me if drinking is the only thing I could do in your honour.
I caught a distinct whiff of berries from it...some very strong aroma...certainly not Burgundyâ Bordeaux, perhaps? I do recall you having a fondness for such rich flavours...
[*sigh*] I'm...ah, enough talking to myself...
...Joyeux anniversaire, Charles.
Feeling his shoulders tensing, Davout snapped back incredulously just as quickly as the proposal left Ney's lipsâperhaps a bit too defensively for his own liking with a tone that bordered on a growl. Was it that obvious?
This...this is not within your scope. You're already as troubled as you could be, even in death. Youâ
He clutched onto his wine glass just a little tighter.
Ney, out of all people, should be the last person to go through this again. Not this mess.
This was his burden to bear, no one else's, just as it was for the longest timeâregardless if the weaker side of him felt strangely comforted by his colleague's eagerness to jump to his defence.
You are miserable, and I will not contribute to your misery.
I couldn't care less if you're the embodiment of Archange saint Michel himself; you are still your own man with your own humanly burdens, Ney! Why must you insist upon...justâ continuing to inflict pain upon yourself...?!
Perhaps it was the pent-up exhaustion from all the fighting and fleeing.
Perhaps it was the underlying weariness from seeing a familiar face yet not feeling so safe.
Perhaps it was from how tired â deflated â this once-raging flame of a man looked in general that unnerved him.
Perhaps it was that constant reminder glowing and flickering, leaking in front of him like a morbid mockery of the day he won't forget. For he knew it had been, and still was, far more painful for the man suffering it.
Perhaps he saw mutual suffering in their absurd circumstances. It scared him.
Davout had never been good with emotions, internally or externally...complicated things, really. He wasn't sure why he was raising his voice at someone who was trying to helpâ let alone someone who cared. The words just...came.
Realising this, the brunet slowly deflated back into his seat with a weak grimace and diverted his gaze for a moment, raising a free hand to rub his face.
["Keep it together, Louis."]
Just...because a great power has been bestowed upon you does not...mean you have to neglect yourself more than you already have for the sake of others. Nor is everyone entitled to your aid simply because this responsibility â this...everything â was forced upon you.
A few more seconds of staring at the wine glass in his hand, and the cloaked marshal raised his head once more with a more collected expression, yet that grimace still remained.
Apologies, I didn't...intend to sound ungrateful, but I know what kind of man you are, Ney.
...I do not wish to see you lose yourself to this identity.
There is no rest for the wicked.
With his demeanour gradually returning to its aloof self, Davout cleared his throat to muster up his confidence and raised his glass, awaiting his companion to do the same.
I am fine, and rest assured that I will be. Let's not speak of this matter any further.
Davout, this is not about ungratitude. This is bigger than me, bigger than you, bigger than France, bigger than anything you could possibly imagine.
He smiled, yet his smile is somehow cold and distant - it is not smile of a human. It is a smile of the mysterious deity he is becoming. Certainly unsettling. One might even miss all the petty quarrels over glory and spoils of war, so common for the French Marshalate.
Don't worry about me, my dear Davout, and if I lose myself to this burden, would it even matter?
Look what I was. I was broken. I was lost, confused, I had believed I was doing the right thing just to find out I did the worst thing possible and then when I tried to make it right, I condemned myself. I welcomed my death with open arms. It felt like a warm hug.
His glowing wounds seem brighter now, making his complexion seem even paler. The strong, ruddy-faced Marshal seems to be gone.
I'm not a man who would deserve to rest. If I can do one right thing, I want to do it now. I want to leave all the grivances of our past behind and I won't let the Void get you or anyone else no matter how often we yelled at one another.
It was gradual, but that stern look of assurance on Davout's features melted away with each word from Ney, the colours draining from his face.
There was no use in disguising the alertness beneath his cold, weary frame anymoreâ not when the spectacled marshal's brain immediately swung into his fight-or-flight mode at the uneasy air.
