All language subtitles for The Great S03E09 Destiny 1080p HMAX WEB-DL DD5 1 H 264-playWEB (1)_track3_[eng]

Do you have a plan of what to say?

Peter's dead.
This man is an impostor.

We also have pamphlets.

And we have Catherine
the fucking Great, a woman of destiny.

- Of fierce intelligence and wit.
- Packed into a delicious body.

Her mind's the thing, you whore.
You're so cunt-forward, aren't you?

You're like two angry little cats
in a bucket.

I always thought fucking the same man
should bring women together.

Does Grigor do that thing with the
two fingers and the humming vibration?

I think we have our answer.

I taught him it. The introductory orgy
for the court 16-year-olds.

He does.

- It is weird when he does it.
- The tune is what's weird.

It's like a marching band tune.

You're in the sensual heat
and then it's...

Still, he's a great fuck.

You're welcome.

We're here.

I have no idea what else to say.

It'll come to me. Unless it doesn't.
It will.

Does anyone have a kumquat?
I feel like a kumquat.

- Eye-fuck them when you can.
- Of course you'd say that.

- Drive!
- Fucking hell, that was intense.

You fucking German bitch!

I'm going to throw your dead body
at Peter's feet!

Thanks.

- You're assuming I was aiming for him.
- You all right?

They really hate me.

Appreciate no one trying to reassure me.

It didn't help when I stopped speaking
and started crying.

They smelled weakness.

For Peter!

There's a man running
alongside the carriage.

Should I shoot him
or just assume he'll get tired?

- Shoot him.
- Shoot him.

See? You can get on.

I can't stop thinking about it.

Because we've been in here for days,

and now we're starting
to scratch at each other.

I couldn't kill my own people, Agnes.
It's actually admirable.

I understand it.

Except for the bit where we were
so close to having Sweden back,

and you bottled it because
you can't stand the sight of blood.

And now we're hiding in our room,
and every time I pick up a fork,

I think of putting it down hard
in your face.

See? Scratching!

We should go out.
Something's fucking going on out there.

I don't think so.

If she was gonna kill us,
she'd have done it.

Right. So she doesn't want to kill us.
Others might.

I feel good about it. And Hugoland,
I don't think that's off the table.

Visionary idea. I am the future.
I know that. Just not as expected.

I'm not some old king. I'm...

something else.

I really feel weirdly good. Like a
new future is out there to be picked.

- I hate you.
- That's impossible. Let's go.

Hugo.

What do we do?

- We join Peter.
- Peter's dead.

- Is he?
- Apparently. He is.

She says he is. But no body.

Apparently Elizabeth decided
not to get it back.

- I think it's fucking Peter out there.
- It's the look-alike, Tatyana. Logic.

Peter was here
when this uprising started.

Was he? Or was that a look-alike

because he'd left
and she was covering for him?

Fuck.

That's interesting.

Think the things
they don't want you to think, Arkady.

I don't quite understand
what that means--

Means we leave. Join him.

Pugachev has taken Moscow.

Okay, thanks.

"Okay, thanks"? You did hear me?

I did. Pugachev has taken Moscow.

- Fuck.
- Catherine.

- Petrov, shoot them.
- Will do. Head or arse?

- One head, one arse.
- Someone has to help her.

Not someone. Me.

I have to feed Maxim anyway.

Weird but sweet.

Elizabeth?

We have to ordain Paul. He's Peter's son
and Catherine is in trouble.

We must act.

- Do not try to play me.
- Am I wrong in any way?

Is it done?

What are you doing?

It's not what it looks like.
It's a game.

None are loaded?

Well, one's supposed to be.

That one. Interesting.

You okay?

To be honest,
I'm a little bit worried about you.

Can't put my finger on why, though.

It's not funny.

What is going on?

You're paying no heed to the gravity
of your situation, and now this?

- You need to pull yourself together.
- I'm trying.

