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Crawford taps his finger on the dark bottle in his hand, observing the Frenchmen beneath him. A fair symbol of what France was at the moment. Russia was off flirting with the British, the rest of Europe had been turned away from France, and that left only the States of America for France to mope and complain about their woes.
The same seemed true for this soldier here. Despite having been his guard for about a month now, Crawford had to admit that their name had slipped from his mind.
Arnois? No, it had a hard ‘d’ at the end…Arnaud, yes that’s what it must be. Or at the very least sounded like.
Arnaud had been a poor host, with Crawford only seeing the man in short glimpses, the Frenchmen seeming to prefer to stay stationed outside of Crawford’s room. A superior officer must’ve forced Arnaud to stay closer, Crawford muses, taking another swig from the wine bottle. Or perhaps was trying to avoid something.
If it was one or the other it meant little to the American. He expected to be left waiting for whatever amount of years before Talleyrand even considered meeting with him. Who knew, it could even end up being another XYZ affair. Crawford chuckles darkly, teeth grinding. At least the wine was rich and fine here. A bit too sweet though, for whatever reason the vintner must have added too much sugar. And so strong, oh! Crawford’s head was fuzzy with a pleasant warmth much stronger than what he was used to.
The ambassador runs his hands over his head, fingers massaging at the temples.
He’d have to send letters to fellow ambassadors to get a whole handle on the new American war with Britain, and it was clear that Napoleon had little time for little America’s stolen cargo.
A groan from Arnaud causes Crawford to stir, the ambassador slumping forward onto his chest to get a closer look at the soldier across the table. Yes, then there was the whole matter of the paranoid guard. Crawford would be a fool if he didn’t notice the way Arnaud shifted and preened like a hen wary of shadows in the barnyard. Of course, Crawford was more than accustomed to dealing with envious hens. It was…unfavorable but it could be done. This night of wine drinking had shown that Arnaud would be fairly easy to deal with, his irritability seeming to stem from worry about that friend of his.
Crawford would simply have to replace them, have himself be Arnaud’s support and his only rapport. It would be an easy job, Crawford’s fingers mess with Arnaud’s orange hair, noting its sea salt crusted ends. The soldier was lonely it seemed, as he clearly had little to do after his work as a coast guard, and heaven knew that if one had a wife or child then a person could always count on being busy.
Arnaud was already half into his hands then; and if this event of drinking continued and turned into a habit—every month, nay, every week or so—then perhaps Crawford would be able to get a better glance at how the French system was reacting to this “blight”.
It already seemed there were multiple issues. For one, there was only a group of eighty people for this whole fort. A volunteer group yes, but it looked like that many were more inexperienced, or in Arnaud’s case, extremely difficult to work with. A shortage in the army then. But surely the cold of Russia could not be the only cause of this death, with how little officers returned to their home town for moments of rest. Prussia…Arnold had mentioned a friend staying there. Why would an experienced infantry officer be there when they could be fighting in Russia?
Odd, especially with a modern day Caesar as a commander. Crawford attempts to drink another sip of wine, head already swirling with suspicions and heady with alcohol. “Ah…?”
He tilts the bottle, his eye peering into the bottom to see nothing left, save for a stubborn trace of red wine. The ambassador tsks and places the bottle back down. Really, he ought to head to bed before he passed out on the table like that Frenchman.
Crawford stumbles to his feet, chuckling a bit as he almost falls and he grabs onto a chair to steady himself. “Oh ho! That’s not a good sign.” The ambassador spares a glance to Arnaud, humming an old song under his breath.
Now, he couldn’t just leave the guard here. No, Arnaud was clearly a bitter and vengeful man who was only led by the motive of self preservation.
Like most people hehe.
He shakes the Frenchman’s shoulder, English words meeting the air and slurring together into a mush.
“Get up man, or will I have to get someone to carry you?”
Arnaud shifts, waking ruefully to the sound of that disgusting language of English.
“There we are, ha.” Crawford smirks, feeling his mouth shape into a smile not dissimilar to a Cheshire cats’. “Nice rest?”
Arnaud slumps back down, covering his eyes with scarred hands. “Ah, don’t do that!” Crawford slaps Arnaud’s shoulder with his gloves before sighing and trying to heave the man up on his own.
“Maybe its time to lay off the beer a little bit no?”
Arnaud snarls at Crawford, not able to understand the English but able to decipher what the ambassador was saying. “Me?” The French words blur, and Arnaud surges with sudden energy, sweeping Crawford off his feet and stumbling to the door. “Hey, now-!”
The ambassador laughs as the two continue down the hallway, a bit hysterical due to the alcohol and disbelief that the Frenchman would simply pick him up.
“How odd,” Crawford speaks to himself as he struggles to keep balance with Arnaud.
“Not a single man other than us in these halls.”