La Croix
Legacy Name: Baron La Croix

... and welcome to the humble abode of my good self, Guédé Baron La Croix, suave Spirit of Death and Debauchery, as I make preparation to venture out in search of another night's entertainment. I say 'humble abode'....it's actually a converted church – I do have a delicious sense of irony. And when I say 'converted', it didn't need an awful lot of work really, just toss all the churchy stuff into a skip to make room for the cocktail bar, a lush velvet bedroom and the jacuzzi.

It seems you've caught me in a bit of a quandary – always a tricky business trying to choose that killer outfit for a social occasion. Which is why I lean very heavily on the sartorial wisdom of my fine, feline assistant, Theodore Montgomery Furball VII. He's been with me for over 50 years you know, cat and kitten, just like his father before him, his father's father before him, his....well, you get the picture.

“So Theo, why don't we chat through a few accessorising options while I make acquaintance with this bottle of, what does that say? Pros-a-co? Whatever. Anyway, just to get warmed up you understand. What's that you say Theo? Take it easy with that stuff? Oh Theo, life is for living! And anyway, what possible harm could come of it...?”

*hums*

Good evening, misadventure.
Farewell, morality.
It’s time for another risky venture into the depths of depravity...

(Several lost hours later....)

“Oh my head, my poor, poor head. What on earth have I been up to this time? I distinctly remember starting out with a few pints of 'Carrington's Old Rancid' down at the Shroud and Saucepan....I think that's where I eventually found myself somehow tagged onto the end of a conga-line making its way out into the Old Boulevard - some young things on a Hen Night if memory serves. Spirited bunch. Must have been cold though.

Ah yes, then there was that club....tequila-slammers, breakdancing competition (thank goodness! I still have my winner's medal) and the last thing I remember is having a slow-dance with a Margarita in one hand and a lady from ... somewhere... in the other. Ophelia I think she said. Got her number too. La Croix, you naughty old rogue you....

Hmmm, another twenty minutes before the night coach turns up – should be just enough time to find a kebab shop. Truly, I laugh in the face of death....

Credits

 

Design, coding and overlay by me (Somnifera)

Story by Mr. Mark Scott and me (Somnifera)

Lyrics from Dirty Little Urchin Child by Felix Hagan