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bakerstreet2023-02-20 11:19 am
mllememe) wrote in bakerstreet2023-02-20 11:19 am
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in all of history.
WHETHER YOUR CHARACTER IS CANON OR AN OC, WHETHER THEY HERALD FROM MEIJI JAPAN OR VICTORIAN ENGLAND (OR ANYWHERE IN BETWEEN), THIS IS THE MEME FOR YOU.
BECAUSE THIS MEME PROVIDES A SPACE TO LET HISTORICAL CHARACTERS MEET ACROSS AGES. HERE YOU CAN CHOOSE TO LET CHARACTERS INTERACT IN A GENERIC (BUT HISTORICALLY ADAPTED) JAMJAR OR YOU CAN AU YOUR CHARACTER INTO ANOTHER HISTORICAL CHARACTER'S DAY AND TIME. OR HAVE OTHERS DO THE SAME INTO YOURS.
AND HERE, HISTORY SPANS ALL ERAS FROM PREHISTORIC TO THE 1970s, SO A WIDE RANGE OF CHARACTERS IS ALLOWED. TO LUMP THINGS TOGETHER A BIT, FANTASY CHARACTERS AND STEAMPUNK CHARACTERS ARE ALLOWED TOO, IF THE AESTHETIC'S SUITABLE.
GO CRAZY AND HAVE FUN!
How to play -
1. Comment with your character's name, fandom and preference in the subject line.
2. It might be a good idea to state whether you're open to jamjarring or au'ing (or both) and what particular eras you're interested in.
3. Others comment to you with a prompt from this ancient prompt table or write a starter themselves, whatever gets those creative juices flowing.
4. Note that both historical and contemporary characters can tag top levels, as long as contemporary players are willing to au their characters into a historical setting.
5. Thread out those days of yore!
PROMPT TABLE
| 01 | Wall | 02 | Pain | 03 | Wine | 04 | Sand |
| 05 | Royalty | 06 | History | 07 | Electricity | 08 | Illness |
| 09 | Horizon | 10 | Culture | 11 | Stranger | 12 | Tree |
| 13 | Cotton | 14 | Smoke | 15 | Faith | 16 | Gold |
| 17 | Assumption | 18 | Coffee | 19 | Talent | 20 | Run |
| 21 | Thirty | 22 | Jazz | 23 | Walk | 24 | Purple |
| 25 | Heat | 26 | Wolf | 27 | Spirit | 28 | Era |
| 29 | Model | 30 | Toy | 31 | Surrender | 32 | Deep |
| 33 | Pages | 34 | Fortune | 35 | Rain | 36 | Weapon |
| 37 | Judge | 38 | High | 39 | Bound | 40 | Space |
| 41 | Regret | 42 | Trail | 43 | Tight | 44 | Tantalize |
| 45 | Blanket | 46 | Safe | 47 | Minute | 48 | Race |
| 49 | Reunion | 50 | Moon |
lilith doret | lucifer's tears | ota
Spartacus | Spartacus
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Nancy | Oliver Twist | ota
Eponine Thenardier | Les Mis | ota
Elizabeth Comstock | BioShock: Infinite | ota
eliza | hamilton | ota
Marcus Aquila | The Eagle
Teddy Flood | Westworld
harold "kim" philby ☭ cambridge spies
Florence Nightingale | Fate/Grand Order | OTA
Elisabeth "Sisi" Wittelsbach | Elisabeth das Musical
The Silent | Romeo et Juliette de la Haine a L'Amour
Mina Murray Harker | Dracula das Musical
Sarah Chagal | Tanz der Vampire
Queen Anne | BBCs The Musketeers.
It's been A WHILE. So she's very rusty. Be gentle.]
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“Your Majesty.” He gives a small bow. “It’s time to go.”
winging it SO HARD
She exhales softly and nods. "All right." And then she moves, walking towards the door with the poise and grace of a queen. No sign of nerves, or her desire to remain in her chambers.
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"Once we get outside, it's important for Your Majesty to follow any instructions from one of us to the letter. Our only priority is getting you safely to your destination and our intelligence suggests that there are people who will not make that easy."
