~CHAPTER FOUR~



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The crowd oo-ed as they watched the ravishing woman descend the steps, now walking in front of King Richie. She didn’t say a word, but everyone was silently awed. They waited quietly for her lips to bless their ears, but she didn’t.

Her dress draped down her frame, properly outlining her muscular physique. She tucked her sleek dusky bob shyly behind her ear, before turning around to hold on to King Richie’s privileged arm. Truly, a walking heart-attack, her dress hung dangerously low. She had a tattoo of a raven on her back. Even Lady Moustache considered her- indulgent.

The music played again, this time much more drawn out and softly. King Richie and Pansy L’Amour slowly slithered their way through the packed crowd to Lady Turncoat and Lady Moustache. Mr. Capgras found a way to dissipate into thin air, uncaught by his brother. She walked with an enticing step, her heels clicking, keeping perfect beat with the music.

King Richie and Lady Turncoat had huge grins on their faces. Lady Moustache didn’t even notice, completely unaware of the big joke. He was too distracted by the woman, now more visible, he noted her exquisitely intricate makeup.

“Lady Moustache,” He introduced himself. He gingerly picked up her hand to kiss it, leaving the mark of his lipstick just below her wrist.

“I’m absolutely enchanted- by your presence.” Lady Moustache stood up straight again, now returning his gaze to her face. Her eyes pierced him like thunder clouds of the night.

“She’s very beautiful!” Lady Turncoat remarked while shimmy-ing her shoulders.
“She is.” Lady Moustache concluded earnestly.
“Of course I know who you are, Lady Moustache.” Pansy stated. Her voice sounded like home.

“You do?” He asked, hoping his reputation graciously preceded him.

“Hmh. Yes, we’ve met before.” She laughed. Lady Moustache wracked his brain. Certainly, he’d remember meeting such an impressive person.

He smiled to play off his own daftness. Miss L’Amour promised she’d return, Lady Turncoat and King Richie lurked behind Pansy as she walked the floor making light talk with as many people as she could. They all heartily welcomed her, laughing and cooing as they conversed.

Lady Moustache peered into his glass. He took another sip to try to ease his developing headache.



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Lady Moustache hovered around the buffet, now with a half full glass and no luck finding the finger sandwiches. Lady Moustache looked around the crowds. Pansy L’Amour with a full glass of rosé, looked thrilled to finally see a familiar face.

“Darling!” She cheered in a low voice. Lady Moustache reciprocated her greeting, they pulled each other into a relaxed embrace.

They gab-ed fondly with each other, conversation flowing naturally. Lady Moustache looked around once again.

“You seem distracted… Is there something on your mind?” Miss L’Amour was concerned. Lady Moustache looked like he felt sick.

Lady Moustache attentively looked back to her. “Oh, I’m alright… just had a bit much to drink.” This was a lie, he didn’t know why he was so dizzy, but this was the only reason he could come up with.

“I was, however, trying to find a gentleman I had met earlier. I wanted a chance to talk with him again.” He looked, seeing Pansy giving a slightly hurt look. “Although, he doesn’t matter now. I get to- delight, in your companionship- Miss L’Amour.” Lady Moustache steadied himself on the table behind him.

“Would you like to dance?” She asked shyly.

“I would.”

The pair lost their glasses and giddy-ly pulled the other towards the centre of the room to join the waltzing couples. Lady Moustache patiently taught Pansy the proper steps as she attempted to keep up. They laughed and joked about their imperfect steps, eventually just completely stopping to talk. Lady Moustache started to feel his body go numb.

Pansy noticed how sluggish her friend grew. Her concern developed as she cautiously watched the people bustling around them. Everything felt so constricting.

She was about to ask him if he wanted to sit down when a man rudely ran into Lady Moustache, his red wine spilling down the front of his shirt.

Lady Moustache froze. He didn’t think to look at the man’s face as he fled into the crowd. The crowd that had ceased their dancing to gawk at the humiliated man. Lady Moustache desperately wanted to hide away, his embarrassment plastered his face and shirt.

“Come on,” A pained Pansy started. “I have a suit you can change into. Let’s get out of here.” She hushedly said, wanting to get Lady Moustache out of the claustrophobic area.

Guests whispered and gossiped as Lady Moustache was led swiftly out of the hall by ‘that’ woman.



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Lady Moustache was led to the Green Room, where he leaned against the vanity, taking in the mess he became. He looked pale and he laboured to move. His vision became bleary, coming in and out of focus.

Pansy returned from a back room with a large suitcase. She pulled out a brown three piece suit and a blue button up. Lady Moustache felt incredibly warm, and immediately started undressing.

He unbuttoned his shirt, starting to slip it off his shoulders. “You don’t mind?” He asked, hoping his undressing didn’t make the woman uneasy.

“It’s alright, I can step out of the room if you would prefer some privacy.” She offered, trying to keep her glance away from the topless gentleman.

“I’d rather you stay.” He said truthfully. “I don’t feel very steady at the moment.” Pulling his pants down, he saw the wine had soaked all the way through to his briefs.

