He was about to go to his stream when he decided he would also need to wash a suit to wear the next day for the meeting. He landed on the same suit he had worn the previous night. It was his best suit after all, and he wanted to look good when Klaus saw him.

He grabbed the suit from his tree and flung it over his shoulder. The stream wasn’t far from his tree. In fact, it was less than a minute walk away from his tree.

At the stream, Francois began with his suit. He found his laundry rock, which was just a large rock that split the bank and the water. He sat on the rock and started using the stone as a washing board with his soap that he stole.

Francois took his time, making sure that every inch of the suit was spotless before hanging all of the clothing items on a branch. With his clothes washed, it was time to wash himself. He waded into the stream, which was the only thing he could do in the stream because even at its deepest it was only ankle deep.

Once in the middle of the stream, Francois sat down in the cold water and let out a yelp as his legs adjusted to the temperature change. Although the water wasn’t super deep, it was enough for him to lay down in and roll in. Using this method he was able to wet his whole body. With a wet body, he lathered himself up with his stolen bar of soap and then rinsed himself by rolling around in the water.

That was one, actually two, tasks off his checklist, but now he needed a shave. He could get dressed and go to a barber, but he didn’t have the money to spend on such a thing so instead he found his safety razor that he kept in the bushes near the stream.

He lathered up his face then used the surface of the water as a mirror to shave his short beard off. Most men would have probably nicked themselves, but Francois was a veteran at doing this. It was a trick he learned in the wars since a barber was not always an option when you needed a shave right then and there.

With a clean face, he decided he also needed his hair cut. His hair was just past his shoulders and he needed it shorter because it would be easier to get the tricorn on if his hair was shorter. A smart person would probably suck it up and go to a barber, but again, he didn’t have the money for that. Instead he used his safety razor and just cut off chunks of his hair until it just barely touched his ears. It wasn’t perfect, but somehow it looked good on him.

This was all that Francois had on his list of things to do and the laundry and haircut were just added items on the list. Normally he would have gone to the bar to get drunk and hit on people, but he didn’t want to be hungover for the meeting. He was a professional assassin after all. He needed to make sure he acted professionally.

This didn’t last long. He didn’t go to the bar, but he did invade Schmidt’s house again and raided any and all alcohol that he could find. Schmidt was gone when Francois had reentered the house, and by the time he returned, Francois was wasted on the floor, crying about how he wasn’t ready.

Groaning, Schmidt asked, “What are you not ready for?”

“He’s going to kill me.” Francois cried out as he tried to take another swig from an empty liquor bottle.

“Who’s going to kill you?”

“Klaus. He hates me.”

“I think that’s enough alcohol for one day. It’s not even noon yet, and you're totaled.”

“I’m not local. I’m from France. Fuck France. Fuck thier prisons. Fuck war. Fuck fires. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. wait what was I fucking? I wanna fuck someone. Smitty let me fuck you.” Francois drunkenly babbled as he tried to stand back up.

Schmidt shook his head, “I didn’t even say local. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

“Yeah! Let’s go to bed! I’m a top though. I’m not taking it from you.” Francois fell into Schmidt's body.

“No, Francois, that’s not what we’re doing. You’re going to lay down and drink some water. Then, I’m going to feed you some bread, and you’re going to behave yourself.”

“Do you want to feel it hard first? I’m not that big, but I’m skilled. I’ll take care of your hole.”

“I’m not touching anything until the alcohol has worn off.”

“So if I sober up, will you touch me? Can I touch you? I want to play with your hole. Actually, my dick wants to play with your hole. It’s already hard. Can we just fuck now and sober up later?”

Schmidt roughly slapped Francois on the back of the head. “I’m straight you drunkard.”

While walking to the guest room, Francois started groping Schmidt’s butt and rubbing his nose against Schmidt’s shoulder. “They’re all straight until they're not.”

“Get your fucking hands off my ass. I’m going to fucking kill you before you even see Klause.

“I don’t want.” He paused. “I don’t want.” Another pause. “I don’t feel very good.”

Knowing what was about to come, Schmidt quickly let go of Francois and got as far away from him as possible. Schmidt was only a few feet away from Francois when he started spewing up the contents of his stomach. Although he avoided most of it, some of Francois' spew still ended up on Schmidt’s shoes.

“Fucking hell! Francois, hold your damn liquor!” Schmidt just walked away from Francois while he heaved up more and somehow ended up on the floor covered in his own mess.

“I think I pissed myself.” Francois cried before spewing up more.