“You’ll never find a kinder and more devoted Mother in all of Paris, perhaps even all of France. I can’t believe her estranged husband left her to raise five children by herself. The man mysteriously comes and goes as the seasons, and I have never once heard a single complaint from her, not a one!” -Annette Bouthillette

Mrs. Berkshire and all of her children reside in Room: B1.

The Vignettes

Mrs. Berkshire raises up on her knees, and wipes her brow, breathing heavily. She drops the scrub brush and presses her hands to her lower back and twists with her eyes closed with a heavy sigh. A slight creek on the floor sounds causing her to stare forward to see Gustav, holding an ensemble of broken things in his arms.

His regal face is not without bruises. An unfamiliar woman shoulders by him with a handful of money. Mrs. Berkshire cocks a brow and shakes her head going back to work. Gustav refuses to wear the shroud of shame as he bares his pride while walking by.

——————

Mrs. Berkshire sits in her apartment next to a hope chest filled with time cherished memories. On her lap rests a small stack of letters written to her from her former lover and husband. He had came and went like the seasons, and like the seasons he warmed her heart and bloomed into her much life and happiness, and like the seasons also left it cold, lifeless and bitter.

Looking to her stove, she debates setting the letters ablaze, looking out the window she sees many travelers traversing along the Parisian streets. A young man hand in hand with his love.

Her mind played cruel tricks on her, and in that precious moment, saw her former husband, and herself standing in the street, looking up to the same apartment building, with their bags in hand. Her eyes stared hard into the past as if to warn her former self of some impending doom down on the street below.

However, her ear twitched at the sound of her children’s feet clapping along the floorboards, tussling, laughing, playing. With a faint grin crossed between the pains and pleasures of her life, she tossed the letters at the window, dismissing her apparition.

——————

Mrs. Berkshire makes her way down the stairs and through the Lobby, her eyes casting suspicion on the tenants that lounge about with their quite conversations and drink. Emerging on the outside she reaches into her coat grasping onto a letter.

Her heart sinks as she does not wish to be seen delivering a letter. People will no doubt suspect she is pining for her husband’s return and doesn't want to be perceived as weak. However, for her, times are hard, and she is barely able to cover the rent, let alone provide food for her children.

Down the street a familiar figure returning from his workday appears. Aime St. Fleur. With his short stature and tailored vest, Aime was the quintessential kind man and never unable to help a friend in trouble.

Mrs. Berkshire quickly approached him and ushered him into an Alleyway.

"Mrs. Barkshire, what is the meaning of this, are you ok?"

She covered Aime's mouth so fast he was still speaking in garbled words under her hand and at once cut him off.

"Please Aime, I need you to do me a favor. I need this letter delivered, and please tell no one you've done me this favor, I promise to repay you!" She pressed her lips to his cheek which made Aime turn bright red, then stuffed the letter in his belt making him tremble.

She quickly pulled away saying as she moved like the wind. "Not another word of it Aime, and thank you..."

"T... Thank.. You...?!"

In the Morning, Afternoon, and the Evening the Berkshire children can be heard running, screaming and playing around the clock, getting into all kinds of mischief. Though even Henrietta must admit having them around, in spite of their usual disruptive nature brings a little liveliness to the Apartment.

“What?! She’s only Fourteen!? No wonder why Henrietta had to keep Mrs. Berkshire away from Gustav, I swear she wanted to murder him at the mere thought of making Veronique one of his art subjects.” -Pascal Hurteau

The Vignettes

Veronique Berkshire lets out a scream while running in circles around her flower cart. She quickly crawls under the cart to hide away from something nobody else seems to notice in the slightest. As luck would have it Alphonse DeGrange a fellow tenant from the Apartments peers his head down, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. His keen blue eyed stare taking notice of Veronique hiding under her cart.

"Mademoiselle Veronique Berkshire..." Alphonse stated in simple greeting to her covering her head and heaving, clearly out of breath. "What do I owe this pleasure?"

