"A Man's Pride"
A small piece of fiction full of mistakes, written in the last half hour. And now I need to go to bed.
A Man's Pride
"I heard he was beaten by a girl."
"Him?! No way!"
"I'm telling the truth! She didn't seem to be from around here, either."
"But for him to be beaten by a girl--"
The voices came to a halt upon being faced with the soft sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the oak door. Both young knights exchanged looks of worry, standing very straight in their white uniforms, identifying the clear sound of a superior's steel-tipped boots on the marble floor. The door opened into the knights' dressing room, an elegant, handsome young man standing at the doorway, cold sapphire eyes piercing almost ruthlessly through both his underlings, as if he had heard exactly what they were saying.
"What business do you have in the dressing room?" His voice was even more threatening than his expression; though he spoke calmly, his question seemed more like an order. The other two instinctively clicked their heels and clung their hands to their hips, looking like two white wooden boards.
"W-We were simply enjoying our break in trainings to talk in a quiet place, Signore."
The tallest boy started, and his freckle-faced companion continued.
"We apologize if we have stepped out of bounds, Signore."
Both stood in attention, to which the elegant man didn't even bother to supress a twitch. Sighing, he pushed back layered, raven-black bangs, thinking about the best way to act. He knew what they were talking about, and he didn't like it at all. All he wanted was to whip out his sword and teach them a lesson about gossiping behind people's backs, but he knew that his position wasn't high enough to do such a thing and remain unscathed. After pondering his options, he let out another sigh and allowed his hand to rest on his hip.
"Leave now. The dressing room is not to be occupied by your idle chatter. Go find somewhere else to discuss your little trivialities."
The other two exchanged concerned looks, more than sure that he had overheard them, but too afraid to apologize. Instead, they both clicked their heels and spoke in a chorus.
"Yes, Vice-capitano Sciarra!"
And walked very close together past him, through the door and out into the hallway. He then found himself alone in the dressing room, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Quickly, he located a stone bench at the end of the room and sat down, leaning forward so that he faced the floor.
It was true. Francesco Calisto Sciarra, the most promising young knight of the White Order Imperiale had been defeated by a woman, probably a year or two younger than him. No matter how much he tried to excuse himself, trying to protect his pride by considering that she had mentioned something about being a captain of sorts, his ego had been wounded and he considered himself, at that moment, amongst the lowest of the low.
Francesco twitched, tightening his grip on his own fingers. The rumour of his shameful defeat had spread so quickly that even then, a mere two days after the event, the whole body of Order knights looked at him differently. Being younger than most of them and aware of his own talent, Sciarra knew he had a reputation - and a position as vice-captain of the force - to uphold and protect, and he could not simply allow himself to be branded as the weakling who was defeated by a woman. Knowing that a diffcult problem can never be solved through the best - and, usually, honest - ways, Francesco planned the best route to get to his new nemesis, smiling to himself as he twirled a small paper between two fingers - a ticket to the international artifact market at the riverbank.
As the lights from the city slowly began to go out, window by window, a chilly wind blew past the upper deck of the ship. Vincenzo sneezed and wiped his nose on the navy velvet of his coat.
They had been docking in the riverbank of La Speranza, a wealthy riverside town for a week and had already become quite accustomed to the weather. That night, however, the sky was especially clear so a very excited Ezio had suggested having dinner on the upper deck instead of the holed-up dining room downstairs. The more lights went out, the more the stars became visible, and the more Camille talked about constellations and reading the sky. Ezio rolled his eyes at him.
"The kid doesn't want to learn about that, don't bore him." He smiled at Vincenzo, not bothering at all to respond to Camille's obviously annoyed expression.
"I was hired as the prince's tutor, not you, so I believe I'm more qualified to determine what he should or should not learn, signore Leone."
Ezio raised his brow and lowered his fork, smiling amusedly at Camille. "Last names now. We really are in a foul mood, aren't we, monsieur Rosseau?"
Camille lost his usual self-control for a fraction of a second and banged his fists on the table. The rest of the crew sat idly, watching the argument unfold, even Graziana seemed rather bored with the whole situation, probably due to its repetitiveness. Vincenzo seemed to be enjoying it, quite unaware that he was the reason they had started arguing in the first place.
"Why, you-" Camille began, before a very large cake exuding a delicious smell was placed in front of him.
"Really," Alessandra stood behind Vincenzo's chair, between the other two, hands on her hips after putting down the tray with the cake. Her face was a vision of disapproval and disappointment. "You're like children. I can't leave you alone for a minute and you're already going at each other's throats."
"He's a nerd." Ezio stated quite bluntly, to which Camille hurriedly replied that Ezio was simply asking for it. Alessandra placed a finger on her forehead, asking some higher entity for patience, and told them very quietly to shut up. For a brief, pleasant moment, there was silence at the dinner table, and as Ezio began to cut the cake, a shout came from the bow of the ship, causing him to drop the knife.
"You! I found you!"
