Absinthe. The emerald green liquid shined with the light of a thousand moons as his hand turned the glass. Liquid life, an exilir to cure all woes, and he held it in the power of his hands. It was La Boheme, the power of all and one cool sip of it's Emerald delight (even if at first the taste was horrendous) and the drinker was transported into a world of fantasy and wonder. Several of his friends had been drinking it. So many in fact, that Julius had completely forgotten who of his friends had taken the sip and those who hadn't. It seemed as if there wasn't an artist or writer in all of Paris who hadn't dabbeled with Absinthe. Charlene had begun to spread rumours, least they hoped they were rumours, that the Constables were on the lookout, to destroy all of this Emerald green fury, but for La Boheme, they would preserve its reciepe and make sure to preserve its goodness. Why, Julius himself had several bottles of the licorice tasting liquid hidden in a box underneath the floorboard under his bed. A locked case, where the key was kept around his very neck on a silver chain. To millions Julius was Absinthe King. To Julius himself, he didn't care. As long as he got his daily spoon of the firery bitter liquid, all was well...