a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

NotLannes has every right to mock Eugène and the incorporeal Bessières. Watching the beautiful creature suffer and die right in front of him, without being able to act, pains Eugène much more than his shoulder wound. Finally, death puts the poor beast out of its misery.

Eugène thanks whatever afterlife deity may be responsible for it.

At the same time, some of his strength returns. Not much, just enough to allow him to focus on the fight that is going on between Bessières the Hunter and NotLannes Roland. The latter of which seems ready to beat a hasty retreat.

As Roland's hunters start tagging at the magical creature's large corpse in order to drag it away, the unicorn's horn is finally pulled out of Eugène's shoulder. It's not a pleasant experience by any means. With a groan, his back still pressed against the trunk, Eugène slumps to the ground into a croach. Immediately, blood starts flowing from the shoulder wound, though far less than one might expect. Maybe there is something to the legends about a unicorn's horn having healing powers, after all.

And with this newly acquired strength, Eugène, now firmly gripping the hunting knife again, manages to throw himself across the unicorn's corpse, weighing it down some more with the burden of his own body, trying to make it harder for the faceless hunters to drag it away.

Because obviously, this is a war, and Eugène is a soldier, and Bessières is his commander.

It does not matter if he does not have a clue what this is all about. It does not matter if he does not have the strength to put up a true fight with Roland's men, or if his commander only moments ago has seriously considered killing Eugène. A soldier, that's what Eugène has been told, will fight to his last breath, loyally and honourably.

Even if he has long forgotten what he is fighting for.

(( @bayard-de-la-garde, @rapports-de-combat ))

A-Hᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ Wᴇ Wɪʟʟ Gᴏ!

( 1, 2, 3 )

@bayard-de-la-garde, @le-fils —·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

The unicorn is struggling, weakened, blinded, silver ichor pouring out. It is dying. And the knight in the canine helm is laughing uproariously, and he steps closer to the two at the tree.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: well

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: if it aint the̸ h̛appily̦ marr̾ied́ husband!

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: çong͚ratulations on tying the̼ kn͢ot mo̷n ami͏ bes̺s̜iè͈res!͎

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: especially wit̉h m͢ȳ reflection

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: hah͍ͣa͕ may͎be i should iͩntroduce mys͞e̿lf pŕop͞erly though we were havin such̉ a fun time me and eugène!

He gives a mocking bow.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: i am rolan͝d̷ de lectoure, void re̦f̞le͞c͞tion of j̨eaͮn lan̮nes,͇ f̍abǔl̶is͕̉t and deceiver and ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇ̤ꜱᴛ ꜰʀ̋ɪᴇɴ̨ᴅ

ᴅͧᴏɴ̚'ᴛ ʏ̍ᴏᴜ̡ ʀᴇᴍᴇ̰ᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ̩ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴏ͙ᴅ̑ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ̴ ᴡɪᴛͣʜ ʜ̨ɪ̈ᴍ?͚ Dᴏɴͨ'ᴛ ʏ҉ᴏᴜ ᴛʀᴜ͜ꜱ͞ᴛ ʜ͐ɪᴍ̵? Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏ́ᴏᴜ ʜᴀ̗ᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ̤̈ ɪɴ ʜɪᴍ?

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: i thank thee eugèń͇e de be̟auhàrnai̛s for such͝ a thrilling͔ hu̴n͝t, and i thank thee͝ for̵ deliv́ering unto us the unic̛orn

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: for̽ ou̷r shi̸t wo͢uld have̾ do̢͇ne little to it

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: and͌ thou h̥elped distract and weake͆n it

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: one of you two should really put it out of its̱̎ misery, its realͫ fuc̴ked up

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: no̎w wh̍y dont tho̡u co̚me̵s̈́t out of where thou a͕r͈t hiding and joi̓n the pa͘rty properly

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: mars̕ha͏l besśières͠?

Bessières: ...

Behind the knight, holding a carbine aimed directly at the knight's head, a Bessières appears. There is fire in his eyes- quite literally, smoke and cinders shrouding his form as much as the cloak he wears and the glint of what seem to be small golden chains wrapped around his body beneath the cloak. And there are inky words in the smoke that the other Bessières might find familiar, for he may recall having written or received them in correspondence.

