Axe Meets Demon(closed with GhostFaceKiller)

Paris, home of la Tour Eiffel. It was the tallest structure for miles around, its peak caressing the sky and its clouds like a finger would silk or a baby's cheek. At the peak of this wonder of the world crouched a lone figure, her dark green eyes scanning her surroundings. Black and red were her colors; of night and blood. Her dark leather boots pulled this look together while her hood cast a shadow across her face.

She stood near the top of the Eiffel tower, the wind tugging mercilessly at the hem of her garment, the tongues around her neck flapping lightly in the wind. One hand rested against the metal, the black leather material creating a nice friction against the pole. Her other hand was closed into a fist and rested against her chest, just below her neck, as it was when she was idle.

Many didn't know, but she wore her father's pendant. It had supposed to have been given to her on her eighteenth birthday; last year. Her father had died two years prior and never got to give it to her. Instead, she'd taken it from his cold body. Her hand tightened against the pole at the memory of her father's death; the sound of a gunshot ringing through her memories and making her flinch.

Shaking her head, Adrienne looked down at the ground. She sought her target, someone who had been described to her as a Agent libre; one who didn't side with neither Assassin nor Templar. Movement caught her sharp vision toward Notre-Dame, her head swiveling toward it like a hawk's toward prey. Her muscles tensed underneath her clothes, her feet shifting slightly on the metal platform that she stood upon.

With a deep breath, Adrienne backed away from the edge and took a running start. The second her foot hit the edge of the platform, she launched herself into the air, her arms spread apart from her body. After the few seconds in the air, Adrienne began to plummet back toward the earth at a rather rapid pace. Her momentum was somewhat slowed when she hit a pile of hay, back first. It transferred quickly to aid her escape from the pile.

Bits of hay still clung stubbornly to her clothes. She raised a hand and swatted the stubborn strands away as she set off toward Notre-Dame, the direction she'd seen the movement. As she had done in the past, Adrienne made her movements match those of the civilians walking around her, her head slightly bowed while her eyes were focused ahead of her. Every once in awhile, Adrienne would gently push others out of her way if they crossed her path.

Now, she had a clear view of the Notre-Dame building. The twin towers on either side of it rose into the sky, though not nearly as high as the peak of the Eiffel Tower. Adrienne halted by a lamppost, her eyes scanning the crowds for the thing she'd seen earlier. There!

Adrienne made her way forward, flexing a wrist. The gentle schlink of the hidden blade sliding from its sheath music to her ears as her other hand reached to a holster hidden on her thigh. Her fingers met the handle of her military pistol and tightened. She would make sure she got this shot, whether it was made by her hidden blade or her father's gun.

Cyril was half hidden in the darkness of a long alley road, his hand on the cold surface that was the wall. He stood there just watching people walk around. Somewhat, he would have dreamt to be one of those innocent civilians. But as soon as he thought of that, the image of himself being abandoned to Paris’ streets made him stop breathing the cold dry air of the evening. Sure he would have died. The Guild was his everything to him.

He looked down to his feet. His Guild was his everything just as it was his nothing-at-all. It was, in some way, his only house and only family. But he was way too mercenary-looking to be considered as a real Assassin by his people. Assassins usually were slim and silent, expert free-runners on Paris’ rooftops, moving like shadows through the dark of the night. They were gloomy as ghosts and quick as the wind over the Seine’s water. But he was tall. And large. At least, way larger than the average Assassin. He was a slow runner and an even slower free-runner. His big axe was just as him: slow and heavy, but deadly and scary. Assassin usually used the hidden blade to get rid of problems, but he was the only one carrying his giant axe everywhere with him. At some point, he was less known as Cyril than the Axeman. But he liked the nickname. It had something in it that suited well his personality.

He remembered one of his first missions with the infamous Arno Dorian, back to the time they were still friends. They didn’t had to yell at each other orders to follow: they were like fingers of a hand. When they got it, the Assassin personally granted him of a “well done, Axeman” that made his heart stop beating for a moment. Axeman. He never was going to get rid of that nickname. He was doomed to be the one with the axe. But instead of getting mad or something, he remembered having smiled to Arno and happily nodded. He loved that nickname.