- By putting a gun to your head?
- It's a test.

I came to Russia, and I felt something.

A destiny.

Or I told myself a story.

A delusion to escape the fact Peter
didn't love me when I first got here.

So if it's destiny,
I will never pick the wrong gun.

That is mad.

If it's my destiny,
then Pugachev will not prevail.

But if it's delusion,
the people will hate me, tick...

he will advance and win.

I am going to shake you very hard

and hope that something in your head
clicks together.

I admit it's not a great time
for this particular existential dilemma.

Like a duck being pecked to death,
suddenly unsure if it needs its beak?

A fucking terrible time, I would say!

But it's in me.

Or rather, it doesn't feel like it is.
Look at Peter.

He had a story of some destiny
he had to have, but it wasn't.

It was a delusional story
that led him to his death.

You're not him.

- What makes me different?
- You have a destiny.

Funny. And true,
according to today's guns.

Where is Paul?

- Safe.
- You keep saying that.

I don't want to throw him into this game.

He was born into this game.
No escape for any of us.

This is a good apple.

We need him ordained.

No.

- Angry?
- Shaking.

As is your reign.

Pugachev is pretending to be Peter
and calling you illegitimate.

You must ordain Paul,
be part of the line.

I'll think about it.

He's hanging his clothes in Moscow
tonight. You don't have time to think.

Let me help you,
because I do know.

You always seem to.

So why is this not your destiny,
this chair?

You are brilliant at all of it.

- It is not for me.
- You serve these men.

But why not you?

Because it is not in you
or because you have never imagined it?

Told yourself that story?

Catherine, I don't want to imagine
anything except you staying alive,

and us not looking out that window

and seeing men running towards the
palace to cut our pale, pondering necks.

Ordain Paul
and move on Pugachev.

They all think he's Peter.

So I kill him,
they all think I killed my husband.

That is not the story I wish for Paul.

Or for Peter.

He wanted a legacy.

This cannot be it.

Gosh.

It's hard, isn't it?

Being without him?

It's the everywhere he isn't.

Which is...

Everywhere.

Yes.

Marial, untie me!

- You are a very bad wife.
- I'm saving your life.

I need to make amends.

I've claimed to have killed him,
and now I look like a fool.

- You do look like a fool.
- Unbelievable.

I thought we really got to a good place
as a couple.

Do I need to remind you
that you are a child?

I am your husband
and I will be respected!

I'd really love for you to untie me, darling.

Marial!

- You're amazing.
- As him!

Tatyana, you're like silk.

Yeah, yeah!
And you've always wanted me!

And I've always wanted you. You're
peaches and cream on a summer's day.

Oh, yeah, talk food! Yes! Yes! Yes!

- And you're mushrooms--
- Oh, yeah!

- Stroganoff, stroganoff.
- Yes, yes!

Soufflé!

Has anyone seen...
I mean, Emperor Peter?

Arkady!
Best friend and right-hand man.

Think of what
we've been through together.

Yes. I am.

Friends, what do we say?

Peter! Peter!
Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!

Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!

Peter! Peter! Peter!

Peter! Peter!
Peter! Peter!

Peter! Peter! Peter!

They hate her out there.
Pugachev is now in fucking Moscow.

They're going to come
and cut our flesh into chess pieces.

If he's in Moscow, we're next.

Hence the chess pieces comment.
Can you keep up?

Grigor?

- Grigor, can you hear me?
- I'm thinking about Paul.

Yes, we're all thinking about Paul.

She needs to ordain him.

He didn't want that.
No one is ordaining him.

Marial's coming.
I thought you'd like the warning

during that slightly treasonous,
but thrilling conversation.

Stop eavesdropping!

I must say, Madam Dymov,
your passion is...

- Thank you, Petra.
- You will thank me.

Really got myself into
a bad place with her.

Grigor.

- Can we talk?
- We are talking.

The married-to-each-other people.
Talk to Maxim.

