[RL - Touch Virus Day 2] An Assassin and War
The sun was just beginning to appear over the Paris skyline, long tendrils of light creeping their way through the narrow streets and quiet paths, sending long shadows scurrying away from the early risers as they hurried off to work, desperate to beat the traffic or someone else to their job or who knew what else.
Mireille hated being awake this early. Well, no, that wasn't right....she didn't mind it, except that the normal hours she ended up keeping for her profession meant that she was often not awake at this time of day, so it took a bit of adjustment to manage. Still, it was quite necessary, and so here she was. She was seated on a parkbench in the south-central of Paris, and had been for almost half an hour, dressed in a pair of dark pink capri pants, a blue tanktop and a light blue button-up blouse with the top few buttons undone, her long hair left loose around her shoulders, and a pair of simple black sunglasses that completely hid her eyes.
She had a newspaper open in her lap, the top folded up slightly to hide the small notepad that rested against her right thigh, where she was absently scribbling things every few minutes. She was not actually reading the newspaper, her eyes had not touched it since she'd opened it earlier, aside from the occasional glance to turn a page. No, she was watching a man seated at a small cafe across the street from where she was seated. He was in his thirties, a tall, rat-faced man speaking to several men that could only be described as goons.
Still, with the glasses on, it was impossible to tell she was watching them, and they seemingly had not noticed her so far.
On the Note: Pierre Caswa, People's Armed Alliance, Daily Schedule - 5:30 AM, arrives at Cafe, 5:45, associates arrive, 6:15, still talking...
Mireille hated being awake this early. Well, no, that wasn't right....she didn't mind it, except that the normal hours she ended up keeping for her profession meant that she was often not awake at this time of day, so it took a bit of adjustment to manage. Still, it was quite necessary, and so here she was. She was seated on a parkbench in the south-central of Paris, and had been for almost half an hour, dressed in a pair of dark pink capri pants, a blue tanktop and a light blue button-up blouse with the top few buttons undone, her long hair left loose around her shoulders, and a pair of simple black sunglasses that completely hid her eyes.
She had a newspaper open in her lap, the top folded up slightly to hide the small notepad that rested against her right thigh, where she was absently scribbling things every few minutes. She was not actually reading the newspaper, her eyes had not touched it since she'd opened it earlier, aside from the occasional glance to turn a page. No, she was watching a man seated at a small cafe across the street from where she was seated. He was in his thirties, a tall, rat-faced man speaking to several men that could only be described as goons.
Still, with the glasses on, it was impossible to tell she was watching them, and they seemingly had not noticed her so far.
On the Note: Pierre Caswa, People's Armed Alliance, Daily Schedule - 5:30 AM, arrives at Cafe, 5:45, associates arrive, 6:15, still talking...