He came back to reality when he saw, between the people, something shinning in the grey light of the day. Cyril felt himself getting a bit closer to the scene: he knew that reflection. It was the one created by a hidden blade reflecting the little light there was. He looked up to the blade holder. It was a female.

A female Assassin.

She continued to walk forward, her hand coiled firmly around the handle of her father's gun while she held her other arm stiffly at her side, fingers splayed apart and the hidden blade glinting between her arm and her leg. Her boots made a soft click against the cobblestone streets as she neared ever closer to her target. If one were to get a good look at her, they would notice that her eyes were focused straight ahead, looking directly at the base of the Notre-Dame building.

She was tracking something--no--someone. The blood red hem of her outfit flowed gracefully after each step she took and the tongues of clothing that lined her neck bobbed gently with each step she took. She was truly a sight to behold: a female Assassin on the prowl like a cheetah about to race after her prey. Each step she took brought her ever closer to her target. If one was to follow her line of sight, it would fall upon a finely dressed man. His clothes were red trimmed with gold, his shoes were polished black with a golden buckle and his hat reflected his clothes, rising high above his head and shielding him from what little light there was.

The way Adrienne was staring at this man in red told its tale: he was her prey. She got about halfway to him when she halted abruptly just as a horse and cart drove by, obscuring her from his sight and him from hers. She was staring straight at the cart like she could see through it, but it wasn't so. Every muscle in her body was tensed, ready to spring into action at any moment like a tightly wound spring. The second the cart passed by, the finely dressed man had gone and Adrienne reacted in a way most un-lady like, a foot stepping out into the street while her head lifted and her jaw set, the blood red hem of her outfit swaying from the swift motion.

A flash of red quickly told that the man was moving on, away from the one who hunted him like a lion hunted zebra. Once she'd spotted her target, Adrienne's legs moved swiftly. First it was a brisk walk and then it turned into a full out run, the schlink of her hidden blade sliding back into its sheath under her wrist echoing to her own ears while she snatched her hand away from her thigh. The way that she moved suggested that she was nimble and light on her feet. Quite a sight for one so young.

Adrienne slid to a halt, her body bending from the waist up slightly forward and the fabric on her hem swaying quickly forward while her head twisted around, either looking for some place to hide or something to climb. As she halted, the man drew ever closer to the building of Notre Dame and almost out of her reach. But she would have none of it. Instead, she seemed to know what she was doing as she slowly approached a group of young ladies, dressed rather scantily, their dresses swaying at their knees. A hand went out and tapped the bare shoulder of an elegant young woman and Adrienne bent her head forward, whispering something in the woman's ear before a small, cloth bag was lifted into the air by the Assassin.

The scantily dressed lady weighed the bag in her hand for a moment before she turned back to Adrienne and nodded, possibly in acceptance of the coin that had just been given. Adrienne stepped back and watched the ladies as they seemed to dance toward the finely dressed man, who took interest the second he saw them, ignoring the Assassin who walked just behind the girls. Adrienne waited, her arm going stiff again, the schklink of the blade rising into her ear once again as her muscles tensed for a second time.

She waited, watching the man and what he would do. The second that he reached a hand out to touch one of the girls was the moment when she struck. She was rather fast, even at a standstill. Her boots scuffed against the stone ground and her arm raised high while the other pushed the girls aside. Before the man could react, Adrienne's hidden blade sunk deep into his neck. They both fell to the ground, Adrienne pretty much straddling the man as he fell. Adrienne paused for a moment before she withdrew her hidden blade, relaxing her arm so that it slid back into its sheath with a wet schklink. Once she'd finished straightening up, Adrienne calmly began to walk away from the scene. The sounds of frightful women rose into the air once she'd made her way back into the street, away from Notre Dame.

She'd completed her contract.

Cyril stared at her all the way down her target.

