#bessières to the rescue

[murillo-enthusiast]

🄽🄴🅈'🅂 🄿🄰🄸🄽🅃🄴🄳 🄿🄰🅁🄰🄳🄸🅂🄴

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Previously... Internalised Catgirl Misogyny: ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ) An Interloper in the Gallery

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A few hours have passed. Perhaps you lingered because you were at a loss of what to do, or you were curious about what was going on, or you felt guilty for what has happened, or all of the above.

In the area that is the afterlife of this Soult, we can count the following:

Soult him- er, herself, and her ADCs.

The prodigal hunter Bessières, conspicuously leaking smoke but insisting that he's fine, really.

Lannes, having shown up after a panicked message, loudly making fun of Bessières. Also he's a man again.

Joachim Murat (@your-dandy-king), very much not a man right now, fussing over the wounded Bessières - possibly having returned home to her own Bessières and perhaps having brought Geraud Duroc (@askgeraudduroc) with her, who is also a girl now.

Louis-Nicolas Davout (@perdicinae-observer) who probably feels pretty awkward about the whole thing. And is also a girl, a fact that she does not seem entirely at ease with.

Napoleon Bonaparte (@alexanderfanboy), who also does not seem comfortable with her femininity, and also showed up just when things got bad.

Octave Levavasseur and possibly Ney's other ADCs (@le-brave-des-braves). We shall not speak of the guilt and misery that Levavasseur is surely feeling.

A few hours have passed. I do not know what you were doing in those hours, except you have suddenly been disturbed by one of Soult's ADCs, asking you to follow him (or her) frantically, gathering you up and taking you to a strange Parisian door that is awkwardly in the side of one of the buildings.

When you step through, you will see Soult's beautiful gallery. But the metaphorical spotlight will not be on any of Soult's other treasures, but on one specific painting:

It is a painting of a small chateau and a beautiful garden surrounding it. You can see the sun that is about to move towards the horizon, turning all the luminance into shades of gold. Three figures are running around - those are the three small boys playing their favourite games while the daylight still lasts.

And in front of it, you will see Marshal Lannes waving a sabre around, and you will see Marshal Soult not having any of this.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

Lannes: Just one cut!!!

Soult: ABSOLUTELY NOT. YOU GET THAT SABRE AWAY FROM MY PAINTINGS.

Lannes: COME ON HOW THE FUCK ARE WE GOING TO GET IN THERE TO RESCUE NEY???

Soult: YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA IF THAT WILL WORK YOU MADMAN.

Lannes: YOURE THE DAMN PAINTING HERE YOU TELL ME!!!

Soult: STOP WAVING THAT THING AROUND!

Lannes: WE WONT KNOW UNLESS WE TRY!!!

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[your-dandy-king]

Event: A Visitor

Continued from here!

@the-adventures-of-lydia-brown:

"I count myself lucky to lack nothing in my existence here. A place of my own and all that I need to thrive are already mine. But I am a collector of stories, of word spoken and written. If you know of any that I would not bother anyone by learning and preserving... I would very much like to add them to my hoard."

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Duroc doesn't keep a large library in his home, and most of his recent acquisitions were from Bessières' own collection. Which came from castoffs from the mortal world that washed up in the domain of the King of Naples. Helene's favorite board book about animals came from there. Perhaps, that will have to serve.

"I have access to many books, some published long after my mortal passing. Objects lost in the living world -- including books -- can be found in the domain of King Murat. I've curated my own library from his rescues. I do not keep the bulk of my collection here, but in his domain." He offers a small, but warm, smile. "There is nothing heavier in the world than paper, especially paper when it must be moved."

"Would that be acceptable to you? I can arrange to show you, if you wish, once the storm outside has ceased."

"I like there!" Helene adds.

[rapports-de-combat]

Index des rapports d'action collationnés, Part One

Part Two

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This is a masterpost of the extended events that @armagnac-army, @murillo-enthusiast and those associated with them have been involved in - or, if you don't mind breaking the fourth wall, the characters that @cadmusfly plays and the ongoing plots they get entangled in.

WIP, evolving document, etc etc.

This post was too powerful for Tumblr so it's been split into parts.