"There's a wasp tormenting me, my foreman left the cart under a wasp’s nest, a flower cart of all things! I don't want to get stung!"

Alphonse stood up taking notice of the wasp’s nest and puffed on his cigarette amused by the sight if not surprised. A child like sensation mixed with a bit of imagination tempted Alphonse to flick his cigarette into the entrance of the wasp’s nest but fought the urge.

Lowering his head, he kindly spoke to the girl. "Looks like we'll have to move you across the street petite mademoiselle."

Veronique blushed, and crawled out from under the carriage, and was surprised to see Alphonse already moving her wagon for her, fortunately it was designed not unlike a wheel barrel and was able to be lifted and slowly pushed across the street.

The moment Alphonse set down the carriage, his task completed he felt a pair of soft lips touch his cheek, and a flower for his troubles. "Thank you, Monsieur Alphonse, I couldn't have done it without you!"

Feeling slightly bashful he simply replied. "My pleasure..."

After she had turned away, his eyes widened to see his fingers bloody from the rose, he had not noticed how the thorns sunk into his fingers.

“He’s a good boy and means well, I think he’ll do well for the paper. He also has an interest in language to sell more papers. I think he’ll get on well in life if he keeps at it, not much choice in the matter being the man of the house after all.” -Gabriel Arquette

The Vignettes

Parisians stormed at every street corner where a paper was being sold. Unfortunately for Pierre Berkshire breaking news of The Great Caper committing a new crime meant that he would be late for a rendezvous with a love interest.

He would have to run twice as many routes and end up selling three times as many papers as normal, it was too much for him to keep up with. His heart sank thinking of how he was condemned to work, and that he would gladly trade the day’s pay to meet with her.

Then out of the throngs of customers that surrounded him a fellow tenant Garelli DeMarciano appeared with his usual broad smile.

"Hello Pierre, quite busy, no?"

Pierre brightened to see Monsieur DeMarciano, though he was aware Garelli knew little French, he felt he knew just enough words to get a helping hand.

"Yes, if you could help me sell that papers, I will let you keep my money today, all of it!" Pierre gestured to the large stacks of paper at his side.

"No need Pierre, I help!"

Pierre smiled brightly and handed Garelli the newspaper.

“Thank you, I will not forget this favor!”

"Hey, this man look familiar no?"

Garelli tried to observe the details of the front page image before having the paper snatched from his hand, and money being dropped in the pale.

"News is scarce in these parts..." He worded to himself and grabbed another paper to read..

"Le Grande Adven….”

Again, another paper was snatched from his hands, and another coin dropped in the box. Every paper he reached it was readily snatched from his hands. Before Garelli realized he was actively selling papers Pierre was long gone.

“The kid is always getting in trouble, and out of trouble, and back into trouble. His mother slapped him, it didn’t work. You think maybe if someone slapped her that would work?” -Bertrand Faure

The Vignettes

Andre Berkshire slowly slipped down the rope from Old Blunderbuss' apartment window late at night.

"Careful lad, I'll be as good dead if you fall!"

Looking up as he held tight to the rope the boy quipped to Blunderbuss who struggled to hold onto the rope. "That makes two of us..."

"Do I have to go through the window?" Andre asked.

"Afraid so, there's a spy among us I know it, and if he sees me getting supplies, he'll know we're all at a disadvantage and then we'll be had!"

Lowering himself further and further he eventually made it down to the street. Sending up Old Blunderbuss a hand signal he quickly ran off towards the dock.

"Not too fast!" Blunderbuss yelled in a loud whisper seeing the silhouette of the boy in the moonlight, soon disappear into the darkness. Hearing the stir of tenants outside his door, he unsheathed his saber, and began sharpening it.

"I got something to test their mettle." Laughing under his breath, his eyes narrowed towards the door, waiting for the handle to turn.

——————

An old ship's bell rung out as a signal to Andre Berkshire, and he quickened his pace. Late at night few fishermen were left awake and about, as many of them had returned to their ships for their early to bed, early to rise habit.

