![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ok, so, leaving aside...
...the fact that at this date, Poirot would, y'know, be dead. I had this in my head...
Now I have Poirot and Hastings in my head talking about Sam and Jack.
"But, do you not see, Hastings? The lovely Lieutenant Colonel, she pines for the General. And in the end, that is their undoing."
Hastings snorted and leant back in his chair, pipe stem gripped firmly in his teeth (yet unlit, as he refused to offend either his old friend or Miss Limon), "Oh, come on, Poirot, you must be joking. I mean, after all, it's against regulations."
"Oui."
Giving a soft sound of consternation and pity, Miss Limon chimed in, her voice sad. "You're not joking. Oh, those poor dears."
"Miss Limon, I will thank you not to consider them 'poor'. They have trapped themselves into this impossible situation due to their ambitions and ideals."
"But, Poirot, don't you at least feel sorry for them?" She demanded, looking scandalized at the thought that he wasn't.
"Indeed, I am. But they are, as you would say, martyrs to their cause."
"It's still damned sad, Poirot. And I don't mind telling you I'm almost convinced to go have it out with them both."
"Non, non, mon ami--"
Hastings bulled ahead, determined to make his point, the pipe stem now being waved in the air, the tip glistening. "After all, this is them throwing their lives away. For a cause. What, Poirot, could be more important than love?"
"Life itself, Hastings." The little man tapped a finger on his nose and sighed, "I am of the same opinion as you, Hastings, but I believe that their cause may be just enough to require this sacrifice."
It should not be thought remarkable that the little man had such a grasp of certain facts. Merely, one should assume that he is an astute observer of human nature, and that he understands the ways passion can be banked.
-----
There. Proof that Lyssie's brain is special.
Now I have Poirot and Hastings in my head talking about Sam and Jack.
"But, do you not see, Hastings? The lovely Lieutenant Colonel, she pines for the General. And in the end, that is their undoing."
Hastings snorted and leant back in his chair, pipe stem gripped firmly in his teeth (yet unlit, as he refused to offend either his old friend or Miss Limon), "Oh, come on, Poirot, you must be joking. I mean, after all, it's against regulations."
"Oui."
Giving a soft sound of consternation and pity, Miss Limon chimed in, her voice sad. "You're not joking. Oh, those poor dears."
"Miss Limon, I will thank you not to consider them 'poor'. They have trapped themselves into this impossible situation due to their ambitions and ideals."
"But, Poirot, don't you at least feel sorry for them?" She demanded, looking scandalized at the thought that he wasn't.
"Indeed, I am. But they are, as you would say, martyrs to their cause."
"It's still damned sad, Poirot. And I don't mind telling you I'm almost convinced to go have it out with them both."
"Non, non, mon ami--"
Hastings bulled ahead, determined to make his point, the pipe stem now being waved in the air, the tip glistening. "After all, this is them throwing their lives away. For a cause. What, Poirot, could be more important than love?"
"Life itself, Hastings." The little man tapped a finger on his nose and sighed, "I am of the same opinion as you, Hastings, but I believe that their cause may be just enough to require this sacrifice."
It should not be thought remarkable that the little man had such a grasp of certain facts. Merely, one should assume that he is an astute observer of human nature, and that he understands the ways passion can be banked.
-----
There. Proof that Lyssie's brain is special.
no subject