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| The night is thick with urban shadows clinging to every corner of the city's streets. Skyscrapers rise like sepulchres of the forlorn, burying those beneath them in the aspirations of their heights. There is an illusory sense of security and community. Everyone here is alone. Two familiar figures stand across from one another high on the city's catwalks. One man, one woman. They greet eachother with smiles, the kind only shared by lovers. With a gentle flick of his wrist the man produces a light and a smoke. Bringing the pair to his lips he inhales before letting out a sigh of relief. Laughing to himself under the hollow air of the catwalk, the man looks up in time to witness the muzzleflash of a barrel pointed in his direction. A sharp sound is followed immediately by the harsh push of a projectile driving its way into his flesh. As he falls, the man thinks only of the situation's irony, smiling now at the prospect of his death. ——————»‹ ¤ ›«——————»‹ ¤ ›«—————— Legault possesses long and sharp features: a straight, yet hawk-like nose; lilted eyelids with a snake-like charm; thin lips that sport a devilish smile; and hair worn straight back and tight to his scalp. Aristocratic. ——————»‹ ¤ ›«——————»‹ ¤ ›«—————— (WIP) Legault’s supposed to be dead, so he retired himself. Laying low he spent most of his time getting drunk and staying off the grid. Struggling with an inner desire to become part of the world again, at times he flirts with danger. In more recent years he's developed a vicious temper, feeling resentful after having been betrayed by the only person he trusted in his former line of work. (WIP) | Legault Du Couteau
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