All language subtitles for The Great S03E02 Choose Your Weapon 1080p HMAX WEB-DL DD5 1 H 264-playWEB (1)_track3_[eng]

Marial, Marial.

- Don't think about it.
- I'm not.

- Fucking Catherine.
- Right, see, I knew it.

- We are also in the salon.
- Yeah.

Do you know if there's milk?

- Fucking hell.
- Sorry.

George is in the apartment and Maxim...

It feels wrong in front of a kid.

It's all gonna be fine.

Yes, of course it is.

- And just where have you been?
- Shut up and sleep, Maxim.

THE GREAT
AN OCCASIONALLY TRUE STORY

CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON

- What are you thinking about?
- Work.

I must be a different leader,
led by savvy head and not naive heart.

That's how I always did it.

I am not the child bride
who took this place,

and yes, my idealism
and speechifying has a place,

but so does winning the battles,

so that progress is not all
shimmering, ephemeral words

but of stone and wood.

So good at words.

It's pathological. I must stop.

What about you?

What are your morning thoughts, husband?

Salt.
If you infused it with flavor,

for instance, lemon or thyme
or chocolate, perhaps,

to go mad for a moment.

Indeed.

Also, I don't think
I can sleep here anymore.

I stabbed a man here. We might
have to sleep in my apartments.

Understood.

I was hoping to walk in on you
making a baby.

I'm willing. No?

I could tell when Peter the Great
put Igor in me.

I felt a searing
throughout my entire body,

like a comet had landed inside me,
and a burning behind my eyeballs.

I blacked out and when I came to,
he was smiling at me,

and I could smell sulfur.

Gosh.

Apparently the British ambassador's
here to see you.

Johnny's here? I love Johnny.

- To see me.
- Well, I'll come along.

Yes, you may.

Sounded like you're almost
granting me permission.

It's the way you heard it.

Yeah, it must have been,

as I am a man of fierce blood and intent
who does as he wishes.

And I am the head of state

who must meet a man who is here
on business with the head of state.

- Moi.
- Well, touchette and touchette moi.

Both those are not words.

This sounds deliciously
like foreplay to me.

I can tell Peter is hard from here.

I am indeed.

I will see the ambassador in half an hour,

once I have ridden some sense
into my husband.

Marvelous.

- No?
- No.

No, no.

I could, perhaps, take you from behind
if you wish, while you watch.

The plaintive apologetic quality
of the asking

ruins the thrill of the suggested event,
so no.

No comet, I'm afraid.

- Come and say a quick hello to Johnny.
- I was always going to.

- One rule between us.
- Don't fuck and kill any more relatives?

Two rules then.
That, and do not get in my business.

Know your place, which is right
where you are at this moment.

It is a place I am content in.

The burden of Russia is yours.
I never cared for it.

Sex-infused salt.
There'd be a market for that.

- Peter!
- Johnny!

Rumors swirl that you're dead.

I'm not, but it is gratifying to see
the look of joy and fear in people's eyes

as they lay eyes on me,

some hopeful I'm just a ghost
haunting them.

- Welcome, I--
- Waltz with me.

What a night that was.

Going, going, going, going.
And down you go.

Gentlemen,
as entertaining and foolish as this is,

I have a busy day.
Darling, can you go tend to baby Paul?

Arrange for us to move
to my apartments.

And I believe the girls' school
were hoping you could attend

their Choosing Relevant Ribbons Day.

Of course. Sounds marvelous.

I rode that one
until he begged for mercy this morning.

Huzzah.

- Empress.
- You noticed? How nice.

Sit. Speak.

How can Russia help England today?

Your reputation precedes you.

Blood on my hands, brains in my head,

lust in the eyes of any man
who lays eyes on me?

Well, I say.

I say I'm busy.
So let's quit the pleasantries.

Your country hides its monstrous appetite
for blood, money,

and other people's land behind,
and you get to the point.

Well, I couldn't imagine how you
bested Peter, but perhaps now I can.

- The American colony.
- The War of Independence.

We really don't like it
referred to as that.

