Post by Baguettepool on Aug 15, 2015 19:25:37 GMT
Featuring a cast of thousands!
Nearly a year had passed since the War of Ludwig's Folly, or in France, the Little War. Much had changed. For one, the old Prime Minister, Henri La Meur, in ill-health, had retired to his farm in Brittany, thankfully,thought a warm, contented mass in a chair, taking his shrewish wife with him.
Yes, things had changed for the Orleanists. Pleasant, almost-bumbling Henri was out, in with Georges Gusteau. Known for his, well, gusto, he had blustered and bellowed his way to the Premier's office. He drained his goblet of brandy, and gave a full, throaty laugh. It was good to be French, better to be Premier. He checked the clock. Nine-pm; good. Time for another brandy. HAHAHA.
Marlene Dietrich was outside his window again, singing Lilly Marlene. Gusteau gave the yowling cat a prod with his umbrella, and the animal shrieked off into the night. After his roast horse, no doubt. Tomorrow would prove a busy day; Carnot had invited him to the Grand Society's annual 'Beer and Battering', a clandestine event in which scholars competed through solving equations and boxing matches, all whilst blind drunk. Gusteau himself had been invited to open the evening with a special event match against the American Ambassador, who by all accounts, had a mean streak a mile wide and punched like a steam drill. HAHAHA.
Gusteau shovelled the last of the Cheval into his mouth, and began to gobble the gateux. He was sure the Premier had to do other things, but for his first week, all he'd done was eat, drink and fight. Perhaps it was the honeymoon period.
Nearly a year had passed since the War of Ludwig's Folly, or in France, the Little War. Much had changed. For one, the old Prime Minister, Henri La Meur, in ill-health, had retired to his farm in Brittany, thankfully,thought a warm, contented mass in a chair, taking his shrewish wife with him.
Yes, things had changed for the Orleanists. Pleasant, almost-bumbling Henri was out, in with Georges Gusteau. Known for his, well, gusto, he had blustered and bellowed his way to the Premier's office. He drained his goblet of brandy, and gave a full, throaty laugh. It was good to be French, better to be Premier. He checked the clock. Nine-pm; good. Time for another brandy. HAHAHA.
Marlene Dietrich was outside his window again, singing Lilly Marlene. Gusteau gave the yowling cat a prod with his umbrella, and the animal shrieked off into the night. After his roast horse, no doubt. Tomorrow would prove a busy day; Carnot had invited him to the Grand Society's annual 'Beer and Battering', a clandestine event in which scholars competed through solving equations and boxing matches, all whilst blind drunk. Gusteau himself had been invited to open the evening with a special event match against the American Ambassador, who by all accounts, had a mean streak a mile wide and punched like a steam drill. HAHAHA.
Gusteau shovelled the last of the Cheval into his mouth, and began to gobble the gateux. He was sure the Premier had to do other things, but for his first week, all he'd done was eat, drink and fight. Perhaps it was the honeymoon period.