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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[milesawayfrom]

[ There are still times that 'survival of the strongest' may come into play. It all depends on how nice the Head Doctor is feeling. Which, if Desmond were to describe it? He'd say never.

His quiet footsteps come to a halt, and he waits to see what the man's next move is. With narrowed eyes, Desmond's body tenses so that he does not move an inch. He has the memories of his ancestors doing it, but he hasn't quite trained his body to the level that they are at. It is part of the reason why he is tailing the strangely dressed man. Practice. He's also a bit curious too.

The heel of his tennis shoe turns into the pavement and he quickly makes his way up the fire-escape, being a story above the ground. It gives him the advantage of looking down at the man. If his senses were as honed as his Italian ancestor's, he could perhaps judge the path the man was walking. Sadly, he is still very much in training when it comes to that aspect. Instead he crouches down, his hands pressing into the metal of the fire escape, holding his breath slightly as the man starts to advance towards him. ]

[chose_death]

[Abruptly, in the midst of an incredibly brisk stride, Javert halts in his tracks.

And to think, Desmond might almost have been fooled into believing he was overlooked. Javert passed directly under the younger man, making a rather determined beeline for the next narrow alleyway. But just after he exits from beneath the far metal edge of the fire escape, he stops and hesitates, shoulders stiff and tense, his ear tilted almost imperceptibly upwards like a curious spaniel. The brim of his hat hides his expression, but if Desmond were to glimpse it, he would see a brow furrowed deeply in concentration and a marked scowl at his lip.]

All right! You can come down now! [he calls out suddenly without turning, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest.] Do you think I can't hear you? You are the second man who's followed me from above today!

[milesawayfrom]

[ The man knows how to be aware of his surroundings. That makes things a little different. Desmond stands, the billed hood shadowing his face, save for his mouth and the characteristic scar. One he shares with two other men, but they don't tend to dress in black. Desmond watches the man, almost flexing his two hidden blades out, but decides not to at the last minute. He hasn't done anything really note worthy of being stabbed.

Desmond grips onto the rail of the fire escape. He then throws himself over it, flexing his muscles and landing perfectly. He then slowly stands, eying the man from underneath his cowl. The hat still is something that's almost hilarious. No one wears stuff like that anymore. Then again? Aliunde doesn't really give a crap about timelines.

Second. So, either Altaïr, Ezio or one of the recruits. Still, he bites back a witty remark and just remains silent. Play it safe, Des. ]

[chose_death]

[Javert turns around.

And suddenly, his brows fly up and disappear into his bangs. What this elder, taller man sees surprises him. He blinks once, very slowly.]

I didn't expect to find you, [he murmurs blandly through his teeth. He crosses his arms as if a chill has swept through him. His canines glint in an unsettling cross between a grimace and a self-deprecating, sardonic sneer.] But I should have guessed. I found the other one earlier.

Well! [Now this man speaks like an old jailer to his keep.] You came before me. How long has it been for you, Miles? Opened yet another seedy tavern for your apish fellows?

[milesawayfrom]

[ At that? Desmond takes the few steps needed to place himself right in front of the man. His eyes narrow, only barely visible from under the points of the hood. With swift precision, Desmond brings one of his hidden blades up to rest close to Javert's jugular. He has no intentions of actually stabbing the man at all. It's more an intimidation factor. ]

You mind telling me how the hell you know who I am? [ Templar is the first thought to his mind. But, that's impossible. Especially given how the man doesn't look like he's from Abstergo. Still, he's tense and ready to strike if he does have to. ] Answer my question and I might answer yours. you know, depending on your good behavior.

[chose_death]

[For a split second, a flick of utter surprise flits past his face. He stares at Desmond blankly, uncomprehendingly, and his lids drop to the blade at his throat. Then something strange and deeply unsettling occurs.

He holds his head high. He presents his throat, even, his chin held up over his collar. And his thin lips part in an abrupt, barking, mirthless cross between an incredulous scoff and a laugh.]

My good behavior! And you, with a knife at my throat! Ah! That's good! Just a word is enough for you to flick a blade at me, you brute! You really are just the same as the other primates, aren't you?

[He remains perfectly still and impassive now. He raises his eyes to meet Desmond full in the face, haughty and self-assured and positively glowing with half-crazed recklessness. Desmond is looking upon a man who has once lost everything, who knows how it is like to be stripped of one's livelihood, duty, love, and honor. This is a man who truly could not care if he died right then or lived.