Bessières: Get away from them!

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: bu̡t̃ i havent̐ do͏ne a̭nythin̋g mon a̕mi!͗

Bessières: You have done enough! I heard everything you said, Roland. And I can guess at how you tricked Eugène into participating in your wicked schemes!

This Bessières' voice is cold and furious, affronted- and afraid for both his friend and his other self.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: w҉ell̡ if t̻hou had intervened earlieȓ͔ thy friend͔ wouldnt͔ have been i̛n̂͘ the situätio͖n he is now!

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: but thou wast ẁo͍ndering if we had subvert͇ed thy frien̨d

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: if we h̟ad tuṙne͏͇d h̬im ag̨ai̴nst̎ theͤe

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: if thou wast̸ goin to h͖ͥave to kill hi͎m

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: a̫n̩d thou wast̲ pͦreparin̴g t̝o shoot poo̗r̠ eugène

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: rig̱ht?

Bessières: Be quiet!

The knight laughs some more. And the unicorn slumps forward, breathing shallowly, cold and intelligent eyes filled with sheer and utter... disappointment.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Finally somebody who's really fond of raw chicken. I thought I'd never get rid of it.

More? Okay. And once your tummy is full, feel free to take a nap.

Awww! Doing the hard job of staring at people in a graveyard must be quite the responsibility at such a tender age.

How about I sit down here under this tree and you sit down on my lap? That should be the ideal place to do some staring. And to be petted, too. I even might still have some raw chicken in my pocket from the last time I visited the emperor...

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Awww! Doing the hard job of staring at people in a graveyard must be quite the responsibility at such a tender age.

How about I sit down here under this tree and you sit down on my lap? That should be the ideal place to do some staring. And to be petted, too. I even might still have some raw chicken in my pocket from the last time I visited the emperor...

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

This.

(Gotta find it for this afterlife!)

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Listening to the conversation and doing his best to wrap his mind around things he barely understands, Eugène has a feeling like he should be angry. Furious even, at being tricked, at being used, at being distrusted even by a man he calls his best friend.

But mostly, he feels confused.

So, the knight in the weird medieval canine shaped armour is not Lannes? Or rather, he's another version of Lannes, like there are currently two versions of Bessières with Eugène in the forrest. But this version of Lannes is ... somehow evil? One of those enemies the actual Lannes and Bessières the Hunter are fighting and that they were being so secretive about when they first met Eugène?

Pity. Eugène was getting on a lot better with this version of Lannes than with the one he has met right after entering the afterlife. - Come to think of it: It should give marshal Lannes food for thought when his supposedly evil twin has the nicer personality.

And the rest of what NotLannes said ... does it hurt? It does. Eugène knows Bessières well enough to understand that, if Bessières considered it necessary to kill his best friend in order to ... do whatever he though his duty was, he would. There is no doubt about this in Eugène's mind.

NotLannes is right about one thing though: Somebody really should give the coup de grace to the dying unicorn. Eugène would, but he cannot, he's still held in place by the horn to the tree trunk. The ghost-like other version of Bessières, husband to the real Lannes, may not even be able to hold the hunting knife, though Eugène weakly motions with his right hand, offering the blade to him. To the dying beast he mutters:

I'm sorry. This is not how I imagined things would happen. I never wanted for you to suffer like this.

Maybe, in a way, Eugène shares the animal's disappointment. But then again, he cannot help but feel that, before all these revelations, it still has been a fine hunt.

--,--

( @bayard-de-la-garde, @rapports-de-combat )

A-Hᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ Wᴇ Wɪʟʟ Gᴏ!

( 1, 2, 3 )

@bayard-de-la-garde, @le-fils —·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

The unicorn is struggling, weakened, blinded, silver ichor pouring out. It is dying. And the knight in the canine helm is laughing uproariously, and he steps closer to the two at the tree.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: well

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: if it aint the̸ h̛appily̦ marr̾ied́ husband!