- I just saved your life.
- You did?

My life is full of regrets.
I suspect that will be the biggest.

- Grigor.
- I'm not really following a lot of this.

We can't just give up on this.

I think you can,
if you need an outsider's perspective.

- Shut up! Grigor.
- Everyone's just saying words.

But they're just words, you know?

They float in the air, and they don't mean
anything to me anymore.

- Peter is dead. We are not.
- Everyone is dead to me now.

I don't care about either of you anymore.

Sometimes he sees a nail
and he is a hammer.

It's unexpected and always gets me wet.

- He meant that about you. Not me.
- Did he, though?

Little tears welling in your eyes
say different.

Can you fuck off?

No. Because I live here
with my husband.

Get off her.

Stay there.

You're kidding me.

Do I need to remind you why?

Go on, then.

Morning, Paul.
How'd you sleep?

Don't eat that.
I've got an array of things.

Pickled walnuts,
some pigeon breasts,

some cheeses that taste like arse
your dad loved,

vodka-laced milk shot.

Huzzah.

And while you feast...

Yeah.

Your dad had a great love of music.

He'd want me to make sure
you had one, too.

Eat and I will play.

Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!

- Another win, my friends!
- Peter! Peter! Peter!

And we will continue to win,

as I am the true Emperor of Russia,
chosen by God!

Huzzah!

And Catherine will soon be destroyed,

as she has proved herself
an agent of evil.

No one knows better
what a monster she is

than my best friend,
Arkady Vasilovich!

My heart swells to be back
with my best friend, Peter the Third!

Hey, a party to celebrate!

For tomorrow,
we rally with thousands of our brothers,

and we take this fucking country back!

- Wake up, you fat fuck!
- Huzzah!

Everyone will dress nicely,

and I will fuck anyone at court
who demands it.

I do!

Where's Jean-Pierre?

Crepe, anyone?

I'm a little bit upset.
You said just the once.

It's political, Arkady.

Georgina did it for Grigor,
and I do it for you.

- You know it's not really him.
- I do. I think.

Look, we are finally number two,
so you're welcome.

Hors d'oeuvres, foie gras,
oysters with that pink onion juice...

Arkady, go through
the rest of the menu with Jean-Pierre.

Yes, of course, Peter.

- Peter! Peter!
- Huzzah.

Your dad had his own particular sound
I, unfortunately, can't replicate.

You'll never know that sweetness.

Pussy.

Huzzah, Paul! Hey!

Vodka-laced milk shot.

Yes. Yes.

- Fabulous blood clots.
- Glad you're entertained.

I just need something for the pain.
The vodka's not doing it.

- Why don't I just cure you?
- Funny.

Take three of these daily,
should be fine in a month.

What?

No. My father had this same thing.

He died of it.

We worked out how to cure it
a couple of years ago.

If anyone bothered to read
my pamphlets, they'd know.

But do they? No, they fucking don't.

I see.

Because you thought you were,
you fucked everything up.

Now Peter's dead,
and you're no longer a soldier.

Moral of the story:
Read my pamphlet.

Surprised she didn't kill you and Hugo,
but she's not well herself, my read of it.

Do you think Elizabeth
would marry me?

- The fuck are--
- You've known her a long time.

- You knew her and Peter the Great.
- I'm not dying?

We established that
and introduced a new topic.

Do you think she'll ever bury that man,
is my question.

He was a god, not a man.

I treated him for genital warts.
He was a man.

Fuck.

You feel stupid.

Yes.

I have no cure for that.

Not dying! No.

Not dying.

Not dying!

I'm going to ignore the fact
that there was a lot of tongue from you.

Apparently,
Fake Peter just took fucking Moscow.

I'm getting a strong sense of--

- Déjà vu?
- You too?

Shit.

We need a friend.

You know who you don't kill in a court?

An asset.

We can't go to Catherine in case
she's just forgotten us for a moment,

looks at us, and remembers
she was going to cut our heads off.

