UsernameEmailRegionInterestAOL IMICQ IDYahoo! IDMSN IDJabber

Rabastan had become the very source of several heated arguments between Gaultier and Sabine: yes, he had fought tooth and nail to get his son through school with the promise of several hundred galleons to the professors who passed him but that did not a man make. All attempts to point this out to his youngest, however, failed and rather miserably so; neither Sabine nor Rabastan would hear it and his son's rigorous (childish) actions continued, in much more force than they had previously. Sabine strongly believed the boy could do no wrong.

With another argument ending with slammed doors and distance between them, Gaultier found himself drowning away his thoughts in a rather giant glass of whiskey. The golden liquid slowly disappeared as the glass was tipped further and further back, one sip after another until it was entirely drained -- drained, a feeling Gaultier was aware of much more recently than he would have liked to admit, a feeling overwhelming him even now.

This is where he'd spend the remainder of his night, seated now behind his desk with a stack of paperwork and another filled glass, as far away as possible from the constant drama that befell both his wife and child.