We call it the Ingratitude.
It's basically a peasant's revolt.

A firm hand is needed.

We have them battered after that latest
round of battles, but not quite beaten.

It is in all monarchies' interests
to put this idea in the ground,

along with all who believe it.

- What do you want from us?
- Ten thousand soldiers.

Overwhelm them with numbers.
One last assault should do it.

Sow the fields with their blood
and let discipline be the crop.

- And why would I do that?
- Do you know the island Minorca?

- Off Spain.
- All yours.

Beautiful. I go there twice a year
to be naked in the sea, eating oranges.

Nothing better.

Sounds not enough.

Add in a friendship and alliance with
Europe's greatest power,

that Russia has oft sought.

Huzzah.

Oh, shame.

This is a good opportunity for you.
I can see you're savvy.

Well spotted, sir.

I will consider it. You may go.
Leave the cup.

Put this under your tongue.
It's bile taken from a pregnant beaver.

It will open your ovaries
like Jesus's tomb on day three.

I'm not sure I'm quite ready
to be pregnant again. I'm busy.

An heir and a spare?
Safety in numbers always.

Plus, Peter has finally revealed a talent. Fatherhood.

Keep him busy so you can work.

Always working the situation, aren't you?

Always expressing my love
through considered action, yes.

You are a role model to the new me.

England wants a favor. Wants to give us
Minorca for troops for the American war.

The American ambassador is here.

I mean, they're not a country, so what
the fuck is he doing calling himself that?

"A guy from America is here"
might be better.

Fascinating.

We best keep them apart.

Russia!

Pass the tomato puree.

- Maxim.
- There's been a massacre.

I'm going.

You are not.

- What?
- I forbid you to go.

Don't try my patience, wife.

- Maxim.
- I can smell him on you.

Really?

You really can.
That's quite dreamy, actually.

I have to be nicer to him. Thanks.

- You walk out of here and--
- Bye, have a fun day.

She makes a fool of you at court.

Must be hard to concentrate on blessing
when men are on their knees before you.

That's what prayers are for.

Help me with Catherine.

Go to that fucking heinous bitch
and shake some fucking sense into her.

Might I counsel a little more patience
and a little less profanity.

- She likes you at the moment, is that it?
- Yes, and that's the way I like it.

I need the church to be her friend
so she will be its friend.

You just need to bide your time. Busy
yourself at court. Work on your marriage.

Couldn't resist, could you?

Make sure you grow together
as a couple,

and when his balls drop, let's have
a party, send him to military school.

That's funny.

Catherine, talk to her.

Marial, you are someone who,
once in a person's heart,

creates an irreplaceable space.

Let her feel that empty space,
and she'll come back.

Don't go dance in the wound.

You're right, of course.

Always am. It's a gift.

I'll just take a breath.

I'm telling you, Empress,

I get fire in my blood and tears
in my eyes when I talk about it.

We, the people,
deciding our own lives,

the people communing and creating a
vision splendid of the society they want.

Gathering together and exercising
their desires, their highest values.

We, the people.

- It's like a grand experiment.
- That's exactly it.

I have watched you try and fail here.

Your idealism, it glows bright,

but trying to lead a people
out of a swamp of hundreds of years

of "this is how it's done,"
it's fuckin' hard.

So my failures are forgivable?

Noble is what they are.

And now that I have met you,
I know that you will prevail.

You've got that "it" thing.

I do, indeed. And will indeed.

I like that you are trying to forge
an alliance between passionate idealism

and the practical art of...

Getting shit done.

- That's how we say it.
- Exactly.

I am engaged in
the art of getting shit done also.

Can I just stop for a second?
Because you are distractingly beautiful.

I need to take a moment with it.

Let me know when you're done.

Goddamn and wow, I am not done.

But the business of my people demands

that I ask for loans
and supply of arms from Russia.

They hammered us pretty bad,
and us them.

We're short of weapons, but we are
on the motherfuckin' cusp of victory.

I see,
and you would like us to furnish them.

We, the people, would love it.

And then Russia and America
will be bonded forever.