He frowned. “Don’t worry, I’ll be leaving these on.” The two huffed a laugh, both trying to soothe their stress.

“I feel rather crude, getting undressed in front of a woman I hardly know.” He said, looking down his shirt as he buttoned it up and tucked it in.

“Good thing I’m not a woman.” Pansy cryptically contradicted.

Lady Moustache looked up, sliding the brown waistcoat on. “Oh, is there something else you’d prefer to be called?” He asked hoping he didn’t offend his friend. He buttoned up his waistcoat.

“I think you have me mistaken…” She wondered. “Those are awfully loose on you, I can fix the straps. Turn around.” Pansy commanded.

Lady Moustache obliged, allowing her to adjust the two straps. She tightened the first one, on the oxford waistcoat, tightening it impossibly tight to fit his corset-like torso.

He leaned heavily on the vanity. His head felt like lead, as he struggled to hold it up. Eventually, he let it fall down. He peered up with his eyes through the vanity’s oversized mirror. His gaze was met with Miss L’Amour’s serious expression.

“My name is actually Mr. L’Amour,” She tightened the strap on the back of the oxford pants.

“Or as you like to call me, Mr. Mann.”

He looked up, turning around to face the crossdressing Mr. Mann.

He gave a weak smile. “I suppose that’s why I had so much trouble trying to find you at the party.”

He groaned and collapsed, falling into Mr. Mann’s ready arms.

Mr. Mann helped carry him to the sofa just nearby. He set him down gently and told him that he was going to take him home, but that he was going to change into his normal clothes first. Lady Moustache didn’t respond, he just mumbled. He attempted to give a thumbs up.

The room was spinning terribly fast. Lady Moustache closed his eyes, he sat for what felt like forever. He found himself not remembering where he was or what he was just doing, that is, if he was doing anything. His body felt like it was asleep. He greatly struggled to move a single muscle on his own. However, he could still feel everything around him, prickling into him like hot needles.

“Eastanovan… Eastanovan…” He heard mumbles.

(Uhh)

Lady Moustache thought to himself, he hated that people still called him that. Eastanovan Valentin Duchamp was the name of the little boy who desperately craved his father’s attention and validation. That being said, he is not named Eastanovan, and he surely doesn’t care for that monster’s approval. In turn, he doesn’t need his acceptance with who he is, and he is Lady Moustache.

“Eastanovan!” The man echoed. He felt a hand luring his upper arm up.

(What’s going on) He thought he recognized the man’s voice, a voice that he was glad to have not heard since high school.

“Why don’t you come with me… Let’s go dear…”

(No, Put me down) He didn’t want to go with this man, he didn’t know him.

He felt the man try to lift him up, his arms now fully wrapped around him. Lady Moustache struggled to pull himself away. He opened his eyes, attempting to look at the stranger. He couldn’t make out any details from the blurry form in front of him. The light above hallo-ed his head, leaving him a void. He heard footsteps quickly approach them.

Suddenly, Lady Moustache fell back onto the couch, falling over the armrest.

He watched the second figure pin the stranger against the wall, causing a picture frame to fall crashing to the ground. The stranger’s feet hung about a foot off the ground, he kicked about trying to squirm away from the hands that easily pin him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The big, dangerous Mr. Mann challenged the scared and much smaller intruder.

(I don’t want to go with him, I want to go with you.)

Lady Moustache reached out, just barely brushing Mr. Mann’s pant leg.

He blacked out.



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Lady Moustache woke up in his torrid room, he stirred in his bed, struggling to wake up. He shakily moved to hang over the distant bed edge. He looked around, then at himself. He found he was wearing a suit he didn’t recognize right away. Not remembering what happened last night, he tried to recall.

(The spilt wine… then, Pansy L’Amour… who’s actually Mr. Mann, He drove me home) The string of finally coherent thoughts rushed to him. He jerked his head, rubbing his face with his tingling hands. The lights were too bright and he ached everywhere.

