It was a typical day at Le Vrai. The Merovingian sat at the centre of the high table, facing the room. His wife, Persephone, sat by his side, looking extremely bored. His various bodyguards were placed around him, the Twins at their own table to the right-hand side, the others seated at tables around the restaurant, some blending in extremely well, wearing 'normal' clothes, others standing out in their black leather.

The lunchtime rush had just hit, and the influx of people meant he had more people to watch, and more females to offer his chocolate cake to. His day had just become a lot better.

He had just watched a pair of females place their started order when the desk clerk came crashing through the doors.

Literally.

He flew ten feet through the air, then landed with such momentum that he continued to slide the next twenty feet until he was stopped, not at all gently, by the steps at the base of the centre table.

Everything froze. Well, not everything. He, his wife, and his bodyguards could still move, but the humans around the restaurant were frozen in place.

A cacophony of screeches was next heard as chairs scraped backwards along the marble floor. Guns and knives were pulled from sheathes and jackets as heads and bodies turned to the shattered doors.

A feminine, childish voice was next heard.

"Can we go in yet? I'm getting hungry and I want to see Marcus!" The last phrase/demand was accompanied by a series of thumps, as though someone/thing was stomping on the floor.

The Merovingian froze. That voice was familiar. Extremely familiar.

"Of course we can, now we've gotten rid of that idiot!" This answer came from an older voice, though it was still female.

The Merovingian paled slightly. That voice was also familiar.

"Do you think he'll have chocolate parfait?" asked the child's voice.

The Merovingian stood slowly, paling further, raising and then lowering a hand, the signal to sheathe all weapons. They all followed orders, even though they were slightly, (read extremely), confused. They glanced at each other, and many of them shook their shoulders at another. Persephone glanced up at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"He'd better," a third voice answered, and footsteps were heard coming closer. Bodies were seen through the hole in the door, mainly the stomach and abdomen of each person, and a pair of hands reached forward to open the double doors. "He knows it's my favourite," this sentence was accompanied by a smirk. The lead female looked at the Merovingian, and asked, "Don't you Marcus?"

Marcus, a.k.a. the Merovingian, completely white now, fell back into his chair, and softly uttered under his breath, "Merde".

His day had just become a lot worse.