Not a problem, not a problem, not a problem! I've just been updating the wiki, anyways :-)
Marcus filled with nostalgia. The times he had spent in France had been great. Mind you, they had not always been good, but great was something which could always be promised. This promise was kept on every occasion the old man could think of, from the Ransack of Versailles, all the way to his stay in Toulon. Even during his departure from Europe in the Bay of Biscay, he couldn't help but gaze at the scenery in awe. It wasn't that it was anything special. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The plainness of France's landscape tickled Marcus' fancy. Eventually, he would end up missing the francophone states even more than his home in England.
Marcus laughed a fondly. It made him chuckle that Margot had been mistaken for a man once more, even without her presence being known. Back in Montpellier, Lamarque would often be mistaken for a man by tourists, and travellers. Even the locals would make the mistake now and again. Margot Lamarque stood at 5"11', and was built like a twig. She was thin shouldered, yet muscular in all the places a woman should not be. She wore a cloak, which hid all of her obvious female tellings, and spoke in the deepest, roughest voice that anyone has ever heard on a woman. Her face was that of a man's, sporting a large chin, and a profound brow. Her hair was always kept short and scruffy, and her scent was always masked by a foul collection of herbs and spices which she would mix up daily. All in all, she was one of the most unladylike figures in all of Europe. And she was proud of it.
"She," Marcus started, sending Ehno a sardonic chuckle, "was a very good friend of mine. I met her in Montpellier. Actually, she met me in Montpellier." Marcus's jowls widened, and he began to laugh to himself. Most of his encounters with Margot had been drunken arguments, which would lead to stumbling sword-fights in the street, which would lead to to a misplaced gunshot into a piece of pottery, which would finally lead to another drunken argument over 'the proper rules of engagement'. But this was not the story, the first time Marcus and Margot met. "And I say Bourbon loosely, of course. She would likely drink anything you gave her. Scotch, Whiskey, Rum, Vodka; you can just about name your game with her." He grew slightly serious in tone, but his smile remained. "She wasn't always like that though. Before, she was the straightest dog I've ever seen." An old finger pointed to a pocket watch, resting in a waistcoat pocket. "This one doesn't work." The finger moved to the opposite pocket. "This one does." And then back again. "Would you care to hear this story?"
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