Good read of the situation.

So, next best thing?

- Am I doing something wrong?
- Several things.

Some to do with
the pliantness of your tongue

and the lack of random circular motion
to break the rhythm,

startling a different sensation,
thereby driving me close to climax.

But it's not that.

It's Catherine.

It's this uprising, it's me, it's Peter,
it's where is Paul?

And will my end be sliced up
for steaks for Cossacks?

Sort of a fascinating way to go, in a way.

Right. I had planned to propose,
after your orgasm.

- What?
- Maybe now's not a good time.

Never is a good time,
if you needed guidance on a timeline.

Or is it?

It's not.

Or is it?
Perhaps this black hole you have in you

could be filled with
the love of a good doctor.

- I will only ever love one man.
- Peter the Great is dead. You are alive.

I am alive.

And if I fix the circular motion problem
and attended to the pliancy issue,

I think we're well suited.

- Bad time?
- No.

Thank you, Vinodel. You may go.

- Think on what I said.
- I won't.

- Hugo, how's the leg?
- Excruciatingly painful.

Excellent.

We've been thinking about
what we can offer Russia.

Your death by your own hand
would be lovely.

Unfortunately, Catherine seems
oddly ambivalent to your back.

She's letting us live?

It may not last.
She's in a strange place.

She has some fucking problems.
An uprising. Well, guess what?

Been there, have some thoughts.

No one else in this palace
with king experience, is there?

A failed king.

So I know the pitfalls.
The mistakes to avoid.

Also, amusing, brilliant strategist,
cunning as fuck, stole Russia's army.

Don't want to dwell on it. Obviously
a sore point, but worth mentioning.

As well as a semi-powerful lover.

That's actually more of a sporadic thing.

However,
clearly Vinodel has left you wanting

and so, as you can tell,
I am dexterously tongued of word

and so am a bit masterful down there.

- You could use a man like me.
- I could, actually.

- Amazing. So am I eating pussy or--
- You're finding Paul.

Fantastic.

Agnes, you can stay.

We capture him and do a deal.

The question for you, Petrov,
is how do we capture him?

Well, two things.
Disagree on the capture thing.

That'll just inflame his people
to attack St. Petersburg and free him.

That's not negotiable, so disagree
in your head, but not with your tongue.

He has a rally in Moscow planned.

Rather than a massive attack
that turns into a blood bath for us--

militia, passing animals,
and pretzel vendors,

we need to isolate him on stage
and then take a sniper shot.

He needs to die in front of them.

And no one is to know
if it was by us or one of his own.

And the part
where you listen to my orders?

Overridden by my duty to provide
clever and unvarnished advice.

- Confident, aren't you?
- He does have that.

It's partly because of
how fucking handsome I am

that life's a bit of an easy ride,
as I'm sure you know.

I grew up with this easy flow
of opportunity and pussy

and gave myself all the credit for it,
and then one day wondered.

So I... I took some lily of the valley,

which gave me a hideous rash on
my face and a gammy eye for months,

and as I suspected,
the flow dried up.

I realized cleverness and disciplined
thought would carry me further.

On the other hand, a small bumbling man
recently fucked my fiancé,

so there's that.

We seem off topic.
I like Petrov's killing plan.

- Put him in the ground.
- Can I ask you something, Petrov?

When you're on the battlefield,
bullets randomly whizzing about,

people dying around you,
you could die at any moment,

how do you view that?

Imminent death, fate, destiny? What?

Luck. Dumb fucking luck.

Is it? I've never believed in luck.

- I know you haven't wanted to see me.
- And still don't.

I am truly sorry. I...

I've been an arse,

a foolish old man,

drunk on his stories of who I had to be,
how I had to die, and...

I've let you down.

And I'll spend the rest of my life
regretting it.

I thought fate had played its last card
on this old horse.

