“He’s got to be the toughest guy on the block! I once saw him take on three guys in the back of an Alleyway, he knocked them flat on their back in three seconds flat! Fastest hands in Paris, I’d swear to it! -Claudine Berkshire

Yves resides on the Sixth floor Room: F3

The Vignettes

Yves Mannon the prize fighter takes the long route back to his Apartment. His blood stained hand grasps a rubber ball as it falls through the air. While in his pace he takes a defensive stance, slicing his sharp jabs through the air, snapping back, then driving forward with a faster barrage of jabs.

The water of the Seine quietly wades along, and a quiet storm broods inside Yves. His eyes gaze as if to look an opponent in the eyes before throwing out a couple of hooks and uppercuts. Slamming the rubber ball to the ground he let out a torrent of jabs, to see how many he could get out before catching the ball sailing back to the ground.

"Your face Yves?!" The voice of fellow tenant, Aime St. Fleur called out as he walked on by, several bouquets of flowers piled in his arms nearly above his head. "Are you all right!?

Yves looked up with a confident smile in spite of his busted lip.

"You should see the other men..."

"Come on, stay put!"

Yves yelled from his apartment, his door ajar, and again he continued to curse to himself.

"Dammit!'

Philippe Navarre and Louis Bouthillette happened on by the open door and peering in. "Yves is everything all right?" Louis asked, knocking on the door as he peered on in.

His brow raised to the sight of Yves trying to jab at a punching bag that swayed too far back from his reach. Philippe also stuck his head in to see the frustrated prize fighter trying to keep pace with the bag.

Eventually Yves stopped as he heaved, sweat pouring from his face as he clearly been at the task for some time. "If you can give me a hand I'll give you a cut, if I win of course.." He gestured with his head towards the bag. The two friends looked at one another, wondering who needed the money more.

Then before they could say a word Roger Brouillet cut between the two with his small frame. "Someone say cut?!"

"Just hold the bag, right?" He asked Yves, who looked to Philippe and Louis appeared seemed miffed at being sidelined by the advantageous tenant. Yves shifted his eyes to Roger, then back to them. They at once looked at one another and smiled, folding their arms and leaned against the door frame to see what Yves had in mind.

"Yes Roger, but you can't just hold it, for important fights the holder must brace it with his whole body, like a child holding its mother.."

Roger nodded confidently, bracing onto the bag, with his chest and body pressed against it.

"Like this?!" He exclaimed with enthusiasm.

"Yes, just like that..."

"Say, this is the easiest money I may have made.."

Yves flashed a smile and slammed the bag as hard as he could with his fist, sending Roger back and dragging forward on his knees before he eventually letting go of the bag.

The fact that Roger was but a few inches over five feet, did not help as it was, he laid under the swaying bag before pulling himself back up.

"Dammit..." Looking up to Philippe and Louis Roger asked sheepishly. "I don't suppose one of you could give me a hand?"

"Wouldn't want to take any of the cut."

Philippe chided Roger while Louis gave a laugh.

"A cut can only cover so much after all, for a few sou, hardly worth a working man’s time, I wouldn't want to deprive a man such as yourself." Louis added.

The two men laughed to themselves leaving Roger with Yves.

"Now come on, hold it still...!"

"Can't you take it easy Yves?"

"Wouldn't want me to lose now, would you?"

"Well no... Urghh!"

A sound thud followed, as Philippe and Louis laughed their way to the Lobby.