Tracking a Traitor

Tantus labor non sit cassus
Ne me perdas
(Such travail must not be in vain
Do not let me be lost)

"Requiem. Kyrie elesion. Gratia tua illis succurrente mereantur evadere judicium. Fac eas de morte transire ad vitam, et in memoria aeterna erit. (Rest. Lord, have mercy. By the help of Thy grace, may they be enabled to escape the judgement. Grant them to pass over from death to life and they shall live in memory everlasting.)" Amable made a cross in the classic Catholic style, his head bowed in prayer as he stood over the fresh corpse of Wesley Trappings, as Amable had learned from Kezia, a fellow member of the Meek. Another one had been killed from some unknown source.

"Un vrai test de la foi, (A true test of faith,)" Amable whispered to the shadows. The burning end of his cigarette did little to combat the darkness that enveloped the area. Lumière Incessante lay perched against a nearby wall, its massive frame seemed to be supporting the derelict structure on which it leaned. Why had Wesley come here? Possibly to meet a hopeful member? No, that would be unwise and foolish for anyone to do. Perhaps chased here, before being caught? It seemed like the most logical conclusion, but it certainly wasn't by common thugs, the scorch marks and lack of bullet casings told that much.

At any rate, it didn't much matter. Wesley lay dead and the only clue was the actual burns. No convential weapon caused damage like that. And that's when it hit him, "Fils de pute!(Son of a Bitch!)" Amable poked his head out of the rubble to check his surroundings, to making sure he hadn't garnered any unwanted attention. A lone homeless man on the street corner to his left and a prostitute on the street he had come down both stared in the direction of the worn out ruins. Both were lost souls, but he would have to help them later. First priority was finding this murderer. Quickly, Amable grabbed a hold of Lumière and fastened it hastily to his back, making sure to at least secure it enough to make sure it wouldn't fall. Amable poked his head out again, checking once again that he wasn't being watched. Both the vagrant and the ill-repute woman had lost interest.

Amable stepped into the fullness of the dim, yellow light of the street lamp. His more noticeable features became immediately visible. His tousled black hair, his half buttoned business suit, the massive cross strapped to his back. Amable broke out into a light jog, stopping only to hand the stray man the money in his wallet. A kind gesture, one that would hopefully be paid in return to someone else in need. Things never seemed to work out that way, but it was always a good feeling to think that it might. Besides, Kezia would pay him well for the information on the Iniuriae, Kabel.

((I hope it's alright that I join this?))

The woman standing on the street corner, dressed in only a pair of running shorts and a tank-top, did look like a prostitute. It wasn't her fault, she didn't own any more clothes, other than the sweater and jeans that she wore to the library. That might have been a better option to wear under these circumstances, sure, but she had made a bad decision, and she was willing to live with it. Grumbling, she leaned back up against the wall after she'd seen that weird guy jump out of the rubble, but she brushed it off as another crazy homeless guy, like Steve, the guy sitting a few yards away from her. "It's zombies, I tell's ya, religious zombies!" he muttered to himself. Sylvania rolled her eyes.

No, no. Sill wasn't a prostitute. She was something much more admirable. She delivered packages in the middle of the night for people who didn't want to deliver them themselves in perfectly safe daylight. Something of a package courier for paranoid people. And her next package was coming right now. "Get this one there safe, will 'ya? It's... Important." Sill frowned. "Hey, champ," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm the best there is, alright? You don't have to worry about anything." And on that fine note, the young woman turned, unchaining her bicycle, and riding away, leaving the nervous-looking man. But, what she saw when she started riding away almost knocked her off of her bike.

Was that a giant cross strapped to that crazy homeless guy's back? Sill frowned again. That was definitely the weirdest thing she's seen all day. Maybe Steve was right about the religious zombies thing. But he didn't look like a zombie. He was going pretty fast, too, if you accounted for that giant thing on his back. She picked up the speed a little, going faster now to try and catch up with the weird cross-guy, if not just to get a better look at him. But what she didn't realize was how awkward riding her bike directly behind a person could be, especially when that person was obviously trying to go somewhere pretty fast.

"Hey," she called out, hoping to make him stop, or at least turn around so she could get a glimpse of his face. If he tried to murder her... well, she had something of a photographic memory. Wouldn't be hard to describe him, big guy, black hair, suit jacket, A GIANT CROSS. Sill chuckled to herself.

Her chuckling came to an abrupt end when her front bike wheel dipped into a crack and stopped altogether, flinging her from the seat, the package she was chosen to carry still in her hands. When she leaned up, she felt her lip bleeding and her elbow had a few rocks embedded in it. She leaned up for a moment, brushing her brown hair out of her face and looking around. "Ouch..." she said, wiping off her arm.

Should've gone with a sweater.

Amable turned at the sound of the voice, only to see the woman he thought was a prostitute fly forward off her bike. After a failed attempt to stop the fall, Amable reserved himself to helping the woman off of the ground. "Vous êtes très bien manquer?(Are you okay miss?)" Amable's English wasn't the best but he doubted she knew much French. "Are...you...uh...hurt?" Amable struggled with the unfamiliar tongue. He always spoke in French, and in Latin to his brothers. Speaking in English was not something he did often. Amable extended his hand to the woman to help her off the ground, thinking little of why she would be trying to get his attention.

((I was just about to call you to find out where this was. Awesome.))

As if the homeless man hadn't seen enough bizarre occurrences that day, Kabel made sure to add another to his list, as he reappeared not far from the body of Wesley. The young man had met his end too soon, but with Kezia as his idol, he most likely wouldn't have met a much better end. Kabel looked down at his scythe, thankfully he hadn't needed to use it. The young man had put up a small fight, but nothing the required the cross. He snapped the blades closed and dashed to the end of the alleyway. He meant to give the man a proper burial but finding the location of The Meek was more important, as it would Kabel's job much easier.