However, it turns out the rest of my life
should be a long, long fucking time,

as I'm not dying.

And we should all keep up-to-date
with Vinodel's pamphlets

and save ourselves some fucking grief.

- Dumb fucking luck.
- Or logic to go to a doctor when ill.

- Marvelous, though.
- Either way, delightful news.

It's a relief to hear
you're relieved by that idea.

I heard Pugachev has taken Moscow.

I know what to do.

Very happy for you, sir,
but we have this in hand.

Let me lay out this plan for you.
You need to take him alive.

Let everyone know he's not Peter, he's...

He's just some dumbass,
lowlife Cossack cockroach.

You trade his life for a tour,

where he admits he's not Peter the Third

and he disintegrates everything
he's whipped up.

- My thoughts exactly.
- Seems fraught with holes.

Petrov, we will do Velementov's plan.

Leave him alive, dumb Cossack or not,
you keep the uprising alive.

With no head,
the body doesn't know where to move.

If we kill him at the rally,
everyone will think it's Peter.

That story will be out there forever
for Paul to wonder on.

- Right.
- We go with Velementov's plan.

- Petrov, make it happen.
- It's... Well, it's my plan.

- I... I can make it happen.
- He's head of the army.

- I'm glad you're alive.
- Yeah.

Go.

There is a frisson of terror in the court
at the Moscow news.

You should talk to them
and allay their fears.

Hopefully without
the long pauses and crying.

This fatalism will get you killed.

Or it won't.

Listening to all this, I can't help
thinking Petrov's plan was a better plan.

You just want to kill Pugachev
because he reminds you of Peter.

- He doesn't remind me of Peter at all.
- He's ugly and a fucking thug.

Well, obviously he's saying something
people are hearing.

What do you mean
he's saying something?

Yes, Marial, what do you mean?

- He has something.
- How do you know?

I was a fucking servant.

He was down there sometimes.
Our paths crossed.

- I never knew that.
- Neither did I. Do tell, Marial.

Not a big story.
He has something. All I'm saying.

Turn of phrase, whatever.

And people are clearly responding to it.
But I love this plan.

My point.

I have a turn of phrase, too.

Get a nose full of Paul's scent, doggie.

Best cadaver dog.

It will find live ones, too?

Never tried it for live ones.-
Why do you need a cadaver dog?

That's a private matter.

I'll need it back tomorrow.

There's going to be a lot of cadavers
in court, thanks to that crazy bitch.

Can I just say a few things?

I know people are worried, and
there is a little bit of an air of panic

because of what is happening
in Moscow.

But I want you to know
that whatever happens,

that's what will happen.

We have a plan.

This man, Pugachev...

Repeat after me, Pugachev,
not Peter the Third.

Pugachev, not Peter the Third.

An important point
the whole country will fucking know.

He will be taken
and the threat removed from our lives.

We will prevail.

Thank you, Georgina.
Well said.

Shall we have tea and cakes
in a relaxed manner,

as befits how little threat we're under?

To Catherine the Great!

- Huzzah!
- Huzzah!

She looked straight at me.

And still is.

Hugo and Agnes and a dog.

Can we just say
how sorry about Peter we are?

He was a brother king to me.

- He made his choices.
- And you have chosen not to kill us.

Love to get some clarity.

I suppose I should.

But then, is it your fault?

You tried to get your country back,
Peter tried to get his self-respect back,

and I tried to get my husband back alive.

And we all failed.
So, suffer we all shall.

Thank you, Smolny. How kind.

Almondy. How delicious.

Can I have some?

Indeed.

You fucking idiot, Smolny!

If you're accusing me of poisoning
the empress, you are way off base.

Almondy? Arsenic.
Almonds, everyone fucking knows that.

Why aren't you killing her?

Because I'm cleverer than that.

Well, hello, little husband.

Great. Untie me, please.

- Such a newlywed thing to do.
- Isn't it?

