People who don't use their heads,don't need them. {Helene}

Dimitri had never considered luck a factor in a person's life. Sure all manner of simpletons clung to it in the hope for their futures, dreams of riches, lovers, that illustrious contentment that they grasped at like food bowls beyond a prisoners door, but Dimitri found it all the be a safety net in the real world....and safety had never been anything Dimitri had taken an interest in. The events leading up to his arrival at the Sacred Heart camp had brought him the closest he had ever been before in even thinking the word. The pathetic police dogs were always sniffing around him and like every time he killed someone involved with the Paris gangs they assumed that it was a gang assassin working in normal people among the hits in order to throw the law off their trail. It had been an interesting idea the first time he had heard it and Dimitri had killed other assassins that operated in a similar fashion but Dimitri had lost count of how many times this theory came up in connection to his artworks and he grew bored of their lack of originality. The first time it had been suggested he had taken an interest going to the men in charge and leading them on a merry chase but now he wouldn't bother playing with the hacks. The win was too easy and the lack of thrill sent in in the opposite direction without question. He had implemented some idiot as a temporary gang leader that would carry out his orders by mail and even if he didn't Dimitri held no fears that he could reclaim anything that was lost. Anything a person truly wanted never really lay out of reach when one was happy to line the roads with blood to get it. After all only the stupid rated possessions higher than their own life.

He had left the city in the middle of the day traveling without care to who he tipped off and had been travelling by carriage when they crossed into the territory of the Sacred Heart. The man in the carriage with him had been some form of dignitary (Dimitri hadn't given a damn either way.) and he had been ripped out of the carriage and shot quickly after the blockade had stopped them. Dimitri on the other hand seemed to have baffled the men. He seemed to be at least of middle class but he bore no signs of supporting the revolution and so was brought before a man by the name of Henri. Obviously of noble blood he seemed to be of enough intelligence that Dimitri revealed the truth. His mother had been middle to lower class, and he was on the run from the Parisian law. When the boy asked why Dimitri had shrugged an admitted that he took little to no interest in the revolution. He had been released into the camp with the offer to remain there as long as he needed before carrying on with his journey and Dimitri had thanked him before being shown to a tent that he could share with others for shelter. The men in the tent were chatty and had taken Dimitri's quietness to be tiredness rather than the disinterest he actually felt and had welcomed him into their little group. Dimitri had consented to show gratitude at this, as being friendly with a few people in the camp would allow him to settle in better and escape the suspicion of more astute members.

The camp was a simple set up and Dimitri's only real problem with the people was the sickening amount of religion within the camps walls. There were set time for prayers and the men prayed before bed each night. Dimitri often retired to bed before them in order to avoid that slice of boredom but joined them at the church to avoid drawing any negative attention to himself. One of the young cooks had taken an interest in her and his query to the men of his tent if she was the interest of any other man in the camp had warmed them to him further and the affirmations that she had attracted the eyes of many of the campers gave him an easy out to refuse her near oppressive company. After the second day he had sent a letter to Paris to ensure they knew where to reach him and after a light lunch the messenger had returned with notice from the group. He had flicked it open and noting the interest of those around him had feigned pain at the letters contents. Excusing himself from the group’s eyes he had traversed to the edge of the camp before sitting down to read the letter fully. The puppet had been placed under higher levels of observation due to an idiotic comment to an agent under the influence of alcohol and Dimitri idly hoped that he would be left for Dimitri to kill upon his return rather then brought to the guillotine, though if he was executed as the Rattlesnake it would certainly make life easier for Dimitri. He had brought a quill and ink with him and he wrote a careless note at the bottom of the last half-filled page instructing them to choose a leader between themselves before tucking the letter into its envelope, crossing out his own name and adding the name of the only lackey he could remember. The messenger had been treated to some lunch at the tent and he rose to return to the boy before gaining the distinct impression that he had been followed. He tucked the letter into his breast pocket and turned to face the new arrival. "My apologies do you have need of the quill?" He queried smiling.