She was moving just as if she was on some windblow. Or just as she was one. Every step of hers were calculated with an almost chirurgical approach. He felt his hands closing into fists when we saw her being stopped in the middle of her walk by the cart. Cyril looked around. Maybe if he could find the target before she did, he could help her, at least by forcing the said target to slow down his walk to let her the time to catch him back. He was about to move when he realized: he had no clue of what he was looking for. A crew? A single person? Female or male? He looked back to the Assassin to realize she was already in her way to the target. Her eyes were focused on some point. He looked up at what she was staring at, before his eyes met the way of a fine dressed man. Red and gold, with nicely polished shoes. Damn! He thought before he bit his lip. He really had to change expressions… He looked up at him a moment. He sure was some sort of blue-blood… when he looked back at the Assassin, she was talking to some filles de joie, just as she knew one or all of them. The hooded one gave to the other girls a pouch of money. Surprised enough, Cyril got out of his hiding place and slowly moved to the scene to take a closer look. He felt hypnotised, like waiting for a theater show to end up when the story was catchy enough. He felt a little smile starting to grow at the corner of his mouth. He never liked theater. The only time he saw a play, he fell asleep and woke up way after the people were gone. What a shame!

But what he was seeing now was way more captivating.

He saw her taking out her blade, again. He put his hand on his opposite arm, directly on his hidden blade. The one he had was still clean and untouched. He never used it. His axe was his way to avenge those who needed vengeance. To protect those who needed to be protected. To silent those who needed to be silent.

He finally saw her killing the man. He moved a step back. She had done the way the Creed should have done it. Without any civilian getting armed, no one seeing what happened. Expect him. His clear blue eyes followed her for a moment before he nodded to himself. He had to be sure she was part of the Creed. He had to follow her before she would vanish away from him. He walked quickly, just as quickly as he could: he was a tall and heavy man, and every step made him remembered that. When she got out of people’s way, he decided to act. He walk to her and tried to reach for her with his bare hand. That was probably one of the most dangerous moves to have on an Assassin, but he was strong enough to stop a battle before it started. He touched her shoulder and made sure she saw him before he walked away, like forcing her to follow him. Impossible to act as an Assassin in front of so many people. They had to hide if they had to talk.

Cyril walked to an old tiny chapel and forced the door to enter. There was no one. He walked a few meters before turning to the door, waiting for the female Assassin in the middle of the dusty scary place. Everything was dark in there. He knew that little abandoned chapel for long now. It was one of his hiding spots, he knew everything about that tiny little place. If she wanted to hide, he would just stand there: we wouldn’t hurt her. He just wouldn’t hurt a Sister from the Creed.

Upon the touch on her shoulder, Adrienne's pace slowed and her head lifted back just the tiniest bit. Movement flashed at the edge of her vision and a rather tall and heavy man walked by. Her dark green eyes narrowed slightly. One of his sleeves were rolled up and a dark leather bracer adorned his other arm, wrapping around his hand in a half-fingered glove. A huge, two-handed axe sat on his back, which she had a clear view of as he walked away from her.

She shivered inwardly. How anyone could lift such a heavy weapon, let alone carry it on their back, was beyond her. Then again, he was built for the weapon. Suddenly she found herself curious of this very tall man, who appeared to be no older than her than by a year. Glancing around, Adrienne decided to follow him at a rather leisurely walk to avoid unwanted attention. Her eyes remained on the man and she followed him. He must have been with the Creed. Only another Assassin would ever lay their hand on the shoulder of another while their back was turned.

She halted outside the tiny chapel, the light wind tugging the blood hem of her clothes and the tongues of clothing at her neck flapped slightly. Adrienne's head craned back to get a good look at the chapel for the briefest of moments. It wasn't doing too well in ways of upkeep and care. Must have been abandoned, she reasoned with herself, her dark green eyes blinking as her gaze lowered toward the swinging doors that, probably hadn't been open for a long time, now hung open. Raising her head in the dignified posture of an Assassin, Adrienne calmly moved forward, her boots clicking gently against stone and then wood as she crossed from street to chapel.

