Paris, April 1799 - First Contact

----------------------------------------------- Paris, Île Saint-Louis, April 1799 -------

Waiting, and actually a good bit more unsettled, Adeláire crouched on a rooftop on the other side of the river, staring as if hypnotized over the Café Théâtre. She still could not understand the Council's decision to continue to rely on Dorian. They had even advised to leave her camouflage, and to simply be who she was. Assassin of the Paris Brotherhood, and one of the few women among them. She scolded herself as a stupid girl, as she spasmodically ceased her nervous habit, clinging to the buckles of her over-knee-high boots. She took a deep breath and swung herself down into the street. The Council had decided and instructed her. And unlike Dorian, she never questioned the Council.

Adeláire crossed the bridge with great deliberation, and stopped again at the end. What was that in her that made her hesitate? Dorian had let her go once already. Obviously the Brotherhood still had to mean something to him, if he seemed hold to the creed of keeping his blades far from the flesh of innocents. That's how he must have thought of her in that moment. Otherwise she could not explain her escape, especially without any bruises. 

So immersed in thought, Adeláire was deeply ashamed to see Dorian waiting, leaning in the doorway of the cafe. When he was sure of his audience, he loosened his folded arms and beckoned her with a descriptive, inviting gesture to the inside of the cafe. This time she could feel her cheeks burning. She was like an absolute beginner. Embarrassed, she squeezed her lips a little and finally followed his inviting gesture. His light, amused smile, she tried to ignore demonstratively.

That couldn't be done with his composed, gallant gesture of pulling a chair back for her at the main table, just to the left of the entrance. Stiffly, she took a seat and registered the suppleness with which he was sitting opposite her. He had slid his hood off, onto his neck and the light in the cafe shimmered in his dark hair as he leaned back in the chair. Still, he had this gentle, enervating smile around the angles of his mouth, which left her gently uncomfortable. When he shortly turned his eyes to order coffee from one of his employees, Adeláire took a quick breath and forced herself to relax, leaning back in her chair.

"Nice to see you again Mademoiselle." There it was again, this softly amused undertone in his voice. What did he find so entertaining about their situation? She could feel a sort of stubbornness spreading inside her, and she illustrated it outwardly by folding her arms in front of her chest. Which led Dorian again, to an amused smirk.

"Likewise," it came from her gently pressed, which elicited a brief grin from his face. Once again they sank into silence, until the two coffees were parked in front of them. They looked at each other like two boxers, searching for a gap in the opponent's cover. Apparently neither of them came to a satisfactory conclusion.

"Well, maybe today you'd be so kind at least to tell me your name, since you imitate me in such an infinitely flattering way." Dorian sounded friendly, almost a little snooty. But Adeláire suspected that this would not be a friendly small talk. She wondered what vulnerability it would cost her, and decided that she was getting ready for the game.

"Adeláire ... Adeláire Fontaine." She loosened the entanglement of her arms and carefully led the cup of coffee to her lips. Did she mislead herself, or did his eyes follow her movement, and moved to the corners of her mouth in a strange pattern? His renewed smile distracted her from that thought.

"Very pleased, Mademoiselle Fontaine. Myself, I certainly do not need to introduce, as you, as my employees assured me, were already a frequent guest in this cafe. Besides, my reputation in the Brotherhood is certainly impeccable and without gaps."

She saw the opportunity he offered her and decided to use it. Now smiling too, Adeláire set the cup down and began to relax.

"Oh, do not believe that after all this time you are still such a big subject in the Brotherhood, Monsieur Dorian. There are far too many other matters to be dealt with by the Council and the Assassins, who are subordinate to it. The activities of an exiled brother are surely more edge notices than daily headlines."

She could pretty well figure out the dangerous direction she was leading the conversation into. Even if Dorian was not who he was, scratching the ego of a man was never a particularly brilliant idea. And yet Adeláire had decided to let it go and lure him out of his cool reserve. Correspondingly provocatively, she laid down her arms on the table loosely and held his gaze, which kept its eye on her.

Like a mirror of her own, Dorian imitated her gesture so that she could feel his breath on her skin as he spoke.

