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A cold, fog ridden morning opened with a subtle yet beautiful sunrise that filtered its light across the rolling fields before it, touching all of the trees and grasses that dappled the landscape, bringing anew the chirping of birds and scratching of squirrel paws that always made up the mornings here during the late spring. Ah, yes, the beautiful western countryside of France, a gorgeous little pocket of pleasant people and even more pleasant views, a nice getaway from the hussle and bustle of life.
This misty French morning had little more than it always had to offer, nothing too much more exciting in store than the possibility of a clear sky and freshly baked bread in town. Little known to many but a select two, a baby was born this day- May 15, 1912, to be exact, a baby who held a legacy, a name, a reputation- all before he even took his first breath.
"Arsène-"
A beautiful woman cooed to her newborn son, who was wrapped in bloody cloth and screaming with such vigor that he had already accheived an inaudible pitch, cradling the child, she placed her slender finger on his forehead, dragging it slowly down to the tip of his nose.
"You don't have to cry, Arsène, I'm here, little one, I'm here."
The screaming infant seemed to be cooled by this simple gesture, and quieted down into a fascinated silence as he watched his mother's face softly pull into an exhausted but satisfied smile.
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"Listen, Arsène, you will go to fencing practice, you will quit hanging with thugs, and you WILL respect your father!"
Arsène pulled his lanky arms in on himself, scoffing at the woman before him.
"Fencing may be your idea of 'class',"
He emphasised with finger quotes
"But I refuse to just become the trophy of some man who I'm not even related to. Also, Monsieur Claude speaks to my natural prowess at the sword. Take it up with him if you believe me to need more practice, as I've no doubt in my mind that he would pardon my departure from his class!"
Arsène pointed at his mother
"And you! You have no grounds on which to call the company I keep such a dirty name! They work hard at their craft and their skills are sharply honed!"
Arséne's mother interrupted with offense-
"They are not sharply honed craftsman, Arsène! They are theives! Crooks! Highway men and robbers! Their company does you no good! Your father by blood may have been a crook, but if your new father and I have anything to say about it, you will most certainly not be! Get your ass back to practice this instant, lest I grab a guard to lash you!"
The teenaged Arsène took this declaration as final, he may not agree with his mother, but he really didnt feel like re-opening the still tender gashes on his back by getting whipped, so he simply turned on his heel and walked out of the courtyard and onto the streets, his newly polished shoes getting quickly dashed with water and mud as he retreated into the alleyways, his walking stick harshly clacking against the stone brick roads at his every step.
"Well, if it isnt our resident golden boy, eh?"
A man with mismatched teeth and a torn overcoat smiled at Arséne, picking under his finger nails with a blade.
"You're late today, Lupin. You know how much money we could have lifted by now?"
"Dont call me Lupin, Antoine. You know good as anyone that my blood father wants nothing to do with me."
Antoine chuckled, his matted grey hair peeking out from under his ragged cap.
"Aint that obvious? Course he doesnt, afterall- Who wants a son who's always late and cant do his job?"
Arsène clenched his hand around the head of his walking stick.
"You couldn't pull half of the pockets you do if it werent for my patronage, Antoine."
Antoine hissed,
"Watch me."
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Arséne had to use every fiber of his being to stop himself from running out into the street and helping Antoine so as to make sure the police wouldnt be called, but he wanted to make a point- Antoine needed him.
Antoine shuffled about in the street, bumping into people to check for wallets or purses, deftly (or so he thought) tucking the lifted belongings into his pockets.
A short amount of time and a pair of teenaged white knuckles later, Antoine was noticed by a gentleman who was walking on the far side of the street from Arsène. Antoine shifted a bit as he pocketed a lady's handbag. The gentleman stared for a second as if to confirm his suspicions, and promptly strode up to Antoine, a steely look on his face. Antoine looked up just in time to dodge the man's walking stick as it was swung at his head, ducking with speed that was uncharacteristic of his age. Antoine took the chance to try and give the man the slip, but his efforts of weaving through the crowd prooved unduccessful, seeing as the man caught up with Antoine a few short seconds later.