Inside was cool and well shaded. Protected from the elements as well. All in all, it was a nice little place and there were absolutely no people, which confirmed Adrienne's suspicions that it had been abandoned. Adrienne felt safe, despite the fact that her back was exposed to the world beyond the doors. She quickly fixed that by stepping a little further into the shadows, until she could see the man who had called her here. He was facing her now and she could clearly see the light beard he had going on on his handsomely angular face. His eyes were the clearest of blues she'd ever seen before and he held himself with the posture of an Assassin, despite the heavy weapon on his back.

She didn't speak for what felt like an eternity, the silence the chapel created hanging between them like a thick blanket. She wondered what he could have wanted. Surely if he'd wanted her dead, he would have attempted to do so already. Then the thought that he just might be an Assassin flickered into her mind like a tiny candle-flame. He certainly couldn't have meant this place to be her death place. Instead, she felt as though he'd meant this place as a hiding place, and one that she would definitely make note of.

Cyril waited for her to enter just closer so she could see him. Dieu soit loué! She wasn’t going to attempt on killing him. He stayed in his position and had the urge to show her he wasn’t going to harm her. Slowly, he took off his gauntlet and put it on the ground, never looking away from her, before he took his axe and done the same. Then he showed his hands alone, staring right into her dark green eyes. From where he was, he was sur they were pitch black. He said no word for a moment before he softly said, as softly as he could with his rough voice:

“I don’t want to scare you, madame. But I saw you.”

He was sure she would get that. He saw her completing her mission upon the man she killed earlier. He went on:

“I’ve rarely saw such grace and talent in my life. You clearly knew what to do. You are from the Creed, aren’t you?”

Poor Cyril was already struggling with rhetoric. He never was a good story-teller, nor narrator, nor nothing at all. Talking was one of his big weaknesses. Despite of that, he went on:

“So am I. I am called Cyril de Verley, but people know me better by the name of the Axeman. And I would be pleased to train with you.”

He then took a more comfortable position and slowly started walking in the chapel, still looking at her under his beige hood. He wished he wasn’t doing bad. He knew he wasn’t a talkative person, and now he knew why. He was trained to be an Assassin, not a speech-giver. His way to talk was through the fight, the sound of the steel cutting the night and the secrets, freeing the people and his own self.

“See, I am considered more like a street-fighter than a real Assassin. When I move, people will see me. And can barely run on the rooftops of Paris, barely climb them. I’ll soon because a left-over if I can only walk through the people but not through the shadows. The way you fought today was incredible. I know I’ll never reach such perfection in movements, but please…”

He then completely turned to her and, as a knight would have done, put a knee on the ground and lowered the head.

“Help me to be a real Assassin and not only a rude fighter.”

Adrienne remained silent through his entire...what could she call it? It wasn't a speech. Speeches were more organized than this. She was slightly taken aback by his actions, bowing as a knight would. And he was asking for help to be a real Assassin, walking the shadows as she did, as many Assassins did. It definitely would be a challenge, seeing how tall he was. "Donc, vous êtes un assassin alors?" She asked curiously, studying him with her dark green eyes.

She thought for a moment before she gave a small dip of her head in greeting. "Je suis Adrienne Castille. I honestly was not especting anozer Assassin to be watching my work. Ze whole point of walking in shadow is to not be noticed." The French accent she harbored was truly magnifique, adding to the beauty that shone through her young features, or what could be seen of them at the moment. "Dis-moi, why is it zat you wish to move in ze shadows, when open ground combat is clearly your strong suit?" She was truly curious to know, as some Assassins had their own style of fighting.

True, all Assassins shared the feeling that their speech was through the fight, of sword striking sword, of gunshots ringing through the air and of blades slicing through blood and secrets. But they were all different from one another, which is what made them a Brotherhood; une famille. Adrienne waited to hear what he had to say.

He stayed like that on the floor a minute before she started talking. Cyril looked up that her and had a gently smile. Sure her answers were way better than his. He got up after a moment and made a small courbette just to add to his knighty attitude. After a moment, she asked him a question he found himself shy to answer. Why was he trying to be a silent and light Assassin while he clearly was better at open ground fighting? The axeman looked away after a moment.