“And if I've actually become so unimportant to the Brotherhood, why do they put one of their best Assassins on me?" She saw the glimmer in his eyes, so close he was to her. Still, she merely raised an amused eyebrow, and continued the game of cat and mouse.

"Why do you think I'm one of the best? Wasn't it you yourself, who immediately identified me as a kind of threat and even followed me, undetected? What rookie mistakes did you notice me making?"

Her tone was deliberately sugary and she saw that he knew it. His gaze glided over her features, her stature, her clothes, her weapons. When he finally returned to her green gaze, steel had entered the dark eyes of her counterpart.

"Well, Mademoiselle Fontaine, we'll spare ourselves more games. We both do not have the whole day here, to fraternize and waste our time. What do you want from me?"

Adeláire forced herself to maintain her position and withstand this cold steel. She felt her own features drop her smile and her mind raged to give him a conclusive answer.

 “Bonaparte. How do you stand with him?“

He did not have enough control to hide the first moment of surprise. His posture dissolved for a moment of tension, then returned to relaxed. Again, this admittedly appealing and charming grin flashed over his face.

"That's what it's all about. Seriously? About Napoléon? I had made some assumptions, yes, but I admit, I had not come to this conclusion. What is it, the Brotherhood's interested in him?"

Adeláire enjoyed a brief moment of reflection and tried to read more in him than he gave. The steel had left his gaze a little and seemed to have given way to curiosity. How far could she go and give information before the scales broke and she lost his curiosity, which in the best case, would become genuine interest? If she had only had more time to really study him...

"He is going to be a very powerful man. And because of the still chaotic events of the revolution, the Brotherhood is interested not to let another possible threat into power. You know history itself well enough to know that the Assassins have always paid attention to balance and freedom. Nothing else is the goal at this time."

Deliberately, at this point Adeláire avoided informing Dorian of the Council's presumption that Bonaparte was in possession of a Piece of Eden. Still, she thought her words had been too thin to last long under the scrutiny of her table-mate. The course of their conversation proved her right.

 The only reaction he gave her explanations was to sit back in his chair. His gaze still rested on hers, and the smile was still playing around his mouth.

"You know, somehow it is pleasant to meet someone who is so unrestrained, innocent and unprejudiced in the Brotherhood, the Council and the credo. Especially when that's no longer the case for someone like me." His gaze lowered and fixed the cup of coffee before him on the table. "I have found my own definition of the creed for myself. And so I have the dark idea that this still does not really coincide with the Council and the Brotherhood. Why, after all that has happened, should I give the Brotherhood information about someone like Bonaparte?"

When his eyes met hers again, there was something like heaviness and a profound sadness in his features. The silence between them, which followed his words, stretched, and the longer it lasted, the more closed his essence. Adeláire could literally feel the gap of the earlier still slightly open door narrow before her.

"Because you, despite everything that happened, are still an Assassin. And if there is only some conviction left in you, then you are at least a bit suspicious of Bonaparte. Why else did you snatch the artifact from the underground catacombs of Saint-Denis in front of his nose and get it delivered by the Brotherhood to Cairo? Why, if not, that he already showed you things which you meant to stop? The Brotherhood wants nothing more than to follow that first spark again. Is this so reprehensible? "

As before, Adeláire retained her attitude and kept her eyes and facial expressions open. She did not know what he was reading. But she hoped that he could feel the conviction and urgency, and be drawn by it. She did not dare to give any prognosis. So open her mimicry, so closed and impenetrable was his. He took his time. A lot of time. It almost seemed as if his thoughts were already digressing and again concerned with the urgency of the café when he finally took the word again.

"Well, you were honest and you said what you had to say. I'll think about it," he spoke and rose from his chair. "Feel as my guest today and stay as long as you wish. Good day Mademoiselle Fontaine."

With this he bowed his head briefly and turned to leave. His cloak bulged behind him before he disappeared into the darkness of the back rooms. Adeláire remained almost a little shocked and didn't know how to ract to it at first. Arno had left her raction unseen, hanging in the air as is slowly died down. When an employee finally came to ask her whether she wanted anything else, she declined with gratitude and rose. Dorian was not only a mystery to her, he seemed to be a proverbial book with seven seals. And she wasn't sure she could find a key to only one of the seals.

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