All heads turned to where the voice had come from - a tall, elegant young man clad in white with a black cross decorating the front of his uniform from top to bottom, a white overcoat shielding him from the cold. His lips were pursed in both determination and relief for being able to arrive at such a strange place, for Francesco was not used to being by the riverbank, the most of his life having been spent near the castle or the inner part of the city. He thought it to be a dirty, crime-filled place and he had absolutely no knowledge of ships whatsoever, so his motivation to visit the area was less than none, until he had found the need for revenge as a reasonable motive.
Alessandra stared at him, blinking, not as worried as she was curious. She definitely recognized him - the young man who had tried to thwart her plans of rescuing Camille, Henry and the prince from the old dungeon cells beneath the local castle. He seemed to have been seriously disturbed by the fact that she had beaten him, to the point that Alessandra felt the need to explain that she was, actually, a captain of the royal guard, but she couldn't imagine that he would search for her. The rest simply stared at the stranger as if some lunatic had had too much alcohol and somehow wandered aboard.
"You're the knight. From the castle." Alessandra tried, to which Sciarra twitched and, angrily, took a few steps forward.
"Vice-capitano of the White Order, Francesco Calisto Sciarra!" He yelled, making Alessandra raise a curious brow on reflex. His hand grabbed the hilt of his rapier, though not in a position to unsheathe it. "I have come to issue you a challenge!"
The entirety of the dinner table's occupants turned to look at Alessandra, who simply let out a long sigh and crossed her arms. She had to cook for seven people every day, protect a troublemaker of a prince, make sure Camille and Ezio didn't pull out each other's eyes - the last thing she needed was someone she had been forced to fight to demand a rematch out of the blue. Taking a deep breath, she looked into the young man's clear, blue eyes, taking a moment to admit to herself that he really was quite handsome, even more than her charismatic cousin.
"I apologize if this will sound rude" she started, her voice calm and polite. "but I have no intention of fighting you. I do not consider you my enemy, I merely fought you at that time because you were standing in my way and I had no other option."
Sciarra bit his lip, trying to control his anger. First, a woman had defeated him, and now she was telling him that the fact that she had bested him in a fight wasn't even that big of a deal? He unsheathed his rapier, making the blonde man at the table gasp and the wavy-haired young man pull the child closer to him.
"I apologize as well but I have no choice either." He replied, his voice colder than that of his enemy. "My defeat by your hands has wounded both my pride and my reputation and I will not stand for that. Even if you refuse a duel" he changed into a fighting stance "I will force you into one."
Alessandra looked at him, her eyes tired and her entire body wishing for nothing but a soft bed and a good book. But before her stood a dignified man with a wounded ego who had gone out of his way to try and repair the damage she had, unknowingly, done to him. She sighed once more.
"Fine." Alessandra replied in a dry tone. "But if you lose, don't challenge me again."
A Man's Pride
"I heard he was beaten by a girl."
"Him?! No way!"
"I'm telling the truth! She didn't seem to be from around here, either."
"But for him to be beaten by a girl--"
The voices came to a halt upon being faced with the soft sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the oak door. Both young knights exchanged looks of worry, standing very straight in their white uniforms, identifying the clear sound of a superior's steel-tipped boots on the marble floor. The door opened into the knights' dressing room, an elegant, handsome young man standing at the doorway, cold sapphire eyes piercing almost ruthlessly through both his underlings, as if he had heard exactly what they were saying.
"What business do you have in the dressing room?" His voice was even more threatening than his expression; though he spoke calmly, his question seemed more like an order. The other two instinctively clicked their heels and clung their hands to their hips, looking like two white wooden boards.
"W-We were simply enjoying our break in trainings to talk in a quiet place, Signore."
The tallest boy started, and his freckle-faced companion continued.
"We apologize if we have stepped out of bounds, Signore."
Both stood in attention, to which the elegant man didn't even bother to supress a twitch. Sighing, he pushed back layered, raven-black bangs, thinking about the best way to act. He knew what they were talking about, and he didn't like it at all. All he wanted was to whip out his sword and teach them a lesson about gossiping behind people's backs, but he knew that his position wasn't high enough to do such a thing and remain unscathed. After pondering his options, he let out another sigh and allowed his hand to rest on his hip.
"Leave now. The dressing room is not to be occupied by your idle chatter. Go find somewhere else to discuss your little trivialities."
The other two exchanged concerned looks, more than sure that he had overheard them, but too afraid to apologize. Instead, they both clicked their heels and spoke in a chorus.
"Yes, Vice-capitano Sciarra!"
And walked very close together past him, through the door and out into the hallway. He then found himself alone in the dressing room, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Quickly, he located a stone bench at the end of the room and sat down, leaning forward so that he faced the floor.
It was true. Francesco Calisto Sciarra, the most promising young knight of the White Order Imperiale had been defeated by a woman, probably a year or two younger than him. No matter how much he tried to excuse himself, trying to protect his pride by considering that she had mentioned something about being a captain of sorts, his ego had been wounded and he considered himself, at that moment, amongst the lowest of the low.
