My first attempt at a story in over a year. :P Sorry for the translation mistakes! Unfortunately, I don't speak French so all the phrases and words in French are either from Google translate or from websites claiming that that's how you say them. If any of you guys see a mistake in my translation, pm me and I'll gladly change it!

This story is inspired by the upcoming Assassin's Creed Unity. I couldn't wait and just had to write a story about it. I mean, just look at Arno! I'm already head-over-heels for him, and the game isn't even out yet! Also, forgive me if there are any mistakes with my timing, events or people throughout the story. I only have some knowledge of the French Revolution from taking a European History class the past year (and it wasn't my best class..), but that can't stop me from writing! Like the translations, pm me if I have put in incorrect information in my story.

That's it from me! Hope you like it!

*I DO NOT CLAIM TO OR OWN THE ASSASSIN'S CREED SERIES*

"Would that be all, monsieur?"

"Unless I can add you to my feast, that'd be it for now beautiful." the obviously drunken man says, a smirk crawling into the smug face of his. Unamused, I rolled my eyes as I slip my small notepad and pencil back into the pocket of my almost worn out apron before turning to walk to the direction of the kitchen.

Seeing Margaret busy preparing another table's order, I left the piece of paper on the counter next to the few that were already there. "And just like that, another one's at table six. Busy day today I suppose," I say to her. Sighing, she looks out of the only window in the room, a stern look on her face as she finishes preparing the fourth soupe à l'oignon today. Hearing the back door creek, we turn our heads towards an embarrassed Cynthia, who obviously was hoping to not catch our attention as she entered the room. Upon seeing her return, Margaret throws her hands in the air in frustration. "Où diable avez-vous été?! (Where the hell have you been?!) Your break ended almost an hour ago!"

Cynthia's cheeks were beginning to turn red in color as she racked her brain for another poor excuse. As usual. "Désolé (I'm sorry), Margaret. Maman (Mama) needed me to fetch vegetables on the way back to bring home later for tonight's dinner." This woman.. really. I immediately turned away from her, rolling my eyes as I grabbed the nearest piece of paper containing one of the tables' order and began to prepare everything on the list. An awful liar she is. Vegetables for her mother, she claims; yet she has showed up empty handed! I could tell Margaret noticed the same thing, as she turned away from Cynthia and continued her work, clearly annoyed. "Whatever the real reason is, it doesn't matter now. What matters now is that you are here where you were supposed to have been an hour ago, and we need all the help we can get to feed those hungry, waiting men outside." She places a tray containing the 3rd table's order in front of her, before looking her dead in the eyes. "Donc s'y rendre! (So get to it!)"

Not wanting to push Margaret more on the edge, I could see Cynthia at the corner of my eye hurrying to tie her apron around her waist before carrying the tray ever so carefully out to the waiting men of table nombre trios (number three). A few moments later, we hear cheering and hollars in the other room, probably from the starving men who was finally blessed with their order. "That'll be the last le plat froid I'll be preparing in a while," Margaret mumbles as she wipes her sweating forehead with her arm. I glance at her as I generously sprinkle a bit of ginger on the platter I was cooking up. "How come?" Margaret lifted up her cutting board and glides the cut up chicken breasts into a pan. "We're getting low on vegetables. Everyone is. Plus the price for what's left is rising by the minute. The last time I spoke with Alfonse, he was selling carottes (carrots) for six assignats (currency during the FR) each! Six assignats for a carrot, Nicolette! C'est ridicule! (It's ridiculous!)" Moving the pan to the stove, she continues, "A simple meal here at the bistrot (pub) is six assignats. Might as well give the men a carrot for their money."

I snickered, pushing my brown 'a little too long to be bangs' strands of hair to the sides of my face, "We should ask Cynthia how much she bought her vegetables for. Or lack of, that is." Margaret shakes her head, sighing as a small smile appears on her barely wrinkled face. For someone in their early fifties, Margaret still manages to keep up her young image. "I'm glad someone cares enough to help me around. God knows how long I'd take if it were just me tending the place," she turns to me, beaming as if she had just won the grand prize at the carnival. "Merci (Thank you), Nicolette."