This fear of the unknown felt all too familiar. This scene felt too familiar.
Was he not truly freed from his realm? Was this an illusion? Was that smile supposed to be reassuring? Was it truly Ney saying these thingsâ in that tone?
Was he too late?
...And what if you're backing the wrong horse, Ney?
Davout inquired, perhaps a little too breathlessly for his own liking, as his eyes flickered unwittingly over the man's progressively bright formâ like a fawn, staring down the barrel of a hunter's rifle.
Under his gloved yet sweaty palm, the sound of the untouched wine glass being cautiously placed back onto the table clinked far too loudly for the brunet's liking. Despite the gentle caresses of the warm air around them and under his cloak like a veil of safety, it felt as if Davout's blood had turned to ice.
He sat there, taut and ready at a moment's notice, even with his fear under the guise of an intense glare laced with disbelief as he rose from his seat.
This...penance, this self-sacrificeâ what are you...what is there to gain beyond more suffering?
A few steps back, and a part of Davout wished he had better words to knock some senses into the stubborn bastard before him. Wished he could grab Ney by the shoulders, shake him, and get it into his head that whatever this madness he'd set himself up to embark upon was not the path he should take for his own sake.
...But that was a risk the marshal physically could not make himself take.
He wasn't even sure if he simply failed to understand what the redhead was sayingâ or if his mind refused to.
The other part, however, wondered if he had reloaded his carbine yet.
How would you know that my plight is as grand as you make it out to be? Byâ condemning yourself to this fate...how different is it truly from what you've done before? Ultimately? Whose forgiveness are you seeking, Ney?
Feeling his shoulders tensing, Davout snapped back incredulously just as quickly as the proposal left Ney's lipsâperhaps a bit too defensively for his own liking with a tone that bordered on a growl. Was it that obvious?
This...this is not within your scope. You're already as troubled as you could be, even in death. Youâ
He clutched onto his wine glass just a little tighter.
Ney, out of all people, should be the last person to go through this again. Not this mess.
This was his burden to bear, no one else's, just as it was for the longest timeâregardless if the weaker side of him felt strangely comforted by his colleague's eagerness to jump to his defence.
You are miserable, and I will not contribute to your misery.
I couldn't care less if you're the embodiment of Archange saint Michel himself; you are still your own man with your own humanly burdens, Ney! Why must you insist upon...justâ continuing to inflict pain upon yourself...?!
Perhaps it was the pent-up exhaustion from all the fighting and fleeing.
Perhaps it was the underlying weariness from seeing a familiar face yet not feeling so safe.
Perhaps it was from how tired â deflated â this once-raging flame of a man looked in general that unnerved him.
Perhaps it was that constant reminder glowing and flickering, leaking in front of him like a morbid mockery of the day he won't forget. For he knew it had been, and still was, far more painful for the man suffering it.
Perhaps he saw mutual suffering in their absurd circumstances. It scared him.
Davout had never been good with emotions, internally or externally...complicated things, really. He wasn't sure why he was raising his voice at someone who was trying to helpâ let alone someone who cared. The words just...came.
Realising this, the brunet slowly deflated back into his seat with a weak grimace and diverted his gaze for a moment, raising a free hand to rub his face.
["Keep it together, Louis."]
Just...because a great power has been bestowed upon you does not...mean you have to neglect yourself more than you already have for the sake of others. Nor is everyone entitled to your aid simply because this responsibility â this...everything â was forced upon you.
A few more seconds of staring at the wine glass in his hand, and the cloaked marshal raised his head once more with a more collected expression, yet that grimace still remained.
Apologies, I didn't...intend to sound ungrateful, but I know what kind of man you are, Ney.
...I do not wish to see you lose yourself to this identity.
There is no rest for the wicked.
With his demeanour gradually returning to its aloof self, Davout cleared his throat to muster up his confidence and raised his glass, awaiting his companion to do the same.
I am fine, and rest assured that I will be. Let's not speak of this matter any further.
