Le Grosse Caisse was a nice place on the Rue Montmartre. Live music, good drinks, friendly faces. Some just went there to meet people. It was an oddly warm autumn afternoon in Paris, too warm for a thick overcoat. But that didn't stop one gentleman, whose graying hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. With his head held high, and stone cold eyes on the hidden behind oversized sunglasses, the man stepped off the street and into the bar, immediately walking to the back. A cute, young looking waitress followed him with a drink. Short blonde hair, barely covering her pointed ears, and sparkles on her eyes, she set the drink on the table he sat at.
"Here you go, the usual," she said.
"Thank you, my sweet," the man responded, in perfect French. He'd known the language for quite some time; though, English was his birth tongue.
She skipped away, as he began to run his finger around the rim of the glass, waiting. The liquid started glowing, and the mood of the room changed; who could have fun when Sulfur filled their noses?
Promptly at 16h37, he witnessed a young American enter. A smile crossed his face, when he sat at the bar, near a darker Asian fellow; of Filipino decent, the Magician thought.
His glass began to talk, with two voices.
"You planted the jammer right?" said the first voice, with an English accent.
"Of course," answered the second, "I wouldn't waist an opportunity like that. Stunning performance by the way."
"Thank you. I enjoy my job. Are you sure this is the right sword?"
"Legend says the Charlemagne wielded the elemental sword of air. Charlemagne's sword was Joyeuse, the sword on display at the Louvre."
John Dee stood up and left. He'd heard all he needed.