You remember when you locked me
in that cupboard

and every hour,
you hammered a nail in?

Suddenly, this fucking nail came at me!
It was very intense.

The sex when I let you out of there.

We had a little argument.
Just untie me.

Shouldn't really get involved
in other people's marriages.

- I need to pee.
- Does she have Paul?

Maybe.
Untie me and I'll tell you.

Tell us or I'll tell this dog
to maul your face.

No.

Bye.

You're such a cutie!

Thanks.

Perfect.

- Is he all right?
- He's fine.

- I'll go back to him now.
- Elizabeth will be looking.

And possibly others.

- You okay?
- It's just a little arsenic.

Arsenic?

Tell me a story about him
before you go.

I remember after the torture dinner

and he told you he loved you
for the first time.

And he came to my room, shaking,
because he'd never felt anything like it.

And for days afterwards,
he would make me taste things.

Everything seemed sharper to him,

like the forest throbbed
and oysters were a wave of sea.

I don't know.

He said you had obliterated
the old world he knew

and replaced it
with this shimmering one.

Good story.

Should you see Vinodel?

I'll sleep it off. Or I won't.

Tell Paul I love him.

You know him, Pugachev.

- How has he done this?
- What do you mean?

He's inspired tens of thousands to rise up
and risk their lives for him.

He was kind of an idiot.

Marial said he had a turn of phrase.

How would Marial know?

I better go.

Where the hell did that dog go?

- Fuck! Grigor. He'll kill you.
- That's a problem.

Yes, it's a gun.

Great senses.

Hi. Me. Couple of things...

I'm gonna tear out your windpipe
and use it as a drinking straw.

- Or we become friends.
- Friends? Are you fucking mad?

We're both grieving. Our friend died.

I personally have a weird sense of guilt.

That's because it's your fucking fault!

Maybe that's it. Interesting. See?

A friendship with challenges,
the best kind.

I'm gonna take a hammer and beat
your skull into tiny pieces very slowly.

Okay. You're not ready to listen. Understood.

You're sad. I get it. Me too.

- But we have to learn to live together.
- Or...

- Funny, love it.
- ...I burn you alive!

Always liked you.

Fuck!

Paul is all. Paul is all. Paul is all...

Fuck.

You've seen him, haven't you?

- What?
- Pugachev.

You said he had a turn of phrase,
downstairs as a servant.

- Yes.
- No. You've been to a rally.

Yes, I have.

- I don't lie to you anymore.
- Appreciate it.

And?

Can't really explain it. He just...

He has moments where you feel
like he understands.

Perhaps I need to see
this turn of phrase to understand it.

Let's go.

Shall we?

Prepare a carriage for Moscow.

- I asked you to wait!
- Tell the dog.

What are you two doing here?
I can't believe you would dare.

- Look!
- She gave him to Grigor.

Gave who to Grigor?

- Thanks for your time.
- Paul?

Never said that.
We just came to say hi.

It's okay.

Oh, dear.

Forest might not be the safest place
for you now I think about it, Paul.

- You okay?
- Furry.

Yeah, he was furry.

Running away?

- Lit the fire and then--
- I'm going to put it out.

- I am very angry at you.
- Do that again.

Not if you're going to enjoy it.

- It can still be saved.
- The plan, please?

- I kill him.
- Good plan.

Are you capable of it?

Since I fear you'd rather suck his tongue
and draw hearts on his back.

And did you get Paul back?

Not doing your bit either then, are you?

We are on the precipice
of losing everything because of you.

Then let me get on with it.

Rousing.

Few things going on, Paul.

I mean, it's Russia. Something's always
happening. You should know that.

There's a lot of men
who want to come and kill your mother

for a man pretending to be your father.

And also,
everyone wants to ordain you.

But that's like putting a target
on your back.

Being eaten by that bear
would be a blessing.

Your dad didn't want it for you.

So fuck 'em.
It's not gonna happen.

