After decades of training, of being on high alert lest she wind up with guards bearing down on her, Ezio's ears pick up the commotion and her urge to help and to aid has her heading in the direction of the shouts, quiet thump of her feet and rattle of her weapons as she approaches. Her hands are held out in a placating manner; some she has come across who need aid, when in such a state, are likely to lash out and she would rather not have to get physical if she can help it.

"Calma, calma," she says, peering from beneath the pointed cowl of her robe, "I do not believe the cat is the one who is deserving of your anger signorina. Is there anything I can do?"

[[ooc: Calma - calm down, signorina - miss.]]