u/LeMaitredesBouviers

>At the end of Season 1, Jinx blows up the Piltover Council to shatter their oppression right after the negotiations between Silco and Jayce fall apart.

>We can debate whether this act qualifies as "terrorism" — in my opinion, it doesn't — but for the sake of simplicity, let's assume it for a moment. Regardless of the label, Jinx's Super Mega Death Rocket is a political statement: Zaun is entering open resistance the only way that makes sense in this context.

>This is where the history buffs and British fans on this sub might validate (or debunk) a theory rooted in British history and culture.

>On November 5th, 1605, the Gunpowder Plot (led by Robert Catesby) aimed to blow up the House of Lords during the State Opening of Parliament, with the King inside. The conspirators, including a certain Guy Fawkes who was in charge of the explosives, wanted to end religious oppression after negotiations for greater tolerance failed.

>I see a striking parallel between Jinx’s final act and Catesby’s plot:

• Both target the highest political council/parliament.
• Both happen right after failed political negotiations.
• Jinx’s childhood name is literally Powder, echoing the Gunpowder Plot.

>We know Riot and Fortiche love paying homage to pop culture. Could this also be a nod to the 2005 movie V for Vendetta (adapted from Alan Moore's graphic novel and written by the Wachowskis)? Both Moore and the Wachowskis are highly revered by the artists at Fortiche and the writers at Riot.

>Could it be that Powder is named "Powder" because, as Jinx, she actually succeeds in doing what Robert Catesby and Guy Fawkes failed to achieve with their Gunpowder Plot?

>Or has Arcane finally made me lose my mind? Let me know what you think!

Hi everyone,

Everyone remembers this line from Caitlyn at the end of episode 5 of season 1.
It reflects Caitlyn's confidence in her sharpshooting skills. And she is right, she is an excellent sniper, very determined. This line of dialogue perfectly belongs there.

Nevertheless, we can dig a little deeper and discover that there is a hidden, very subtle and a bit... risqué meaning to this line.
If, of course, we take into account the mischief of Amanda Overton and Fortiche.
And, above all, if you are a French speaker and master, more or less, English.

The literal translation, in French, of this phrase gives: "Je suis un excellent coup!".
However, in French slang, this means that Caitlyn recognizes extraordinary sexual capacities in herself, that her company is sought after for that.
And, as we will learn later, this is not boasting on her part. Vi can testify to that, I think.

Caitlyn knows what she wants, she knows what she likes and she will do what it takes to get it.
Even if she has to pay for it. After all, if she exchanges her beloved rifle for a vial of shimmer potion to save Vi's life, it's because she spent all her money at the brothel.

We might think it's too daring, but Fortiche previously prepared us for this kind of "below the belt" humor: when Vi’s gang goes back down to Zaun after the failed heist, they pass in front of the brothel and we see a cameo of Arnaud Delord (one of the three directors of Fortiche) being kicked out of the brothel, completely drunk and... bare-bottomed.

We could, likewise, entirely believe in a translation coincidence. Especially since this joke is only addressed to a French-speaking audience watching Arcane in the original version.
But, French speakers are several hundred million in the world and this slang expression is used - or understood - everywhere.

Then, by her own admission, Amanda Overton is very complicit with Fortiche and she has, in my opinion, a very developed sense of humor.

Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe not.
There is nevertheless a clue that makes me think the second hypothesis is the right one and that all of this is intended: Caitlyn pulls on her jacket before saying this sentence.
She reproduces the gesture of Captain Picard, in "Star Trek: The Next Generation". The famous "Picard Maneuver".
Jean-Luc Picard is French.

Fortiche shows us that Caitlyn is going to speak like a compatriot of Picard, like a French woman who knows French slang, using a wordplay across two languages that will ultimately only be savored by French speakers.
Missing the double meaning doesn't ruin the scene, but knowing it definitely adds some "spice" to it.

What do you think? Is it a crazy reach or genius humor?

We are all familiar with that famousline of Jinx’s. I have always interpreted it as a cutting witticism—the sort of thing practiced at the French royal court, reaching its peak of cynicism and cruelty just as that loathsome regime was on the verge of collapse.
Rather than delivering an academic lecture on this form of verbal fencing, I envisioned a short skit featuring Jinx at Versailles in 1789.

I hope you enjoy it.

Madame la Marquise de Zaun Destroys Versailles.