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First one that even made vague sense was 15 - hope this works!
[And yet. And yet.]
[The service itself had long since broken up. The Queen, however, was still before the altar - and given her new position, that meant she waited as well. A loyal servant of the Queen - whoever would have thought it?]
[But she waits, silent, near one of the pillars. And keeps a very close eye on her liege. Curiosity but also, well. She's ever a professional.]
Gaius Gracchus } Parallel Lives
Kassandra } Assassin's Creed Odyssey
Marie-Jeanne Valet | Teen Wolf
achilles / greek mythology
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Almost four years.
Paris had, perhaps, expected... well, not that Menelaus might give up, but that the rest would tire, oath or no oath.
Particularly so when the Achaeans had clearly been running out of the food supplies they'd brought with them in the past year. But now Aeneas had lost his and his father's cattle to Achilles - and thus the enemy in general - and Paris wasn't sure if that had anything to do with the current ceasefire in effect, but if they were indeed celebrating the renewed access to food, he rather hoped they feasted so much they forgot they'd need to save enough of the cattle so it might be able to renew itself.
Silly hope, maybe, but after finally finding Mestor, still left where he'd fallen, and with Lyrnessus and Pedasus sacked, it surely wasn't so petty to wish for.
He'd stayed behind, after sending the men who'd come with him back to Troy with Mestor's body. Achilles might have taken Aeneas' cattle, but there were some of the cattle of their royal herds up here too. Mount Ida had, up until now, seemed a rather safe place to keep them, seemingly out of easy reach and view of the Achaeans, camped out on the beach on the other side of the river plain.
Maybe not so any longer, so he'd spent some time gathering at least some of the scattered animals up.
Paris hadn't exactly expected to be finding Achilles back on Mount Ida after his driving Aeneas' cattle off more than two weeks ago.
"I'd have assumed you'd be busy eating beef," Paris said lightly, smiling as if there was no tension in his chest.
With a little toss of his head, just barely comforted by the weight of gold wound about the curls, he briefly cursed his earlier confidence, walking so relaxed he currently still had his quiver closed! Not an insurmountable obstacle, perhaps, especially if he might pray to Apollo, but from what little he'd spotted at a distance, Achilles could be fast. He also hadn't exactly expected to almost walk straight into the man, with less than a horse length or two between them. He was rather happy that, so far, their father and the other elders had managed to keep them on the wall, well out of easy reach for their unwanted 'guests'.
This was terribly much too close, and was the cease-fire something to expect to hold out here?
"Is it not to your taste, after all that work to get it?"
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Such wars do not suit Achilles. He is a man of action, of decisive battles and secure victories. The skirmishes that have occured are far from enough to sate his hunger to fight, and every day his restlessness grows. What honor is there, in a war without battle?
When the gods grant him the opportunity to do something, even if it’s as juvenile as thievery, Achilles snatches up the opportunity. Stealing cattle is far more useful than waiting for Agamemnon’s next speech, and the Achaeans are in desperate need of the food besides. With rations stretching thin enough to leave stomachs empty and morale low, there has been talk of leaving the fighting entirely. Not quite serious discussion, not yet, but enough to cause a stir. Nearly four years, men say in hushed tones to one another, where Menalaus cannot hear them. How much longer shall we fight for a woman many of us have never seen?
The Trojan’s cattle was easy enough to take, and Achilles found himself rather disappointed by the entire affair. Even the brief fight that had broken out between himself and the Trojan, Aeneas, had been but a brief respite from the tedium. However, the meat delights the Achaean forces, and even Achilles cannot deny the satisfaction he feels from a hearty meal.
But what Achilles had taken was not enough to sustain an entire army, even if it provided a respite from the hunger. And then Agamemnon had made a comment about how if the greatest Achaean warrior could not provide more cattle — for breeding, Odysseus had explained, seeking a more long-term food source until they could receive other supplies — then surely soon bellies would once more remain empty. It had seemed an innocent, lighthearted comment, but the slight had enraged Achilles. And with the tenuous peace that the Achaean leaders had instated, it wasn’t as though he could provoke the Trojans to let out his anger.