Excuse me, handsome person.
I need a moment.

- I'm busy, clearly.
- I don't care. You fucking owe me.

You sit here because of me,
and now you love him,

and he fucks your mother and kills her,

and I'm the one who's punished?

Excuse me, Ambassador.

I made a commitment to the mentally ill
in Russia and must abide by it.

Admirable. Sometimes if you shine
bright light in their eyes, it calms them.

I'll try it if she gets out of hand.
Worst case, a sound beating calms them.

- Did you want something?
- To make the fucking peace.

- Consider it not done.
- I'm sorry.

I meant to be calm.

Look, you and I both know I...

make an irreplaceable space in your
heart, and you're going to want me back.

I haven't noticed that so far.

I've noticed a sense of liberation

from unloading secrets to someone

who will mangle, manhandle,
and crush my heart at their whim.

Whim?

I'm at your fucking whim, Empress,
so don't talk to me about whim.

I have business.

So he gets forgiven and I get "fuck you"?

You're his fucking cock puppet.

Guards, escort Marial

elsewhere than in my sight.

Come...

I suppose now we can agree
my advice was sage.

Agreed.

Let me just say it again.
We, the people.

Does it not make your blood sing?

They will start
their founding document with it.

- We need a founding document.
- We are already founded.

And do we care about these
beaver traders against the English?

The British will win.
They're bloodthirsty.

A cup of blood and a cup of tea.
We should side with the British.

Building a country from the ground up,
from first enlightenment principles,

without the mud of the past
dragging you backwards.

All men and women equal,

letting all pursue their happiness
as they see fit.

I just heard a pretty good description
of anarchy.

The British are a good friend to have.

They sided against us with Sweden
and it hurt us.

They come out as allied with us,
no one fucks with us.

And we might need their help
against the Ottomans.

What could the Americans do for us?

Bunch of raccoon traders
and religious maniacs.

Very cultlike, the whole thing.

No central authority to curtail
the spot fires of madness that pop up

everywhere humans are gathered
in the name of God.

We're helping them.
Orlo will have a view.

- Is he...
- I don't know.

- I think he left.
- Abandoned the cause.

There was always a lack of marrow
to his spine.

I saw a look of great dissatisfaction
in Katya's eye after a night with him.

Occasionally I found her
pleasuring herself in the chapel.

- Shut up, Archie.
- To the task at hand, though.

The British, very bad enemy to have.

I'm going to find Orlo.

- Lemon.
- Orange.

No, a heady fucking mix of both.

- That on some eel, imagine.
- Amazing.

Arkady, you want to
pay some attention over here?

That looks bad.

It smells fucking rank. I'm doing
a salt tasting. Maybe do this elsewhere.

Can you fix it, Vinodel?

Of course.
Medicine advances all the time.

- Maggots.
- Maggots? In my stomach?

They will eat the necrotic flesh,
and you'll be good as new.

- Fascinating. Can we watch?
- 'Course. Probably two spoonfuls.

Fuckin' hell, look at 'em.

- Grigor Piotr Vasily Dymov.
- Maxim, how are you?

- Look at these maggots.
- Can you lean down, please, Grigor?

Lower.

- What are you--
- I must defend my honor.

We will duel, sir,
and I will have my satisfaction.

A duel! Brilliant.

I'm not fucking dueling you, Maxim.

What are you talking about?
Pick the fucking glove up, Grigor.

Don't be a lobcock.

- He's ten.
- Eleven.

See ya in the forest, fuckhead.

Don't eat that.

Nobody wants a fat wife.

- What is going on?
- He challenged me to a duel.

- Maxim.
- Yes, my dear?

- Pick up the glove.
- No.

Go pick up the fucking glove.

No.

You go pick up the glove!

- It tickles.
- That's a good sign.

If it starts to fizz, call me.
You'll only have an hour to live.

- Where did Grigor go?
- Forest, to practice.

- Concubine.
- Whore.

- Look at my stomach, bitch.
- You crossed our beloved empress.

- I only wish I'd taken the head shot.
- You fucking kidding me?