July 14th, 1789. The air was heavy and suffocating beneath the gilded ceilings of Versailles. There were fears of hailstorms, much like those of the previous year which had devastated the harvests. The price of bread threatened to rise yet again, and it was whispered that the Parisian populace was beginning to grow restless. But what was to be done? The King was said to be anxious, yet the rumble of the world failed to interrupt the frivolity in the salons of ce pays-ci—this world of ours.

In the King's Card Room, gathered around a table of Faro (the card game then in fashion), sat Monseigneur le Comte d’Artois, brother to the King; Madame la Duchesse de Polignac, intimate confidante of the Queen; Monsieur le Comte de Vaudreuil, and Madame la Marquise de Zaun, whom some whispered to call "Jinx." One took great care never to utter that moniker in her presence: the Marquise possessed a reputation for a dreadful temperament, and her verbal barbs were absolute sentences of social death.

She was a highly scandalous fixture of the Court, even for Versailles, which was well-accustomed to every manner of excess. Not content with living outside the sacred bonds of marriage with Monsieur le Chevalier Ekko des Fissures, she managed with an iron fist the coffee trade monopoly inherited from her late father, Monsieur le Marquis Silco de Zaun. Her immense fortune afforded her a rare impunity, to the point where she had arrogated to herself the right—in absolute defiance of etiquette and decorum—to wear a sword at Court. She wielded the dark steel of her rapier with diabolical skill, albeit with her left hand, knowing the secret of the coup de Jarnac, the unforeseen hamstringing blow. A few gentlemen, guilty of having been too sharp with her, still limped shamefully as a testament to her blade.

Around the table, the cards glided, and tongues began to loosen:

Artois (with a feigned smile): — Capitaine Vi of the Gardes Françaises informed me, Madame, that one of your shipments was recently seized by privateers. Is your commerce then in jeopardy?

Zaun/Jinx (laying down her cards without flinching): — Have no fear, Monseigneur, the matter is foreseen. My stores are more than ample to feed your insatiable appetite for coffee. You are an excellent client, did you know? Furthermore, I have resolved to retrieve my property myself. I am at this moment outfitting a vessel well-bristled with cannons. It will provide me with a delightful opportunity to kick some asses. British ones, no doubt.

Vaudreuil (half-choking): — "Kick asses"! Madame, what language! And you... a woman of quality, upon a vessel filled with men who possess not even the honor of being gentlemen!

Zaun/Jinx (fixing Vaudreuil with a glacial stare): — Well, what of it, Monsieur? You yourself are known to frequent the riverbanks in the company of your servants, all of whom are exceedingly masculine. To hold your rod, I presume?

(A heavy, suffocating silence settles over the room. Vaudreuil, turning pale, casts his eyes downward, stunned by the insinuation and utterly incapable of demanding a duel from a woman whose blade is lethal.)

Polignac (flying to the rescue of a defeated Vaudreuil, in a haughty tone): — Rumor has it that you supply coffee to the low taverns frequented by the Parisian rabble. To offer so fine a beverage to such rustics... what an indecency!

Zaun/Jinx (shrugging her shoulders): — Quite so, Duchesse, and I care not a whit. The throats of the Parisians are worth just as much as those of Versailles. I even grant them a substantial discount; their means, you see, are not ours.

Polignac (drawing herself up, outraged): — What?! Why, that is an insult to the King! Is Her Majesty the Queen aware of your machinations? If she is not, I shall make it my duty to inform her this very evening.

Zaun/Jinx (in a playful tone): — As you please, Duchesse. But the Lieutenant Général of the Paris Police, Monsieur de Crosne, will have already apprised the King. Nothing I plot escapes him; it is a most entertaining game.

Polignac (looking about the assembly, seeking general approval): — It shall be said, then, that a noblewoman, seated at this very table, associates with wretched creatures and holds them in high regard!

Zaun/Jinx (setting down her cards, staring the duchess straight in the eye): — Which one?

(The salon freezes in a leaden stupor. Not a breath, not a whisper. The coup de Jarnac has been delivered, and it has struck home.)

That same evening, in the King's bedchamber.
The rumors of the storming of the Bastille have not yet breached the doors of the chamber. Louis XVI, seated at his bureau, opens his private diary. With a weary quill, he writes:
« July 14th, 1789. The Queen reported to me that Madame de Zaun has again misbehaved in the salons. I ought to take measures, but the taxes on coffee brought in by her trade are all too welcome in these difficult times. The Insurgents of America have cost us dearly. Otherwise, nothing. »

Note : I’ve always thought there was a bit of Cyrano de Bergerac in Jinx, which made me think of Roxane, which in turn reminded me of the Season 1 finale. I tried to do something fun with that. I hope you enjoy it.