So here he is, in a somewhat foul mood (if at least with a full stomach), standing atop Mount Ida and face to face with the very same man who had started this whole damned war in the first place.
Of all the things Achilles had expected to see, Paris was not one of them, and he shoots a quick prayer of thanks his mother’s way. Killing Paris would certainly put an end to this tiresome siege, and being Achilles great honor besides! Agamemnon would surely fall at his feet in supplication, retracting all previous slights — a truly lovely thought.
He’s already shifting to the balls of his feet, balancing his weight and readying to attack, when Paris speaks. Shockingly calm, as though he is not standing before the greatest Achaean warrior!
It is enough to remind Achilles of the tentative cease-fire until the Achaean supplies arrive. He itches to attack regardless, but stays himself. He will wait until he meets Paris on the battlefield, and he will kill him with honor.
“Paris,” he greets, though the tension in his body does not dissipate. “I am not required at the feasts. My men do not require my instruction to eat.” And then, with a smug grin pulling at his mouth: “we thank you for the food, though — we have not had such good beef since we departed for your city.”
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And so it's not to Apollo his first thought flies, but rather Aphrodite. He's barely formed the first syllable of the goddess' name in his mind, accompanied by a nervous shift that will set him running, when Achilles relaxes.
Or, well, close enough to it that instead of fleeing like a startled doe does from the jaws of a lunging wolf, Paris merely walks a couple steps to the side, keeping his attention on the Achaean. Adding some distance between them without being too obvious about it. It'd be foolish to actually relax, even if it looks like Achilles might keep to the cease-fire as well, but if he needs her, Aphrodite will surely come to his aid.
It makes it easier to keep his expression politely bland, if not without lightly tugging on one of his earrings in the face of Achilles' grin.
"Mount Ida always feeds her children well, and unfortunately it rather makes the cattle slow and fat," he says, tipping his head. "Though I suppose that doesn't make them a particularly difficult target, either."
Paris smiles, arching a brow despite the way his heart squeezes. For while Aeneas might have gotten away, unfortunately the same couldn't be said of Mestor, who had been nothing but mortal, with only mortal parents. He might not have been one of Paris' favourite brothers, but he'd been fond of him, still.
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There is something odd about seeing an enemy in such a casual setting. Without armor and the haze of battle, Paris seems to be just another man. It is only the gold decorating his head that marks him as significant. If Achilles were to pass him in the streets, he would not turn his head for a second glance. While admittedly quite good-looking — Achilles is not blind, after all, to the beauties of men — he is unremarkable.
Yet this is Paris. The prince of Ilios, Helen’s captor. How odd, that the man behind years of travel and siege and death is this…human. If Achilles were a more merciful man, he might even feel so moved by the plainness of this prince that he would spare him in future battle. But Achilles is not a merciful man. There is still a voice in his head that whispers of violence, of how little effort it would take to kill the man before him. Even without his spear, he doubts it would be too difficult. No mortal, not even Paris, can stand in combat against him, son of a king and goddess!
Kill him with honor, he reminds himself. Even if Paris had given up his own honor when he’d stolen Menelaus’ wife. He shall not sink to the level of a Trojan!
“The gods were kind, to grant us such a gift,” he says, folding his arms. While he watches Paris carefully, he no longer prepares for an attack, and his body language mirrors that — Achilles has no skill in hiding his thoughts and feelings the way some of his companions do. “They must have cleared the path for me, since I encountered little difficulty in taking the stock.”
He returns Paris’ smile, sharp and dangerous. Such insult is only deserved, after Paris had so absued his right to xenia and Zeus’ protection. His betrayal of his host was an affront to all of the Achaeans, after all. Many of his warriors came to the walls of Troy because of their vow to Menelaus, but just as many to defend the honor of hospitality.
“You can’t blame me, surely, considering how well-versed you are in taking things that are not yours.”
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"Anyone might perform deeds great or small, like a man having left a trap behind for a rabbit and catching a robber, either by accident or when aided by a god," Paris says with a shrug, watching Achilles from under lowered lashes, flicking the edge of his cloak as he turns fully back to face him. It isn't purple nor fringed, like he often loves his garments to be, and the hem of his tunic currently is, but it's a fine cloak, well-suited for the mountain surroundings.