No sudden movements,
lest they migrate to the lung.

No one's buying this, Georgina.

I do hope one day you see the light that
the empress brings into all of our lives,

dear Tatyana.

Look at that fucker Voltaire sowing
the seeds of everyone's destruction.

Do you mean syphilis?

No, I meant fucked up ideas,
but yes, apparently syphilis as well.

- Where's Catherine?
- She's gone to Orlo's.

So she should come back
along hallway four.

Right. How's this?

So moving.

Thanks.

I think something terrible
has befallen him.

- You don't think he just left?
- No, he wouldn't just leave me.

- He left you once before.
- Good point.

But he said goodbye that time.

- He thought I let him down.
- Yes, he did.

- Thanks.
- It's not your fault.

It's one thing to read all of these books.
It's another thing to understand them,

to turn them into action.

Must be hard, infuriating to know
how disappointed people are in you,

to see it in their faces,

hear it in their voices,
feel their hope turn to rot.

I don't think that's happened.

Sorry.

This has all gone a strange way.

I don't mean to speak like this.

You're upset.

I'll find him or what happened to him.

I think he just left, Katya.

- Hugo?
- Shit, sorry.

- You're crying.
- It's very unmanly.

It's just news from Sweden.

Fucking massacres.

Democracy gone mad.
You need to impose sanctions.

I can't, Hugo.

Saw the American here.

Fuck me, the world burns.

What an exciting man and idea.

- You shared this love and ideal once.
- Yeah. I've been down that road.

Protect yourself.

Side with the British,
or you'll be crying in a foreign hallway.

And missing the cheeses.

Terrified you'll never
see Stockholm again.

I'm sorry.

Why did you lose?

- What? Honestly?
- Yes.

Forget the fake tears for a second
and honestly.

Well played.

Honestly, honesty.

That's what fucked me up.

I believed in everyone's goodness,

and thought they'd be grateful for the
agency I was giving them over their lives.

I didn't control it,
didn't play it clever.

I just believed in the fucking people.

Embarrassing when you say it out loud.

Not embarrassing.
Meant you had a good heart.

Too good, perhaps.

- Now they're real.
- Yes.

I'm just gonna leave
so I can just cry for a bit. Sorry.

A sad little Swede.

Elizabeth, let's invite
both ambassadors to dinner.

I thought we were keeping them apart.

Where's the fun in that?

Twelve paces. Begin.

One, two, three, four, five, six,

seven, eight, nine, ten,
11, 12.

It's hard not to shoot over his head.

Instinct is to go for a man-sized head
shot, so definite advantage for him.

Small target. And he's a kid. Who knows
what the fuck he'll do in the moment.

You'd better be ready for anything.

- I am ready.
- Don't fuck my wife!

Fucking hell.

That was great. Paul laughed.

How nice he gets to see his first duel.

These are the moments
between a father and son.

Their first duel, first killing,
first fuck against a carriage,

first pheasant in grape sauce.

- Yeah, maybe I should talk to the kid.
- Fuck off. You have to do this.

But you also
don't want to kill the little fucker.

So practice winging me.

- Really?
- Yeah.

Maybe left shoulder.
I nurse Paul in my right.

Funny, I once had a dream
you tried to kill me.

- Really? I--
- Grigor.

- Hi.
- What the fuck are you doing?

- You're not fighting him.
- It's a duel. He challenged me.

And we really need to
get some practice in,

if you wouldn't mind fucking off,
and also if you do mind.

I'm holding Paul.

- You fucking--
- Enough. Marial, fuck off.

I'll talk to you later.

Why don't you all kill each other?

I'd actually love that.

Right, let's get back to it.

I'm not sure I can sleep in here.

What? Why?

The birds. My mother on occasion
put me in a cage with birds,

and I would fight them
for scraps of bread.

In a cage?

And people think canaries are sweet,
but no, monstrous fuckers.

Right.

- Did you hear about the duel?
- I just banned it.

What? No.

It is an archaic way
to settle differences.

