La Chanson de la Victoire (The Song of Victory): La Petite Arpenteuse (Non, SV, you are a General of France in the Napoleonic War!)

Alright, I'll see if I can get a good story out of Davout and Murat arguing, with an appearance by Chamans.

Enough, both of you!

Now, Louis-Nicolas Davout was usually a very stoic man, not quick to anger or to raise his voice in rage, in fact, many found him to be quite unsociable and rude, though that didn't bother him at the slightest. Yet there was one thing that seemed capable of getting a rise from him.

"You damnable eye-sore! Your gaudy outfit burns at my eyes, and your beloved horses are eating at what little supplies we have!"

That one thing was Joachim Murat.

Ever since the prancing dandy man came to his new assignment by way of Napoleon's recommendation, him and Davout had instantly acquired an intense dislike with one other, Davout considering Murat to be an eye-sore, both literally, with his brightly-colored clothing hurting his sensitive eyes, and metaphorically, with his loud antics leading Davout to conclude he was a fool. While with Murat, he considered Davout to embody everything wrong with soldiers, unkempt, rude, demanding and a pain in the ass. It was a wonder the two hadn't killed each other yet.

"Oh Davout, perhaps if you would remove that stick up your ass and dress better, I would not have bothered you. But alas, your allergy to fashion and decency prevents that!"

Though perhaps the time for the two to kill each other was now.

At that, Davout had quickly pulled out his flintlock in rage, ready to strike down this nuisance, while Murat had down the same, both raring to kill the other.

"Enough of this! Both of you, withdraw your weapons, now!

If not for Chamans' intervention.

Chamans would feel a quick headache whenever these two got into an argument with one another, which was unfortunately a frequent phenomenon. The two seemed to find any and all excuses to argue, from serious accusations to the downright ridiculous, from arguments on supply lines to personal attacks against each other's mother, the two had practically argued about everything.

He had heard the two screaming at each other while he was in his tent, and he had quickly scurried off to the sounds of rage, hoping to be there before the army loses men of great potential like Davout or Murat, both great military figures, and he thoroughly believed, both will be integral to France.

After catching both of them in the act, Chamans demanded, "What in God's name are you two arguing about now?!"

The two explained themselves, both of them giving their explanation while never quite fully lowering their weapons. The way Chamans had understood, both of them were at fault, while Murat had been the one to rouse Davout's hidden anger, it was Davout who had escalated the argument into a near duel, and so, as a way for the two to finally stop arguing, he took the two to a nearby drinking establishment and had them discuss their love of the republic, with Chamans knowing they at least have that in common, a great love of the republic. It was that, he hoped, would get them to set aside their differences.

"You bald headed connard! I clearly love the republic more than you!"

"Nay, my love of the republic clearly surpasses yours, you gaudy, ring haired chienne!"

Or perhaps it would be a new avenue for the two to argue about.

Chamans just rubbed his head at their arguing, it seemed his latest efforts have failed. Though he would now keep track of Davout's temper, the man may be a statue most of the time, but when provoked, he was as fiery as a volcano.

He just hoped there was no one else besides Murat who could rouse such great anger from him.

Somewhere, in Jourdan's army.

"Achoo!"

"What's wrong? Did you catch a cold?"

"Nothing, General Jourdan, just a suspicion someone was talking about me." Was the response of one Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte.