It is the morning time. A sleepy French village, crooked in construction, and jumbled in arrangement awaits the waking of its premier resident.
Claude Bastion.
Claude awakes. Less than a metre (approximately 30cm or, in England/the civilised world, a solid imperial foot) from his face, a horizontal chin up bar extends from his headboard. He grasps it with his many fists, curling his hairy knuckles around the cold steel, as he wrap his leonine jaws around the inner thigh of Aphrodite should she be foolish enough to dress provocatively in his presence. He does one thousand reps. He sweats out an iridescent compound that contains any rogue traces of oestrogen, and the surplus uranium produced by the radioactivity of his sperm.
He does not take a shower.
He gets out of bed and takes a crisp white shirt from his sparse and efficient wardrobe. He stands prone in front of a shuttered window and buttons his shirt slowly and deliberately. This is the calm before the storm. He takes one measure step forward, throws open the shutters, rips his newly buttoned shirt from his rippling torso and, every fibre in his body trembling with an insubordinate level of primal fury, roars:
“Bastion!”
A thousand white doves take flight from a nearby fountain. A hundred virgins swoon (this is much more impressive than it sounds as there are few virgins over the legal age of consent within a sixty five kilometre radius of Claude bastion at any one time).
He leaves his house and drives to work in an original 1966 Alfa Romeo Spider (Red). He parks up, neatly; equidistant from either white line. He storms into the office, tattered shirt fluttering around his tanned torso. The secretaries, four of them, greet him with a smile and a wave. They know what is coming. They are. He makes love to them all, one after the other, sometimes two at once. They finish. He does not. He can not. He leaves, not bothering to clean them up, and they do not mind. They are glad of it. He sits down at his desk and opens CAscade.
This is the adventure of Claude Bastion.
By Nudds
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