Why. On. Earth. Was it so hard to find good help? Auch. What a dramatic thing, this unemployed French tumtum! The look he cast upon them was incredulous, and shifted fast to relief when they retreated to Dr. Wells to be a pain in the side of.

“Salut, Pierre,” Zechariah deadpanned, not wanting to imply they would cross paths again with ‘au revoir’.

There was a short, sad look at his gin before he sipped it. Was it Zechariah? Was he the problem? Was he too brash, too petty, too mean to strangers and friends alike?

… Nah! Fuck them. Fuck them all.