The Teleportors Are Occupied Today [ACTION]

[chose_death]

[Anyone who requires use of one of the city's many teleportors today will happen across a peculiar sight. For today, there is one man who is hogging the teleporting machines, and rather persistently at that

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[chose_death]

[The black-robed stranger is so thoroughly preoccupied that his senses lag.

He rises from the pavement, hat in hand, and examines the plaza. The hat he idly twirls, his brow furrowing hawkishly as his gaze sweeps over the nearby street signs. He pivots on his heels uncertainly, swiveling with decided mistrust and bewilderment back to the teleporting machine. He appraises it with a weary grimace, unsure of whether he is willing to instill full faith into such a ... dangerous technology. He is lost to his thoughts.

--But not for long.

The feeling, that implacable intuition bestowed upon him at birth, stirs sharply just when the hat returns to the top of his graying head. It is like the strike of a match at his guts, a ringing flash in the brain.

The stranger cranes his head way back and looks up. The magnet of a man locks eyes with a white hood.

It is the sort of stare that could make one's blood freeze solid. First came puzzlement and curiosity. The rest came after a short, pregnant pause.

If Altair is just sharp enough without his Eagle Eyes, he will catch a recoil in the man's jaw, a shock in the drop of his lower lip, a tremor and hardening of the pupils. The man solidifies into a stone wall in a matter of seconds.

That, good sir, is dim recognition toiling in those colorless irises. It is not a friendly recognition.]

[givemenames]

[It might take him many times longer to move around but unless Ezio or Desmond physically force him into the teleporter, Altaïr will not be clambering inside and using them - he's waiting for the return of something much more dangerous to his hands, something that makes him unwilling to risk anything that would have the Head Doctor's influence upon it.

He adjusts his position just enough when the man looks back at him. Desmond said that people don't really care now, that they don't look up, that they don't think anyone is going to eavesdrop on them, as if all those things are just relics of a time gone by but this is maybe something that will make the other Assassin reconsider when he speaks of it. He sets his jaw, narrows his eyes and leans forward, curious as to what has prompted a reaction Altaïr is used to seeing only in guards and Templars.

There's a horrible thought that roils in his gut; he has gone a month without that extra addition to his sight, it will not be long now but he wishes he had it. Whatever this is - Altaïr has surely never seen a man dressed as such and he ought to be well enough back that little of him is apparent save for a man on a rooftop - he doesn't know this stranger. Only fellow Assassins or Templars would know that hood and only the latter would have any reason to react to it. He needs a closer look and slinks back to take a path onto a closer rooftop, a leap and a quick roll as he moves, trying to get a better view, as if you can identify a Templar through the set of their jaw and shoulders alone.]

[chose_death]

[If the penchant to look up for eavesdroppers is a relic of a bygone era, then it is certainly safe to assume that this black-coated man, this soldierly individual, has something in common with Altair: they are not of this technologically advanced time. Add to that the clench in his jaw, a tightening in the back, fists grasping for a truncheon that he no longer possesses, and it would not be much of a stretch to consider that this man with the ferocious military bearing is a guard of sorts.

It is all the more horrible a conclusion when Templars could be afoot. If there is ever a stereotype for that corrupt and vile organization, this upright, calm and fierce-faced savage seemed to fit it well at first glance.

The hooded figure backs out of sight before the man can call out to him or positively identify him. The man cranes his neck further, peering up beyond the rim of his hat to the sky, and searches the rooftops like a tiger searching the distant grasslands for a mouse.

There! He fully mouths the word to himself. Movement in the periphery! He snaps his gaze around, eager to catch that movement before it again recedes. Too late! The man backs up and starts a careful, deliberate circling. Where the Devil did he go?]

[givemenames]

[If either or both of them were slightly different men they could be a formidable team, paying attention to what many do not realise they are saying or doing because they do not think anymore - they come from a time when information was very different, when the world was rougher. It has not even been two months since Altaïr last saw a guard but he has missed their predictability in his own way; any reminder of his own time is better than nothing.

If he ends up on anything approaching cordial terms with the Head Doctor? It will make Altaïr suspicious and he will share that with Ezio and Desmond. But there is just something about men who hold themselves a certain way that Assassins grow used to and Javert? He fits that well enough from this first glance.

There is the high, lonely cry of a hawk as it circles through the air - not strictly native to this part of the city, looking for its master after having been set free to hunt - a bird with even keener sight than its master that swoops off to find Altaïr as the man jumps down to ground level (modern architecture is not always his friend, unfortunately) and waits for the man he is watching to turn so he can make a quick run for it, over to a closer building and up. He wants to know just what he's watching after all, especially after the look in those eyes.]

[chose_death]

[A formidable team they might make, but Inspector Javert would see himself dead before he would join hands with this particular assassin. And that is not an exaggeration, as he would insist.