Colour Key: Lannes, Soult, Bessières, Soult's ADCs, The Enemies

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Lannes's New Pet Sheep - 1, 2 ( Lannes ) [ Duroc ]

Saving Junot From The Asylum - The Offer, The Rescue, The Tea Party

Lannes Has Partaken Of A Substance Tag Soult, Ney and Levavasseur Tie Lannes Up Lannes Is Tied Up Until Larrey Says He's Not On Drugs Anymore Tag

Saint-Chamans Gets Bitten - 1, 2, 3 ( Saint-Chamans, Soult, Lameth, Petiet, Brun ) [ Duroc, Bessières, Murat ]

Soult's ADCs Halp A Man Without A Michel Make Music - 1, 2, 3, Soult Gets A Complaint, Bory de Saint-Vincent Appears While Everyone Else Is Grounded ( Lameth, Petiet, Brun, Soult ) [ Levavasseur, Heymes, Ney ]

The Angel and the Demon - thread ( Demon!Soult, Lannes, Petiet, Brun, Bory, Saint-Chamans, Lameth ) [ Murat, Fairy!Duroc, Winged!Ney ]

Devil!Soult Tag Dragon!Soult Tag

Melancholy and Mutiny- Lannes and Duroc, Lannes' Truth, Napoleon's Admonishment, Stop Mutinying You Assholes, Apologies, Drinks with Murat [ Duroc, Napoleon, Ney, Murat, Massena+DuQuay ]

Flora and Fire - 1, 2 ( Dragon!Soult, Bory ) [ Berthier + DuQuay, Winged!Ney, Larrey ]

The Phantoms of the Opera - Masterpost ( Lannes, Soult, Petiet, Lameth, Saint-Chamans, Bory + Citoyen Ombre ) [ with Murat, Duroc, Lydia, Caroline, Larrey, Bessières ]

Davout and the Giant Egg - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 ( Bory ) [ Davout + Lenoir ]

The Recovery of Geraud Duroc - 1, 2 ( Lannes ) [ Duroc, Larrey ]

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[askgeraudduroc]

Lameth comes riding in fast into Duroc’s afterlife, looking serious. He jumps off the horse just in front of the cottage door and knocks. When Duroc greets him-

Lameth: Bonjour, Your Excellency. No time for the usual pleasantries, I’m afraid, so let me make this quick - Murat has gone into Bessières’ domain to seek him. Before leaving, Murat told Soult that if Murat does not respond after many hours, Soult should send a rescue party in. My Marshal has decided to keep this expedition small, as he was was warned to not bring obvious weapons or look intimidating. Thus, it will be my Marshal and Lannes, with myself and Petiet assisting.

However, he has tasked me with asking if you wish to join us.

If you do, gather what you can and hop on my horse- I will take us to where the Marshal is making preparations. If not, I will return later with what I hope to be good news! But make your decision quick! I must return to @murillo-enthusiast with the answer soon.

If you do come with me, do not worry about Helene, Brun is ready to take her for emergency babysitting! I assure you, she will be in good hands with him and Madame la Maréchale.

I...

*Duroc quickly shut his lips, having a expression filled with both worry and guilt. He looks down, not focusing his sight on anything to come quickly with an answer*

...It was my fault that Bessieres went into his domain in the first place. It should be just right to me to just... Leave him be and take his time.

But... If something were to happen to Murat, Soult, Lannes, and to you guys... I would never forgive myself.

I will go, and face the consequences of my actions. So please, let me get ready quickly.

[histoireettralala]

Eylau

Soult’s corps had half its men out of action. Augereau’s no longer existed as a fighting entity. Davout’s was desperately engaged on the right. Murat brought up the whole of his cavalry, eighty squadrons. At the head of Grouchy’s dragoons, he trotted them across the exposed French front, and then, forming each squadron to the right, galloped them in line after line upon the Russian infantry. Grouchy’s dragoons, followed by Hautpoul’s cuirassiers, followed by Klein’s dragoons, and on the flanks Lasalle’s hussars, Milhaud’s chasseurs. The shock and fury were so great that the first two lines of the Russians were bowled completely over, and the French found themselves halted by the third and last line. They regrouped, but were now faced by the uninjured men who had turned about. They were caught between two fires, with not enough room to gather momentum to burst their way out. But Bessières charged with the mounted grenadiers and chasseurs of the Guard and, reopening the breach made by Murat’s horsemen, drove right through the remaining Russian line.

