"You're Dangerous and a Stalker" - Pistols at Dawn Chapter 5

The author's note for this chapter was too good not to re-post. Les states she is 'fine' with critiques, but a sneak peek at her Twitter revealed the opposite: she found the comments 'inflammatory', and, despite having her e-mail out there for reviewers to send questions, accused curious viewers of being stalkers.

Well, my dear, it's not stalking when you put your personal information out there, is it? Inquiring minds are inquiring minds.

Second, about being 'dangerous'. You're angry because someone didn't like your character, and you told them, as so many fanficcers do, not to read your story. How about someone like me, who'll sit down and read the whole thing, beginning to end, and show you just how bad your character is? Others have done it for The Hunger Games, Cassandra Clare's work, S.Meyer and E.L. James. They've gone through their work chapter through chapter, unrelenting. You're not exempt because you're a fanfic author. In fact, you're fair game.

On with the Sue fic.

The early morning came, and all that remained of the night were the moon’s last touches coruscating dimly among the lit lanterns of the streets.

Again with the thesaurus sucking. You don't have the skill to use these words, and they don't make your work look prettier. It makes you look pretentious.

One particular lamppost was occupied after the crewmen left it, the smoke within leaking its ash like a silk thread within its glass chamber. It danced and vanished, reflecting my eyes as I looked up to it fleetingly. Accompanying me against the warmed post was the reliant British man as we patiently stood for the arrival of the two, other assassins. 

One. How bright is this lamp? Two: tell me again how an Englishman, a native of a country that was at war with France until WW1 and who doesn't speak a lick of French, is being recruited here? Oh, yeah. The Boy Baguettes. I forgot.

“A lot is riding on this mission, and I don’t believe Sophie will ever forgive me if it were to go awry.”

Don't worry. You're a perfect Mary Sue. Nothing will go wrong. If you make any mistakes, that would make you human, and humans are fickle creatures, after all.

Tense with the lack of economy.

You mean to tell me Elysia can't magically throw coins out of her eyes to save France's economy? For shame. It'd be a real hoot if she could do that.

“People who work together don’t always get along,” I corrected. 

No shit, especially with someone like you at the helm. You don't inspire respect or instill authority at all.

Compared to Arno, the Englishman James is treated with respect. Why? Reasons. Arno is just a fickle boy, lovesick and raised in a Templar household. He needs to be whipped into shape by this Mary Sue in order to form his identity.

Stephen is from America, and he speaks French. I guess? I don't know. Either way these two are idiots, but it's OK because Elysia is in command of them and her lapdogs are always well trained.

Similar to Mirror and Image's 'AC Unity Rewrite', the Assassins go to the Women's March to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. True to form, Arno is not there. Why should he be? Elysia took his place, not just in regards to his role, but his very existence.

“Not being born in this country doesn’t exclude my opinion,” James suddenly fired, and this garnered the opposing male to clench his teeth, his gloved hand curling into a club. 

No, but you are an Englishman. You're one of the 'Les Goddams', and the French hate you. They don't give a damn about your opinion.

Stephen made a sharp noise in the back of his throat, "I'm so offended that you would even imply that I'm not physically fit enough to keep up! Sure, if everyone was spitting rapid fire French at me….." Stephen huffed slightly, bumping James' shoulder lightly. "In all the time you've known me, have I ever failed spectacularly at my job?"

You're an Assassin who doesn't speak French. In France. And you're used as a spy. I'd say that's failing spectacularly.

Sick and tired they were; frustrated and distraught with the toxic norm the country had brought upon them. A toxic norm I thought was once lost to time already. 

You've been in Renaissance Italy and you're in Revolutionary France. You're a member of the Council yet you aren't even aware of basic geopolitics. Then again, it may well be the author(s) talking, with Key being singled out. Elysia is one to talk about 'toxic norms', when she's never suffered before in her entire life.

“Hey, you-“ the first sniper met the first unlucky fate, his back hitting the tiled roof as my blade purchased his neck. 

That'll be $19.99, not including shipping and handling.

