All those fights with the supers, the constant pushing him around as they pleased, as if he really was some obedient dog of the French breed, drove Serge crazy and made him grind his teeth all these years, but he silently continued to do everything as instructed. First his father, then Ninotchka, everyone he'd worked for in the past, and now Butcher. It seemed that if they all said: "Serge, bark", and o-la-la, Serge would bark at everyone they pointed a finger at, and he would also bark on his hind legs. Except he's sick of that attitude. He's sick of the fact that everyone really thinks he's nothing more than a faithful dog on a chain.

You're probably the only person Frenchie has gotten close to in all this time, and he's never regretted getting you out of that mess. Your past was not a happy one, it was no pleasure to be reminded of it and to obey Butcher.

One day Frenchy freaked out, and he had never been so happy about his impulsive act: he sent everyone to the juiciest dick and promised you to go away together to France, away from everyone, just the two of you.

"We'll take selfies in front of the Eiffel Tower with our iPhones...."

Swaying his hips and snapping his fingers to the beat of the song that sounded from the old radio, Frenchie was packing his bags and stuffing all his huge closets into them. He glowed as brightly as a New Year's star and even seemed to be singing along.

"Bonbon, we're going to Paris!"