"I will let that one pass. They had clearly done their research before making their attempt. Likely, they inquired after other students who had been sent to me and survived," Yrael grins. Someone in the crowd recognizes the albino young man, delaying the trio's progress for the time it takes for a cheerful hug with much back-slapping and many promises to catch up some day soon.
He leads them on, to the edges of the crowd near the row of buildings. The smells of spices and good creole cooking mingle with the smells of the city.
"They would know that I am hard to kill, at the very least, and that I am fully capable of retaliating to failed attacks. They knew I would be participating in the festival, as well, and utilized the public space and the crowd to both mask their approach and prevent any immediate retaliation from me. They knew that someone being so obviously killed in a parade crowd by someone so colorfully attired would be both bad form for an assassin and would make their escape difficult, so they chose a smaller blade, and I presume a venom that would take some time to fully manifest."
"It did not work, of course, but the attempt was well made. I should like to see them complete their studies." Yrael smiles, opening an etched glass door of a 19th century French-Creole style building with a gentle gust of cool, spiced air. The etching on the glass declares this to be Restaurant August. He gestures for his guests to enter, for they have arrived.
Within, all is golden. Through a door to their left is one of the main dining room, three walls a golden damask and the last unfinished brick, with crystal chandeliers hanging down from the high ceilings. To their right is a richly wood-paneled bar, and in front of them is another dining room, paneled in warm mahogany. A wrought-iron railing edges the stairs and balcony, behind which intricately-carved wooden screens shield private dining spaces from view.
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Date: 2016-06-28 02:47 pm (UTC)From:He leads them on, to the edges of the crowd near the row of buildings. The smells of spices and good creole cooking mingle with the smells of the city.
"They would know that I am hard to kill, at the very least, and that I am fully capable of retaliating to failed attacks. They knew I would be participating in the festival, as well, and utilized the public space and the crowd to both mask their approach and prevent any immediate retaliation from me. They knew that someone being so obviously killed in a parade crowd by someone so colorfully attired would be both bad form for an assassin and would make their escape difficult, so they chose a smaller blade, and I presume a venom that would take some time to fully manifest."
"It did not work, of course, but the attempt was well made. I should like to see them complete their studies." Yrael smiles, opening an etched glass door of a 19th century French-Creole style building with a gentle gust of cool, spiced air. The etching on the glass declares this to be Restaurant August. He gestures for his guests to enter, for they have arrived.
Within, all is golden. Through a door to their left is one of the main dining room, three walls a golden damask and the last unfinished brick, with crystal chandeliers hanging down from the high ceilings. To their right is a richly wood-paneled bar, and in front of them is another dining room, paneled in warm mahogany. A wrought-iron railing edges the stairs and balcony, behind which intricately-carved wooden screens shield private dining spaces from view.