While I applaud,
in a slightly baffled way,

your desire for progress and change,

not everything in Russia needs changing.

You would really have Grigor kill Maxim?

Well, I'd worry more for Grigor.
Maxim is the loose cannon, so to speak.

But we are in fact doing this for Maxim.

Absurd, but go on
just for entertainment purposes.

His wife is riding another man
in the salon in front of his peers.

He needs to be able to face them.

Once this is done, they can continue,
and everyone, and most importantly he,

can hold up his honor and dignity, and
the three of them can continue as before.

- I'm banning it.
- A mistake.

Your opinion noted and ignored.

In Russia,
the only way out of marriage is death.

Noted with interest.

- Funny.
- Thank you.

How do I look?

- Stunning.
- Fucking stunning.

The duel saves thousands of murders
of spouses every year. Trust me.

The nobles need an outlet for griefs
and grievances

beyond the whim of an emperor.

Gives them some power over their lives,
and it's a fucking good morning.

Gambling, coffee,
Bloody Mary-infused foie gras.

I'm banning it. I already have.

- Did you write "punishable by death"?
- No.

Unless you wrote "punishable by death,"
everyone will ignore it.

Peter.

You didn't kill him, did you?

You're gonna have to be more specific.

- Orlo.
- Fuck, forgot about Orlo.

No. Would've loved to, but no.

- Are you lying?
- No.

That flaccid little fucker
tried to kill me, twice.

So, if I had killed him, which I didn't,
I would not stop talking about it.

I would write a little poem
about how I did it

and have Velementov
recite it to the court in a high voice.

Yes, all right.

So he really did just leave then.

Strange.

And weak.

Yes, and weak.

Ambassador.

Johnny!

- Let's drink.
- Yes.

Join the ambassador's wives, darling.

So I see you've met
our other honored guest.

Mr. Glover, the American ambassador.
Mr. Glover, Mr. Johnny Quirkton.

- Right.
- Sir.

Ladies.

Now, I'm sure
we can have a wonderful dinner,

forgetting our differences,
and just enjoying ourselves.

You're all going to die, fuckhead.

- Right back at you.
- Gentlemen.

I jest, of course. A pleasure, sir.

A wonderful jape,
calling yourself ambassador.

Please, sit.

Welcome, everyone.

Welcome, indeed.
This fucking menu is a disaster, wife.

Scrap it. We'll begin with veal and figs,

grill some squab, then we'll roll it
in my lemon and rosemary salt.

Yes, that's right.
Flavored fucking salt.

Also, fry some olives as well

and lash some bread with anchovies
and butter. Huzzah.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

Thank you, darling.
Always seeking to improve the country.

As we both do.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

I'm just gonna say you are stunning.

You glow inside and out.

Uncalled for, and a bit over, really.

Not that you're not pretty.
A bit pale for me personally, but...

Did I mention how great Minorca is?

All charm, okay?

- No.
- What do you mean?

I'm sure we're invited.
You get Catherine for me.

I told you we weren't invited.

Listen...

guard person.

I am the empress's best friend,

and, yes, we had a little spat.

She didn't mean it.

She said to remove you forcibly
if needs be.

I came to be nice.
Un-fucking-believable!

Well, this is mortifying.

This is lemon salt.

And this is rosemary.

I'd love some of that.

I mean, get on your knees
and do it, if you like.

You cannot let her side with America
against the fucking monarchy.

I'm sure she's not.

Just to be clear,
you are in a war for my favor.

I'm unsure which way I lean,
so let the battle commence.

Well, if ideas are the weapons,
I have no fear of the war.

Ladies and gentlemen,
the United States of America.

- It's not a fucking country.
- Viva la USA, the future is upon us.

All right. Thank you.

To Russia,
and our Catherine the Great.

We, sir, are creating
an enlightened society to rival any,

and we are carried to it
on her strength and these ideas.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

- Hugo, sit.
- Voltaire...

- I read everything you ever wrote.
- Of course you did. You are welcome.

And it fucked up my life.

You lost your country
as a little boy drops a toy, and now...

Fucker.

Hugo.

