InsaneJournal

Who: Marguerite and Percy
What: The Seal has dropped Percy here. Clearly there will be a reunion.
When: Earlier this evening
Where: Somewhere in Lawrence
Warnings: Marguerite faints, otherwise pretty low. Just CUTE.




Percy was a hero, and he was not one to go down without a fight. Though he was ready to die trying to save his wife and brother-in-law from the Guillotine. While the odds were against him, Percy didn't let that dampen his fighting spirit. So he fought Chauvelin, determined to rescue his loved ones. But Chauvelin gained the upper hand, and then sentenced him to die by the Guillotine. Which...was actually fine by Percy because he had a plan! Oh and it was a beautiful plan, one that Chauvelin would never see coming. Of course, he didn't like the fact that he'd have to make Marguerite believe he was dead, especially after they both had finally discovered the truth about the other. But it had to be done.

So he put his head in the Guillotine, but it wasn't his own head, but a replica that Marie had made for him. So instead of his own head being chopped off, the fake one was. Allowing him to escape without notice so he could make a grand entrance.

Only, said grand entrance did not go as planned. The scenery of the Comedie Francais shifted and Percy found himself outside. In a city with buildings that he'd never seen the like of before. What was going on? He really wasn't exactly sure. He looked around, more than a trifle confused by this sudden turn of events.

"Well I say! This was very rude. And I was just about to give Chauvelin the shock of his life!" And Percy was, of course, gutted by not being able to give Chauvelin that shock. He did so enjoy baffling the rather stark Frenchman.

Marguerite was drained. Being haunted by Chauvelin was, well, it was exhausting. Because he kept digging at her. Taunting and jeering and sometimes even turning physically violent. Oh, he was gone for now, but that didn’t mean anything. Because he liked to do that. Lurk while she thought that he was gone. Maybe he finally had grown tired of the torment? No, Marguerite knew that until he was forced to return to their world, he would find new ways to torment her for all of her ‘betrayals’ to him and France.

Sighing as she rounded the corner on her walk back from rehearsal, Marguerite stopped in tracks. Because right before her was Percy. She knew that it wasn’t Jack because of the manner in which the tall man before her was dressed. And oh she knew that outfit. It was the outfit he had died in. So what was the logical thing to do? Tirade at a thing that was really more theory than anything. At least, there was nothing physical for her to yell at. She knew that Death was behind the ghosts, but the Seal was easier to blame for this. Besides, it wasn’t a physical thing, which meant that tirading at it in French wouldn’t matter.

“Are you really doing this?! Another ghost. Because one was not enough, you send me Percy as well?! What do you want from me?!”

She was breaking. She couldn’t keep this up. Marguerite was strong, she had to be. She couldn’t let herself break because she had to live her life. She hadn’t faltered before but seeing Percy there, knowing he was a ghost with everything that was happening.... She had fallen when Jack had shown up but forced herself to move on. She had been dealing with the bitter ghost of Chauvelin for well over a week... But Percy as well? No. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She was at the edge of her rope and she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get up this time.


All right, so Percy didn’t spend long lamenting the fact he couldn’t taunt Chauvelin any longer because he was trying to figure out where he was. Now, if he wasn’t so certain that he was alive and survived the guillotine, he might think this was the afterlife. But then he heard a familiar voice ranting in French and Percy looked to see none other than his wife there.

“Marguerite!” He grinned, striding over to her. “You didn’t think I’d leave you on such short notice, did you?” And of course, there was his dimpled, dashing grin. Because as far as he knew, Marguerite had come here with him. Even though she was in very strange clothing, but he managed to not press that issue quite yet. Oh no, he was more focused on his beautiful wife who knew he was the Pimpernel and still loved her the way she still loved him.

So what did he do? Oh he promptly took her hand, pulled her to him, then laid a kiss firmly upon her lips. And oh how he’d died upon such a kiss before! And now that they both knew the truth of the other, he died upon that kiss again, pouring his passion and love for her into the kiss for what seemed like an eternity before he released her, the grin still on his face. “I do believe that has been far too long coming, my dear.”

First there was his response, on not leaving her on such short notice, which was so incredibly him that it made her breath stop. But she knew that ghosts basically were themselves. But there had been no mention of being dead, of her fate. Nothing to say he was dead beyond the fact she had seen it and ghosts had been around for most of the displaced. And hadn’t Chauvelin pointed out that life wasn’t fair? Hadn’t she known that fact time and again from her past, from what had happened back home? So clearly, this was a ghost to taunt her.