He isn't going to say anything about how, with Athena beside him for such a petty task, Achilles surely couldn't have failed. Mostly because it'd be more foolish to incur more direct ire from the goddess than he already has, insinuating it was beneath her to do so, than if he might anger Achilles.
Not that he isn't still wary of doing so, with Achilles so very close, but that's an entirely different concern than the question of (further) angering Athena.
He almost laughs outright despite the tension still swamping the air at the insults. He's had to live with insults nearly his whole life, and has lately begun to hear worse than this from people far closer to him. And of course the Achaean would make it into stealing. Snorting lightly, Paris suppresses his amusement into a vague curl in the corner of his mouth. He doesn't quite dare to actually laugh in Achilles' face when it might be construed as laughing at him.
But he is, admittedly, doing that, if only privately.
"Anything I've ever taken have come by the leave of my goddess, and followed willingly besides, so I wouldn't know anything about stealing scared, lowing cattle. But tell me something..." Paris pauses, eyeing Achilles, partially wary, partially curious. "Helen told me of the oath, and the men who swore it. She didn't mention your name, so why are you here, still?"
Is four years of so far fruitless siege worth it, if he isn't even here for Helen's sake?
oof, sorry for the delay
(Some of his Achaean fellows feel differently, judging by the biting curses they send Zeus’ way after another long, hungry day of siege. They insult the gods as easily as they insult Meneleus and Agamemnon for driving this endless war. As though they have forgotten the glory and honor they left their homes for!)
He is not surprised when the conversation turns to Helen, what with the pointer nature of his own words. But to hear him speak with such confidence, as though his lust has not cost hundreds of lives on both sides — the ever-present ire simmering in Achilles’ chest begins to fan itself into true anger.
“I am not here to fight for an oath. I — as well as most of us — fight for honor and glory, and to avenge the insult you bestowed upon King Menelaus.” And then, with a pointed look at Paris’ fine garments and ornaments, he adds, “As well as for the riches of Troy.”
He wonders, for a moment, what his life would be like without the war. If he would still be wrapped in the silks and skirts of women on Skyros. No, at least here on the shores of Ilios he can die a man.
After all, what use have the gods for men like him if not for battle?
“I care not for your stolen wife,” he says, brutally honest. “She is of no concern to me. But your actions have insulted all of us, and we are not so cowardly as to leave now without victory. No, we will not return to Achaean shores until your city is in flames.”
no worries!
And those are fine words, then, when cities that had nothing to do with Troy, and him, has fallen in the last couple years, Tenedos first of all. Smiling as if the pointed stare means nothing, Paris brushes a hand down the front of his tunic, a couple gold bracelets catching the light.
"It seems to me that if the insult was so grave, surely the cause itself ought to be worth it, not the wealth behind the walls?" Paris can't help but ask, tone mild where others might have made the words cutting. "Is such an end truly worth it, if not for Helen herself? Something worth risking to die for?"
He frankly doesn't understand. Never have, never will, even if both Helen and several of his brothers - Hektor foremost - insist the deeds themselves, the glory won on the battlefield, should be his concern.
me, apologizing for the late reply and then showing up like a week and a half later lmaooo
“The wealth is part of the cause!” He speaks with more passion than before, but the two are inexorably intertwined, how does Paris not understand? “Spoils of war are our earned rewards for the bravery we show in battle.” Well. In theory. Agamemnon still manages to get all the best prizes, despite the fact that his hands haven’t seen bloodshed in months. “The gods grant us such things in exchange for our commitment and valor.”
As though anyone would fight merely for Menelaus’ wayward wife without something more! Helen’s flight would be nothing more than a marital spat if not for the insult to xenia and the promises of honor in battle.
Besides, it is not as though Achilles has other options. Between an early death at Troy with everlasting glory and a long, obscure life, the answer is obvious. For all of his mother’s scheming, he is not the sort of man that will stand aside from a war.
