The Eagle and The Rat [Arno Victor Dorain]

V - En Avant et En Arrière

Change of clothes, extra ammo, smoke bombs, small screw drivers in case his gauntlet malfunctioned, medicine, bandages,... some snacks. Arno was sure he had everything in his leather bag.

He tightened the strap of the sack, throwing it over his broad shoulder and leaving his room.

"Good morning, sir," one of the maids said, a quick curtsey following, as she put her head down.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle... um-"

"Miguel, sir," she replied, a bright smile on her face. He turned to face her fully, embarrassed that he still couldn't get the names of all the staff right. "Aracelli Carillo de Miguel. Please don't worry, you've barely been here a week."

Dark brown, almost black hair was brushed neatly and slicked back into a tight bun. A white cloth kept and stray hairs from being visible.

Arno tsked in response, a cocky grin plastered on his face. "You're too kind to me," he told her, "I'll be sure to remember you now that you've come to say good morning."

Aracelli giggled at his good-natured flirting. "You know I'm married, right? Well, widowed," she corrected herself, "but I'm afraid this will be last time I'll be saying good morning to you, sir. I've switched to an afternoon spot."

"R-Right, right!" Arno said, clearing his throat and placing both hands in his pockets, "I'm sorry for your loss."

The maid shook her head. "I was the one to pull the trigger, Monsieur Dorian," Aracelli admitted, "it was a long-term mission the council sent me on. Quite the accomplishment, if I do say so myself."

Yikes.

"I see," he said through a dry cough. "Do you still work for the Brotherhood?"

She shook her head. "I've retired," she clarified, "I much enjoy this simpler life. But if the council should ever need me, I'm always happy to help."

Always? Arno thought. He said his goodbye, letting Aracelli return to her job and walking down the marble stairs.

These assassins were so committed, he thought to himself, putting their lives on the line at the drop of a hat, at the single word of the council.

This cult was... odd.

Sunlight streamed through the windows of the small cafe, the reddish-brown walls giving the room an earthy glow. There were few customers sitting in the old dinghy seats. There were two men speaking upon the stage, but it wasn't anything noteworthy. (At least that's what it seemed like according to the many half-open eyes.)

"Salut," Maxime greeted, as Arno joined her at the coffee bar. She didn't lean on the bar, simply standing with both hands gently tapping the wood. Her eyes had sunken in a bit, making the new purple mark across the bridge of her nose a little less noticeable, (not that it wasn't).

No breakfast for me, I guess. "Bonjour, Master Bellec."

The barista was quick to notice Arno's presence. "Your drink, sir," he said, sliding over a tiny plate with a tiny cup, "the usual."

"No time for coffee today, Sergio," Arno replied, sliding the cup back his way, giving Maxime a nasty stink eye, "duty calls."

Maxime held a hand up. "Please, go ahead," she said, "we aren't in any rush yet."

Arno's shoulders relaxed, a small sigh escaping his lips, bringing the cup up towards his face. The hot steam is a welcome feeling in the cold morning. He took a sip, turning around to put an elbow on the wood of the countertop. The hot liquid felt good running down his raspy throat. It was a tried and true method to get rid of his gruff morning voice.