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: çong͚ratulations on tying the̼ kn͢ot mo̷n ami͏ bes̺s̜iè͈res!͎

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: especially wit̉h m͢ȳ reflection

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: hah͍ͣa͕ may͎be i should iͩntroduce mys͞e̿lf pŕop͞erly though we were havin such̉ a fun time me and eugène!

He gives a mocking bow.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: i am rolan͝d̷ de lectoure, void re̦f̞le͞c͞tion of j̨eaͮn lan̮nes,͇ f̍abǔl̶is͕̉t and deceiver and ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇ̤ꜱᴛ ꜰʀ̋ɪᴇɴ̨ᴅ

ᴅͧᴏɴ̚'ᴛ ʏ̍ᴏᴜ̡ ʀᴇᴍᴇ̰ᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ̩ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴏ͙ᴅ̑ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ̴ ᴡɪᴛͣʜ ʜ̨ɪ̈ᴍ?͚ Dᴏɴͨ'ᴛ ʏ҉ᴏᴜ ᴛʀᴜ͜ꜱ͞ᴛ ʜ͐ɪᴍ̵? Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏ́ᴏᴜ ʜᴀ̗ᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ̤̈ ɪɴ ʜɪᴍ?

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: i thank thee eugèń͇e de be̟auhàrnai̛s for such͝ a thrilling͔ hu̴n͝t, and i thank thee͝ for̵ deliv́ering unto us the unic̛orn

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: for̽ ou̷r shi̸t wo͢uld have̾ do̢͇ne little to it

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: and͌ thou h̥elped distract and weake͆n it

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: one of you two should really put it out of its̱̎ misery, its realͫ fuc̴ked up

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: no̎w wh̍y dont tho̡u co̚me̵s̈́t out of where thou a͕r͈t hiding and joi̓n the pa͘rty properly

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: mars̕ha͏l besśières͠?

Bessières: ...

Behind the knight, holding a carbine aimed directly at the knight's head, a Bessières appears. There is fire in his eyes- quite literally, smoke and cinders shrouding his form as much as the cloak he wears and the glint of what seem to be small golden chains wrapped around his body beneath the cloak. And there are inky words in the smoke that the other Bessières might find familiar, for he may recall having written or received them in correspondence.

Bessières: Get away from them!

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: bu̡t̃ i havent̐ do͏ne a̭nythin̋g mon a̕mi!͗

Bessières: You have done enough! I heard everything you said, Roland. And I can guess at how you tricked Eugène into participating in your wicked schemes!

This Bessières' voice is cold and furious, affronted- and afraid for both his friend and his other self.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: w҉ell̡ if t̻hou had intervened earlieȓ͔ thy friend͔ wouldnt͔ have been i̛n̂͘ the situätio͖n he is now!

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: but thou wast ẁo͍ndering if we had subvert͇ed thy frien̨d

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: if we h̟ad tuṙne͏͇d h̬im ag̨ai̴nst̎ theͤe

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: if thou wast̸ goin to h͖ͥave to kill hi͎m

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: a̫n̩d thou wast̲ pͦreparin̴g t̝o shoot poo̗r̠ eugène

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: rig̱ht?

Bessières: Be quiet!

The knight laughs some more. And the unicorn slumps forward, breathing shallowly, cold and intelligent eyes filled with sheer and utter... disappointment.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Being pierced by a bayonet is something Eugène did not experience during his military career. He tells himself that now he can probably consider this gap in his knowledge filled. As was to be expected, it kinda hurts.

The pain shoots from his right shoulder through his whole body. The hunting garb provided by Roi Nicolas is ruined, but astonishingly, there's not even that much blood. Maybe no large vessel has been peirced, or the weird material the clothes are made of can absorb that much blood. Eugène does feel his forces weaken though, with astonishing rapidity, he feels lightheaded, if the beast's horn had not nailed him to the tree, he might have problems to remain on his feet. Despite this, his right hand still somehow holds the blade; in reflex, he even tries to thrust it forwards. But his arm has gone limb, he barely manages to graze the unicorn's fur.

If he gets out of this alive (or rather after-alive), this might make an amusing anecdote to tell others, he thinks. A perfect stalemate between hunter and prey.