The battle of ideas, wife.

Funny.

Fuck him up, Hugo.

- Gentlemen, some decorum.
- We in the USA love passion.

- A fight, a fuck, a fortune...
- No!

- ...life. Suck the marrow.
- I hate you!

Great idea. Roast some marrow,
and I shall lemon salt it.

Lizzie, this madness.

Why is she entertaining this cunt? Make
an enemy of us, is that what she wants?

That's not what she wants.

Right.

She's playing me.

I won't be played.

What do you need?

I need to leave here with that cunt's
heart in a suitcase and 10,000 troops.

Then you need to put something
on the table that makes a woman happy.

- My massive cock?
- You've got something in your eye.

- I was--
- Just there.

It's an auction. Bid.

He's out. He's out.

American trade will dwarf the English.

A friendship between us

will unhitch you from
this diseased wagon you call Europe.

"Diseased wagon." Bit harsh.
And it's our fucking colony, so our trade,

so we will, of course,
give Russia our favor in this regard.

It's all a bit of a guess
as to who wins, though, isn't it?

For me.

What do I get now?

- For instance, I hear Ibiza is nice.
- Ibiza, done. Balearics, all of them.

Look at Catherine.

Like an excitable little moth
to a handsome flame.

Here's the sort of man
you just want to ride.

Animal and philosophy fused.

Johnny, beaver boy,

you coming to the duel tomorrow?

There will be no duel tomorrow.

Did you add "punishable by death"
to the proclamation?

I will.

Witch. We all love a duel, do we not?

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

Sit.

The people have spoken,
and you love the people.

Grigor, go and make peace with Maxim.

Grigor, sit down.

Peter.

It is just a playful debate, gentlemen,

which the empress loves
we Russians to indulge in.

- I actually need to see Marial.
- Grigor.

You need to do this for the kid.
You cannot live at another's whim.

Well, I can, and we all do
and always have, so there's that.

- Hey, disappointing.
- Can we have a moment, darling?

What are you doing?
I am doing the business of Russia.

- Can you just be...
- Yes?

Compliant and docile?

No, not without you ripping my heart
from my body

and burying it under a ton of earth.

I said one rule, and you agreed.

No, you can't fuck England over
for a fucking colony of upstarts

who apparently eat tubes of undefined
meat product in bread on the street

and is also pawing at you with his eyes.

Undressing and performing
sick and sensual acts upon me

with his eyes is more accurate.

And suddenly
you're interested in Russia?

Where was that when
you were actually leading Russia?

- I--
- Badly. I hadn't finished my sentence.

Leading Russia badly.

Marriage witch spoke of
this careless lashing out

as quite destructive to wedded bliss.

I am in the middle of a cunning strategy
that is so byzantine and dazzling

you would be baffled by
both its cleverness

and the words it takes to describe it,
so stay out of it.

No, no. You need to get them
to take a cease-fire,

set a date for battle, arm up on both
sides, and just go at it...

- Different plan.
- ...leaving us out of it.

- Different plan.
- Am I to stand by as you fuck up?

That is not love.

Letting the other person
live as they wish is love.

Then understand the duel is sacred
to me and others.

After my first,
know what my father said to me?

- Something ridiculous.
- Quite the opposite.

He said, "A man who faces his mortality
and that of another man's

"has tasted life's bitter sweetness
in the back of his throat,

"and each breath from then
will be one of gratitude and compassion."

Fuck.

He also said,

"The unorthodox follow-up of mine to
throw a knife at the other's throat

"was a proud father moment,

"especially as I'd shot the guy
through the eye."

Good story. I need to go back in.

Mr. Glover, I would love to hear more
of the many changes you will make.

Maxim...

Can I have a word?

- Look, we don't need to do this.
- Disagree.

I know how it is to see your wife
with someone else.

It's painful and sad

and humiliating.

I was the guy at court
who everyone knew was cuckolded.

But there's a way through it.

We don't own each other.

We love who we love, and we live with
the consequences of that love.

I found a peace with it.

And everyone at court thought you were
a sorry little bitch and laughed at you.