Napoleon had only to throw in his infantry to complete the destruction of the Russians [..]

Hubert Cole, The Betrayers

[northernmariette]

A sixth go at the 5 Marshals game

The game by northernmariette rules: I choose the situation, I choose the marshals. The situation is #2, shipwrecked on a desert island with... 

But before stating my choice of Marshals, I will say that this situation cries for more specifications. A desert island where? I will assume paradise-like tropical conditions rather than a desert island in the Canadian Arctic, as this would imply different conditions (as in extremely close physical contact to try to keep warm; here I will let the readers of this post indulge in their personal fantasies) and hence different Marshals. I will also assume food is easy to procure. Maybe crates of fine foods from the wrecked ship are even drifting onto the beach.

Shipwrecked for how long? I can spend very long stretches perfectly happy in my own company, especially if some of these drifting crates are full of books. Non-fiction, please. Without books, I can’t imagine spending more than a week in someone’s exclusive company without starting to entertain thoughts of murder. So rescue will have to come within a week for both the Marshal and myself to still be alive.

An important point in my ranking of the chosen Marshal is this: A wise person once said that Love is not so much blind as it is deaf. Actually, make that THE most important point in ranking and choosing my Marshals.

And now, my chosen Marshals, in alphabetical order: Augereau, Bernadotte, Bessières, Masséna, and Ney.

5 Augereau: An intriguing individual, who would be interesting to converse with - for a shortish while. Here is a person with the most improbable life, filled with improbable adventures, but with a reputation for bragging. Bragging really gets on my nerves. So does profanity. My patience would soon run out.

4 Bernadotte. Kind, charming, well-mannered, a good conversationalist. A really good conversationalist. A too good conversationalist. Okay, let’s say it: Marshal Motormouth. With, as a bonus, a tendency to tell you what it is you ought to be doing better. Rescue would have to come sooner than a week.

3 Masséna. Here I might have the opposite problem. This is one cagey dude. If someone who knew him well has written a memoir, I’d love to get my hands on it. Marbot hated him - but loved Augereau. According to MacDonell, however, Masséna and Augereau were fast friends (maybe it’s Masséna and Augereau who ought to be shipwrecked together). Marshal Lefebvre made sure he would be buried next to Masséna, so I assume these two got along great also. Add to the mix that Masséna was a success with the ladies, so he can’t have been without charm. On the other hand, Napoleon opined that Masséna’s conversation was dull, although it might be that Masséna had no interest in chatting with Napoleon, the man who made him give back the 3 million francs Masséna had acquired through “thrift”. All in all, a bit of a toss of the dice here about how serenely I might spend a week in Masséna’s exclusive company.

2 Ney. Said to be not terribly pleasant in his professional life, and not particularly chatty, but congenial and cheerful when among friends. Also demonstrably resourceful, as shown by his escape from capture in Russia. Resourcefulness might come in handy on a desert island. This might work out if he considers me a friend. In addition, he and Bernadotte were friends, so a twofer: if I’m with either of these two on the desert island and we run out of subjects to converse about, I can ask information about the other. 

1 Bessières. The problem here might be that he would be too quiet, but on the other hand he would leave me alone when I’d need it. Kind, courtly, chivalrous, with training in the medical arts; this last might come in handy on the desert island. From my readings, Napoleon seems to have been much given to vomiting and fainting, so Bessières, who probably witnessed this many times (he probably was the one who spent the most time in Napoleon’s company after Berthier), would be likely to remain unruffled if I became sick, and probably would even know how to help - in a quiet, kind, courtly, chivalrous manner. 

[josefavomjaaga]

Marie Louise on the road (11)

We’re quickly approaching the end of Marie Louise’s diary, I fear. This is probably the pre-to-last installment.

Thursday, May 10th

I did not wake up on the 10th until noon, and the Emperor pleasantly surprised us by saying that he wanted to take us out at 2 o'clock to see the ocean. [He gave us an appointment at the Haag fort at three o'clock]. The Queen of Westphalia kept me waiting for more than an hour, which caused me to be at least as impatient as she was. I was so angry thinking of the anger the Emperor would have against me if I did not arrive, that I was in a bad mood all day.