But then things ... change. There's a face next to the stomping and snorting unicorn, a face that seems utterly familiar, yet not.

Is this Bessières? Or is Eugène hallucinating? Bessières looks ... different. Neither like the retired former marshal hiding the power of storm behind his harmless civilian outfit, nor like the hunter who draws his strength from burning letters and an old pocket watch that has stopped working. There is something ethereal in his appearance that invokes the idea of a ghost or an illusion rather than that of a living and breathing body. Or maybe that's due to Eugène's weakening forces; he has trouble focusing.

Most importantly, there's a large hole in his chest.

Finally, realisation strikes.

You're him! Lannes' husband, Bessières the Third!

He chuckles despite the pain engulfing him. Maybe it's the blood loss.

Have you changed your mind and decided to join us, after all? I'm so glad ... could not have picked a better moment. Though this ... for me ... a rather embarrassing way ... make your acquaintance. But then ... always knew about all my shortcomings, didn't you? Your husband is somewhere ... over there ... careful though ... somebody attacked us ...

Eugène's breathing has become uneven, he speaks in a low voice and may be hard to understand.

--,--

( @bayard-de-la-garde, @rapports-de-combat )

A-Hᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ Wᴇ Wɪʟʟ Gᴏ!

( 1, 2 )

@le-fils —·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

There is a reason unicorns care for the virgin and the innocent. They have seen too much of impurity and poison that anything untouched by such madness is an utter relief. This is why they have retreated from the world, for again and again, they have been met with utter disappointment. Even with dark blood spilling forth from its horn, even with silver-pearl burns marring its hide, it is a beautiful thing, and again, it meets Eugène's eyes with a gaze of cold perfection - you did this, Eugène de Beauharnais, you have defiled a holy thing on the behalf of that which should not be- It turns from the faceless hunter it was about to skewer, and with a lunge and a twist in the air, it stabs its horn into the neck of Eugène's steed, spilling what would be lifeblood on a more realistic horse, and the horse that has served Eugène stumbles and begins to drip and melt.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: thou g̛̪ot this̢!

And then, there is a loud BANG in the near distance- but it is strange, it is too far away to be directed at the unicorn but too close for comfort. The knight glances over in the direction of the shot and lets out another laugh. To his soldiers, he barks out-

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: o̥ne of you lot- go͒ check tha̵t out, see if i͆ts one o͏f ou̖̿rs!

The unicorn is pulling its horn away from the melting mass of Eugène's steed. This is an opportunity to strike.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Checking the calendar, he mutters to himself:

Oh. It's that time of the year again.

Sire, like every year please allow me to take this occasion to convey my most respectful best wishes for the new year of l... afterlife you have begun today, from all of your former family. May this year bring you more chicken than eggs.

This is adressed at all manifestations of Napoleon Bonaparte that Eugène is aware of: @alexanderfanboy, @napoleon-bonapartee and the emperor who, as Eugène has been told, resides in a corner of @askgeraudduroc's garden.

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

"Focusing on the unicorn", as Lannes has suggested, is kind of imperative for Eugène at the moment in any case, as the magical creature seems somewhat weakened, but far from out.

The unexpected effect of his hunting rifle has disconcerted him once again. Is there not a single thing in this afterlife that works in a way he recognizes from previous days? You know, the normal, proper, boring way? Shot, bullet, dead prey?

Apparently not. At this close range, with the unicorn's chest almost right in front of the muzzle, the wound ought to have been fatal. A quick, clean death, a great end to a wonderful hunt. Instead, the unicorn has suffered some horrible wounds that Eugène cannot explain. They look like claws or bite marks.

This is just wrong! This is not what he wanted!

And most of all, it has brought him into a rather dangerous position - uncomfortably close to a weakened but raging unicorn (and raging for good reason!) with a spent rifle in his hands.

Of course there would be more weapons - several steps away, where they have cluttered to the ground when the soldier carrying them was hit by a bullet and ... promptly dissolved into nothing, just like the dogs and Eugène's horse.