We're gonna be safe here,
you and I.

Yeah.

Eat your foie gras.

I came to suggest
a return bout with my tongue.

I treated it with elderberry juice,
aiding tenderness and increased pliancy.

You're always trying, Vinodel.

A man of science.
Experiment until you find the formula.

I do admire that.

And yet, you're still staring wistfully
at the great man.

How do we cure that?

The whole course of my life changed
the day I met him.

Everything I wanted fell away to wanting
him, to wanting what he wanted.

Do I hear regret?

No. But maybe it's time
I changed course,

made my own way.

You could make your own way
with me.

Possibly.

You hear that, you broad-backed cunt?

Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!

Good evening, Moscow!

- You okay?
- Yeah.

We have marched in here on a wave of
fucking love for me, Peter the Third!

- Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!
- I could listen to that all night.

We should invent a fucking bell that
when you ring it sounds out my name!

Everyone!

- Hungry?
- Yes!

Quail and aioli!

- Fucking hell.
- That is very him.

- Yes.
- Needs lemon salt!

Using his salt? Fucker!

Catherine,
they'll tear you apart.

Yeah, I feed and nourish my people,

unlike that scrappy German
witch-faced whore.

Witch-faced?

She comes here to Russia,
brought here by the current patriarch,

who I suspect
is in the devil's fucking sway,

and we will need to kill him to preserve
the Russian church's purity!

I love God!

God! God! God!

- Yeah, how much do you love that quail?
- Quail! Quail! Quail!

Are you fucking kidding?
They're fucking idiots.

Well, I say enough!

I'll wing him.
You bundle him up into the carriage.

Or I could wing him.
I seem to recall trembling hands.

Look.

Like Moses' tablets.

Thou shalt not kill but take him alive. Madness.

- Orders.
- Orders? Didn't you steal the army?

- I'll wing him. Watch and learn.
- You can wait in the carriage while I do.

That was an order, by the way,
by me, head of the army.

Salute's optional.
I run a tight but casual ship.

Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!

Here's the weird thing.
Come closer, come closer.

I loved her

with all my fucking heart.

And for a minute,
I let her have her hands on this kingdom,

and for that, I apologize
and seek your forgiveness.

A foolish heart, who hasn't had that?
You all have, right?

- Yes!
- But... But then something happened.

I was out riding
and I came across a simple hut.

An old couple,
and they had nothing.

Some potatoes, some bread,
and they invited me to sit with them.

And we ate.
We drank vodka,

and we sang and looked up at the stars
in our god's Russian sky,

and I looked in their deep,
blue eyes

and something in me broke.

I was flooded with love and
understanding of what my people needed

and that they were the riches of Russia,
not gold and silk.

- Them!
- That's right, yeah.

Fuck.

The Russian people, my people!

Russia! Russia! Russia!

I went back to Catherine
and told her of my epiphany,

and you know what she said?

"They sound like people
who should have died in the womb."

In that moment,
I saw our love was a fraud,

and she was a fraud who hated us!

And that's when she took a knife
and, laughing, she plunged it into me!

Let's talk about Paul.
She has him trapped.

I've heard he might already be dead and
she had his skin made into a handbag.

She will be killed, or she will drop
to her knees in front of me.

Yes, it is a metaphor
and also a joke about cocksucking!

Huzzah!

I will remake our land,
kill foreigners who look us in the eye,

build the tallest towers in the world,

and send ships to fucking steal
all the gold and raccoons from America!

We will ship in servants,
and no Russians will serve.

We will all be served!

- That's all lies.
- Always loved ending dinner one way.

Bag o' heads!

Count Volpov, you're first!

Look at the arc on him!

Duchess Pastanak!
Eyes still open!

Lightning round!

Mikalov!

Lebedev!

Lady Nikitin!
Still got her earrings on!

Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!

- Catherine! Catherine!
- Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!

Revised and Synchronized by
FAST TITLES MEDIA