This reminds me of an unusually harsh letter Duroc wrote a couple of weeks earlier to somebody about how a particular task needed to be accomplished faster, because if it didn’t »this will put His Majesty in a bad mood, and he will take it out on me again.« - It seems Marie Louise had already joined all the other people trembling before the imperial master and his whims. (Lannes, you’re missed!)

I am usually a good person, perhaps too weak, [...]

Perhaps.

[...] but when I get angry (as I very rarely do), I am perhaps much meaner than other women. [...]

We arrived at four o'clock at the Fort of Haag, behind which are the dunes. These are sand hills of various shapes. In spite of that, we could see the little points of the masts which told us that the sea was not far away. As I was very impatient at not being able to see it at once, whilst we waited, we had some cream given to us, which is excellent in this country, and which is kept in green bottles of a singular composition.

So, what do you do to distract the kids if they don’t stop asking »Are we there yet?« Give them a treat. Apparently in Marie Louise’s case, it worked.

The Emperor wanted to show us the ocean at once, but the dunes were impassable at that place, and we were obliged to mortify our impatience by taking another two-hour drive to find a place where we could climb. At last we found it and I was very surprised to find my leg buried halfway in the sand. Each step cost us so much effort, but it was nothing for such intrepid travellers as we were, so we were well rewarded by the beautiful view we discovered when we reached the top of the hills.

We saw the ocean, which appeared as a huge surface of water bounded only by the horizon. The sun was setting, colouring the sea like a rainbow. In the distance we saw a few fishing boats returning from their journey, protected by a sloop. They are obliged to send one with them, for the English permit themselves to abuse the poor when they take their fish and do not pay them. The sea was very calm, except on the shore where it broke with quite some force against the rocks.

I’ve quoted this paragraphie in its entirety because I think Marie Louise’s excitement at seeing the sea really comes across here. You can really tell how enchanted she is. And you have to admit that, for once, Napoleon has been very considerate towards the ladies in taking them on such a delightful pleasure tri...

The Emperor had maps brought to him and conferred with the engineers.

Oh. Okay then.

The Queen of Westphalia and I amused ourselves by collecting the shells that covered the shores of the sea. There were some charming ones, but it is said that those of the Mediterranean and the Indies are infinitely more beautiful. The shells, together with the unhealthy air, caused me, thanks to the King's malice, three attacks of fever.

I’m not sure what she’s referring to here. »Le Roi«, the King, could only mean Jérôme. But I’m unsure what he has to do with it, unless Marie Louise means that it had been him who had prevented Catherine from showing up on time, thus causing her to be in a bad mood and all out of breath all day.

But Jérôme is not the only one to play tricks on unsuspecting empresses:

In the midst of our amusement, I saw that the Viceroy and the Duke of Istria [Eugène and Bessières] looked at us in a very peculiar manner, and laughed at us a lot. I did not have time to ask them why when the sea came in with such force, faster than we could flee, and drenched us to our knees. Fortunately it returned as quickly as it had come. They explained to us that this was the ordinary effect of the tide, but the gentlemen might well have been gallant enough to warn us in advance.

Can anybody else picture those two overgrown schoolboys standing on the dune, looking down on the beach, grinning from ear to ear and waiting for the first large wave to come in (»Three - two - one - YES!«), before dutifully hurrying to the ladies' rescue once those were properly drenched? (»Gotta wait until the damsel is truely in distress before showing up as her knight in shining armour, that's how it works.«)

We abandoned our search and went to ask the Emperor for permission to change. The answer was »stay, ladies, this bath will do you good«, and he made us wait until eight o'clock. [...]

And here we go again. The master has spoken.

[joachimnapoleon]

@histoireettralala, this one’s for you. ;) Papa!Murat in all his fluff-tastic glory. 

***

Murat shifts uncomfortably. The tiny pink plastic chair really wasn’t made to hold a brawny, six-foot-plus adult male. But what choice does he have? His attendance at his daughter Letitia’s tea party is mandatory, and his traditional seat has been usurped by a new arrival, one Mr. Bear, who recently came home with Papa from the amusement park to live with them.

Just don’t break the chair, Murat tells himself. Do not. Break. The chair.

“How is your tea, Papa?” Letitia asks.

He glances down into his empty, plastic toy tea cup. Raising it to his lips, he pretends to take a delicate sip, sighing contentedly for good measure.