Because, oh yes, it seems the hunting party also has come under attack, for which reason Lannes cannot come to Eugène's aid.

How weird. Who would attack a couple of hunters in a forrest? Is the unicorn not an animal of the wild? Does it belong to somebody, together with these forrests? Have Lannes and Eugène unknowingly invaded another person's hunting grounds without realizing?

Or, even worse: have they attacked somebody's beloved pet?

Eugène is reminded of something General Bonaparte once told him in Egypt, when his stepson was becoming too eager to volunteer for every mission available: "In our metier, we do not run after danger, for it will find us soon enough." - A doctrine that Eugène, if he is honest, has never fully adhered to, however much he endeavoured to take it to heart. He surely has not today.

He's young again, so very young, blood rushing through his veins, breath quickening with tension. He's alive. His old regiment, the mounted chasseurs of the Guard, were reputed to give no quarter and to never expect any. This is how he feels right now, almost defenseless in front of the unicorn. He drops the useless gun, grabs the hunting knife that belongs to the hunting garb he has put on before, and prepares to dodge the unicorn's next attack. Maybe, if he succeeds, he can get close enough to the guns on the ground to reach another rifle.

Come on then, my beautiful friend! Let's bring this to an end!

If it means Eugène will die in a moment, so be it.

--,-- 🦄 --,--

(@rapports-de-combat, @bayard-de-la-garde)

A-Hᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ Wᴇ Wɪʟʟ Gᴏ!

( 1, 2 )

@le-fils —·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

There is a reason unicorns care for the virgin and the innocent. They have seen too much of impurity and poison that anything untouched by such madness is an utter relief. This is why they have retreated from the world, for again and again, they have been met with utter disappointment. Even with dark blood spilling forth from its horn, even with silver-pearl burns marring its hide, it is a beautiful thing, and again, it meets Eugène's eyes with a gaze of cold perfection - you did this, Eugène de Beauharnais, you have defiled a holy thing on the behalf of that which should not be- It turns from the faceless hunter it was about to skewer, and with a lunge and a twist in the air, it stabs its horn into the neck of Eugène's steed, spilling what would be lifeblood on a more realistic horse, and the horse that has served Eugène stumbles and begins to drip and melt.

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: thou g̛̪ot this̢!

And then, there is a loud BANG in the near distance- but it is strange, it is too far away to be directed at the unicorn but too close for comfort. The knight glances over in the direction of the shot and lets out another laugh. To his soldiers, he barks out-

Lᴀɴɴᴇꜱ: o̥ne of you lot- go͒ check tha̵t out, see if i͆ts one o͏f ou̖̿rs!

The unicorn is pulling its horn away from the melting mass of Eugène's steed. This is an opportunity to strike.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

My father shout at me and beat me. Am i allowed to hate him?

Oof. I guess he gave you plenty of reason to do so, huh?

First of all: your thoughts are your thoughts, your feelings are your feelings. Laws or even only rules of society don't extend that far, so there is no "allowed" or "not allowed".

Acting upon it is a different thing though. And the more you let your hatred grow, the more of a chance there is of you acting in accordance with it. Which might get you into trouble and, at best, will not be helpful. So maybe consider if "feeling hatred" really is what you want, and if you can react in another way? Sometimes, when one understands the reasons for people's actions, it makes one want to pity rather than hate them. But that's easier said than done, I know.

On a sidenote: In my time, and especially in the circles my parents frequented, family was everything. People never would have dared to admit any wrong-doings of their parents. Or any bad feelings towards them. Does that mean they did not exist? Not even I am naive enough to believe that. I guess you and your time can open up about it much more, so you can actually ask yourself these questions. This in itself already seems like a healthier approach to this matter.

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Before he could fully process the surprise of Davout addressing the little owl as "Gouvion", something heavy and feathery hits Eugène's chest full force, knocking him over and onto the sofa he and Davout have been sitting on before.

Ooff! Sire! What...

The imperial eagle settles down on Eugène's chest. Somehow, he's also brought over the little eaglet, covering him and as much of Eugène as he can with his feathers. The emperor-turned-avian looks smug and rather pleased with himself to have his little family under his wings. Literally.