She barely responded when he pulled her to him and kissed her. She was in too much shock. Because he felt real. Yes, she knew that the ghosts could physically interact with the person they were haunting. She knew that far too well and painfully. But he felt alive. There was no lingering coldness in his hand, his lips. Just the passion she had always known existed within the man who had paraded around England as a dandy, a fop, to trick everyone into believing it was impossible for him, Sir Percival Blakeney, to be the Scarlet Pimpernel.

“P...Percy....”

Her voice was quiet, stunned. He felt so incredibly real and her heart was breaking if he was a ghost sent to haunt her. Yes, she had wanted her husband here, but not like this. A spectre... Searching his features, she managed to place her hand over his heart. And it was beating. He was... how? She had seen him die. And clearly he knew this. There was nowhere in what had happened where that reaction would make any sense.

He had survived. Somehow... somehow he had survived. And was alive. And standing right in front of her. Real. Not a ghost.

“Mon dieu!”

Everything was spinning around her. The months of believing her husband was dead, of Chauvelin’s taunts about how he was dead, rubbing it in her face, tearing her down, letting her believe what she had been believing for two months already. The pain that she tried to keep from overpowering her.

Add that to the lack of sleep and stress, and well, the most logical course of action now was to pass out. Because really, there was only so much shock a person could take before their mind shut down to process it.


Now Percy wasn’t exactly baffled by how Marguerite reacted. After all, to her he had just been beheaded. So confusion was warranted, and she was obviously in shock, also to be expected. But he was ready to reassure her that he was, in fact, perfectly alive and well and that it was all planned. After all, they’d needed to get Chauvelin out of the way, and what better way than to have him think he did away with the Scarlet Pimpernel only for Percy to jump out and rip victory away from?

Or, you know, Marguerite could pass out.

“Marguerite!” He exclaimed, promptly kneeling down and pulling her to an upright sitting position, holding her in his arms. “Marguerite, wake up!” Because yes he was worried he’d just killed his wife. As such, he checked her pulse, just to ensure he hadn’t given her too much of a system shock. Though when he found she still had a pulse, he was relieved. Though leave it to him to not have smelling salts on him with which to bring Marguerite back around. So he simply needed to wait for her to wake up.

And, of course, the fact he was in a different place wasn’t quite yet settling into his head. Oh he knew he wasn’t in the Comedie Francais, that much was obvious. Still, he was far more concerned about Marguerite right now than he was about where he was and how he got here. No doubt explanations would come in time.

Dying of shock, that would just be depressing. Finally reunited, this time physically as they had already realized the truth of the other, only for Marguerite to die from the shock. And while perhaps a place like Lawrence, a person could die from shock, that wasn’t the case. Marguerite’s body just couldn’t keep up with her mind, and her mind couldn’t keep up with everything that had gone on and so she had passed out.

It only lasted a few minutes, the red headed woman slowly blinking awake. She was aware of someone holding her. Familiar arms that she hadn’t felt in far too long. Was this really happening? Or had Chauvelin found a way to kill her after all? No. She could still feel her heart beating. Loudly. Well, it felt that way because apparently right now all of her senses had to be on high alert.

With her vision focusing, Marguerite searched her husband’s face. She knew that it could technically be Jack. The two men were completely identical, but no. It was Percy.

“Percy!”

And quickly, Marguerite kissed her husband, and hugged him before pulling back enough to make sure this was really happening, that he was really here.

She would yell at him later for making her think he was dead if he didn’t have a really good reason for doing so. Right now, it was relishing in the fact that Percy was alive and here and that she finally had something to hold onto here that wasn’t just a role.

Yes Percy was worried that he'd killed his wife with his sudden arrival, but she was breathing. And, well, he couldn't exactly undo what he'd done. All he could do was move forward and ensure his poor wife didn't die. Not after he'd gained the upperhand on that uptight Frenchman. Who was suddenly not there any longer, but he had yet to really focus on that. Marguerite was worrying him far more than that. So instead, he inwardly cursed himself for not having those smelling salts, but Marguerite did eventually come around on her own. He grinned at her, returning the hug and the kiss.

"Yes, it's me. I wouldn't leave you like that." He smiled warmly and dashingly at her, keeping ahold of her. Though perhaps now was the appropriate time to ask some things. "Now, don't get me wrong, I'm more than delighted by this turn of events, but just where did the Comedie Francais go? Or where have I gone?" And then, of course, he noticed her clothing, which was not what she'd just been wearing. "My dear, I love you, but what are you wearing? You were not wearing that just a few minutes ago."

Obviously he was not yet processing they were in a different time. He knew he was in a different place, that much was plainly obvious. But everything else? Well, his mind wasn't quite there yet. Though hopefully Marguerite had explanations so he could just accept this and move on with things. Or something. Really all that mattered was he had Marguerite and they both were alive. Even if this wasn't in the original plan.