Listen, you...

- See you on the grass.
- I'll fucking kill you, you little shit.

I will shoot you between the eyes,
and then sit on your head

and eat cake and cream to celebrate

as dogs eat at your dead anus.

Right.

You're dead, little man.

- You can't kill him, Grigor.
- Yes, I fucking can.

Calm down.

You need a second.

We could hire one.

They'll both fucking spray their shots.
We make them walk 40 paces.

They have their duel, and everyone
has a laugh and goes home.

Dogs eat my dead anus.

- Fucking hell.
- Fucking kids today.

We're changing everything, my friend,
including how you spell "color."

You wouldn't dare.

We're taking the "u" out of it.
Rumor, tumor and humor.

No "u". Just us.

- Dazzling. Don't you think, Johnny?
- Fucker.

So get ready,
because here comes the future,

and it's called
the United States of America.

- This tiresome earnestness.
- We call it passion and fire.

I personally love it.

Okay. Ibiza as well as
all the Balearic islands

and one million pounds
in return for 10,000 men.

That sounds good.

Ambassador Glover,
what can you offer me?

Change.

Fucking wanker.

What are you doing to me?

What?

Those looks you're looking on me
say you want to throw me down,

take a blade, slice my dress open
in one swift movement,

tear it from my naked body,
and thrust yourself into my wet cunt.

Or did I misconstrue?
I'm a bit shortsighted, so...

I find you incredible.

Don't state the obvious, Velementov.
It's beneath you.

Sorry, I--

I can tell you were once pretty,

and now you're fucking ravaged
by grief and alcohol, and I love it.

Fuckin' hell.

Don't go with them.

I know you don't want to.
I can see it in your eyes,

along with so many
languid afternoons of lovemaking.

My eyes need to calm down, then.

- I want what's best for Russia.
- I know your heart. I see it.

And once, my heart would've led me,

but not anymore.

Tell me the truth.

Do you really think you can win this war?

Their troops and supplies are depleted.

It's attrition now.

Without reinforcements, the British
will have to surrender in eight weeks.

Eight weeks.

Sell any salt?

The women seemed mildly interested
as they deep larynxed your fingers.

Make your deal?
Hopefully not with the beaver salesman.

I will finish it tomorrow,
but not your business how.

- Jealous tonight, I think.
- You or me?

I suspect, honestly,

both.

Powerful, love.

Powerful pain at seeing
another prick one's interest.

- I mean, he is a prick, by the way.
- If I wanted him, I'd have him.

And I'd have their wives, but I don't.

And you.

What?

You aim to rile me.

- I like it.
- I am not your cock puppet.

- My what?
- I forgave you much.

It gives you all the power between us.

I am powerless in my love for you.
You tried to kill me, and I did nothing.

When she fell,
did my mother look happy?

Don't scratch the wound.

You're right.

And who's got all the power?

The one who made a mistake
and knows he will never stop paying

but is happy to pay,

or the one who was wronged and has a
stick to always beat the other one with?

Make me forget.

Very early. Should we go back
to bed and forget this?

I'd rather see blood spurt from your eye
as you descend to hell.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I'm not doing it. I have a second.

- Okay, fine. Coward.
- You know, maybe I--

If all bets are on,

can we have the traditional toast
and blessing and begin the duel?

God waits for all men,

and boys, with open arms.

A return to him is a return home.

May we leave here honor upheld,
dignity restored, spirits lifted.

Huzzah. Great toast, Archie.

- Let's shoot.
- Yeah.

One, two, three, four,

five, six, seven,

eight, nine, ten, 11, 12...

Maybe you could talk
to Catherine about forgiving Marial.

- Fuck Marial. She doesn't like me.
- Everyone likes you.

Well, true.
Besotted is the word often used.

It'd be good if you could weigh in
on her behalf.

- I cannot. Grigor, don't be disloyal.
- I love her.

Or sentimental.

Your love for her will wither as she does.
Your love for me is eternal.

- I only agree with parts of that.
- 40.

- Shit, that's bad.
- What are the fucking chances of that?

