impure_tale: (a good story)
To my beloved readers: today I bring you a more popular tale, plucked for once not from these hallowed halls, but instead from the nation of my birth, but I caution you. Its contents are at best depraved and not for the faint of heart.

There was once upon a time a Doctor of impeccable reputation, thought of so highly throughout the provinces that one might have thought him a worker of miracles rather than the purveyor of simple modern medicine. At the aged thirty-eight, to match his seeming disposition, God saw fit to bless him with remarkably handsome features befitting a man ten years his junior, a commanding height, and an enviably regal bearing for a man born without blue in his veins. Strangers thought him kind, his contemporaries thought him shrewd and capable, and monarchs thought him the best that money could buy, naturally.

It is only natural, however, that if one is to truly know the character of a man, then the only person to consult is his wife, and if anyone had known that such a role had been filled, perhaps the fate of his secret bride would not have been so very terrible.

(Fake-Cut to a story)

(ooc: Someday I'll write a full chapter again! A lot of what can be read, here, is the usual De Sade fare, overly purply porn, but this leans more toward his more fucked up tales like Justine and the 120 Days. What unfolds can be described best as a lurid retelling of the famous Bluebeard fairy tale of old, with elements of his old writings in terms of style, but more polished. He still has a tendency to describe certain acts, events, and body parts with such ridiculous metaphors that it takes away from some of the seriousness of what's written. The intent, here, is a horror story, not a tale of titillation, but old dogs -- they learn new tricks slowly.)

-200-

May. 19th, 2012 11:51 pm
impure_tale: (a good story)
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.)

163

May. 9th, 2011 11:45 pm
impure_tale: (goddamnit)
That gormless, heartless self-righteous cunt!

How dare she?

How dare she?

(ooc: The Marquis' mother-in-law burnt the written manuscript for his barge book. Which was finished, but not completely transcribed. Awuu D:)
impure_tale: (flood - young!marquis 1)
[low muttering can be heard as he collects himself before the camera, making certain he has activated it properly]

3
180
108000

[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.)
impure_tale: (goddamnit)
It was an admirable attempt if not somewhat over-exaggerated in scope. Leave the wild schemes to the fictional villains; in the real world, almost no one laughs when they're feeling evil.

Now, I'm sure at least some of the people here have done it but has anyone else paused to consider why this might have happened? Now, I am certain that many have asked, but few have given any real thought to an answer in their own mind. While punishments are being doled out, fingers pointed, heads shaken, let us not discount the possibility -- especially not those among us that have been here for more than a year -- that everyone probably helped to manufacture these circumstances.

With that on the table: Iago. To give you a sporting chance, I am going to allow you to guess why you are in trouble. A correct answer means I don't hurl that infernal beeping contraption you've been so enamored with of late over the side of the ship to confound the natives of some whole new universe.
impure_tale: (a good story)
[Private to Iago]

We will talk, and we will talk civilly. Is that understood?

[Public]

At long last, my lovelies, a new chapter. My book on my early life, and eventual arrival here, finally continues. I invite those that have read the first and the second chapters to grant me their critiques and questions. A much longer sampling, but this part of the manuscript was difficult to divide.

Le Barge - The Afterlife and Adventures of a Condemned Libertine, Chapter 3 )
(ooc: I am so sorry this took so long to write :| It was originally much longer but I decided to cut it in half.)
impure_tale: (amused with himself)
My darlings, have I missed any announcement by the Admiral that there might be some festivities as this month draws to a close? I am not mistaken in thinking we feast every year, or have since I have come here. There is some occasion for the costumes purchased in port, oui? If none have been announced I propose we organize it ourselves. The ship could do with a little levity after so many days of fighting.

And to those faithful readers that have given me such encouraging feedback, I present to you a second chapter to the account I am attempting to transcribe:
Chapter 2 - The Life of a Libertine, Part One )

 

93

Nov. 15th, 2009 10:11 am
impure_tale: (the marquis disapproves of this shit)
It might serve to surprise some of you that I did not, in fact, write this most recent distribution, and those of you that have been keeping track ought to be ashamed; you should find my style distinctive by now. Know also that I have never written myself into a story, and that should have been your first indication. The second would be that despite my use of real people at times, I always change their names.

EDIT (after seeing Snape's entry): And honestly! I tell someone to grow thicker skin after a much tamer story, and everyone shakes their heads and scolds. It's because I'm French, isn't it?

Rehearsals are canceled tonight; I'm in need of some rest.