First comes the sharp cry of a hawk, Javert's gaze snapping fast to meet it, like a desert cat observing a fly. A memory stirs, something about birds carrying signals of sorts, beacons in the sky. Is it a code? He can't quite recall.

A soft thud follows from behind. He whirls around. He sneers, and before he could stop himself, calls out coldly,]

Hooded ape! You I remember!

[givemenames]

[Such a shame Javert, oh what might have been. Just wait until he discovers - this is Javert, there are no things such as secrets where he is involved - that the Assassins have more than just one recruit here, that there is a whole network of Assassins with allies and dens in Aliunde.

Hooded ape? He doesn't usually speak but he needs to now after those words, after being remembered but he keeps running and starts to climb, hoisting himself up onto a ledge - low so he can see the man's face.]

I have never seen you before in my life, how can you remember me!

[chose_death]

[Meanwhile, Javert is already searching the sides of the building for a fire escape or a ladder. His lip is curled back in a vicious, grinning snarl. He is not quite insane enough to judge that he would be able to climb in the same way as Altaïr; he knows he simply does not possess the strength or dexterity. Though it is truly only a halfhearted search -- what can he expect to do if he gave chase, completely unarmed and lacking in authority? Having the knowledge of such a dangerous character must be enough to protect him for the time being.

Javert chooses to stand his ground fearlessly. He draws himself upright to his full height and lean splendor and meets Altaïr's gaze directly.]

It is in a past life that we met. I don't regret that you've forgotten me! But I have not forgotten you! [He adds in a barely audible mutter,] Your memory shall be refreshed shortly. I'm certain of that. You're a smart scoundrel; you'll learn!

[givemenames]

[A good thing about modern design: more accessible balconies that are less likely to give way or be patrolled by archers that make for decent perching spots. Once he's up, he makes a note that this man is to be followed but that it must be discreet; he is canny, this one. Like the most overgrown fox.]

What past life? [Except now he will never forget you Javert.] What trespass did I commit for you to call me ape and call me scoundrel!

[Really, he needs to hear this because this is the most confused he's been since he got here and that's saying something.]

[chose_death]

[However you choose to follow him, Altaïr, it may be very wise for you to change the methods used at random. A keen, watchful eye would have a hard time finding a pattern in potential stalkers if they keep changing, eh?]

You deal with death, assassin! What do you think?

[If Javert hadn't yet damned himself with his talk, that would just about seal the deal. He knows exactly what all of you do with those hoods and those hidden wrist-blades, and he has witnessed it with his own eyes. With some of the supposed network, Javert had a shaky sort of tolerance in the past; never so with Altaïr himself.

The man could do nothing short of save Javert's life (or the life of someone that matters to him) in order to change his opinion, at this point.]

[givemenames]

[There are recruits here, he could make it a training exercise if he brings it to the attention of Ezio and Desmond - what better way to allow them to hone their skills than with a real target for observation? Someone else will need to make up the cover story though to keep them safe and to make sure no suspicions are cast upon the brotherhood.]

I take lives only when I must! I have no quarrel with you stranger!

[There's a long beat before he says that though, his heart somewhere in his throat before he snaps back to awareness. He wasn't expecting whoever this is to know the specifics of it but he will point out that he does not needlessly deal in death unless it is in a fight with guards who know to kill Assassins or a Templar who must be stopped or the ones who must be silenced after they have spilled their secrets to him. But Altaïr has always been the one from a harder time compared to the rest of the Order, the time where they are so cut off from the rest of the world and where if someone comes after you, you stop them.

After all Javert, he was just stretching his legs at first. On the roof. And he might have kicked a guard in the face but he wasn't breaking any laws.]

[chose_death]

[Oh, I think Javert could argue against that quite easily if Altaïr attempted to claim that again. But the author digresses; the incident is in another place and another time, and it is only Javert's unforgiving severity that dredges it up from the depths at all.]

A murderer is a murderer! [he shouts.] What do I care if you kill only when you must?! Ha! And when the Devil could that be?

But enough of this, I'm not here to argue with brutes. Let me be and don't follow. [He turns his back on the assassin, drawing his hat over his face. He calls out a final word--] I shall keep an ear out for the roofs!

[He walks away. So long until next time, assassin. He has plenty to stew about now.]

[givemenames]

[Javert have you tried yoga? Really, it could do wonderful things for your life and people wouldn't have to frown at you almost constantly.

He supposes he cannot disagree entirely with that statement as it must be the opinion many hold of the Order, especially the families and friends of guards who find themselves cut down by an Assassin.] I hold no hostility to the people here or to you unless you give me reason to! [If he were the man of a year ago this would have been so much bloodier, especially with no Al Mualim to put him in his place. A good thing he is a wiser man now.] It brings me no joy to take a life, I wish for peace. [Sadly, with Templars around, peace with the ability to choose at all comes only at the end of a blade.]

Have it your way.

[He remains where he is, watching, committing this to memory. This is clearly only a beginning.]