(I’m going to throw up)



~~~

Principality of Monaco
August 4th, 1924

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Cherry placed down a cup of coffee in front of his sluggish young master. He had helped a concerned young man with the door, while he carried him all the way up to his room.

“Do you feel alright, sir?” Cherry asked, while a miserable Lady Moustache pushed his unappealing breakfast away from him, pulling his coffee in front.

“I’m just tired- had a terribly long night.” Lady Moustache jadedly stated. He had trouble remembering most of what happened last night, he laboured to recall anything.

(If it could just come to me!) Lady Moustache was remarkably distraught, it wasn’t like him to black out in such a manner. Frankly, he felt deeply unsettled.

“He obviously just had too much to drink. I think I recall you proudly stating you could handle your liquor, little brother. What a pity.” Mr. Capgras chimed in, standing in the doorway. He sneered as he held a mug of his staple drink.

“How would you know that, Mr. Capgras? I’m certain you left before Richie even opened up his presents.” He guessed. He didn’t remember, but his brother is just unbelievably predictable.

“I did.” Mr. Capgras flared his nostrils. He turned around as an incredibly tipsy aunt stumbled her way into the dining table.
Miss Moonshine, still in her dressing gown, pulled a red stained wine glass and a bottle of rosé seemingly out of thin air. She disjointedly forced them on the table in front of her.

*CLINK-clack*

She leaned her head on the table, pouring the alcohol into the oversized glass. She looked like a mad scientist… that wasn’t much of a scientist. She just looked like a lunatic.

“Aunty Moonshine!” Mr. Capgras scolded.
“It’s not even eight, and you look like you’ve been replacing your sleep with a few too many.” He frowned and considered if stopping her was worth the bruise.

She roused herself, swinging her whole body to fix her moody gaze on Mr. Capgras. She held the bottle in one arthritic hand, and picked up the glass with the other.

“Pisss off-” she slurred.

“Just let her do what she wants.” Lady Moustache sighed from across the table. He sat over his coffee, cradling his headache with his hands. He stared into his dark roast. He didn’t like that Miss Moonshine perpetually drank, but he figured the argument that would ensue would only worsen his throbbing headache.

Miss Moonshine crookedly smiled. “That-zz a smart boy…” She nodded her glass to him, nearly spilling it all over the impractically large surface.

“Don’T. Test me.” She said, holding the wine glass to her red-dyed lip. She pointed the bottle at her stone-like older nephew. Trying to provoke him.

She peered down at her glass contemplative. She took the empty bottle and attempted to drink from it. To her dismay, there wasn’t a single drop left.

“It’s empty,” Mr. Capgras stated. “You’ve drained it all into that absurdly large glass.” It honestly shocked him how dense everyone in his life appeared to be.

“I know-what I’m doing-” She asserted. She barely left a breath for herself as she downed the whole glass in one foul swoop.

Lady Moustache picked up his coffee and slowly savoured it. This is going to be a bloody-long morning.



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Lady Moustache was more awake now, and happy to go see his dear friends. He was going to drive to King Richie’s house, but was unable to find Eric anywhere. He searched all over the grounds, even asking Cherry if he’s seen his driver anywhere… No luck.

He griped over the phone to a sympathetic Lady Turncoat. Sounding like she had the most brilliant idea, she told Lady Moustache to go outside. He waited at the steps for a moment, unsure of why she had him stand outside. In a concerningly short amount of time, a blue car raced up the road.

Lady Turncoat veered, she wasn’t used to driving on the “wrong side” of the road. Lady Moustache held on for dear life.

“That’s one way to wake someone up!” Lady Turncoat gagged after having swerved the car in between the lanes a couple of times. She laughed maniacally when she saw Lady Moustache’s panic.

“Do be careful-” Lady Moustache begged. He was definitely more awake now.

“Oh, calm down! I know what I’m doing! MY mother drove in drag races. Taught me e’ry thang she knew.”

“She retired.” Lady Turncoat concluded her story.

“I thought your mother had died…” Lady Moustache, confused, looked at the excitable driver.

“Ok, ok. Retired in the ground. She always did say she wouldn’t want to quit unless it killed her.” She finally admitted.

“Wait a minute… I thought you didn’t have a driver’s licence…” Lady Moustache exasperated.

“...”



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Lady Turncoat and Lady Moustache pulled up to the mansion. Lady Moustache got out of the driver’s seat, having made his unlicensed friend pull over so he could drive instead. Getting out of the passenger seat, she grumped how she wasn’t THAT bad of a driver. Lady Moustache could only reply with a forced chuckle.

“Hm hm hm!”

The three friends sat in wait for tea to be served. They *hit the pipe, passing it amongst each other. They aimlessly chatted in the drawing room. Eventually, the subject of the party popped up, to which Lady Moustache admitted he didn’t remember much of what happened.

“I must’ve blacked out or something.” He claimed, hoping the others could tell him what happened. They couldn’t.

“You didn’t have THAT much to drink!” Lady Turncoat announced, “I only ever saw you with that one glass!”

“How much did you drink?” She finally asked, passing the pipe to Lady Moustache.
“I barely had half a glass!” Perplexed, he took a long drag.

“How strange…” King Richie scratched his chin, looking through the door behind Lady Moustache and Lady Turncoat. He looked to the far end of the hallway.

Lady Moustache offered the pipe to Lady Turncoat, who refused it, before passing it to King Richie, who sat on the sofa in front of them. He took a couple light puffs as Lady Turncoat wondered about an exceptionally monumental query.

“When ARE they serving the **noodle juice?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she got comfortable on Lady Moustache’s shoulder.

“Tea will be served just shortly.” King Richie answered. He blew the smoke down as he looked past Lady Moustache’s shoulder.
“You know,” Lady Moustache initiated. “I think we should invite Mr. Mann for tea sometime… I rather like the fellow…” He declared.

“You do now?” King Richie inquired, keeping his eyes past Lady Moustache as he put away the pipe. Lady Moustache leaned on his arm rest, not noticing his shifted attention.

“I do! I was thinking of asking him to lunch sometime… but do you think he’s busy? If you wouldn’t mind it, could we ask him to join today?” Lady Moustache asked King Richie, who now had a rather amused appearance.



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*hit the pipe: to smoke opium

**noodle juice: tea

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© ST.Mortenson