Dear Diary,

I know that at the end of my last entry, I declared that we had just been exiting the transport, but I had not been able to write very clearly, nor very much into my beloved diary, owing to the fact that the ride was less than smooth(to have a smooth enough ride to write at all was miraculous, but I could not expect too much from something that moved so fast, and made one so ill so quickly). Since I am now in a stable environment, I will go back a bit, to before we actually exited the vehicle, and elaborate some small amount, so that I may further detail my companions.

In the preceding days, I found my company increasingly peculiar to the point of striking some fear in me for my sanity, but nonetheless, it was – as one of my companions might say – 'an awesome learning experience'.

Long rides are apparently yet another source of enjoyment for this mixture of Defenders and Lovers, for a variety of games mingled with chatter and laughter for the entirety of the journey. When Dee went to the front to take over the driving, the girl 'Gigi' came into the back. She had long red hair, and wore spectacles, along with a half-besmirched, half-contemplative expression. I had not known Berenice very long, but I had received from my first impression of her that she was well respected among her colleagues, but among Gigi's presence a demeanor enveloped her that was less than amiable. I heard several insults tossed between the two, though I recognized humor on both sides during the match of wits.

Though, to be honest, some of the comments were less than 'witty'. This would include a strange allusion to sheep and goats, which I fear I may never quite understand, despite many attempts to clear up the source of amusement of the joke to me. The first mention of either animal in the conversation was when Gigi murmured beneath her breath a sort of oath, labeling her verbal sparring companion as a sheep, to which Berenice broke into shouting that she was not, that in fact, she was a goat. All this is very queer to me.

When we arrived at the destination, I stepped out of the vehicle to gaze around at the dim-lit haze of post-storm, and was thus once again gripped by many hands and several squeals let loose in my unfortunate ear. I shouted and peeled them off me, looking at the twenty faces looking delightedly up at me. There was an awkward pause as we all waited for someone to speak. I felt my riding companions' presence behind me, and wondered what to do.

"Er...excuse me, but where exactly am I?" I asked quietly, the later part of my question being suddenly drowned out by the sounds of "Oh my GOOODD!", innumerable sighs, and many moans of, "That accent!" So everything that happened in Paris came back to me in a blur: the legions of Lovers about to attack Bashers, and the onlooking Defenders who silently debated whether to take a side or not, for such a battle that ominously hung in the air on that Parisian street seemed – at the moment – unstoppable. I did not want to see these Lovers' impatience ran out by a demand not being met, or a threat words sounded strange upon my inner ear, but they were undeniably honest.

I turned to see the handful of girls who had brought me to this place standing silently beside me, and one or two of them offered a nod that did nothing to explain things. I sighed, and began working my way through the crowd of Lovers, many of them batting their eyelashes and reaching out to take hold of my arm. I heard several proposals cried out, but I had to – regrettably – ignore them, despite the rudeness of such lack of reaction. I had a wife, after all. Oh, Christine. I missed her terribly! I was not even sure if she and the children were well, since I had not seen them in so long. When would I meet up with them once again?

"Raoul!" called out an angelic voice, and I looked up at the front steps of an ominous building, where my beautiful wife stood, holding the hand of my eldest son, who was leaping up and down energetically and shouting for me. My little daughter was resting on the hip of her mother, her thumb in her mouth and her eyes wide, searching for the man her siblings were shouting at.

I raced over to them, the crowd parting and turning their head to see whom I was going to, and I gripped my love in my arms, embracing her and my children. I remember feeling light-headed, and tears mingled in with the laughter.

A few minutes later, I was pulled inside the large building, which turned out to be a sort of old storage building, wherein there were many tiny beds pushed up against the walls. Half a dozen doors were set up on the far side of the room, with locks upon the doors. A crowd of smiling faces – mostly female – were scattered around the room, many of whom sat up to watch as my family led me to the door nearest the left.

"Papa," my little boy said, with a tone of importance, "This is our special room. Only us in here. No one else." He held up a tiny hand to point at the giggling crowd with a reprimanding finger. "No one else."

I laughed with mirth, and my wife smiled as she took me inside a sizable room with enough beds for all of us. "They're keeping us here for awhile, until they can pinpoint the exact location of the Bashers, Raoul." she said, kissing my cheek. I had missed those lips so! "We've been here around a week. Oh, Raoul! Tell me how much you love me! It's been too long that they've kept us apart!"

I took her in my arms, and kissed her, murmuring my love to her in her ear. This comforted us both, and we closed the door on the sudden uprising of 'Awws' coming from outside, and Christine locked it behind us. My family was together again – albeit in a cold, distant one from our beloved home by the sea. But we were together, and happy with that fact.

Raoul de Chagny