Eugène would love to grant his stepfather some much needed quality time with his family. However, his position is not entirely comfortable.

Sire, I assure you, I am neither hungry nor cold. How about a compromise: I feed this chicken to little @frencheaglet who really needs some food because he still has a lot of growing up to do. I can also keep him warm under my jacket? While you ... uhm ... go hunt in the kitchen for more chicken? Preferably cooked.

Most likely, it will not matter what Eugène says, as the eagle seems to not understand anyway. But Eugène takes the opportunity to pet his feathery little adoptive brother, then tries to do the same with his eagle stepfather.

At least the tiny owl - Marshal Gouvion, apparently? - is safe in Davout's hands. Presumably. With Eugène lying on the sofa and two eagles sitting on his chest, he does not see much of what's going on behind him.

Uhm, Your Excellency? Once you have taken care of ... the owl business, do you think you might give us some help here?

--,--

@perdicinae-observer, @bow-and-talon, @frencheaglet, @alexanderfanboy

Feathery Insanity

— @alexanderfanboy , @le-fils , @bow-and-talon , @frencheaglet —

[[ 1 , ... ]]

———————���——•

Davout wasn't exactly sure if his perpetual lack of body warmth could help keep the small eagle comfortable, or how much human characteristics Napoleon's feathered form actually retained; the emperor did appear to be more...animalistic compared to other transformations he had observed. However, his latter inquiry was swiftly answered with the sight of the Marquis in between the emperor's large talons, screeching with all the might his little body could muster.

...Sire, that— AH—!

Alarmed, Davout attempted to calmly sway the Napoleon eagle to let go of the delicate Saint-Cyr in his grasp— an attempt quickly quelled by said subject of concern being practically squashed into his face just seconds later, knocking his glasses off clean during the struggle.

Sire—! ouff! The chick requires— consistent warm, I was— ack—! Let me explai—! Oh, to hell with this! Fine, fine!

After a brief wrestle with a GODDAMNED EAGLE and common sense had finally kicked in, Davout managed to return the eaglet and its makeshift nest in exchange for his disconcerted owlish comrade— thankfully without committing accidental means cannibalism. (Save for the feathers that landed in his mouth.)

Ugh, pleh... [*ptui!*] ...Eugh.

Whether it was from concern for his friend, annoyance at his sudden blindness, or both; the marshal blinked at the avian in his hand and squinted at him with a puzzled yet agitated look.

Gouvion? You...! How in the blazes are you still an owl? What are you doing out in the open? Are you harmed?

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

🥠

Eugène regards the thing that has fallen from the envelope with a confused expression. It seems to be some kind of small ... pastry? It does not look very tasty though.

Oh well. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, they say.

He tentatively bites off half of the biscuit. Only to find that there's a tiny strip of paper between his lips.

Fie! Whoever made this won't earn much as a baker.

He examines the paper, realizing there are some words printed on it:

.

Well, what I currently have under my nose is the second half of a cookie I do not like very much. Good thing it does not take much to make me happy.

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

I'll surely get back to you about this offer, my dear general!

As to my sister - I love her, I do. But I agree, she's a very romantic and - demanding character. Very strong-willed, too, like all women in my family. Frankly, I do not think she was made to be a good spouse. She probably would have been happy to live an independent life, sort of a modern Artemis.

I get the feeling you have a complicated feeling with your stepdaddy

Complicated?

No idea what you mean, dear Anonymous. Before the emperor divorced the empress, we were a very happy, utterly normal and totally functional family. Right?

I mean, what's complicated about being the stepson to your general-in-chief who regularly complains to you about your mother's shortcomings, while your mum alternates between fits of jealousy and attempting to spend the French national budget on shoes, while your sister whines about both her husband and not enough occasions to show off her dancing skills, while your uncles-in-law (who also happen to be your brothers-in-law) hate your very guts for the sole reason you are there... Let's say there were reasons why, on our return from Egypt, I preferred to stay at Bessie`s rather than live at Malmaison and the Tuileries with those bunch of lunatics.