“Delightful, my dear.”

The seven-year-old beams. Would Papa like some more? Of course he would! Murat places the tea cup in front of Letitia. She obligingly lifts her toy tea kettle and elegantly simulates pouring him another cup.

“Thank you mademoiselle! You should pour some more for Mr. Bear too, he’s looking rather parched.”

Letitia pours Mr. Bear some more tea, observing that her new friend is always very thirsty because of his great size. She then turns to her younger sister, five-year-old Louise.

“More tea, Louise?”

Louise, busy scribbling in her newest coloring book, shakes her curly-haired head, but informs her sister that Bunbun would like some. The gigantic floppy rabbit has been Louise’s constant companion since arriving at the Murat household alongside Mr. Bear, Baldoin (Lucien’s new stuffed dog), and Ajax, an enormous stuffed crocodile now doubling as a body pillow in Achille’s bedroom.

Bunbun soon has a fresh cup of tea. He expresses his gratitude by drooping over even further in his seat. Louise is oblivious, intensely focused on coloring a picture of an octopus that looks, Murat can’t help but notice, a bit like Davout.

Fearful that Bunbun is about to go toppling out of his chair, Murat reaches over and gently nudges him back upright.

“He’s okay,” Louise says reassuringly. “Just sleepy.”

“Ah,” Murat nods understandably. “Didn’t he sleep well last night?”

“He was scared of the thunder,” Louise says.

“I see,” Murat says, giving Bunbun a severe look. “Well we’ll have to work on that, won’t we.” Cowardice had no place in the Murat household.

The sounds of running footsteps over the downstairs hardwood floor, the laughter and dramatic cries of little boys at play, and the familiar clatter of toy swords bring a smile to Murat’s face. Achille and Lucien must be playing “knights” again. Hopefully they’ll behave themselves and not break anything el—

The sound of something large and ceramic hitting the floor and shattering into pieces reverberates through the house. A frozen silence follows.

Murat sighs. If it was another one of Caroline’s vases, she would have his head. The boys just broke one not even a month ago. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on things while she was away enjoying the spa with Pauline and Elisa. Somehow, he doubted that Caroline would find “I was attending Letitia’s tea party” to be an acceptable excuse for the obliteration of another one of her expensive antiques.

“My apologies, mesdemoiselles,” he addresses his daughters. “I need to go check on your brothers. Be good while I’m gone, okay?” Not that he needs to tell his two little girls that anyway. They are perfect angels, whereas the boys are... well, more like him.

Rising awkwardly from the pink plastic chair, he creeps towards the stairway, not wanting the boys to hear him coming. He peers down the stairs. Eight-year-old Achille and six-year-old Lucien are crouched beside a pile of shards which, moments earlier, had formed their mother's favorite vase. Murat rakes a hand over his face.

"Can we fix it?" little Lucien whispers loudly.

"I don't think so," Achille whispers back. "There's too many pieces."

"What are we going to do?" Lucien asks.

"What, indeed?" Murat interjects, suppressing a smile as his sons jump in startlement.

"Papa!" the boys exclaim in unison.

Murat bites his lip as he regards the remnants of the vase, forcing a grim expression. "Well boys," he begins, doing his best to try to be serious, "which one of you broke Mama's favorite vase?"

Lucien cringes. Achille looks downcast. The boys regard each other in silence for a moment. Finally, Achille confesses; it was his sword that knocked down the vase. But only, he adds with a glare at his younger brother, because Lucien ducked instead of blocking it like a real knight would have.

The mess is soon cleaned up and disposed of, and Achille and Lucien are properly lectured on the importance of absolutely not under any circumstances breaking anymore of their mother's possessions or else. The boys grab their swords and run off to play a new game: pirates! Murat is about to go back upstairs to rejoin the tea party when his cellphone rings.

Lannes greets him enthusiastically. How is the babysitting going? The boys broke another vase? Caroline will be SO MAD. You had ONE JOB, Joachim.

"It's not my fault!" Murat protests. "I can't be everywhere at once. We've had a very peaceful day so far up until this!"

"NO EXCUSES. I have more kids than you and I can manage them well enough!"

"Yeah well your kids aren't little versions of me."

"Thank God for that," Lannes laughs.