Francesco twitched, tightening his grip on his own fingers. The rumour of his shameful defeat had spread so quickly that even then, a mere two days after the event, the whole body of Order knights looked at him differently. Being younger than most of them and aware of his own talent, Sciarra knew he had a reputation - and a position as vice-captain of the force - to uphold and protect, and he could not simply allow himself to be branded as the weakling who was defeated by a woman. Knowing that a diffcult problem can never be solved through the best - and, usually, honest - ways, Francesco planned the best route to get to his new nemesis, smiling to himself as he twirled a small paper between two fingers - a ticket to the international artifact market at the riverbank.
As the lights from the city slowly began to go out, window by window, a chilly wind blew past the upper deck of the ship. Vincenzo sneezed and wiped his nose on the navy velvet of his coat.
They had been docking in the riverbank of La Speranza, a wealthy riverside town for a week and had already become quite accustomed to the weather. That night, however, the sky was especially clear so a very excited Ezio had suggested having dinner on the upper deck instead of the holed-up dining room downstairs. The more lights went out, the more the stars became visible, and the more Camille talked about constellations and reading the sky. Ezio rolled his eyes at him.
"The kid doesn't want to learn about that, don't bore him." He smiled at Vincenzo, not bothering at all to respond to Camille's obviously annoyed expression.
"I was hired as the prince's tutor, not you, so I believe I'm more qualified to determine what he should or should not learn, signore Leone."
Ezio raised his brow and lowered his fork, smiling amusedly at Camille. "Last names now. We really are in a foul mood, aren't we, monsieur Rosseau?"
Camille lost his usual self-control for a fraction of a second and banged his fists on the table. The rest of the crew sat idly, watching the argument unfold, even Graziana seemed rather bored with the whole situation, probably due to its repetitiveness. Vincenzo seemed to be enjoying it, quite unaware that he was the reason they had started arguing in the first place.
"Why, you-" Camille began, before a very large cake exuding a delicious smell was placed in front of him.
"Really," Alessandra stood behind Vincenzo's chair, between the other two, hands on her hips after putting down the tray with the cake. Her face was a vision of disapproval and disappointment. "You're like children. I can't leave you alone for a minute and you're already going at each other's throats."
"He's a nerd." Ezio stated quite bluntly, to which Camille hurriedly replied that Ezio was simply asking for it. Alessandra placed a finger on her forehead, asking some higher entity for patience, and told them very quietly to shut up. For a brief, pleasant moment, there was silence at the dinner table, and as Ezio began to cut the cake, a shout came from the bow of the ship, causing him to drop the knife.
"You! I found you!"
All heads turned to where the voice had come from - a tall, elegant young man clad in white with a black cross decorating the front of his uniform from top to bottom, a white overcoat shielding him from the cold. His lips were pursed in both determination and relief for being able to arrive at such a strange place, for Francesco was not used to being by the riverbank, the most of his life having been spent near the castle or the inner part of the city. He thought it to be a dirty, crime-filled place and he had absolutely no knowledge of ships whatsoever, so his motivation to visit the area was less than none, until he had found the need for revenge as a reasonable motive.
Alessandra stared at him, blinking, not as worried as she was curious. She definitely recognized him - the young man who had tried to thwart her plans of rescuing Camille, Henry and the prince from the old dungeon cells beneath the local castle. He seemed to have been seriously disturbed by the fact that she had beaten him, to the point that Alessandra felt the need to explain that she was, actually, a captain of the royal guard, but she couldn't imagine that he would search for her. The rest simply stared at the stranger as if some lunatic had had too much alcohol and somehow wandered aboard.
"You're the knight. From the castle." Alessandra tried, to which Sciarra twitched and, angrily, took a few steps forward.
"Vice-capitano of the White Order, Francesco Calisto Sciarra!" He yelled, making Alessandra raise a curious brow on reflex. His hand grabbed the hilt of his rapier, though not in a position to unsheathe it. "I have come to issue you a challenge!"
The entirety of the dinner table's occupants turned to look at Alessandra, who simply let out a long sigh and crossed her arms. She had to cook for seven people every day, protect a troublemaker of a prince, make sure Camille and Ezio didn't pull out each other's eyes - the last thing she needed was someone she had been forced to fight to demand a rematch out of the blue. Taking a deep breath, she looked into the young man's clear, blue eyes, taking a moment to admit to herself that he really was quite handsome, even more than her charismatic cousin.
"I apologize if this will sound rude" she started, her voice calm and polite. "but I have no intention of fighting you. I do not consider you my enemy, I merely fought you at that time because you were standing in my way and I had no other option."
Sciarra bit his lip, trying to control his anger. First, a woman had defeated him, and now she was telling him that the fact that she had bested him in a fight wasn't even that big of a deal? He unsheathed his rapier, making the blonde man at the table gasp and the wavy-haired young man pull the child closer to him.
"I apologize as well but I have no choice either." He replied, his voice colder than that of his enemy. "My defeat by your hands has wounded both my pride and my reputation and I will not stand for that. Even if you refuse a duel" he changed into a fighting stance "I will force you into one."
Alessandra looked at him, her eyes tired and her entire body wishing for nothing but a soft bed and a good book. But before her stood a dignified man with a wounded ego who had gone out of his way to try and repair the damage she had, unknowingly, done to him. She sighed once more.
"Fine." Alessandra replied in a dry tone. "But if you lose, don't challenge me again."