Two flashbacks in one chapter.
The English soldier kicked him down. His black tricorn flew away.
"It's over now, smelly frog!" The broad English soldier spat out as he aimed his rifle straight at Gaston.
Merde. No, he couldn't die like that, defenseless, at the mercy of an enemy. His reputation as the embodiment of manliness would be tainted forever! And fuck it, he didn't want to die at all! But he couldn't fight back for one of the rosbiff 's friends had fled off with it.
"Say au revoir, stupid Frenchman." He sneered in a gravelly voice.
Instead of getting a bullet piercing his heart, the captain saw the most incredible scene. Something he thought he'd never see in his life.
Someone popped out of nowhere and shot the English right into his forehead. The English dropped dead in a ruffled thud on the grass.
"Gaston! Are you alright?" The small man standing in front of him enquired. His gun was still smoking.
Who did this moron think he was? Dishonoring his captain like that, by snatching victory off his hands? With such a flawless shot on top of that? He will beat the shit out of this- Wait… It was… Jacques? The hunter couldn't believe it. Mon Dieu, non… His Petite Crêpe had just… killed? The flabbergasted captain replied nothing. Jacques knelt close to him.
"You alright, Gaston?" He repeated with the saddest eyes Gaston had ever seen.
Oh my sweet Crêpe, what have you done? What have I done? I want to kiss…
NO! Bordel, these unmanly, disgusting, unnatural feelings again? Jacques was his best friend. Gaston loved him that way. Nothing more. He wanted to… hug him because he was scared of losing him. Who wouldn't be scared of losing a friend when there's war? He jumped on his rescuer and hugged him tight.
"I'm alright." He softly whispered in his precious pancake's ear. "Thank you, LeFou." He said, using Jacques' new nickname.
The "crazy man" chuckled against the crook of his captain's neck. He couldn't help but hugging him back. He had almost lost the love of his life. God, if he hadn't felt brave enough to jump on that English…
"Gaston…" LeFou breathed as he nuzzled through his rabbit hunter's wavy hair.
What? What? What was Jacques doing? That gesture really was too weird and intimate to Gaston. Friends didn't… do that! It must be the shock. Jacques never killed or even harmed anyone before. It surely disturbed him a lot. Well, Gaston guessed it would pass and let him do as he pleased. For now.
Petite Crêpe also had the sacrifice spirit. In fact, this pure angel had sacrificed his whole life for the hunter. He had almost died several times trying to save his comrades. Whereas the great Gaston never hesitated to betray or abandon a mate if it could save his own life. Or give him an upgrade.
Staggering through the freezing night, Captain Jean-Baptiste de Chastel was wounded on his right side. He stumbled down in the frosty grass. His lieutenant Gaston rushed at him.
"Capitaine! Is everything alright?" He asked more out of decency than real sincerity. He couldn't care less about the fate of some loon who dared to order him, Gaston!
"Gaston! Some of these stinky morues got me! You got to call the medic in! Vite!" Jean-Baptiste panicked as he was gripping hard on his bleeding wound. Blood was spilling out so fast it had already covered the captain's left hand in a uniform crimson.
Wait. If blasted Jean-Baptiste died here, it'd automatically upgrade Gaston to captain's rank. What's more, there were attacked by the Portuguese-English coalition. He'd become not only captain, but also a hero! A respected and worshipped hero.
"For God's sake, grouille-toi, sac à merde!" The bloodless captain roared.
Gaston crouched down to meet Chastel's face. Their noses were inches apart from each other. The Villeneuve soldier gave his most glowing grin to his superior.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Baptiste." He smiled.
"Why that? And who the hell did allow you to use my first name, tête de noeud?" The weakening captain cursed.
"Because if I do that, Baptiste, I could wait forever to be a captain. And what's better to become it by trying to "save" my dearest captain from the claws of our ruthless enemies?" The inspired hunter rhetorically asked. He obviously didn't expect an answer. He even hoped for no answer at all.
"You…!" Jean-Baptiste gritted his bleeding teeth.
"Plus, I've enrolled in that blessed war to prove once and for all I'm the manliest and bravest on Earth. To be worshipped and groveled at! Just like you. Well, until now." Gaston creepily smirked.
"No, please…" The captain breathed.
"Tch! Begging a subordinate? Pathetic. It was time I become captain!" Gaston spat before he stood up.
"No… come back…" Chastel pleaded one last time.
The merciless hunter turned back.
"Sorry, captain. It's hero time." He showed a crooked smile.
The ex-captain didn't deserve his title; he earned it partly from his noble blood anyway. And because he had let his superior miserably and purposely die. He was a wimp and a coward. How could anyone love a coward?
rosbiff: French deformation of "roasted beef", which itself comes from "boeuf rôti" like it was French, then English, then French again (?), racist slang
au revoir: goodbye
bordel: bloody hell, fuck, for fuck sake...
morue: cod (racist slang for Portuguese people)
vite: quick
grouille-toi, sac à merde: hurry the fuck up, shitbag
tête de noeud: dickhead