Kabel had no idea how the man found him so fast. He figured that Kezia more or less knew who it was killing his congregation, but still. Was Wesley a decoy, a trap? All he knew was that Kezia didn't just give his weapons out, and the cross that the other man had was definitely one of his make, if not directly from the Reverend. Maybe he was an assassin, but Kezia of all people should know how futile it would be to send anyone like that after him.

Kabel turned the corner, expecting to see the man far in the distance, but there he was, no more than a hundred or so feet ahead. Reflexively, Kabel bent the surrounding light around him, rendering him invisible. In theory anyway. It was late and this particular section of town didn't have very great lights, so he was more or less a very good chameleon. He made himself as invisible as he could, almost laying down underneath the dim light of the streetlamp, watching the two ahead of him.

Oh. A Frenchman. A Frenchman with a cross. Rubbing her head, feeling as if a bruise would appear (it wouldn't, she didn't know why, but she never seemed to bruise for any long amount of time), she looked up. "Ca va, merci." (I'm fine, thanks.) she replied, but just as she did, he asked her the same general question in English. "Oh. You speak English. Wonderful! No, I'm not hurt, just a little scratched up is all. Tell me. Am I bleeding?" She asked, taking his hand and hoisting herself up and brushing her clothes off.

She awaited his answer before noticing something in the corner of her eye. Kind of like someone turned off a light. She glanced over in that direction and saw that all of the streetlights were on and brushed it off as her imagination before noticing something else. Well, she actually heard something in the distance breathing - but it could just as well be some sort of animal, so she cautiously turned back to the Frenchman, and put her hands in her pockets, feeling a sudden chill.

"Mon anglais est rudimentaire au mieux.(My English is rudimentary at best.)" Amable chucked out softly. He recognized the word blood, he reached up and brushed the small droplet of blood from her lip with his index finger. "Vous êtes seulement saignement un peu. Votre coude semble être pire que vos lèvres, cependant. Vous voulez un pansement?(You're only bleeding a little. Your elbow seems to be worse than your lips, however. You want a bandage?)" Amable still spoke slowly, surprised that she spoke French, but unaware of how well she spoke it. He took the cross off of his back and unwrapped part of it, tearing off a piece of the cloth and offering it to the injured woman.

"Je ne pouvais pas dire. Vous accent c'est parfait." (I couldn't tell. Your accent is perfect.) Sill said jestingly, forgetting the pain in her elbow for a moment. When he brushed the blood from her lip, she chuckled, but remembered the pain again and looked at her arm. It was still bleeding quite a bit and getting all over the package. "So it is." she mumbled to herself. "Ah... oui, merci. Um..."(Ah, yes, thank you. Um...) she accepted the bandage graciously, and not entirely understanding the question, she hoped that it was what he asked her. However, noting that it came from the cross, she narrowed her eyes a bit.

"Une question,"(One question) she began, pushing a small lock of hair behind her ear, "si vous ne m'en voudrez pas demander..."(If you don't mind me asking,) she smiled, wrapping the cloth around her bloody arm, forgetting the momentary sting.

"Porqois avez-vous transportant... avec vous?"(Why do you carry... that around with you?) she asked. Hardly fluent in the language, she had absolutely no idea what the word for cross was; much less 'Why is is wrapped up in cloth?', so she simply asked him why it was he was carrying it around with him.

Kabel frowned. Only every other word they said was English, and the rest wasn't Latin, though he couldn't tell what, not from his distance. He looked back into the alleyway, spotting a maintenance ladder leading up to the heating vents on the roofs. He jumped from under the streetlamp into the alley, and up the ladder. The homeless guy was still ranting about 'religious zombies.' If only he knew. Kabel tossed him some change with the stern command to not be so loud, then scaled the ladder. He ran and jumped to a few roofs down, over where the Meek and other girl were talking. He doubted that they worked together, but he had to know more about the girl before he could make that assumption more confidently.
Gazing down at the two, he noised the girl start to act a little guarded. Kabel grinned, so they probably wasn't working together. But he felt a little more secure for the girl, the Meek never did anything directly to individuals, not in his experience at least. Anyway, there wasn't much he could do for now without starting a fight and losing his trail, so for now he was content to wait.

Amable smiled at the question, "Religious...reasons." Amable resigned himself to that answer, not knowing how to answer it more in depth, or without speaking in French again. Just then he spotted a shadow moving a top the building the homeless man was sitting against. Another shout about religious zombies stole his attention away and back to the world in front of him. He smiled again tore off more cloth to help bandage the woman's arm.

Sill smiled. "Well, suppose there isn't anything wrong with that." she commented. She followed his gaze to the top of the building that Steve was sitting at, but unlike the kind Frenchman, she didn't turn away when Ol' Stevie started pointing at him and yelling out about impending doom and brains and whatnot. She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, excuse me. Thought I saw... Saw something." she said, upon noticing that she probably looked a little awkward glaring at a dark building. She could've sworn she heard something moving up there, though. She noticed he was helping her bandage her arm and grinned. "Thank you. You're too kind... Je m'appelle Sill. I apologize, je suis désolée, that I was following you." she said a little guiltily.

"It's fine, Sill. A man with a...large cross not a...common sight," Amable struggled out in his bad English. He was aware of the presence, the fact that she was too showed that he wasn't being paranoid. "Mon nom est Amable Amable. If you did not tell, I'm here from France. Si elle n'est pas indiscrets trop, what were you doing out here?"