“Because I’m not sure of what I should be” he finally said. He clearly was shy. That was weird to see on a big and imposing figure as he was. “I’ve worked with skilled Assassins long time ago. Silent as shadows and quick as wind. I wasn’t that. I don’t want to be some sort of weight to the Creed. Sure, I’ve been told I was a good Assassin, but what kind? I’m not the gun holder kind, nor the silent arrow thrower.”

Then, he went back to his axe, which he got up from the floor to show her. The metal of the weapon shinned a moment, just as her hidden blade was shining out of the silver clouded sky. Cyril then took up the hidden blade, took it out. The sound of the blade stabbing the air echoed in the whole chapel as he walked to her to show the two weapons. The blade of his gauntlet was clear, smooth, just as he never got to use it. The blade of the axe, in another hand, was full of scars and had faded in color. The cutting part looked like it had been polished more than a time a week, just to be sure it still cut. The axeman was looking down as he showed her his weapons.

“Every Assassin got to use his silent yet deadly hidden blade. I’m not one of those. I’m not a fine fighter…”

And, whispering:

“I wish I was"

Adrienne touched a finger to her chin a moment, one arm folded underneath to balance it. Indeed, compared to her own hidden blade, his looked like he'd just gotten it instead of having it for years. "Hmm," she breathed for a moment, her dark green eyes lifting to his crystal blues. "Amende. Je vais aider. Where would you like to start?"

Of course she would help a Brother of the Creed. She would look rather stuck up if she didn't and, after all, they were both apart of the same Brotherhood. The Tenets flowed through their veins like water and just as easily as blood. It was apart of who they were and there was no changing that. Adrienne held up one hand, the other planting against her hip as her weight shifted onto one leg, the hem of her garments swishing with the motion. "Mais je ne peux pas promettre que vous allez devenir plus agile. You are, how you say, more accustomed to open ground fighting than ze sneaky shadow stalker.

"Cependant, I do believe I can 'elp you wis your parkour."

Cyril looked up at her and smiled after a moment. A warm and thankful smile. He knew he wasn’t ever going to be those kind of silent and quick Assassin, but if he could at least improve his parkour, that could help him to feel more like a real Assassin. He took back his two weapons and put them back where the belonged, finally taking off his beige hood. He had short brown hair, and clear, almost light grey blue eyes. He had found an incredible mentor.

“I wasn’t on mission. Sorry if I was in your way. But I really had to know who you were. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such grace in movements only… being far from the Guild dosen’t help, for sure, but still, that way of yours on getting close to the target without no one noticing you was simply incroyable!”

He smiled another time. He hadn’t encountered many female Assassins in his life. But now that he did, he found himself in front of a worthy and powerful warrior, just by the strength of her way to be. She was the Creed’s tenets. She wasn’t just applying them, she lived through them. He was impressed, totally surprised by her way of being. He looked at his hands. They were so big, not as the ones that could easily handle the hidden blade. He was called the Axeman, not the Silent something, or the Shadow something else. He was the Axeman. Frontline fighter. Weird to consider a man like him like being part of the Creed…

She couldn't help but smile back at him, the act seeming to light her whole face up. It wasn't often that she got to hear someone appreciating her work. No one had really seen her in action before. And hearing it from such a large man made her feel rather warm. "Merci," she said with a little bow of her head before her hands went up to her hood. Adrienne calmly removed it from her head, the fabric falling easily behind her neck and settling into place. Her auburn hair shimmered in the shadows, though it looked more dark brown now because it wasn't in the sunlight.

It was pulled back against her head, only a few strands falling to frame her face and giving her more of a noblewoman's look. It was true, her mother was an upper class citizen of Paris and had wanted her daughter to have the very best of that world. While her mother loved her father, she didn't necessarily approve of him teaching Adrienne to always be humble and that money couldn't buy everything. Sure, it got food on the table, clothes on their backs, shoes on their feet and even got her somewhat of a good education, what little she could get anyway.