Utterly normal relationship. As I said.

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

why *is* the afterlife so preoccupied with eggs? is it a metaphor for new life in juxtaposition with death?

Possibly?

Look, I'm a soldier. My associations are not philosophical, they're reasonable. I hear "egg", I think "omelette". If what apparently tends to happen to Bessières a lot had happened to me, I would have invited everybody over to breakfast. End of story.

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

"Why, from the same place everything seems to be coming from in this freakish afterlife", Eugène's sarcastic inner voice wants to answer. "From an egg, of course!" - However, considering the chaotic events even merely hinting at the word "egg" has caused already during the last minutes, and that one egg and one girl having hatched from an egg are quite in earshot, he bites his tongue. Instead he says:

This is a forrest, Monsieur le Maréchal. It seems like a natural habitat.

There had been talk about the emperor and Berthier being attacked by bunnies once. Thiébault, that unbearable nuisance, most likely had invented the story. But if not, noe would be the perfect moment for the emperor to repeat the incident.

Of course it would be too much to ask for an army of bunnies to swarm over them and save the imperial court from its current predicament. Though by now, Eugène really would not mind for something - antyhing - to happen. After all, he's still lying on his back, staring up into the branches of the dark fir trees surrounding the clearing, unable to move.

Around him, close to the place where the airy Bessières has disappeared with Marshal Soult, vines start to grow from the ground, flaring upwards as if trying to catch a prey that is long gone. Some other vines pick up napkins and start to clean Eugène's face and clothes from several layers of cream, cake crumbs, pine needles and bark.

Why, thank you. Not precisely my greatest concern right now. But still very kind.

--,--

@askgeraudduroc, @rapports-de-combat, @general-junot, @napoleon-bonapartee, @your-dandy-king, @alexanderfanboy

The Yandere Tea Party!

🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃 🌿Part 1, 2🌿 🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃

The twisted tea party of @askgeraudduroc, whose mind and affections has been warped by anonymous magic into a dangerous obsessive protectiveness for all of his friends, is certainly growing in more ways than one. Gifted with a strange command over abnormally large and mobile plants, he has restrained everyone to their chairs - which are also made of giant vines - and dressed them in fine civilian clothes as befitting a lovely party as this. The guest list so far is thus as follows:

Lannes and Soult of @armagnac-army and @murillo-enthusiast

Bessières, Murat, Hélène and the unborn egg, of @your-dandy-king

Eugène of @le-fils

Junot of @general-junot

Napoleon of @napoleon-bonapartee

Napoleon of @alexanderfanboy

And possibly more...

But the loving host has left to gather more guests for the party. And in his absence, things have gotten a bit... windy.

🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃-🍃

————————

A bunch of plates smash into Lannes' face, splattering him with food and ceramics - but he seems unbothered, grinning broadly as his plan works. As Eugène on the other side of him is upturned and tossed to the ground, Soult is also equally as unlikely. The chair is uprooted violently and so Soult is sent, tumbling, straight into a tree- where the vines of the chair immediately grow around, clenching around the branches as Soult dangles upside down, still restrained by the vines.

Soult: Macarèl de macarèl, at least hang me up correctly!

Lannes calls out, but his tone has very much shifted from the raging taunts of earlier to a marginally calmer determination.

Lannes: Bessie! use the wind-y thing to try and break the vines! use the edges of the broken plates or something! you fuckin got this!

Lannes: I can insult your performance in battle or as a man again if it helps! you goddamn housewife!

————————

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

wait

Do YOU want to do inappropriate things to bessieres?

What?

Look, dear Anon, Bessières and I were living together. If there ever had been any idea about "inappropriate things", you can be sure we had every occasion to try them out. After all, as I understand Madame Junot put it, we both were "very keen on all the joys that fortune and youth can bring". Or so people were gossipping.

Not saying we did, of course.

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

(whispers to the confessing penitent)

Don't be mistaken - that IS Bessie's way to say he's flattered. Also: you have good taste!

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

can I pinch your cheeks

Is that you, Sire? What's the matter, you never ask for permission otherwise?