So, the story's pretty self explanatory. I just felt like writing something to do with the French revolution. It's short and as I don't have a beta, probably riddled with grammar issues, but whatever. I had fun writing it and I thought I'd throw it out and see if I got any feedback. So please, if you notice anything worth commenting on, let me know.
There's a second part to this with something like plot? Again, nothing spectacular, but if enough people seem interested I'll post it as well.
Ah, also! King Louis' last speech in this is the version reported by Charles Henri Sanson, the Royal Executioner of France and the First French Republic. It's almost certainly dramatized, and there are accounts that are probably more accurate but... they don't sound as neat ID
"Do ya remember that time?"
France looked over at his companion
"I thought you'd finally passed out." he said
"Nahhh… But do ya remember?"
"England…non, sorry, Arthur. Do you even know what you're talking about?"
"Course I do. You're not… you're not answering ma' question. Do you remember?"
France sighed and turned his full attention to England. He honestly didn't know how the angleterre was still able to speak, let alone be so persistent. Really, the Nation just couldn't hold his alcohol.
"What time are you talking about?"
"You know, the time, with tha' thing. Madame… Madame…" He trailed off and sliced a hand down through the air, hitting the bar top with a thud.
"Ahh… Madame Guillotine. Yes. I remember." How could he forget?
His neck felt like it was on fire, they must have been starting the day's executions early. He poured himself a glass of water but it didn't help, it never did.
There was a knock at the door, and a person peaked around the doorframe before entering.
"Sir… I have some news."
It was Albain, France's secretary. He'd been able to keep him safe so far, but he didn't know how much longer that would last. He secretly dreaded the day one of the revolutionaries would enter the room in Albain's place to inform him that his friend's head had taken up residence in a basket far from his body.
"What is it?"
"The… the Convention has made its decision. Kin… Citizen Louis Capet is to be executed by Guillotine four days from now."
The room was so quite that when the cup smashed on the floor it sounded like a thunder clap.
"What?"
France collapsed into his chair, leaned back and closed his eyes in an attempt to block everything out. He couldn't of course; his neck still throbbed in sympathy to each neck severed on the execution ground and his mind still refused to focus fully, torn in two by the warring factions among his people.
"Sir?"
He opened his eyes to see Albain's worried face hovering over his own.
"Non, Bien-Aimée, I am fine. I knew it would come to this. But I feel… I feel that it can only get worse from here."
He stopped to rub his neck. Would he be able to tell when his former boss was killed? You always could to an extent, but… somehow he knew this would be worse.
And it was. He stood beside Albain as King Louis XVI, now simply Citizen Louis Capet, was led to the scaffold and lain on the board, his neck positioned under the blade.
From were France stood, he could hear the King's last words.
"People, I die innocent!"
He turned to the crowd then, and his eye's rested on France.
"Gentlemen, I am innocent of everything of which they accuse me. I hope that my blood can cement the happiness of the French."
The blade fell, and it felt as if it was France's head, not Louis, that tumbled into the wicker basket.