Also, I like how Elysia is bossing around Sophie Trenet. She, as a member of the Council, would be putting herself at risk here. But since Mary Sue is around, she's got nothing to worry about.

He grunted from the sprain, and his unbalanced foot tripped onto my outstretched one. He was flung and rotated in midair, but my curved sword pinned him to the ground before slicing away from his chest. He dared reach for my ankle, and I gave it to him, knocking him out to allow his deep gash to overpower him. 

Look, I get Elysia is superhuman, but there's no way she'd be able to do this so easily. With fight scenes this poorly written, I have no idea how this fight choreography is supposed to work.

My body arched across the air, and in a matter of a second the man gasped out, the contraption purchased into the back of his neck to severe his tie to the world. 

Did I mention shipping and handling?

“Elysia!” I followed her bewildered stare. “The extremists, they’re arming cannons!” I narrowed my eyes, but inspected beyond the loopholes to the open field behind us. A whole encampment had been set up; the farm buildings had been rid of any of the farmers, men in crimson uniform surrounding the open area where the women would walk into.

“Of course, they are,” I rolled my eyes. 

Yeah, a bunch of people are going to be cannonballed in the street. Why should you care? They aren't your people, they're just a bunch of filthy humans. Be a Social Darwinist and let them die. Or does your inconsistent conscience kick in at the last minute?

“Gnn!” though Stephen had interfered with the plan. 

The fuck kinda noise is this?

"Lemme know if you need help, Elysia." 

A Mary-Sue never needs help. The fuck are you talking about?

“On the march we go!” one of the female assassins grinned, clapping of our success. 

And then everyone clapped.

Why was I feeling anxious? 

Don't try to introduce anxiousness here. It's clear Elysia has no personality bar convenience's sake. A character should be able to form their own identity through the page, and the reader should know at a glance how they stand out. Express said anxiousness, don't write it. Elysia's emotions are all written down, but never expressed. The only emotions she expresses are those of disdain for all life. To think she is the star of this story!

We arrived at the edge of Versailles, a luxurious town that was clearly away from the chaos of Paris with its clean streets and opened markets. Trees planted accordingly along the pavements of sectors gave way to comfortable shade in the breezy noon, and the benches in the small parks were well occupied by citizens who carried themselves happily and proper. 

Versailles was largely abandoned at this point. This town of 70,000 had no real market economy aside from that of the court. Once the court began to close and move away due to fiscal problems and growing unrest, the town's population emptied.

The authors also seem to forget Versailles was marched upon by Parisian women and ransacked. Only the interference of cultural establishments made to protect the heritage of France kept it in the condition it remains today.  So yes, bad history is bad.

Elysia is asked if she's ever been to Versailles, and like the classic Sue who doesn't really know the world around her, she replies no. There's a mental tidbit about her not 'getting attached' to Trenet, even though Trenet's respect for her is completely hamfisted. Elysia did nothing to earn respect, and Black is treated as the outlier. Too bad Black is right - as he usually is.

“Byyyye Clemeeeent~” the two women snickered madly, dancing their fingers teasingly his way.

"I'll write like an anime girl because Kingdom Hearts is my other favourite game UWU"

My eyes widened, then condensed to unamused lines, “Boy.”

I made a break for it. 

Oh, Arno. Don't even try sympathizing with this wretch. She's a maneater. 

...and there was no excuse to let this go unpunished. 

Yes, how dare a canon character disobey you, Oh Magnificent One. It's not his story, it's yours.

“A part of me wanted all of this to be a lie. She’s…..Bellac was right,” his breath hitched, but more of frustration of the uninvited truth, “She’s a Templar. And she believes us to be enemies….despite everything- everything that happened between us!” At this did his face lift, and his teeth gritted roughly enough that the ravines between his eyebrows deepened and darkened his eyes, “She fully believes I killed her father, thinks it’s my fault!” 