Grinning, I walked over to the other side of the kitchen as I set my platter on the tray before heading out into the other room. "I should be the one to thank you. You've given me a chance to prove there was more to me than my name."

Before Margaret, I was Nicolette Renae deCorvo, the known orphan living in the streets of Paris. My mother, Mia deCorvo had unwittingly fallen for a French guardsman, who, in a drunken stupor, helped in my conceiving. My mother and I were unwanted, casted away by him like we were merely leftovers for swine. Everyone knew what happened to us, but once the riots began to start more frequently, the few that pitied us put us to shame. They saw my mother as a traitor for birthing a child of the enemy, and I was seen as a disgrace. We were often targeted on the streets, men and women both spoke of our rejected mother and daughter duo. Pretty soon we were evicted from our small home due to our inability to pay rent after mom was let go at the seamstresses'. At age seven, mother and I lived on the streets, finding shelter where we can and food where people discarded them.

That's where we met Margaret. She took us in, fed us, gave us shelter and warmth. She was our miracle, our light in the darkness that seemed to roam forever and beyond. When I was younger, I would call Margaret mama ange (angel). Margaret became the mother my mama never knew and the grandmother I never had.

After almost two years living on the streets, our lives were finally taking a toll on the good side… that is, until mama got sick a couple months before my tenth birthday later. Chicken pox swept over the city, dragging many down with the illness, including my mother. Her fever refused to die down, and you could hear her continuous coughing throughout the nights. With each passing day, my mother's skin became redder and itchier. As much as Margaret and I tried, we couldn't find a doctor willing to treat her. They either heard about our reputation, lacked the medicine to help or have been consumed with the growing plague as well.

I felt helpless and angry at myself because I could do nothing to help and protect my mother from the people's cruel abuse and at them for hurting her, but especially angry at my no good father. How dare he?! How can someone be so heartless to leave behind his child and the mother of! When mama took her last breathe on one of the coldest days in January, I vowed to find the man who broke my mother's heart. Who broke both of ours. And end him.

"Here you are." I said as I carefully placed the platter in front of the man. As I did so, I felt him slip something in the pocket of my apron. Confused, I pulled out the twenty assignats that he slipped in, before feeling a hand creep around my waist, forcing me to sit on the lap of the said man. I immediently tried to push away and off him with no luck as his hands were firmly grasping my waist. "Let go of me, you pig." I heard him chuckle by my ear, the scent of alcohol clearly there. "I didn't give you a twenty for nothing, sweetheart. How about I finish my meal here," I felt his free hand slip under my dress and slowly slide up my leg, "and I can have you for dessert?"

Horrified, I elbow the man hard on the chest causing him to retreat his hands away from me. "Stay away, or I'll give you a black eye for your twenty." I threatened him, backing away. Turning around to head to the kitchen, I catch the gaze of a blue hooded man at the table next to. Great. More people. Today just doesn't seem like it would end anytime soon. "I'll get to you in a minute, monsieur." I tell him as I exit the room. I placed the tray back on its place in the kitchen, disgust clearly shown on my face. Margaret could obviously see it, as she asks me what's wrong. "Just some drunken idiot again." I tell her, "there's a new one at table seven."

"I'll handle it." I turn my head towards the back door, where in entered Emily. A smile crept on my face as I went over to embrace her. She gladly returned it with her own toothy smile as she hugged me tight. "You can take leave now, Colette. I'm here for my shift." Emily was Margaret's granddaughter and a very close friend of mine. When mama died, Emily stayed by my side through it all along with Margaret. She too, lost her mother months before mine. I guess that's what brought us together in the end. "Merci, Em." I thanked her. She was fixing her short, naturally red hair in a quick up-do before tying her apron around her waist. As much as I loved spending time with Margaret as well as her, spending almost nine hours in the same room was driving me insane. "Do you need anything from the market, Margaret?" I asked as I hung my apron on my designated hook, letting my chocolate brown hair flow past my shoulders after having it pinned up for so many hours. "Carrots, if you find a kind soul selling for less than six assignats," she smiles warily at me, "two onions and radish."

I nodded as I walked out the back door, giving them a "see you all later" as I would be meeting them later on at home.