“Before it was an Apartment Building it served as a once popular Hotel, that is before it fell into disrepair and was picked up by Monsieur Monroe. Who in turn passed it off to Henrietta upon his passing. It was left in disrepair, and it’s been a work in progress ever since. . . Unfortunately.” - Vincent Crevier

To walk into the Lobby is to see it crowded with several tenants sharing a coffee and meal with a fresh newspaper. They will be clamoring for anything new, from serious news articles to some gossip rag. When this is not going on they are engaged in private gambling practices. It remains private for two reasons. The first and most obvious reason is legalities. The second you ask? Henrietta doesn’t care for gambling, so long as she takes her cut, in addition to the rent of course.

The Vignettes

The doors to the Apartment building blew wide open at the slightest push alerting the Tenants in the Lobby all but Monsieur Guenier, who sat slumped in his chair half asleep and mostly deaf. The wind continued to howl while Lucas Roux emerged from the outside world. The hard wind blowing his coat hard as he shut the doors behind him. “Unseasonable would be an understatement!” Lucus mumbled to himself.

One of the Tenants who sat with a group of friends at a table for cards called out and waved to him. “Mine as well wait for it to pass; I'll deal you in!” Lucas felt obliged to hang up his heavy coat before approaching the familiar faces. “Very well Monsieur Dechant, however I have little to lay down.” “On days of bad whether we simply play for sport!” Lucas' expression turned to astonishment while approaching.

“What happened with your nose?!”

“Remember the good old days, when we thought Madam Guenier was bad?” Recanted Monsieur Brouillet to one of his fellow tenants with a hushed tone. He looked on over the balcony into the Lobby below acknowledging Madam Bouviere with a beleaguering stare. “Well... It's a beautiful day out. Time to get to work...” Monsieur Brouillet whispered as he grabbed his hat and set off downstairs. As quick as he was to tip his hat to Madam Bouviere she turned up her nose to him. “Who paints on rainy days?!” A few loud chuckles from the tenants on the upper floor sounded out. A menacing gaze from her followed which silenced the chorus. “Bunch of cackling ninnies!” Short in stature, with a nose that turned upwards in a casual act of defiance Madam Bouviere defied the tenants around her with an otherwise quiet hostility.

A shadow cast over the Madam before she nearly collided with a large figure at the bottom of the staircase. The figure was none other than Andre Alarie who imposed on the Madams figure and quietly gazed down at her with narrow eyes. “Don't you have someone to bury?” She chastised him “One less if I can help it Madam Bouviere.” He simply replied. Her lips sneered tight as she shouted. “Get your filthy hands away from me!” Andre looked at her, his eyes reflecting for her a quiet pity before setting out on his daily ritual. “As you see... Madam.”

“BAGS BOY!” She cried, then a burst sounded at the lobby’s front doors. The Tenants would mistake the sight for a magician’s trick of levitation if not for the small legs under the moving mass of luxury. “If you drop a thing it'll reflect in your gratuity, so I suggest you be careful.” Andre Berkshire struggled on his trek up the staircase as he gave audible grunts every few moments.

“What floor does she live on again...?” Whispered one tenant to the other. “Seventh I believe...”

“If you help him, he won't be getting a sou, keep that in mind won't you.” The Madam gave a wicked smile as she continued her path up the staircase with ease.

Henrietta stood in the doorway to her apartment casting a careful glance on Madam Bouviere. The child soon followed as his appearance was still dwarfed from the load of bags he had been carrying. Henrietta drifted away in her mind as the scene took place in front of her.

“And what might your Tenants think if they found you made a cuckold of my son? I imagine they wouldn't be too happy. It's worse enough he wasted his life on this place, not to mention your empty affections. I think I'll enjoy making you suffer.”

A wicked grin stretched along Madam Bouviere's lips, she could see fear in this adulteresses’ eyes, and it gave her a particular joy. Henrietta gently twirled the wine in her glass then savored a taste, her eyes narrowing on Madam Bouviere. Her hands were tied, there was little she could do, but simply wait for an opportunity. Waiting for the opportunity to arrive Henrietta found herself on the receiving end of extortion. Her services of law from Monsieur Ray were in the hands of the wicked Madam, as were Monsieur Navarre's first class tickets, not to mention every connection that is openly known within the Apartment.

The sound of a rainstorm bringing its sorrow on the Apartment was an often welcome sound, if not the occasional leaks. Usually at this time it was considered indeed the best time to read. Words were rarely exchanged at this time, as the tenants enjoyed the comfortable silence of heavens elements at work.

Old Blunderbuss carefully passed a cigarette to Monsieur Guenier with a clever sleight of hand, as Henrietta never allowed him to smoke in his old age. However, boys would be boys even up until their twilight years.

Monsieur Guenier gave a slow nod with a smile short of many teeth, leaning his head over for a light which Old Blunderbuss obliged.

The two sat back and listened to the rain with the respect of a symphony that was rarely played. Their eyes drew keenly to the windows, observing the rain in the strobes of lightning.

Monsieur Guenier smiled as he puffed slowly on his cigarette, enjoying no doubt his favorite part of the summer, the tumultuous storms that would roar through Paris, and give the faint of heart the occasional jolt.

Old Blunderbuss remembered the days of cannon fire and victories won from great distances at every call of thunder.

"The best of times." Old Blunderbuss said under his breath.

"Best of times..." Monsieur Guenier quietly agreed and settled back, closing his eyes to hear the rain.

"Fortunate enough to still hear it."