Why is Elise written as Arno's sister? Is he trying to conceal her identity? Or was she made a sibling so his romance with her could be written out of the story completely? I'm leaning towards the latter. Anyways, no, Elise doesn't believe Arno is her enemy. She told him she knew who her father was, unlike him, and that the truth about his heritage was bound to come to the surface. This argument between them no doubt furthers his sexual orientation change, because were she to remain his love interest, both of them would get in Elysia's way. It's clear that cannot happen.

I crossed my arms, and the need to scold him….vanished. By a fraction. He was becoming more of a nuisance by the minute. 

As compared to you? Irony.

“Ohh, who’s this?” Stephen placed his hands on his hips, and leaned so that his head tilted in a way that his straight locks hung from the cowl. 

Let me guess. This is the Queer Guy for the Straight Guy. Has to be, since he's already flirting with Arno.

“Fine with me. Let us go, boy,” I grumbled, and dragged Arno by the scruff of his neck.

His feet skidded, arms flailing to catch his balance, “It’s….ARNO!”

You don't stand a chance against Great Satan, Arno. You just don't.

Perhaps Bellac saw something in him I wasn’t aware of…or they were both as deranged as each other. Either way…his attitude would surely give me a headache, and knowing he snuck into my room wasn’t shit I was going to put up with. It wasn’t something Bellac would either, but I’m sure he’d be glad to handle it for it being Charles’ son. 

 Oh, of course. He has to be deranged compared to you. You're the one who can drag him onto a horse, scold him, ream him out for reading your letters and generally be disobedient to your Goddess Mode. You won't 'put up with his shit', and he has no reason to put up with yours.

It was a short, dark-skinned girl, black hair tightly bound back in a bun and dark suns staring at Jaq with little concentration. She fixed the collar of her blouse, and flatted out the apron around her hips.

Country of only 4,000-5,000 blacks, remember. This is not modern day France, Les. Know your demographics. Or is France being a majority white country just too offensive for you?

"He's not my friend-"

"She wishes she were my friend- OW,” his head slumped on the table, hands clutching the back of it. 

I wouldn't want to be Elysia's friend, smacking around Arno like that. Can you say C.U.N.T?

There's someone named Maduka, a Nigerian name. Again, this is a country that barely had 4,000-5,000 black people. This was not the time of the Scramble for Africa. Stop writing the past as diverse as it is in the future because you stumbled across the 'PoC in History' tumblr blog.

“I should be paid double; I babysat two children instead of one,” I gave him a straight stare, and he was displeased of the rash comment. “I would like to be compensated for my services, yes,” I answered to the colored baker, “From Orfeo’s batch. As promised to me.” The darkness pulsed, and I could smell it from where I stood easily. 

Yeah, fuck you bitch. You're cucking Arno and making him act like a child. He should just tell you to fuck off and go on his own, as he would and should. If this were canon Arno, he'd probably sass you until you snapped, Elysia. Go put your tampon in and drink some Chinese herbal tea.

Suffocate, human.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. 

Pic related:

Finally, a screencap from our author who 'doesn't mind criticism':

But of course! Why wouldn't you ever want to hear people tell you you're butchering canon? That you write an uninteresting, canon breaking Mary Sue? Only praise and luvvies, plz. It's the AO3 way. I'll grant you your wish, though: I'll stick through this word vomit fic until the end. Just wait until Arno gets the POZ loads, it'll be a sure treat.

Consider this: these chapters are long, but they don't establish any plot or characterization. I whizzed through these chapters because there is so little content aside from Elysia's snark and Arno's OOCness. Historical chapters are kept on the down-low, because Elysia is the one leading the charge. An outsider who doesn't care for French history or its people is certainly telling, more so because the author (and authors) likely don't care about France at all. If you cannot respect history, I don't expect you to write a proper fix-it on a game where you complained about the history being used and abused.

Truth be told, there will be no lasting statement here. Only piss poor smut, a guy whose love interest was made into his step-sister and where he'll fuck other dudes, and an author who is gleeful about moderating comments she doesn't like.

The best thing about blogs is that I can happily skewer these shit pieces, and others can see it for the trash fire that it is.