And that is what Paris wants, isn’t it? To convince him to leave? He takes a step towards Paris, the way a predator stalks its prey. Even in his fury he is graceful. “Your poisonous words will not make me turn tail and flee from your shores, prince. There are forces at play you cannot understand.”
happens lol
Not that he'd say that to his brothers. And not to Achilles either, though that one less out of respect.
To be sure, he also left Sparta with wealth, but aside from the gifts Menelaus had given him before he left for Crete - gifts Paris realized only afterwards he should perhaps have left behind - all they took had been things Helen wished to take with her. Though understandably it hasn't been looked on particularly kindly.
"Seems to me the gods might grant glory and victory as much as bare chance and fortune might," he says, side-eyeing Achilles and making no secret of stepping away as the Achaean prince advances. Perhaps that is a lack of pride and valor, but Paris doesn't care.
He likes what distance there is between them, and would prefer it remain, nominal truce in effect or not.
"And what forces might those be, Prince Achilles?" he asks, partially curious, partially dismissive.
What forces does he not understand, when he stood in front of three goddesses, who had bared something far more primal than their bodies to him, and two had left empty-handed? At the moment of having given Aphrodite the apple, he had admittedly thought the gods would all stand behind the decision he'd made. It hadn't quite turned out that way.
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Something pleased curls in his chest as he watches Paris step back. A victory, even if a small and inconsequential one. The man that started this war in the first place, retreating? It does wonders for his pride. And oh, it would be so easy to kill him, to end this war now.
Except it wouldn’t end the war now. Achilles is smart enough to know that. No, Agamemnon will not rest until he conquers the walls of Troy, no matter how long such a thing takes. And Achilles will die here in glorious battle, but not for a while yet. Not before Prince Hector. And at the rate this war is dragging on, that could take another decade.
“The forces of the gods,” he says after a moment of consideration. Paris may have experience with the divine, but Achilles is goddess-born, and has a prophecy about him besides. He cannot leave, not if he wishes for his name to live on, not if he wishes to die an honorable death. “This is a divine war as much as it is a mortal one.” Which Paris already knows, considering his role in the beginning of the war. “Even if we wished to leave, I suspect that Lady Hera and Pallas Athena would push us onward.”
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Aphrodite had asked him how he planned to leave when it was time to do so, and he hadn't, at the moment, had an answer. Days later, a messenger had come, and though it was a small death, an old man dying not a strange thing, Paris still isn't sure what he feels about Aphrodite perhaps having gently pushed the man towards his end to afford him and Helen and easier exit. Even if he might have been supposed to die around then either way.
Lightly tapping the end of his bow against his leg, Paris takes another step sideways-back before he stops again, a faint smile on his lips.
It hides the brief, unsettled curl of his gut - the reminder of his mother's dream omen, which surely must have been false, the absolute certainty the gods were standing behind his actions, since why otherwise give him the task? There had been only one apple.
"As for everything else, I've had Golden Aphrodite herself behind me. Without her, this certainly wouldn't be happening like this."
Would he have slept with Helen, since she was interested? Oh, certainly. He couldn't have denied either Helen or himself that, no matter how dangerous that was, no matter how fond he also was of Menelaus. But all the rest? Leaving Sparta with her?
No, he wouldn't have done that without Aphrodite's gift.
"But since I didn't win Helen by the sword, I assumed such wouldn't count as glory as most of you like to see it." The little smile grows wider, pointed almost. Not so much hostility as amusement. They all feel it matters so much - Helen too, which has surprised him, since most other women would not care. "And I suppose it could be."
Paris looks away, though doesn't turn his head so much he can't keep an eye on Achilles even so. He could have come to both Greece and Asia a conqueror, or sat on a throne washed in blood. Paris has to keep himself from frowning, shaking his head just a shade. He'd rather not think about it. Has only told Helen the full account; everyone else has only heard of Aphrodite's gift.
manon lescaut | the story of the chevalier des grieux and manon lescaut | ota
Ganymede | Greek mythology
akeha | nier reincarnation
I am fine with basically any prompt but please ping me first if you want something shippy/smutty! )
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lewis nixon iii | band of brothers
lady mary crawley | downton abbey