She could read and write, at the very least and it often came in handy. She remembered the day her father began to teach her to fight and handle weapons. Her mother had disapproved greatly, declaring each time she and her father returned sweaty and muddy that a lady should not be learning to fight and that it was a man's job. How wrong her mother had been. Adrienne felt more at home with the Assassins, fighting the good fight, than she would ever feel sitting at home doing nothing but raising children and doing housewife chores.

"Quand souhaitez-vous commencer?" She asked, eager to begin helping this rather tall and heavily built man strengthen his parkour and possibly aiding him in becoming more stealthy in his kills.

“Quand cela sera favorable” he answered while looking at her.

She had that kind of classy look that was emphasize by her whole look when the hood fell off. He smiled at her and showed her with a hand gesture the place where they were hidden, that little dark chapel Cyril had used to hide and wait for her.

“Just ask for me and here will be the place where we will meet. I often come here! It is one of my favorite spots in the whole city. Small and dark. One of the only ways I can hide, actually! Being on the top of buildings makes me easy to see, unlike the rest of the Creed is!”

He laughed and walked in the place. The few benches left were or completely destroyed, or hidden under lots of dust and dirt. The windows themselves were grey and sad, just as if they had colors before they turned into pieces of the grey clouds that were covering the sky that day. He turned back to the female Assassin and slowly walked to her.

“You know my name, but they will better recognize me if you look for the Axeman! Then, I bet every member of the Creed will be able to tell you where I am.”

"C'est très bien," Adrienne said with a dip of her head, the strands framing her face falling forward slightly with the motion. "And if you ever want to find me, it is better if you ask for ze Démon de la France. Ze Brozerhood will be more capable of pointing you in ze right direcshion."

After she'd spoken, the sound of an agent de police rang across the buildings and earned a rather wicked grin from the young lady. Her hands reached back up and pulled her hood back over her head, concealing her auburn hair and casting her dark green eyes back into shadow. "Ensuite, il est convenu. We shall meet again when it is less, how you say, bruyant. Jusqu'à notre prochaine rencontre, Axeman. Au revoir."

With her word of farewell, Adrienne turned and exited the chapel, looking around before she bolted down the side of the street, the hem of her garment swinging with the swift motion. If Cyril had exited the chapel to follow her movements, he'd find that she had leapt up the side of the nearest building, her body moving agilely up and over, landing her onto the roof of the building before she disappeared from sight.

Cyril stood there a moment before he got out, looking right and left before he stepped in the streets and started walking, then running to the Assassin Guild. He just got an Assassin mentor… le Démon de la France.

He thought of the last time he worked with light yet powerful Assassins. The one that looked like the less dangerous were often the worst of all. The more silent could get you from behind and make you regret your whole life. He laughed a little while running. He wondered what it was like to run free of all weight, almost flying over the rooftops of Paris. He was doomed to stay on the ground like a spoiled bird. On his way back, he even went on the roofs. It took him a big five minutes and lots of efforts on getting on the top. Sure he was able to run on the rooftops, but it was pretty pathetic to see… he remembered that time the roof on which he was running wasn’t strong enough to hold him. It was when he was way younger. It made such a terrible noise! And he fell into the most awkward scenes of all, having no time to explain to the surprised couple he was only there to escape the Templars. Cyril laughed at that memory.

He sure was a spoiled bird!

Evening settled over Paris, the clouds dark blobs against an ever darkening sky. Tiny dots of starlight sparkled out every so often from the cloud cover. Adrienne was close to Sacré Coeur now, walking steadily away from the actual building itself and into the less densely populated area around it. She was heading home for the night after a job-well done. She knew that someone would be waiting at her house for her with a message from the Brotherhood and possibly a coin-purse of money.



The house she approached looked more like a Villa than anything else with a spacious yard and fine architecture. Adrienne could envision her and her father playing outside or training with weapons. She went around back to the backyard, which was hidden from view from most of the area around, perfect for the training she and her father did. Her head swivelled toward the back door that led out onto a stone patio. A rack of weapons sat against the cobblestone wall that separated the patio from the grass.

