Paris. The city was a glow as Cecil stepped from the cab onto the pavement. It was different than London. The air seemed to carry with it a sense of...femininity. The building structures weren't as masculine, it seemed, as those back in England. Of course, Cecil wasn't put off by this. It was a nice change. Turning to the cab driver, he gave the man a few English notes, as he hadn't had time to accrue any French money. He didn't need to, however. He had been assured by his father that his host would supply Cecil with a salary as long as he stayed in France. Not that it was really necessary- Cecil had amast his own small fortune, independent from his father's, by running his own chain of flower shops through out London. It seemed rediculous to hear at first, but Cecil had done very well with it.<br/><br/>Heels clicked upon cobblestone as Cecil walked the sidewalks of France, drinking in the sights. It was lit up just as much, if not more, as London on a Friday night: and the women! Cecil was sure in the 20 minutes he walked about that he had not spotted a single woman who could be called less then beautiful. Even the older women had a classic sort of beauty to it.<br/><br/>Cecil had finally made his way to a small coffee shop and took a seat at a beautiful wire table on outside patio. When approached by a waitress, Cecil ordered a black coffee. This was where his contact was supposed to meet him. Cecil had no idea what they looked like, or their name. Only that they would approach him under the guise of a wrist watch salesman where he would be led to the current underground King of France.