This formidable mastiff of a stranger squares his shoulders and asks impassively, all trace of a laugh dissolved,]

Are you going to kill me?

[milesawayfrom]

[ It's a good thing Desmond's Creed speaks loudly against killing innocents. Scaring them a little? That's totally up for grabs though. His eyes narrow slightly as he listens to the man speak. Brute? Who is the jerk that's yelling his name out for everyone to hear? He fights back the urge to press the clean blade against the man's throat a little more for calling his ancestors brutes. At least, that's who Desmond assumes they are.

He recognizes that look. Not from anyone in his lifetime, but seeing it on countless faces in his ancestor's lives. His eyes narrow just slightly as he flexes his wrist. The silver blade slides back into the bracer that is tightly on his arm. Then he steps back, just enough to give Javert some room to breathe. ]

Not unless you give me a reason to. [ Desmond rolls his eyes. ] I want to know how you know my name. Who gave it to you?

[chose_death]

[Javert moves not a muscle, poised still in that awkward angle to expose a pale almond throat. He watches Desmond through lowered lashes, pupils boring past the tip of his nose to the young assassin's face. His mouth twists in a proud, haughty grimace; it is no skin off his back if Desmond proves himself just as much of a scoundrel as his assassin fellows.]

I don't recall--Ha! And neither do you, it seems! In fact it might have been yourself to tell me! [A glimmer of darkness descends on his face. When next he speaks, his jaw and mouth hardly move to form the muttering words,] Or it was that woman.

[His gaze had fallen ever so slightly during that brief aside. He recovers himself, straightening, pulling back the collar of his coat resolutely. He is wide open, Desmond.]

Go on, or else you'll lose your chance! Do you want to kill me? Here I am, unarmed!

[milesawayfrom]

[ His mind jumps to the place that Naomi told him about. Not that he remembers the name of it off hand, but it must be another situation like that. Another version of him. Great. Peachy! How many versions of him are running around? He'll have to make sure that the other two master assassins are aware of the situation. ]

Woman. [ He repeats the word, but doesn't bother inquiring. It's not like he really wants to know.

Desmond snorted. ] You haven't given me a reason to kill you. Sorry to burst your bubble, but someone else is going to have to give you your death wish.

[chose_death]

[Javert's eyes burn. They very nearly flash red.

He releases his collar, the tension draining out of him at last. He relaxes his neck and slowly crosses his arms over his chest. He grimaces deeply, untrusting and rather put out by the distinct lack of his own blood staining Desmond's clean clothes. At least he would have had the last laugh if he stained Desmond's outfit permanently.]

Are you satisfied? [he growls.] There is nothing else to say to you.

[milesawayfrom]

[ He is pretty sure the first blood stains on his official assassin robes will be from someone around the Head Doctor. Some kind of informant. Not some pompous French guy who seems to know him and hate him at the same time. ]

Satisfied? No where close to it. [ He glares at him. ] Who else do you know who dresses like this? [ See, he paid attention. ]

[chose_death]

[Javert's stare narrows. He shrugs his shoulders with a deep scowl, his chin sinking deep into his tall collar. He has become a man of shadows, his forehead obscured by the brim of his hat, his steely eyes shrouded by his brow, his chin encapsulated by his collar, his large hands tucked into his sleeves. He has bristled and retracted completely.]

You won't kill me now, [says Javert decisively.] We're finished here.

[With that, the man wheels around on his heel and begins to walk away. Good luck getting any answers out of him now, Desmond.]

[milesawayfrom]

You know? I've met a lot of men who are pretty damn depressed. But, I haven't met someone who actually sulks off because he doesn't get a blade through the throat.

[ Oh, yes, Desmond. Antagonize the man who clearly hates you. He has the best life choices.

His eyes remain narrowed. He wants to see what he'll do. ]

[chose_death]

[The answer, dear Desmond? Very little. The man pauses mid-stride. He half turns.]

I don't recall saying depression has anything to do with it, [he says impassively, unflappably. The frenzy in his voice is gone.] Lest you think me a blubbering snot. I won't cry myself to sleep about it.

[And that is that. He continues on his way. Goodbye, Desmond, until you confer with your good friend Altaïr about this mysterious new arrival.]

[milesawayfrom]

[ Good, because Desmond wanted a response. He wants to see what kind of man he is. The weird man in a tall hat. ]

Depression usually has something to do with it. It's not like you needed to say it. [ He lofts an eyebrow that Javert can't see and once again the man starts heading off. Desmond almost calls him a coward, but decides better against it. He doesn't need to call more attention to himself. ]