A sad smile crossed her face as she reminisced. Then the evil memories of her father's murder echoed into her head, the screams she'd made making her flinch and the sound of a gunshot rang through her head, making her flinch and rush up toward the patio, where she halted, her garment swishing with her movement. A hand reached up to the pendant around her neck and she gripped it tight, remembering taking it from her father's cold body once the men of the Croix Rouge had gone from the property.

With a deep breath, Adrienne headed inside for the night, looking forward to training with the Axeman.

The very next morning, Cyril went to ask if someone could tell him where was Adrienne. No one seemed to know until he asked for the Démon de la France. Then, everybody seemed to know who she was, but it was almost impossible to tell where she was at. He sighed and told Assassins from his guild where he was going to be. Like that, if we would come to ask, she would find him in the same tiny chapel they were in the day before. As soon as he stepped outside, he looked at the sky in surprise. He was expecting to see a dark rainy day today, following the path of the day just before. But no. The sky was clear blue with some light white clouds passing there and here. The wind was calm and warm, just as sometimes little cold windblows danced around him. He started walking in the streets, going down the road while looking around. He wasn’t on mission right now. He was during all night long: he had not over three hours of sleep. But that was way enough for the kind of fighter he was.

On his slow way down, he kept looking to the rooftops. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the sun or because of the close Assassin headquarter that was near, but he could have swear that sometimes, human forms were running from a roof to another. How could someone live his all day out on rooftops? Wasn’t that painful? Trying to climb not to fall to your death only because of taking a walk. He scratched the back of his hand with a slight sorry smile.

When Cyril reached the tiny chapel, he took a look inside before he stepped in. There was no one. As always. It would have been weird to see someone there. The doors were heavy and often blocked by the guards that were outside, even if he always managed to open them to enter and hide. He looked up at the dusty and probably moldy beams up to the ceiling. That structure would soon fall off and break everything around… he only hoped that the day it would happened, he wasn’t going to be there inside to die with the building.

A lone figure sat on one of the highest points in Paris: on top of the Notre Dame building. The wind tugged at her clothes as it always did and her eyes scanned the ground below. Notably, there were far fewer people walking the streets today than there had been yesterday. To her, it felt normal. Most people didn't enjoy the sunshine when it came and instead liked the cloud cover that rainy weather provided.

As she looked out across the portion of Paris that she had a view of, movement flashed just below her. As a hawk would follow prey, her head swivelled downward in time to catch an Assassin dive into a cart full of hay before he popped up once more, dragging a Noblemen into the hay. It shivered for a moment before falling still. With a small dip of her head, Adrienne began her descent from the building and dropped onto the stone with a click of her boots just as the Assassin was emerging from the cart.

In one swift motion, Adrienne lunged for the Assassin, grabbed the collar of his garments and pulled him into the shadow of Notre Dame. In a hushed voice, she questioned about the Axeman and he gave her his hushed answer in response: the chapel. She thanked her Brother and released him, allowing him time to escape the area before she herself headed in the direction of the chapel, walking as a civilian would, the hem of her garment swishing with her movements just as her boots clicked lightly against the stone underfoot.

The sun was a little higher in the sky when she halted outside the chapel, her head lifted toward the top. With a sort of menacing grin, Adrienne made her way around back and began to climb to the roof. She stayed crouched and searched for another entrance into the abandoned building. She found it in the form of a busted window and, with her hands gripping the roof's edge, flung herself through the glass-less window feet first, her garments swaying with her motions as her body entered the building and landed with barely any sound onto one of the many abandoned crates that lined a few of the walls.

Silently, she slid down the crates and into the shadows. Like she was hunting down her prey, Adrienne's eyes flicked toward the center, where Cyril was standing. Calmly, making hardly any sound at all, she slipped from the shadows and kept out of his line of sight as she approached. She got close enough for him to hear her but far enough away that he wouldn't catch her if he reacted badly to what she was about to do. With a deep breath, she spoke. "Bonjour!" She greeted.