The few ships that were docked in the Seine had lanterns left glowing, some frightening individuals muttered over losses while gambling what little they had on the dockside. Their grisly faces illuminated in the light of an oil lamp, giving the appearance of disfigured demons. Twisting their heads, they continued to leer at Andre as buzzards while he stumbled on by.

At last, the sign of a lantern dimming, and brightening with the sound of the ships bell.

"You're the client?"

A large man stated in a raincoat, his voice was deep and baritone.

"I'm here to pick up the goods for the client."

"Who is?"

"Brigadier General LeFoe."

"I didn't realize he had children serving him, times must be tough." The man looked down at the boy and laughed. Suddenly Andre raised something under his coat which appeared to be a gun of some sort, causing the man to raise his hands. "I'm a soldier, not a boy!"

"Sorry Monsieur didn't mean to offend...!"

Looking over to his right he saw a marked bag. "Is that the gun powder?"

"Sure enough..." glaring suspiciously at the man, he reached into his belt tossing him the payment, a heavy coin purse dropped to the ground spilling out a number of coins.

"Good as your word, certainly a soldier of Brigadier General LeFoe."

Andre quietly nodded in acknowledgment, grabbing the heavy bag of gun powder, then ran off back towards home, not giving the docks a second glance.

“She’s always in Yves’ shadow. She thinks the world of him. Why? I think he pushed a few kids over for being a little rough with her. Ever since then she hasn’t been too far from his side, at the very least she hasn’t gone a day without saying his name!”

-Leon De Leon

The Vignettes

“Yves!” Called out the young girl as she ran up to him. Her friend sat on the dock looking into the Seines waters. She gave a gasp at seeing his face. “You should have seen the other guy...” He murmured quietly finding it hard to speak with his usual confident smile. “You have something for me Claudine?” She quirked a brow handing Yves a beautiful light blue butterfly. Its body slept the eternal sleep in his palm, which he quickly closed while a gust of wind blew through.

“How did you know...?”

“Wouldn't want to ruin my fun now, would you?”

“Hmph!” Claudine punched Yves in the shoulder causing him to wince, and then a gentle giggle followed.

“She has her mother’s nose for trouble no doubt! Henrietta had a complete fit the other night. What happened? I heard that instead of her tea being brought up through the dumbwaiter Abby was in there playing teatime with her dolls. Henrietta was fit to be tied! She did have company in her room after all, so I heard!” -Sophie Leitner

"There he goes again getting in Monsieur DeMarciano’s tools. You’d think he mind but he doesn’t seem to mind Nigel one bit!” -Alphonse DeGrange

The Vignettes

They say that the younger one is, the closer one is to the spiritual world. Imaginary friends, ghosts, spirits, and fables follow children not far behind, as if they were a former resident of that world.

It certainly makes one wonder less so in regard to curious children that find their way down dark passageways after pressing into tight crawl spaces.

Nigel Berkshire is certainly no different, a curious three year old, old enough to be a fast enough on his feet, and indeed small enough to crawl into a world all of his own making.

A wide eyed toad of a creature, two feet in height, and made up of several other mysterious things not from Nigel's familiar world. Then again one begs to ask what is familiar to a child?

For Nigel he laughs and plays about while narrowly dodging the towering spires of adult legs through the kitchen passed Gavin, who grumbles with a cleaver in his meaty hand.

"...If I find the man stealin' the meat from my counter e'll be 'alf the man when I find 'em!"

Through an open closet door, a bug eyed creature watched his eyes glowing bright yellow, with two slits down the middle much like a feline. A single fang protruded out from the curve of his lip.

Nigel held onto his Teddy Bear tightly but bore a look of a justified determination springing forward into the closet. The creature gave a sudden yelp, then leaped into the dark passageway from which it came.

Hesitating for a moment Nigel stopped short of the mysterious opening. Looking back, he saw Gavin with a grumble under his breath, slamming the blade through meat and bone.

Before little Nigel could ponder ill consequences, he found himself stepping forward with an absence of mind, leading him to a world where no boy or girl had ever before seen.