Private messages to the Abbe, Angel, West, and Pavi )
impure_tale: (a good story)
A republication, my dearest readers, but I've managed to conceal it from those that are not curious enough to look. I pulled the only copy of 'Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man' from the library that was written in English. The translation was so poorly done, that I found I should do one myself. It has been revised for clarity. Originally written in 1782, I am happy to bring it to you now. While I do not profess to still believe everything I originally penned here -- I'll let you decide what -- I have preserved it for the sake maintaining the original structure.

Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man )

[Ooc: The whole thing isn't there; the rest of the script can be found here. In summation though: probably his shortest writing ever -- about a Priest speaking to a dying man professing Atheism and Libertinage, and they have a discussion of philosophical importance -- to an extent. In the end the old man goes off to bonk some hot chicks and the priest joins him. Yay irreverence!]

86

Oct. 17th, 2009 11:19 pm
impure_tale: (considering)
(ooc: As established in this thread, the Marquis met the Abbe again Friday afternoon, and then promptly had a heart attack. The thread is not yet concluded but will be in the next day, but the end result will be that he doesn't survive. So this entry is being written from the infirmary, tonight, while he's getting over the death toll.)

One year. Five months. Four days.

That is how long it has been since my death in Charenton Asylum, since I robbed myself of a few final moments of breath and existence. It is not something I have ever expressed to anyone, but I committed suicide before I came here, and I have never regretted it. Ask yourself, dear reader, what level of desperation, of squalor, that a man must reach, to believe that the only comfort they will ever have will come through what choices they can make themselves, what control they are capable of assuming over their existence -- even if achieving it means bringing an end to one's own life.

Was I afraid? Not really. I am not proud of that. There is no pride in the level of suffering a person must endure to welcome an end, even an uncertain one.

Yesterday, I was afraid. 

...Mademoiselle Shego, I'm afraid I shall not be able to attend your lesson tomorrow morning. You have my deepest apologies.

Members of the Theatre Troupe should be aware that rehearsals will have to be delayed for the time being.

[Private to Captain Kirk]

May I speak with you?

[Private to Dr Horrible]

Thank you for finding help for me.

38

Nov. 30th, 2008 10:27 am
impure_tale: (did I do that?)
It was only a story, dumplings.

36

Nov. 10th, 2008 05:56 pm
impure_tale: (exhausted)
My readers, I am afflicted. Not by any present flooding, not by violent protest, not even by a nannying Warden. No, my tormentor is something a good deal more wicked.

Writers block, my lovelies. What am I to do?

32

Nov. 1st, 2008 11:08 pm
impure_tale: (Default)
(OOC: It's Midnight Where I live!)

I propose a conundrum, dear readers -- a discussion, perhaps, to reflect not upon this most recent of floods, but rather the charnel house many of you freshly returned from in the last port.

TL;DR )
impure_tale: (Default)
To Wardens and Fellow Inmates, I bid you greetings. I'm sure the whole of the Barge is aflame not only with news of a recent disappearance but of yet another publication as well. While a few of you have chosen to bring your complaints to me in person, I should like to avoid any further outbursts by stating the following:

I did not write the fucking story. I don't even really know one of the people included in it. That's not what I do.

I'm sure many of you may doubt it -- even some who should, by all accounts, trust me by now. But that is the truth, and the truth is something I do not make a habit of avoiding in most matters.

So no -- I didn't write it, but somehow I suspect I know who did.

-M. de Sade

(ooc: He made someone write for him >.> Not saying who ^_^)

7

Jul. 12th, 2008 12:18 pm
impure_tale: (Default)
Is it always this quiet after a port, I wonder?

At least my door has been unlocked. Thankfully, the silence has done wonders for my concentration. I'm writing again.

You know, it's quite remarkable. I've been working with the same inkpot since I arrived here and it never runs low.

3

May. 30th, 2008 10:40 am
impure_tale: (au claire de la lune)
Let's have a little chat, reader. Now, I should like to think that I am just as reasonable a man as any other. Yes, I realize I'm an Inmate in this place. Bad deeds, repentance! and so on and so forth. I get the point, and I shall deal with it in my own time, rest assured. However, it's come to my attention recently that a vast number of the people here seem to know who I am. Once already, however, that conception of who I am has been proven to be based on false information.

Not that I mind the extra infamy. But one person so far has been wrong in their assumptions about my past deeds. I want to know how many others are as well. Just to bear in mind which of you are the gullible simpletons in the bunch. I'll be happy to take advantage of your naivete later.

So tell me, reader. What does history say about me?

1

May. 13th, 2008 04:42 pm
impure_tale: (Default)
(ooc: totally his first post on the other game two LOLONETRICKHORSE)

Beloved Reader, I've a puzzling tale to tell you.

Imagine that you find yourself on the brink of death )

-MDS

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