France, such a beautiful country with such a beautiful language and an interesting history. Even after a quick loss and a swift and rather brutal takeover the land had lost none of it's beauty. Or that's how the man saw it. The man in question seemed at the moment like any other - he wore gray pants, black shoes and a white collared shirt. The scar on his temple and nasty burns on his cheek made him seem like a victim of some horrid actions, but that was not the case. Every day he'd sit in a quiet coffee shop, drinking his black coffee and being polite to the waitresses as well as the customers - to a certain degree at least. Even today he was there. He paid no heed to the soldiers on the streets as long as they paid no heed to him.

Still there was something about the man, something unnerving. Despite his politeness people were vary around him - even those who did not know him on a personal level. Perhaps the fact that he was a Standartenführer of the SS had something to do with that. Even without his black uniform and a pistol hanging from his belt Maximilien Schmidt was just somehow threatening. Occasionally soldiers would approach him, probably to make their reports or other such - sometimes uniformed officers would sit with him and share some gossip or discuss about plans - and he'd answer their questions and other such with a polite and downright warm tone, like there was not a worry in the world. After spending the better part of two hours Maximilien finally got up from his chair, paid for his drinks and left the coffee shop after bidding good day to the owner and playfully flirting with the waitresses.

Casually the man glanced at his pocket watch - it was just about time to get back to work. His unit kept their headquarters in a rather run down hotel that had seen it's better days. It was situated only a short walk away from the coffee shop and had a good view to the nearby streets. It did not take Maximilien long to reach his destination and get changed. When he stepped out from the building again he seemed like a different man all together. He wore his black uniform with pride - as did the dozen armed men who followed out with him. Standartenführer Schmidt smiled ever so faintly as he placed his hat on his head and adjusted the skull pin that adorned it.