D'yavol ( John Wick )

Watching

She felt out of place, she sat on a bench watching the funeral from a far. It had been raining on the day of Helen's funeral. Everyone on dark clothing, all of the faces the same.

Emilia liked to observe people, she never really understood why people cared so much for others, in the end everyone gets hurt due to anothers action. A vibration came from her pocket. She pulled her phone put and the screen read Old Hag.

" What do you want?" She asked, not hiding her frustrating to the man. " How is he?" Winston asked her, it hadn't even been two days and he was expecting full reports. " Like any man who had just lost there wife. "

She heard another faint sigh from the other side. People began to leave after the ceremony. " What are you expecting, Winston? You thinks he's just gonna go on a murder spree?" She asked, while contemplating of leaving or staying, she didn't want to be a suspect or have the dark man think of anything.

" Anything could make him snap. He was never one to hide his anger." She listened, trying to get any useful information for her target. Poor wife.

John had felt as though someone was watching him, since he woke up this morning. He turned around, but like all the other times, no one was there. All the benches were cleared, no cars parked, and all the graves stood alone. Maybe he had just wanted someone to be there. Maybe he wished it was his wife, watching over him.

He shacks his head, he looked at the grave once more, a tear crawling it's way down his cheek. He wipes it away and turns around and begins to walk to his car. He unlocks the door and closes the door harshly after getting in. He stars out the windshield, staring unblinkingly. His mind taking him places he doesn't want to go.

Emilia waits for the widow to leave. She knew he felt as though he was being followed, he hadn't seen her yet, but he would sooner or later.

After a long period of time, John pulled into his driveway. He dreaded Everytime coming home, not seeing her. Emilia had still been keeping an eye on him. There was several people there as some sort of get together.

She waited for what seemed like forever, until a delivery person came and knocked at the door. The man opened the door, he was confused when the woman asked him to sign the paper. He did, and was left with a cage. After the door closed, Emilia felt as though she could leave now.

Some sort of weird jazz music was playing as she walked into the dining room. She pulled out the seat and sat across from the old man again. Winston rose an eyebrow at the younger woman. " How had it been?" She shrugged her shoulders. " Boring."

She got a plate of pasta, too fancy for her liking, but too hungry to complain. " This could be yours." He told her. " Why ruin a perfect night?" She asked with a forced smile. He sighed once more. " Is that all you can do?" She asked once more as she shoved more pasta down her throat.

" I'm sure I spent a lot of money into making you have some Manors." That had earned a flare from the woman. " Would you like for me to dance on my tippy toes for you? Show you what you paid for?" Emilia could still feel the bruises, scars, and tattoos littered across her body. " It was for your own good."

" Yes, all I had ever wanted to do was be a ballerina assassin." She said her voice covered in sarcasm. " What works, works. You were the best of them all." Emilia finished her last nite, and sowled it down with a glass of bourbon. " Please, your going to make me blush." She said once all the contents left her mouth.

" I'd prefer if you'd not be drunk." Another smirk came across her face. " It'll take a lot more than this to get me drunk." She got a refill, and poured the nice burning liquid down her throat. She placed the glass down and stood up. " I'm going home, see ya later."

" You know your always welcomed here." Winston still saw the little girl who would run up to him and barely reach up to his hips. " I know."

It was still raining when the assassin stepped outside. The dark was lit with buildings, car lights and street lights. She stepped down the stairs and pulled her hood up and walked down the damp streets.

She unlocked her door to her small apartment. She turned on her light, and took her shoes and jacket. She ran her hands over her face, and decided to take a shower. She had large tattoos covering her back, a representation that she had graduated from her lessons. She turned on her shower head and took a cold shower. Water running down her sore muscles.

Ten minutes later she walks out with a tank top and underwear. She throws her body down on her bed, and in just a few moments, she was passed out.