Cyril was still looking at the ceiling when he felt something strange. He was about to ask himself what when he heard a cheerful female voice right ahead of him. He felt his blood freezing for a moment as he turned back, quickly taking out his axe… before he realized who he was in front of. He stopped his movement, surprised. He had been quick, but he wasn’t able to hear her enter as any other trained Assassin would have. He looked at her, his heart beating in his veins. He slowly got up after a moment, before he laughed.

“Damn! It was you! I thought the worst, sacrebleu!”

He smiled, guilty, taking his axe in one of his hands just like it was as light as a feather. He looked at her a moment before he turned his look down. He had been surprised by her way to enter… he was sure she was going to enter by the door. What a stupid way to think of a trained Assassin! He was probably the only one to enter by doors, or sometimes, roofs. He also sometimes used to break the doors to let lighter Assassins enter. He looked back at her, smiling, before he put back the axe in his back and walked to her. She was slim and graceful, weirdly compared to him, being a tall and big man.

“I’m glad you came! I thought I was going to stay alone here for hours!”

Adrienne couldn't help but give a light laugh of amusement, her dark green eyes sparkling beneath her hood as she placed both hands behind her back in a military stance. "Bête," she stated with a charming, bell like chime to her voice. "Nul ne savait où je me trouvais?" Usually, if someone was seeking her out, an Assassin from the Brotherhood would tell them where they could find her usually. She was really rather disappointed that no one had done so this time. "Sacrébleu! Guess I'll 'ave to get onto somebody about zat. Je suis tellement désolé."

“Ne vous en faites pas!” he said, smiling, his hands behind his back. Poor gal… not even being able to be found by him… he scratched his arm, before he said, guilty: "I must admit I haven’t heard you coming here… I thought I was alone until I heard you talking to me! I must admit you are really silent, that’s incredible!”

He laughed after a moment, sincere, before he looked up at her. That was so amazing! She was so silent and light! He would have loved to be that silent too… but he was the heaviest Assassin he ever saw in his whole life.

“You’re the best one that could have trained me! I know I won’t ever be as silent and light as you are but… I wanna try”

Adrienne gave a soft chuckle, the smile on her face lighting it up and adding to the noblewoman beauty that she had. "Je suis sûr que vous allez faire une grande," she said, reaching out to pat his shoulder before withdrawing to study him for a moment. "Mais pour l'instant, let's just focus on your parkour. What is it zat you seem to 'ave un problème with?"

He looked at her patting his shoulder and he laughed. That one was a kind sort do Démon… he turned back at her after a moment, showing himself with a hand gesture, with a little sad look in his face.

“Maybe everything. Lifting my whole weight is something easy, but it takes me so much time it’s sad! Also, throwing my weight is also another thing…” then, a bit shyly: “See, if I do throw myself without measuring anything, I always end up way too far and hit my face on something. But in a stressful moment, I just can’t take the time to stop and estimate where I’m going to end up, so I just throw myself! I don’t know if there’s something to do about that…”

Adrienne let off a laugh of glee, obviously finding his sad story funny. "Ne vous inquiétez pas," she laughed, motioning for him to follow her as she headed outside of the chapel. She looked around for a brief moment before she headed for the nearest ladder, climbing up nimbly and hauling herself onto the rooftop. She turned and backed away from the ladder top, waiting for him to join her so she could begin to teach him.

He followed her out of the chapel, smiling a little. Sure the situation would have been funny to picture… Him, the big guy, being followed on the roofs by guards. And right after a stupid messed up jump, the awkward look exchanged by the guards while looking at each other, just like: “Is that guy really a problem for us?”. He laughed a little before she got up on the building. He followed her after a moment. At that instant, he sure looked like way heavier than any other Assassin from the Brotherhood. He finally reached her and placed himself in front of her, hands behind his back.

Adrienne had a hard time stifling her laughs as she examined him on the roof. Indeed, he did look heavier than any other Assassin and she felt that the roof would break from under his weight. "Vous regardez si ridicule!" She exclaimed with a laugh, her shoulders shaking with the action. She didn't know how else to respond to him standing there on the rooftop.