France, 1793.

. . .

Bertrand Barère de Vieuzac observes the chaotic scene below his window, neither shocked nor shaken by what he sees, but deeply troubled nonetheless.

 

     DE VIEUZAC: “Vient-il à cela? Oui, oui.”

 

Juin Action, herself unaware of the watcher, narrowly dodges a close-range musket blast, pausing only briefly to watch the shooter attempt to reload. She obligingly curtsies to the shaken man before punching him squarely in the nose, and, as a sign to him of her noble grace under fire, finishes with a spinning roundhouse kick to his head.

No sooner has one guard been downed then two more step out to take his place, both aiming pistols in a most unfriendly manner. Juin holds up her hands in resignation, allowing the younger of the two to approach just close enough. His pistol-bearing wrist is caught, and he galantly finds himself pulled into the path of his comrade’s bullet. Both men fall to the ground.

Once more the guards find themselves replaced, this time by a burly Germanic boy who has eschewed the formalism of sword and gun. With seeming haste, Juin runs from the German, eliciting from him a deep laugh as he charges her toward the estate wall. The laugh quickly dies as the sly mademoiselle runs up the wall and turns about in the mid-air; the German jaw does not endure the impact well.

Juin Action walks slowly toward the door of the fortified home of Msr. de Vieuzac, smiling lightly as she spots one final guard waiting on her, his musket raised and aimed. She bows her head to him as she comes closer, almost respectfully. The musket falls and the guard is soon far from her sight.

With no opposition to her petition, Juin undoes two buttons on her coat, and retrieves from the inside pocket a folded letter. Her eyes turn to the open window above, noticing for the first time that she is being watched. Juin’s smile brightens as she draws her knife from the sheath on her belt.

 

     JUIN ACTION: “Ma démission, Monsieur!”

 

With a firm jab, the letter sticks solidly in the face of the wooden door. The window above closes tightly as some far-off alarm sounds to the east.

Juin walks from the yard, whistling the fédérés standard.