Murat rubs his temples while his friend launches into a long explanation of yet another practical joke he recently played on the hapless Bessières. Wandering into the kitchen while Lannes rambles, he puts the phone on speaker and places it down on the counter as he pours himself a glass of juice.

A little girl screams from upstairs.

Murat puts the glass down and dashes out of the kitchen. "IS EVERYTHING OKAY? SHOULD I CALL THE DOCTOR?" Lannes' voice shouts through the abandoned phone.

Springing up the steps three at a time, Murat enters the girls' room to find Louise in tears, being consoled by Letitia.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Murat asks, his heart pounding. "Are you hurt?"

"LUCIEN AND ACHILLE TOOK BUNBUN," Louise sobs.

"Where did they take him?"

"They said he was their prisoner," Letitia says, "and they were taking him back to the pirate ship." She looks at her father, mystified. "Do we really have a pirate ship, Papa?"

"Of course not my dear, where would we keep a pirate ship? I know where they went though." Kneeling, he pulls the sobbing Louise against him. "Shhhhh, it'll be okay my love. I'll bring Bunbun home safe and sound, I promise." He kisses her forehead. "Letitia, keep your sister occupied while I go rescue Bunbun, okay?"

"Yes Papa."

He heads back downstairs. Somehow, Lannes is still yelling through the phone.

"JOACHIM?! WHERE ARE YOU? IS EVERYONE OKAY? I'M CALLING DOCTOR LAR--"

"NO," Murat cries, "DO NOT CALL LARREY, for God's sake Jean. Everything is fine."

"But I heard screaming!"

"It's nothing. The kids are playing a game. I'll call you back later, I have to go." He ends the call, pockets the phone, and leaves the house through the back door.

His eyes go across the vast, vibrant gardens, and out to a distant oak tree, from which protrudes an ornate treehouse. The sounds of boyish laughter carry through the summer air.

Murat had taken great pains--quite literally--to build the treehouse years earlier, when Achille was just a toddler, before Louise had been born. Losing his footing while hammering in some boards one afternoon, he had plummeted out of the tree, dislocating his shoulder in the process.

After recuperating, he had stubbornly completed the treehouse (with help).

Now the structure served alternatively as a fortress, castle, fighter jet, spacecraft, and pirate ship, depending on what mood the children were in. Striding towards the would-be pirate ship, Murat sees Lucien peer out at him with a spyglass, before ducking back behind the window.

Achille appears, bedecked in his pirate hat and eyepatch, a wooden cutlass in his belt. Behind him comes Lucien, dressed similarly, holding the captive Bunbun before him. The droopy stuffed rabbit is led out of the treehouse, towards the makeshift plank Murat had added on some months back to accommodate his sons' piratical fantasies.

"ARRRRR!!!" Achille cries.

"YAAAAAARGH!!!" echoes Lucien.

"What has poor Bunbun done to deserve this?" Murat asks in feigned despair.

"He stole our buried treasure!" Achille says.

"YEAH!" says Lucien. "ARRRRGH."

"Now he must walk the plank!"

"We're gonna feed him to the sharks!!"

Murat has an idea.

"I'll be the shark!"

"Do you know how to be a shark, Papa?" Lucien asks.

"Of course!" He's seen all the Jaws movies, at any rate.

Murat pretends to swim back and forth below the treehouse, baring his teeth ferociously up at Bunbun. Lucien giggles, then, remembering his role after a poke on the back from Achille, resumes his pirate scowl, giving one more loud "ARRRR" for good measure.

"FOR STEALING OUR BURIED TREASURE, WE HEREBY SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH," Achille declares.

Lucien shoves Bunbun off the plank. Murat catches the stuffed rabbit and, gnashing his teeth, simulates rending it to pieces. Laughing, the boys celebrate their triumph with whoops and cheers, waving their wooden cutlasses. Murat, pleased with his performance, tucks the liberated Bunbun under his arm and takes a stage bow.

Soon after, Bunbun is back in the arms of a grateful Louise. Hopefully the boys would neglect to tell their little sister that Papa had temporarily transformed into a shark and devoured her beloved rabbit. Murat cringes. Maybe he can make a deal with them...

The front door opens downstairs. He had completely lost track of the time. Is Caroline home already?

"Joachim?" Caroline calls. "Where are you? ...And what happened to my vase?"

***THE END***