Smolny?

- What happened?
- Grigor used a second.

Through the eye from 40.
Horrible, but in some ways, impressive.

- Who?
- What happened?

I won. See you at home.

The other dead?

We need to raise the dueling age to 12.

I think that's something
that's come out of today.

This place.

You gonna say something meaningful,
are you?

I might just skip it if you don't mind.

Jesus Christ.

I'm not praying. Relax.

You've got ambassadors waiting.

Yes.

How long do you think it will take to get
the troops to the British in Louisiana?

We estimate six weeks.

Okay, thanks. Send him in.

Johnny. I trust you enjoyed dinner.

Lovely, though I was up all night haunted
by the threats to the King's language.

We can have you troops there in...
Ten weeks, was it, Velementov?

- Yes, ten.
- Ten? I was hoping for six.

I'm sure we could do nine.
Couldn't we, Velementov?

On my life, nine.

Russia has, of course,
a monopoly in the rhubarb trade.

The current deal is priced at
20,000 a bushel.

- Yes, almost as much as gold.
- We'd like it to be more than gold.

Good for us to own the trade in the most
precious commodity in the world.

Twenty-four.
I'll need a promissory note now.

In good faith?

The troops will be there in nine weeks.
My word.

Done. Wonderful.

Good-oh.

I hate to end it
because it's been such fun.

But we have a deal. Huzzah.
Go defend the monarchies of all.

"Color"?
Motherfucking animals.

- Nicely done.
- Play is fun, it seems.

Velementov, you may go.

Send him in.

Mr. Glover.

I'm pleased to tell you

you'll have your money and supplies,
and they'll have their troops.

I fear, a few weeks too late.

America and Russia
will be friends forever.

Bonded by progressive ideas
and an uplifted people.

A shared fire in our hearts
for the betterment of all humankind.

- I believe it.
- I do, too.

I take your leave...

reluctantly.

Well, I do think there is

one thing left between us on the table.

There is?

- So, the duel.
- I heard.

I know you're probably mad.

Not really. It's a hard road to change,
but I have a plan for it.

Also I fucked the American ambassador
on my desk,

which has left me feeling kind of breezy.

Funny.

I did it for us,
and because I felt like it.

Catherine. Wait, you--

I know you'll be angry,
pained and brokenhearted a tiny bit.

What the fuck?

I know it's not the same as
fucking and killing the other's parent,

but I feel it is at least
some restoration of balance between us.

- Fuck.
- It hurts, I understand.

But you understand.

You should probably break something.

Fuck.

I thought so.

- Are you all right?
- Yes, I'm...

And it is just fucking, so...

that is it.

It is, in a way, smart.

I'm sorry. I...
I did this to us.

I'm sorry, too.

But we go on.

- We always go on.
- Yeah.

This fucking love of ours
can bear any burden.

You are my great love.

And you mine.

Was he good?

Not really.

- Was Mother?
- Not really.

See you later.

See you later.

Make sure my husband doesn't kill
the American ambassador.

- I think he's leaving.
- Good.

- I feel responsible. Like it's my fault.
- Well, you are. And it is.

- Peter?
- What's wrong?

- She fucked someone else.
- I'm so sorry.

You don't know what it's like,

the idea of another man's hands
on your wife. It is fucking tormenting.

I cannot imagine.

Poor baby.

This feels so familiar.

And right.

Thank you, friends.

I'm okay. All right.

Let's go kill the cunt.

- Fucker.
- She told you? What the fuck is that?

- No, you're good.
- It was her idea!

What? It was not her idea.

- No!
- Yeah.

Come on, then.

I'll fucking eat you. I will fucking...

Well played.

I hear they both left happy.
Russia happier.

Thank you.

- I've just started.
- I see that look. Dangerous.

- And?
- And I love it.

I fucked Glover.

- Lemon top?
- Of course.

Thank God. Marvelous.

You know what we need?

We, the people, in a big fucking room,

and we start getting shit done together.

You gonna stop it?

In time.

It's good for them
to get it out of their system.

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