Journal of the Marquis de Sade

"Be careful what you wish for," indeed!

I apparently owe several people very deep apologies for being an unforgivable little cad the last few days. I was...a bit of a handful in my youth, to say the least. Apologies if you were uncomfortable, at the very least, and apologies that all you have left to enjoy is the ugly mortal who stands before you now.

To my Inmate especially: I apologies for being "affectionate" toward you, but we really must have a talk about the difference between "affection" and "harassment" and where your rights stand as far as that goes. In the future, should I become a younger version of myself again, do as you did, here, and avoid my presence.

...to those of you wondering, because this is the Barge and a few things seemed to take him by surprise, know that if you had a private tryst with him, you are likely safe and healthy.

Finally, someone appears to have absconded with my two favorite waistcoats. I would be happy to request a couple replicas for you, but those are garments I've kept well over the years, and they have sentimental value. All I ask is that you return them in the same state you found them in.

I find myself in better spirits of late. Renate does not tire me so easily on her walks any longer, though they are still rather trying. I do not go into the enclosure without my cane because I will find myself leaning upon it sooner or later. The pain returns like clockwork, but not so intensely. Often in other ways, as though the small ruptures in bone are not the problem so much as every organ, nerve, and sliver of muscle around them are working especially hard not to come into contact with them. It's a feeling of strain, most certainly.

Not the manner of agony I would use to inspire me, I'm afraid. I would thank Monsieur Sexby again but I fear at present all he shall do is stare at me blankly, like a cow at an oncoming coach. I cannot trouble myself with such things as memory loss, for I am feeling nostalgic.

I remember when I first came to the barge I found myself rather smitten with an innocent young Warden who had come aboard, by name of Giselle. It is so very, very rare that I feel the impulse to slip away from my familiar and comfortable perversions, the amusement that comes of shocking the more conservative, of discourse with persons given to a greater plane of understanding when it comes to my playful eccentricities. On occasion yes, even I find myself desirous of the preservation of more...innocent inclinations. Giselle was one such individual, perhaps because her innocence was so very genuine. This might come of the fact that she seemed to have existed in a world free of the evils that scarred the cratered, bloodsopped landscape that was my first life. I deigned to offer my arm as a gentleman would. I spoke sweet odes, wooed her as I would the gentle ladies and courtesans of my youth, tried ever-so-hard not to permit my body its characteristic stirrings when she would throw my arms about my neck and embrace me, trusting always my intentions and never knowing the struggles that come of traitorous bloodflow. It was some months before I no longer suffered such instinctual responses, and our relationship had changed considerably, understandably.

She and my Paviche, perhaps my two great loves aboard this ship, and of two very different breeds. My mind is too often set upon my work and little else. I rather think I would relish my next glorious pursuit, and so long as my dear Prefect is content to continue playing hard to get, I suppose I shall have to choose another, oui?

L'amour, my barge. We should all benefit from a little more of it in our lives.

[low muttering can be heard as he collects himself before the camera, making certain he has activated it properly]

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[He sobers as he looks down at the journal, deciding there can't be much left for him to do. When he speaks from there, it's quite naturally. Most who are unaffected would recognize the voice before the face, as the Marquis is at least 30 years younger than he was when he died. At least.]

This is rather a lovely dream, if confusing. The Bastille transformed to house so many of the comforts of home that I have missed, yet some are unexplained, some missing -- such is the work of the mind when one slumbers. My bed, my manuscripts, an unlocked door, a full bath...even a dog.

[the sound of a very young puppy barking in the background. Yes, Renate is affected too.]

For it to be perfect I should only need a comely beauty or two, bare as the day they were born performing all manner of lascivious acts upon my person. [He quirks an eyebrow.] I'm taking volunteers.

[...With more seriousness, he looks around.] I might have at least come to this fantasy with some better wine.

This contraption is very new, but I sense truths as one does within dreams, and I therefore know that others can speak to me. How scandalous.

(ooc: AAAH look at how freakishly young the Marquis is. Thank you, Photoshop. This is a test-run. The Marquis may request to de-age himself in the near future, in which case all of his default icons will be replaced.)