#deadlyicecream

[ifitskraft-wewillldinnerit]

Deadly ice-cream cone up for grabs. #fanshawecollege #canada #ontario #london #theinkerylondon #black #noir #horror #halloween #dark #drawing #deadlyicecream #dangerousfood #fantasy

[parisian-eagle]

“....Emile....Emile please..”

[parisian-eagle]

((Just imagining the Quartet having a mailbox war if mail service was as it is today.  Arno and Alexandre are living in the cafe and Arno buys a mailbox and forgets to buy the post, so he puts a stool out there and ties the box to it, weighing it down with bricks or something.

Alexandre hates it with a burning passion and tells Arno to get rid of his handy work for something nicer, which prompts Arno to get a rooster mail box, and at this point Alexandre has had it and he buys a really nice one and puts it up and they both agree that’s the end of it. 

Marius, who doesn’t even live with them decides to carry on the war, and puts up a crude one of a donkey’s ass and a donkey’s face smiling back at you, Alexandre hits Arno thinking it was his doing only to have the real culprit steps forward.

and this continues for months, Alexandre has convinced Arno to be more or less on his side and choose more tasteful looking boxes, while Marius puts up ridiculous ones, all of this happening at night and no one knows when the other will strike next until Arno finds the happy medium. A tasteful mailbox fashioned from an old cask of wine, they all agree, next morning they find it replaced by a half naked woman holding up the box and they all look at each other and no one takes the blame

Boom! Emile has joined the war and while all this is happening the revenue for the cafe rises because customers come in more often wondering what mailbox will be there next.))

[brutcil]

   ' --- Been a while, hasn't it? Still as old as I remember you. '

[vivalarevolutionassassin]

Dear Mentor

Meme

After injuring the right side of his ribs and his anxiety grew to high, he took to his usual method of writing down his thoughts. He wished to speak with his mentor but the intention of the letter was to remain vague but it didn’t usually end that way.

Because of the pain, he had taken some medicine to help relieve it. He wished to write something before he had gotten to groggy to explain himself. It was meant to be a simple letter that become far form the case. When he was done, he was too tired to get up and throw it into the fire, like he had done others. He placed it on the nightstand to deal with it later. 

While he slept, Arno saw the letter addressed to Emile and decided to deliver it, seeing as it was folded closed with Alexandre signature on it. Having written it in a daze, he would not remember the contents.

Bonjour Emile.

           I write to you in hopefully sound mind, because I am no longer at the theater, you might have not heard yet that I have become injured. I will survive and it was a stupid mistake. I failed to properly keep an eye on my surrounding and now I am paying the price. I—

          I feel lost. The council has not given me work for three months. In that time, I have failed to properly visit the theater since then and I have no excuses for that. I am sorry and now I am faced with another month or two, forced to sit idle.Áǹo̧th͢e͏r ̀mon͟t̕h͡ of̴ n̡o w̴ork͜,̶ a̢n̛ơt̴h͏er̡ ͟m͡on͡th͏ I͢ ͞fal͡l̕ ou̵t͝ ̕o͝f ̨pr̸ac͏tice. ̢A͏m I͢ ̵d͜oing̀ som̀et̸hi̷ng w͘r͡o͘n̕g?͜ ͟I̛ h̛a͢ve not g͏ain a͠ ̡r̀ank̛ i̶n͡ ̡y̸ear̨s̕ ̷an͘d͏ ne̵we̶r ̡memb҉ȩr̷s a̴r͠ę r͟ea͞c͝hįǹģ ̨m͡y ҉r̴an͠k sooner̡ t̕h̛a͢n I ͜did̷. ̷D͞oes ͢t̸h҉e͢ cr͟eed͢ ͢no̵ l̶on̴g͢ ͞nee̵d͢ ̷m͢y ̡skil̀l͢s?͠ Ha̷s ͟ańyt҉h̴in̷g͏ ͞I͡ hav́e do̕ne ̶f̕o͢r̕ t̴h̛e̕ last ̡s̛ev̴én y̸e̵a͞rs ҉ma͢d͞e͟ à ͟ḑiff͜er҉e͏n̕c͟e?̴

          I҉ hąv̴e b҉een p̧lagu͡ed ͟with̡ ̶though̶ts̛ o̸f h͜óme,̡ ̛I̴ ͡d̸o not und͜e̢rsta͡n̢d̴ ͢why. ͏Dr̷eams,̢ n͜ightm͘àr͏e of҉ w͢hat̕ ͢o͢nc҉e was.͢ B̸r͡o̢t̛her,҉ ̷si͏st́er..͢. ͞mót͞her, ̸f̨a͞thèr̢ ̛a̴n͡d ̕t̴h̷e o͜ǹe̶s̛ I҉ ͟le̴ft beh̀i̢nd͠. ́I̧ do n҉ot̵ w̡iśh͢ ͢t̷o͜ ̶re̡t̨u̶rn̨ ̀t̡o ̡th̶e̷m̴ b͘ut ̧t̴ḩey͜ ̨fi͟ll͢ m͠y ̛d͡r̴ea͝m̸s͞ a̶nd no̷w m̛y idl̷e҉ t̵houǵh̷ts.́ W̢̡͝h́͢a̸t̀͞҉ ̶m̧u̸st̕͢͠ ̧͘Í͘ ̴d̴o̸ ͠t͟͠ó̢҉ ͟f҉͟͠o̕ŗ͜ģ̧͡et ̷́́t̷҉he̷͢m̶͝,̧̢̀ ̷͢a̛ś̡ ͜t̶ḩ̛é̡̕y͏͝ ̶h͟a͠v̸́e̵̶ ̴̕ǹ̴̶o ̷҉d͘͠oubt̀̕ ̡̀҉fo͏̴r͘҉gơ͠tt̕͞e̢ņ ̢o̷͠͏f̨͡ ͡me҉! —

          I often question why I write these letters with the later intent of burning it. I ramble and later notice I write things I do not want to express. I am too old and have come to far to still have the same turmoil I have had since I joined. I fear this makes me seem weak, that I can not properly keep my emotions and thoughts in check. In hindsight, I should be keeping these letters and thoughts for the future generations of assassins to read, as I have read those who have come before but I do not wish to be remembered for this. Perhaps its best not to be remembered at all. I am dust waiting to be blown away by the wind to disappear—

[parisian-eagle]

"...I found Emile.."

[vivalarevolutionassassin]

He spent a good majority of the day outside, running errands and placing orders. He stopped by the theater to have a long over do chat with Emile and was disappointed to see he wasn't there. Ours at his heels, he was on his way back to the cafe.

Just as he was reaching his destination, he was happy to see Emile. causally waving, about to call out but he saw something was wrong simply by his stance. Ours would have ran up to the other but didn't sensing the others distressed demeanor, despite Emile looking no different to anyone who had not known him. When they were finally in speaking distance, he had a concerned look on his face.

"What is wrong?"

[vivalarevolutionassassin]

"Alexandre, I have something for you," Emile mused, cradling the small, sleepy puppy in his arms, as he knocked on the doorway to the assassin's new room.

He wanted nothing more but the day to pass quickly away as he laid on his bed. Having nothing to do nor the leave to do anything, so sleeping was his best option. With a knock at the door and familiar voice, he pushed himself up to greet Emile. Not surprised the other had remembered and wonder what the other had brought this year. A book? some wine? A weapon? “A dog?….Why?” He asked, be taken off guard.