I don't want to get my ass kicked.

Paris, 1977. A seedy hotel room near Place Pigalle.

Gordon Sumner strums three chords on his guitar. On the railing of the open window, a pigeon watches him with a single eye. On the nightstand, a program from the Comédie-Française features a photo of the famous troupe's upcoming play: Cyrano de Bergerac. He is looking for an idea, a name, a song.

Suddenly, an electrical crackle fills the air, the atmosphere vibrates, the wall sconce bulbs explode... and so does the pigeon.
A frail silhouette emerges from nowhere, sitting where the bird once was, balancing precariously on the metal bar, two huge neon-blue braids sweeping the void. Slung over her shoulder, a strange zoetrope animates a small, grimacing monkey; its parts are visibly held together by rusty nails, paperclips, and two blood-stained bandages. In her left hand, she holds a pistol whose barrel ends in a crystal pulsing to the rhythm of a blue stone embedded in the weapon's frame.

"There's always got to be a bird in my way! So annoying!" Jinx says, admiring the decrepit room. "Nice place you got here, feels like Zaun, but it lacks color."

Gordon is frozen, mouth agape, his guitar having slipped from his hands. This girl has chalk-pale skin, tiny veins mapping the contours of her eyes which glow a phosphorescent pink, and she gives off an odor of leather, smoke, and rain.

"But... who... who are you? How did you get in?"

Jinx leaps onto the threadbare rug, her heavy boots making the old parquet floor groan. She approaches, grabs the Comédie-Française program, and taps it with the tip of her pistol.

"I come from here, old pal! Well, a sort of 'here'. This city out there looks a hell of a lot like the city of stinking bourgeois back home. Anyway, parallel universes, who cares, that's only good for those little furry creatures who think they're so clever. I'm here to give you an order and you'd better obey me, or else I'll come back and kick your ass. See this name right here? Roxanne? You're going to make a song out of it, and it's going to be a massive hit. Got it?"

Gordon blinks, terrified and fascinated. Something inside him ignites.

"A song about Roxanne? The one from Cyrano?"
"Yeah! The one with mud in her eyes. The one who prefers pretty rhymes and handsome boys, blah, blah, blah... The one who can't see how magnificent the monster is," Jinx sneers, while a flash of infinite sadness crosses her gaze, instantly swept away by a mad smile. "You're going to sing that she doesn't need to put on the red light. You're going to scream her name until you blow your throat out, until your entire planet sings it with you."

"But, why?" the musician whispers. "What does it have to do with you?"

Jinx leans in very close to his face, tickling the tip of his nose with the barrel of her weapon. Her breath smells of mint, lemon, and bergamot.

"Because, Gordon, a long time from now, when you're a shriveled-up old geezer, you will sing my requiem, my death, and my triumph amidst flames and blood. You'll be the one crying in my place, singing: 'I hope you know we had everything.' And your little planet will weep with you. Don't thank me, it's a gift."

She takes a step back, pulls a chain on her zoetrope which springs to life with a vibration, pulses of blue light illuminating the manic face of the little monkey.

"Don't look at me like that! And close your mouth, you'll catch a fly. It doesn't matter if you don't understand right now. Oh! One more thing: from now on, your name is Sting."
"Sting? But..."
"Pffff! You're even slower than my sister! Yes, Sting, because you're going to sting real hard, just like Cyrano."

Jinx then engages her Z-Drive and vanishes into a vortex of wind and light, casting a mischievous wink at... Sting.
The storm subsides, and the room returns to its quiet state. Only a burnt smell lingers, and an ostrich feather dyed in blue rests on the floor.
Sting remains stunned for a long time. Then, trembling, he picks up his guitar, strikes a C minor chord, and whispers:
"Roxanne..."

Oise Department, France, 2021. A beautiful and discreet residence. Sting's home.

The artist's phone rings, he answers:

"Yes, hello?"
"Hello, sir. I am terribly sorry to bother you. Well, my name is Christian Linke, and I am directing an animated series that tells the story of a young woman with long blue braids who..."
"And you would like me to perform a song where one of the rhymes is: 'I hope you know we had everything.'"
"But?!... How?... How do you know?"
"Believe me, I know Cyrano very well."
"Was? Aber das ist unmöglich!"
"Is the song ready?"
"Natürlich… I mean, of course, but what..."
"I'm on my way. I don't want to get my ass kicked."