He was stunned. The whole occurrence was of pure contradictory. He was sent to assassinate Claire Reid Marie-Winston and instead the tables had turned significantly. As he held his hands up, bearing his forearms, he chortled in disdain. His shoulders deflate and his stature ruminates his choice of garb… The choice of footwear never mattered to him. He was too swift to make any sound, that's why Harold rated him highly. Not once had his drab attire caused him to be in an ordeal like this... Sudden death.
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"Selia?" Still facing the window, I open one of my eyes, and sighed at the acknowledgement of my own name. I turned toward him. "What do you want? To annoy me? Or--" He exhaled deeply. "My apologies, for my behavior earlier this morning.