Journal of the Marquis de Sade

Dear reader, we've been too-long apart. Too long since words have been put to paper, and too long since I've had the vicarious pleasure of a scandalized, furious blush. Perhaps the very shackles of Inmate-hood were to blame for my more inspired overtures of the past, and the guise of good behavior, with its many luxuries, has been ample enough to sate my lust for freedom since then.

But what is freedom, if not the will and the opportunity to say what we wish? And today's tale I pluck from perhaps one of my more biting, irreverent fancies.

Picture, if you will, the ancient expanses of what the devout of my time referred to as the "Holy Land," and our most revered lord, the professed son of God, Jesus Christ, traveling alone finds himself suddenly in the presence of the divine -- a beauteous yet brooding seraphim by name of Castiel...

[Fake-cut to black, and you may assume that it only gets worse from here. But you may also assume the Marquis DID put the story behind a cut, and he filtered it away from people too young to read it, because he's a responsible malcontent.]

(ooc: Yes. The Marquis just wrote offensive Rule34 BS in celebration of his 200th entry. He's been increasingly bored and restless lately. And all this fanfic talk during the breach :| Ya'll are doing it wrong. You can assume the text is rife with Biblical references that are used in horrible, laughably bad ways.)

I think it would be best for me to remain on the ship during this venture, but if my Inmate desires an outing, he will require a chaperone.

Iago, if such a thing is arranged, I have two conditions.

To the rest of you, please enjoy yourselves and have a thought for this exceedingly bored patient. Update your journals regularly with things that are interesting. Give me something to read and remark upon!

A lovely holiday, my dears. Perhaps some slight setbacks, but I am most satisfied to have enjoyed beautiful gifts and the joy of giving to others, even those with whom I've been at odds in the past.

Now now back to writing.

[Warden Filter]

I...confiscated what appears to be a riding crop from one of the newer Inmates earlier today. It struck me that it was the sort of thing he probably should not have had, and considering he did not bother to claim it was his own, I feel I was not out of line in doing so. Might I ask who this belongs to? 

It seems well-used.

[Private to Iago]

Speak to me, my treasure. I've heard barely a word out of you since before Christmas.

(ooc: The Marquis got the riding crop off of Reaver, which was stolen from Holmes. That encounter may be drabbled later.)

A much needed outing -- perhaps so enjoyable that some of us returned to our roving home, surprised that while the world outside has indeed changed -- offered us pleasure, beautiful sights and the deepening of friendships -- the interior echoes the same old dreary stories. Angry Inmates -- they were angry even when I was one -- the authoritarian Wardens versus the free-minded ones -- attacks, death, cries for justice.

It almost puts me in the mind to write a fairy story or two, if only to introduce a little more colour to the palette.

However, I think instead that I might begin publishing chapters of the very long work I have been creating in my silence here these last few weeks. It might offer some illumination on our present course, if not a little nostalgia for those of you that have been here as long as I.

[Private (tentatively) to Henry West]

I understand you are feeling better.

Forgive my recent silence, my fellow denizens. Somehow, in spite of everything, I have been somewhat "under the weather." It's taking quite the toll on my Renate, honestly, for I haven't really the energy to run with her at present. I'm feeling much better now, however. It seems, furthermore, that my relative absence has meant I have not provided sufficient occupation for all of my charges.

To my Inmate, you and I must talk and soon. Do not keep me waiting.

To the Inmate called Sylar -- I have this to say to you, without pretense or exaggeration: If I see or hear that you have been associating with mine again, there is not a single Warden on this ship, past or present, that will be fast enough to prevent my retort. Whatever advantage you hope to gain in soliciting him will not be worth the pain I bring upon you. Am I making myself perfectly clear?

And of course a perfectly good walk is ruined by hard rain. Sometimes, the CES is just a little too real for my liking. The garden is coming along nicely, however. A bit balmy in there for my tastes, but there you have it.

[Private to Jack Harkness]

How are you feeling, cherub? 

[Filtered to Colonel Sexby, Iago, and Judas Iscariot]

I believe a full discussion is in order, if everyone is able.

Admiral, please return Iago's bed and his books. Not that they'll be of much good to him right now -- I'll be keeping him in my chambers until this flood wears off.

Monsieur Sofer, I'll need to have a word with you about the kitchen shifts at a point in time when our Inmates are not collectively wetting themselves and fist fighting over toys.

(ooc: The Marquis found Iago when he went in to pick him up for 'work' that morning. There, he found someone much smaller. He has never really dealt a lot with kids since he was one. He was in jail for much of his childrens' lives.)

Iago.

(ooc: The Marquis brought Iago back to the Barge -- and as soon as they were off the main deck he promptly started wailing on him and had to be bodily removed by Spock. This is hours later, after he's had time to calm down.)

A recent matter appears to have spurred some discussion, and considering my involvement, I suppose that since one person has already apparently made his views quite public, it is only fair that I do the same, only conversely I will have the backbone to make it so that he can view and respond to my remarks.

( Cut for Length )

[Private to Iago]

...I do not know how you are recovering, but I shall come in to check on you soon. I am concerned, however, that the other Wardens may attempt to re-sort you over this. I will do my best to see to it this does not happen, but I apologize, Iago, if my rash decision comes to harm you further.

Do you know what's lovely? Spanking.

















Go to bed, children. Honestly. I'm going deaf for all the panicking.

(ooc: The Marquis shows how nonplussed he is by all this in his own way. He survived the Dalek attack 1 year ago because he hid behind the sofa in his room, mind you :| He has no patience for this now.)