Hey, this is my little bit of happiness for today. In Lit we read Tartuffe, a play that was highly controversial during The Enlightenment. It's writer, Moliere, was a part of the aristocracy and a friend of the king. King Louis XIV was even the godfather of Moliere's firstborn son Louis. With this knowledge my friend and I could not resist writing what we imagined the interaction between the two during the writing process could be. If you somehow manage to find this fanfic in the dregs of this site, sit back and enjoy the psychotic hilarity we managed to come up with (and if you have the chance read Tartuffe). Thanks! - Syn
Moliere sat at his desk, studiously writing. The ink flowed across the page as easily as his thoughts flitted through his mind. He had just flipped the page when the door behind him slammed open causing him to jump. "Moliere!" a deep voice shouted from the doorway, followed by heavy breathing.
"Oh, Louis," Moliere murmured. He scowled at the bold black line that he had scratched across his page after jumping. "What can I help you with?" he asked while smoothing out a new page.
"What is this I hear about a play?" Louis demands.
"I'm writing one," Moliere accedes while writing.
The king pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in deeply. "And is this play as insulting to the church as I hear?"
Moliere hummed in answer, not bothering to look up from his writing. If he turned around he would see the king's face steadily growing redder. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Louis demanded.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Moliere mumbled under his breath.
"Excuse me!" Louis shrieked in a high-pitched voice.
Idly Moliere wondered how much longer it would be until Louis' head flew off in a fit of rage. Hopefully he wouldn't lose his head. The king had a vein throbbing in his temple and worked his fisted hands. After a few moments of deep breathing he could look at Moliere without wanting to wring his neck. Louis wasn't sure who was worse, his friend or four-year-old godson. They acted about the same mentally.
"Moliere, I don't need a revolution on my hands," Louis explained in a long-suffering tone.
"Of course not," Moliere agreed absentmindedly, still writing.
"Please don't do this, Moliere," Louis decided to plead.
"They're all idiots anyway," Moliere replied distractedly.
"Yes, but they're powerful idiots and you don't need to point it out to them!"
Moliere simply kept writing.
Louis hung his head in exasperation. "Do you understand how angry this play will make the church? It'll be the Second Crucifixion with me in the center and you on my right!"
In answer Moliere mumbled something and wrote even faster. His words positively flew off the end of his pen and he was filling pages in a matter of seconds. Louis practically started hitting his head on the wall beside him. After yet another moment to maintain his sanity he was ok again. "Ok, write the play. But I will not support this and I won't apologize when I have to ban it."
A wicked gleam entered Moliere's eyes and a devilish smile appeared on his face. "Oh, no worries, Louis," he turned slowly and Louis could practically see the black aura around him, making him inadvertently shrink back a little. "Since we're such good friends I'm even adding you into the play as well!" he said cheerfully.
Louis stared blank faced before turning and walking calmly out of the room. Once the door shut Moliere counted to three and a horrific shriek rent the air from the other side of the door. Soft cackles emerged from Moliere's lips and he turned back to writing. He so loved when Louis came to visit him.