Shouting ensued, the man swung again at Antoine, but Antoine couldnt dodge and was hit upside the head with such force that his drunken form collapsed to the street. A few kicks later, Antoine was either out cold or in too much pain to object as the man bent down and emptied Antoine's pockets of the various stolen valuables. The man picked them up and straightened his lapels with a dignified air before taking up a quick jog to catch up to the lady Antoine had just stolen from.
Arsène, not wanting to make obvious his affiliation with Antoine, melted into the shadows of the alley in which he stood, quietly skirting the buildings until he found the empty one he often used as an escape from his mother, and silently climbed through the window.
"That shithead,"
Arsène mused, pulling off his suit jacket as he waltzed over to a sideroom.
"I told him that he needed me, but he just had to go and make my life difficult."
Thin fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing scars and fresh gashes across his back, all from the lashings he got as a punishment from his mother. Arséne took a badly folded and ragged looking shirt off of a nearby dresser, practically gagging at it.
"The trouble I go through for such a pitiful man."
Arsène put the shirt on, and looked at his pants.
"These simply wont do, itll mix up the look too much- wouldnt want to raise an eyebrow, Arsène."
He sighed despite himself and continued to change, exchanging his nice and clean clothes for tattered and dirty rags until he looked like a proper beggar.
Arsène looked in a dusty old mirror, and pulled a scowl at his reflection, knowing that hed next have to mess up his hair.
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Antoine still laid in the street, only slightly conscious, and in a nice deal of pain from both the throbbing of his head and aching of his chest. Huffing and heaving, he managed to pull himself off to the side of the street, but was unable to work his way over to an alley before he simply passed out.
A teenaged beggar's form appeared in the street, sulkily walking up to Antoine's crumpled form. No one batted an eye as the boy picked up Antoine by the arm, hoisting it over his shoulder and laboriously beginning the trek to the opposite side of the street.
Antoine stirred slightly as Arsène had pulled him halfway across the busy street, fluttering his eyes open to ascertain his surroundings. It took the man but a couple of mere seconds to start violently thrashing about in Arsène's grip.
"SOMEONE HELP! THIS BOY IS TRYING TO STEAL FROM ME!"
People started turning their heads towards the racket that Antoine was causing.
"PLEASE! I NEED MY MONEY TO FEED MY FAMILY!"
Arsène stiffened and got his head as close to Antoine's ear as he could without getting hit, what he said next was in a low and threatening hiss,
"Shut the hell up, you drunkard! Im trying to prevent your innevitable arrest that will happen once that man who did you in goes to the authorities, you idiot!"
Antoine stopped his wild convulsions for a short moment, just long enough to offer a smirk and a quiet response,
"Yea, I know, I'm counting on it, Lupin. They'll arrest you instead and mistake me for a poor old man. Shall we bet on who they'll believe, eh, golden boy?"
No sooner had the last word left his lips than Arsène dropped the newly seizing Antoine to the street, planting a firm slap onto his scruffy bearded cheek, creating a resounding clap. All other actions on the street ceased, as if everyone was holding bated breath, waiting to see what would unfold between the two comrades.
"SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH, OLD MAN!"
Arsène felt the fury rising within him, how ungrateful would you have to be to willingly plot to turn in someone who had been trying to help you?
"Ive told you time and time again, Antoine! Dont call me by my father's name! You have chosen to disrespect me for the last time, you codger! I will let you rot here where you sit, a pitiful excuse for a human, one consumed with such vile intentions that even the rats would scatter from your corpse! My interest with you has expired, I have learned more about thievery from the lilly whites and policemen than I have from your sad excuse for a mentorship! I hope you drown in your own drink before I muster the sense to kill you!"
With that, Arsène whipped around and ran to the allies, rounding corners and bumping strangers until he returned to his safe-house to change.